Something's Coming, and It Ain't Good

The thing about aging is that it sneaks up on you. Not long ago my biggest concern was my hair turning gray and should I keep coloring it, and suddenly like a day later my left leg is stiff as a board and just getting out of bed in the morning feels like summiting Mt. Everest. How did this happen? What's wrong with me? I must have injured my leg, that's it, since I didn't feel this way last week.

So I went and got an X-ray and the results come back: minor arthritic changes, no big deal, as common as a penny. In fact, if you must know, this is just the beginning. Soon there will be major arthritic changes.

The worst part is that in my head I don't think of myself as old. I think of myself as cool and with it and funny and, truth be told, quite cutting edge. But on paper I am old, very old in fact, much older than my friends Susan and Bethann and Noreen who all died more than 20 years ago. And as every article about Covid vaccinations will tell you: I am in the demographic that dies first and needs the vaccination more than anyone else.

But wait, how did this happen? And when? I still listen to rock music. Is rock music old now? Does that make me nothing but an aging hippie? Should I be listening to musicians I never heard of like, well, musicians I never heard of? And if I did, would I not have arthritis? Because if that did the trick, I would do it, although I'll never stop listening to Jackson Browne no matter how old that makes me.

There's no getting around it: Through no fault of my own I was born in 1946, and that's a fact. And as my husband loves to point out, someday I'll be dead so I should be grateful for today's aches and pains since I am alive to feel them. Ha! What does he know, he's only 64. What a baby. Just wait, he'll see.