I fret a lot about aging. There’s a lot of white hair. And wrinkles. And drooping.
And that’s just above the neck.
I have to do that thing where I perch my glasses on the tip of my nose to see better (no, it doesn’t also help me hear better).
I spend a lot of time wondering why I entered a room or opened a browser window.
I either can’t stay awake or can’t stay sleeping — the best part of that one is that each night it is a surprise.
And if I do happen to be sleeping I might have to wake up several times to remove the covers or pull them up again. (One night this week, I awoke to find the entire comforter in a puddle on Basil’s side of the bed. When I complained the next morning, he said, “What do you care? You spend most of the night throwing it off you.” Fair point.)
I’m suddenly too old for many things — including my daughter’s music, much of my wardrobe and any meal with too much spice or grease.
At this time of year, there’s one thing to remind me I still have one foot that hasn’t yet gone over the hill. “A Charlie Brown Christmas” starts in 30 minutes, and I’ll be watching.