Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!
I tried everything to prevent a fall like this, but somehow, it happened just the same.
You see, I was just strolling through life being a shy baby of the family, and then suddenly, I was being handed a high school diploma. The next four years filled up with dorm life pulling me out of my shyness, new friends with whom I bonded for life, professors demanding papers, books that required reading, and lots of food and fun. Before I knew it there was a wedding band on my finger and three little sets of feet making messes all over my clean house. Once I sent those little feet off to school, I jumped into the second passion of my life: spending blocks of 90 minutes teaching English in a room full of fun and frustrating, hilarious, and hormonal teenagers.
While I was enjoying life, I somehow lost my footing. It must have been during one of my birthdays, although I have no idea which one. And now I’ve fallen and I’m floundering on the hard floor of old age in my fight against antiquity, you know, the losing battle with the army of gray hair, face wrinkles, achy joints, and a foggy brain that has no idea about widgets, html, iOS updates, how to find pictures or documents in the cloud or where that brilliant comment went when I opened my mouth to speak. It’s a losing battle, yet I keep fighting with the help of Redkin, Rodan and Fields, and sometimes by using terms like bad, dope, cringe, crib, throw shade, salty, and yeet. I understand some of those are already outdated, but I don’t have time to learn new ones between naps.
The worst part of this fall is that while I reside on the floor, my kids nor my grandkids can even begin to imagine that I was young once. They would never recover if they knew I used to say cool, wore bell bottoms, liked eating a basket of fries and drinking milkshakes because I never gained a pound, kissing boys and flirting, staying up all night, driving fast, and a few other activities I will not mention here. I still like kissing and driving fast, but both are a bit restricted now: one by a ring on my finger and the other by the cost of speeding tickets these days.
On the way down in my fall, before I realized I was falling, I changed cool to whatever I thought was in vogue, even though it was outdated by the time I invited it into my vocabulary, and I traded in bell bottoms for stretchy pants because smelling a French fry now instantly adds10 pounds and simply saying the word milkshake slaps 15 pounds onto my hips. Somewhere along the way, I traded staying up all night for an early bedtime. The only time I’m awake at one or two o’clock in the morning is if need to visit the little room.
Yes, I’ve fallen into old age, and I can’t get up, but I will flail all over this floor as if I could regain my youthful footing because part of me is still gliding around in high heels as if I’m 35 years old. But first, I’ll take a nap.