VivaCity

In this time of wondrous change and growth, I've sat back and watched my boys get older with the subconscious idea that I was somehow perfectly preserved in my 16-yr-old body. That window of internal viewpoint slammed shut just last night while perusing some old photos. I came across one of myself in a sweatshirt in which long blond hair was flowing in the breeze, and I had this smile on my face like, Responsibility? What's that? Who needs it?? Not me, I'm just hanging out, wearing perfectly applied makeup & have you seen this HAIR? Yup, woke up & styled it with all the time in the world laid out before me.

I'm thinking, yup, that's me, wrinkle-free face & all.

Then my eye caught the sweatshirt I had been wearing, & the condition of this sweatshirt, which I actually still own. The shirt is absolutely threadbare, really just two sleeves held together by an Aeropostale logo (yes, I was quite the fashion snob, before I knew what "bills" were).

A bucket of cold water to the face. While I realize that skin doesn't age at quite the rate cotton does, I...prepare yourself...have aged as well! Son of a gun. Who'd have thunk, even I could be affected by the passage of time?? I have laugh lines now, & carry some hefty luggage under my eyes...& around the hip-thigh area...

Oy. I'm not ready for this! Who the hell wants to get older? Not I, said the fly, as he keeled over 24 hours after his birth.

I'm thinking a cute haircut & an extra workout or two may stave off the depression I feel breathing down my neck, edging in on my happiness here at the new job. Well, I suppose I've got to take the good with the bad...Do you know any 16-yr-old legal assistants be-bopping around downtown, going home to the arms of a gorgeous loving family?? All right then. I've got two healthy dollops of sugar at home to help the medicine go down.