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My Birthday is in a few weeks.
I hadn’t really cared when the clock struck 12 on January 1.
I went skiing for three days, slept funny and ended up at the chiropractor.
My son and I worked out with a trainer and I couldn’t do half the moves because of my back.
My eye doctor recommended “progressives” – the latest version of BIFOCALS so that my eyes can adjust now while I only need slight help rather than later when I will need TONS.
I went to get my physical and was told that I will be at the age when I should get yearly mammograms.
(Now please do not comment on whether or not one should get a mammogram or if the radiation is what will kill me. None of this matters to me at the moment. So let’s stay on topic. And today’s topic is I. And I am being annoying by using correct grammar.)
So I’m lying on my couch with an icepack on my back wondering where my life went wrong when I realized I’m getting older.
I’m getting older and I’m falling apart.
The first week of January was amazing. Sure, I was feeling a bit sluggish from eating my way through the holidays, but that is how you’re supposed to feel the first week of January. Besides that, I was fine.
Fit as a fiddle.
Happy to be alive.
But lying there, I wondered what the point of it all was if we were just going to end up old and lying on a couch with either an ice pack or a heating pad on our back and sometimes switching between both?
Where is the humanity?
One thing I do know:
I’m not heeding warnings about not eating raw cookie dough anymore.
Life is too short.
EAT THE COOKIE DOUGH RAW WHILE YOU CAN PEOPLE.
*Disclaimer: I am not a nutrionist, but eating raw cookie dough is probably a bad idea according to the people who make the warnings that go on everything. Especially in excess. I’m not really sure, though. I’ll let you know.