slew of words

gerontophobia – noun – an irrational or disproportionate fear of growing old

I have a little wrinkle on my forehead. It sits vertically right between my eyebrows, like a faint buttcrack. It doesn’t go away no matter how many times I run my pointer finger over it. It’s from my incessant habit to furrow my face in confusion or doubt or concentration or judgment. A permanent reminder of my bitchy tendencies.

Most of my friends now have their phones on Do Not Disturb for the majority of the day because they have big-person jobs. “___ has notifications silenced” mocks me and I’m tempted to press the “notify anyway” button to alert them of the mundane happenings in my day-to-day life. But I never press it.

There’s always something that can be cleaned. If it’s not the floors it’s the counters, if it’s not the counters it’s the toilets. The sheets could be washed, or the towels, or the dishes. Every corner has a little dust bunny and every window has a smudge. I can’t ever get ahead of it all.

My body is preparing me for the baby I’ll never have. My hips are widening. My stomach is keeping a little pouch of fat over my uterus. My breasts have grown an entire cup size. I wish I could let my genetics know their efforts are wasted, that I’m not interested in playing that role.

I recently received a promotion at work. That means I’m old enough to receive a promotion. That means I’ve stayed somewhere long enough to receive a promotion. And to rub salt into the wound, they added “Senior” to my title to remind me I’ve aged.

My dad still does my taxes but he reminds me every year that I’m old enough to do them myself. I know that I am, but doing them myself feels like letting go of the last bit of dependency on my parents I have. So I’ll hang on until my knuckles turn blue.

More than two glasses of wine now mean headaches and hangxiety. This also means that what used to be able to shut my brain off and numb a bad day, now does more harm than good. This also means now I need to raw dog my emotions a lot more frequently, something that takes getting used to.

I can tell that my mom is aging by the signs in her hands. I can tell that my dad is aging by his increase in silence and decrease in his ability to lift heavy objects. And I torture myself constantly with the thought I might one day live in a world without them.

Sleeping in a slightly off-kilter position results in not being able to turn my head more than a few degrees. Sitting in an unsupported chair results in back pain that only laying on the hardwood floor can alleviate. Driving in the dark results in blurrier headlights than I once remembered. I have glasses now.

My college town forgot who I am. It kept evolving without me. The bars I went to are not the bars the new students go to. They don’t even ID me to get in anymore. There are new restaurants, new buildings, new faces. I liked to think I left my mark, but I didn’t.

There are people in my life I will inevitably lose touch with. There are griefs I have yet to experience that will nearly break me. I am painfully aware of the struggle I have yet to face. No more carefree attitudes.

Just getting older one day at a time.