Communication Gap: I'm Not Ready To Get Off the Stage
Stairs leading to Currituck Beach Light, Corolla, North Carolina, Wikipedia
I have a serious problem. I've searched every possible tech support site on the web, but none have been able to help. My dilemma? I have suffered a complete breakdown of communication between my body and my brain.
For some reason — seemingly overnight — my knees have become creaky, my bladder leaky, my skin flaky and my balance shaky. My arms have developed wings, my shoulders are permanently slumped, and my former teeny tummy is gone. Well not quite. It's still there, but it's now covered by what can only be called a belly. My boobs, like birds in the winter, have gone south. As for my face and neck ... I don't want to go there.
Amazingly, I usually am not aware of any of this — until I catch an unexpected glimpse of myself in a mirror or reflected in a store window. "Look at that poor old lady," I think at first. "Why doesn't she straighten up ... and doesn't she realize how ugly those orthopedic shoes are?" Then it hits me — Oh my God, that's me! It's such a surprise, because even though all my physical changes are accompanied by aches and pains I never used to have, in my head I'm still seventeen; and I look like Angelina Jolie — only younger. Furthermore, in the fantasy world of my mind, I can still climb endless flights of stairs without losing my breath; I can walk — even jog — for miles; I can get down on the floor and, even more important, get up again. I can get in and out of a car without having passers-by rushing over to help. When I go to an airport, attendants don't run to greet me at the door proffering wheel chairs. Old geezers with walkers don't offer me their seats on crowded busses. And I can actually get out of a low chair without pushing with my hands. I can't, however, swim. But, then, I never could.
I'm also sometimes delusional enough to believe I'm still tall (where did those three inches I lost go?). And I believe I can still eat whatever I want (pizza ... lasagna ... chili ...) even at midnight — without chomping on Tums and without keeping a plastic bag under my pillow, just in case of a 3:00 AM visit from the nausea gremlin. This isn't as bad as it sounds because I'm usually still awake at 3:00 AM anyway. Why? When did I become an insomniac?
When I was young (wasn't that just last week?), I always believed that old people knew they were old — and they didn't really mind. They were ready for it to end. After all, they had lived a long life. No way could all those decades have flown by so fast. I can't speak for all the elderly, of course, but as for me, I don't realize that I'm old. When logic tells me that I am, I do mind; and I am not ready to get off the stage!
As you can see, I have a serious disconnect between mind and body — thank goodness! No way do I want to face reality! Instead, I'm going shopping. I need a couple of sleeveless mini dresses, some skinny jeans with frayed knees, a pair of stilettos, and a new bikini, which I'm going to need when I start my surfing lessons next week.
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