Oh dear. It seems as though I am aging. What’s up with that?
This past year has been pretty intense. In January I turned 23, which for some odd reason made me feel super old. Almost 25, which is halfway to 50….basically I felt as though I was almost 50. Makes no sense.
When I was young and dumb, I thought 23 was the age when I would start having kids. Kid-having is still a huge anxiety-triggering idea for me so, combined with my final semester of university, the first half of 23 for me was pretty much a disaster.
Aside from feeling horribly behind in my life, I also have been feeling physical signs of aging this year…or at least perceiving cosmetic changes. It’s pretty weird because I’m outgoing and seem to have it pretty much all together (maybe? I’m not sure) but I am SUPER self conscious about my potential appearance.
It’s weird. I’m pretty lazy with regards to my appearance, but I reassure myself that if I put some time into it, I could be pretty good looking. However, my newfound Neil Patrick Harris-esque forehead wrinkles (ugh), mom-thighs (super ugh), and leathery skin (thanks, Prince Rupert sunshine [???]) have shaken my confidence in my hotness potential.
But then I think about it for a bit…I can’t be young forever. I can’t be part of the target ‘hot’ generation forever, and to be honest, I don’t really want to be. Sure, soon I’ll get to the age when advertisers start trying to sell me girdles and bifocals, but by then I will have gained enough wisdom and confidence to not be fazed by them.
Probably the best reminder that youth isn’t everything has come from one of my co-workers. She constantly rants about her romantic endeavors, sexcapades (double puke), and how everyone hates her. The highlight of her week was getting a new Iphone, and she constantly reminds me that every guy who looks at her secretly wants to bang her. Her entire existence seems like a giant chore to her, with all the drama and stuff.
She reminds me that, while my skin is slightly more wrinkly than it was five years ago, age brings depth and tempers the soul. I love that I can hang out with other women without seeing them as threats. My stable marriage may not be full of drama, but it is full of support, and it’s amazing how much time I’ve saved not obsessing about guys over the past six years.
Oh man, this post is way too serious. Here are some weird age-related things I’ve started to do:
1. Moisturize. This is such a weird concept. I take olive oil, like from the grocery store, and stick it on my face, and it makes my skin less oily. So strange. I’ve found that actual moisturizers are a) super expensive and b) give me pimples, so yay for the cheaper way being the better way.
I’ve also started to lotion all my other skin too, especially my feets since, now that I stand for 8 hours a day, they are starting to look like my father’s.
2. Hydrate. Not only do I oil the outside of my body, but I water the inside. Taking care of myself is quite the process. Edmonton is so dry, so I can seriously drink a ton of water and it just evaporates out of my body. So messed up.
3. Wear make-up. Not all the time, of course. One strange thing I’ve been doing is pencilling my eyebrows. I never realised how awesome it looks. Even though I have pretty intense brows, filling them in makes them look more…polished? Feminine?
4. Go to bed before midnight. When I was a youngin, I used to have these Sims 2 nights with my friend Chalene where we would stay up until 6 am eating Ruffles chips and playing the Sims. Then we would wake up around 11 am and eat either bbq eggs and hashbrowns or old chinese takeout for breakfast.
A month or so ago, Chris and I had a huge fight that lasted until about 4:30 am, and I had to go to work at 9 the next day. It was a disaster. I was so messed up, and throughout the day I kept wondering ‘what’s happening? I used to be able to function after staying up until 6. Even a few years ago, I could do exams on only 3 hours of sleep.’
5. Watching what I eat.
This one deserves its own post based on the fact that I’m starting to not be able to have cow milk, which is an unmitigated disaster. Sure, I still sometimes eat pizza pops for lunch, but my body now hates me afterwards. Ugh.
Age, my friends. It’s killing me.