On August 30, I turned forty. Shortly thereafter, something happened: I got old. I don’t know how this happened, but it did.

If family genes are any indicator, I’m not even at the mid-life point yet. That will come in the next 3 years or so.

I can’t argue with reality, though. What’s up? Well, let’s see… where to start?

1) I have some aches and pains. Today, I filled out a four-page questionnaire that I needed to complete to see a chiropractor tomorrow. My left leg has been in pain for three weeks, and I don’t mean it kinda hurts. I mean, I am moving like an 80-year-old who has lost her walker. I frequently gasp in agony when I zig where I should have zagged. I had a pain in my back for about a week five weeks ago, but it went away after seven days or so. This has hung around for THREE FULL WEEKS. I have to ease into my car, and I still wince. If I sit for “too long,” it takes me a good couple of minutes to stand all the way up. It’s ridiculous.

2) I don’t understand the music that’s popular today. I mean, I get that we had some questionable lyrics in our day and in every other day, but catchy ditties about killing people in fancy trainers or tying an attempted ex to a bed and setting the house on fire? That goes so far beyond raunchy sex stuff! And that music is bad enough. It’s one thing to hear a veiled dirty song about a candy store, but it’s so much worse when a “lady” talks about what she’d do if she were male-ly endowed. Does no one younger than 30 experience cognitive dissonance with the lyrics “And no, you don’t wanna mess with us. Got Jesus on my necklace; I’ve got that glitter on my eyes, stockings ripped all up the side, looking sick and sexy-fied, so let’s go.” Then there’s the laziness of “Don’t wake me up up up up up up. Don’t wake me up up up up up up. Don’t wake me up up up up up up. Don’t wake me. Don’t wake me. Don’t wake me uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.” Repeat. Ad infinitum. (Yes, I remember “I Got My Mind Set On You.” It blew, as well.)

3) I’ve always been a fan of having my picture made. I mean, come on. Have you seen my hair? But lately, every picture of me I see, I think, “What the heck happened?! Why do I look so tired/puffy/negative adjective of choice?” I have always been fine with people posting photos of me without permission, but any more, I cringe. Yeesh. Who is that person?

4) Along similar lines… About this time last year (maybe a little earlier), I decided to get serious about dropping the few pounds I’d gained over the former yearish. I significantly limited my diet and I worked out at least five times a week. As little as five years ago, I would have dropped 7-10 pounds in the first two weeks and have been able to get rid of 20ish in three months, no problem. I lost nothing. Not a darn thing, People at the gym told me I looked fitter, but my clothes didn’t fit any differently and I was grumpy and overtired and never had any free time because I was at the gym every second I had when Daphne was away. Then last summer I read this and just decided that I was not going to waste my time shunting Daphne away so I could work out separately. I get exercise with her, either riding bikes or walking places or making her stretch and stuff with me. Unlike I have been at times in the past, I am no longer willing to revolve my day around making sure my appearance is at a level that someone else told me I should achieve. And that might be sour grapes, sure. But I can’t both worry about it and not be able to do anything about it without devoting my life’s energy to it. So letting go of my 25-year-old’s ideal is the only way I’m going to make this thing.

5) I cry at everything. I mean, I’ve kind of always been a sap about some movies, music, and television shows. In my life, I’ve likely shed more tears over fictional characters than real people. But I am ready to bawl at the drop of the hat (awwww, poor hat) and I feel like an old fool. My sister and I used to watch my mom’s face during touching parts of shows because we knew she was gonna lose it. Now my kid does this to me. So I sucker punch her every time.

6) I think there’s too much graphic sex in movies billed as “romantic comedies.”

What’s funny about this is that I’d never seen a “James Bond” movie until this most recent one, and when I mentioned to James how fairly classy the sex scenes were, he indicated that they were always tame about that throughout the franchise. Based on my experiences with “light-hearted romps,” I was expecting some serious sweaty grinding and it was just not there. I’ve seen worse in cologne ads.

7) I want people to start calling me Miss Molly Maple and I want to wear a taffeta hat.

That’s it for now. I was going to write more, but I can’t remember any of it. Now you kids get off of my lawn or I’m going to turn on the sprinklers.

**UPDATE: 8) I make noise when I breathe. Just sitting here, right now, I’m not… but usually, if I’m lying down, especially, there will be whistles, wheezes, and even *gasp* snoring. It’s like I’m this water buffalo running uphill, and it’s disgusting!