Aging apathy

They say as we get older we become more confident – more comfortable in our skin. We perhaps spend less time focusing on the trivial details of our physical self and see the whole of our existence and our accomplishments as the more important evidence of a well lived life. I’d like to declare bullshit. Complete and total bullshit!

I’m nearly 39 and I’m no closer to being “okay” with aging than I am with letting a stranger watch me take a shit. I don’t have a cabinet full of expensive anti-aging serums or wrinkle creams, I’m not made of money; I’d honestly rather spend my cash on good food. Then, I can get fat, feel shitty, complain, buy expensive running shoes, then run until I feel terrible again, and finally gloat. It’s painfully fucked up, really. It’s nowhere near confident, that’s for damn sure.

I really miss my 20-something year old complexion. I remember what it felt like to not have to use moisturizer, to just be naturally supple. There was a time when I had natural color in my cheeks too. Now if I want color, it’s store bought. My natural shade these days is something comparable to Behr Complacent Studio Clay MQ2-27. Sallow skin – sallow, sad, skin. If eating small children was guaranteed to give me my youthful glow back, I’d start looking for recipes. No one is going to miss the little asshole that screams at his mom from the front of the cart at the store. Don’t look appalled, you know you’ve rolled your eyes at the inattentive mother and the unruly child.

Oh, you’re confident about the aging process?? Great!! Let’s find a casting director and get you in a commercial for advanced age Maybelline! Me? I’m busy being cast in the next commercial for antidepressants; we’re reading the 3ft long list of possible effects. *This is actually listed as a possible side effect of Zoloft “trouble concentrating, memory problems, weakness, fainting, seizure, shallow breathing, or breathing that stops.”* Last time I checked, breathing that stops, is dying.

https://www.rxlist.com/zoloft-side-effects-drug-center.htm

At this stage in the game, I have more products in my cabinet to ease the discomfort of occasional urinary tract infections, yeast infections, hemorrhoids, and constipation than I have things to increase pleasure. That is to say, I own one pair of CFM (come fuck me) pumps - those poor things are collecting cat fur in my closet, and I own zero lingerie, seems so impractical. I have 17 varying sizes of gauze pads but have zero personal lubricant. Strike that. I have coconut oil. Even that, I used for medicinal purposes. Don’t ask.

A while back I consulted my husband about buying a yoga swing. If you think anyone really uses those things for yoga, well, bless your pea-pickin heart. What a simple sweetheart you must be. I thought I’d like to spice things up a bit. Really, I was desperately trying to hold on to whatever notion of sensuality or being a sexual being that I had. All of that came screeching to a halt when I played the tape through in my head and envisioned myself getting caught in the straps and injuring myself, possibly breaking an arm or an ankle. Never mind the completely unattractive visual of being snared in this contraption naked and twisted, fighting to keep balance and eventually face-planting or pulling a groin muscle.

Also, did you know that some people have complete playlists on their phones for sex? People create mood music playlists and I don’t mean like one or two songs. What the fuck is that? Don’t people just listen to the dishwasher anymore? It took me a long time to realize that listening to my upstairs neighbors was creepy. In my defense I didn’t know Pornhub was free so I was making the best of my situation.  Yes, Tom and Diane, I know what you two like. Shame on you guys for not walking your dog more frequently too. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.

So, to recap: I’m a super creepy neighbor and I’m not very exciting. I am however, the person you want to be in the company of if you should injure yourself. I have plenty of gauze and various other medical supplies.