Apologise now for my following rant/whinge. This time last year I was merrily writing about turning 40. I turned 40 amongst a flurry of balloons, glitter and gorgeous gifts. Several days later I let out a sigh of relief, I had done it, I had turned 40 and survived. Foolish, smug me.
Now as I approach turning 41 I am reliving my fears. Gripped with panic I turned to the mirror for comfort. Instead my worst fears were confirmed and I now fear it is too late, I have turned middle aged. The reflection in the mirror is middle aged. I no longer totter around in high heels and skimpy clothes, for me its comfort and warmth all the way.
The voice that use to be hip and with it and would sing merrily (and badly) to all the latest songs now complains at the very same music and mutters critisisim at the newsreaders choice of outfit.
Worse of all I feel middle aged. Bones creak and joints complain, memory is failing and energy ran off with my get up and go ages ago.
In my head I stopped aging at 26. I blame it on my traumatic 27th birthday when I thought I was going to be 26 and had lived a whole year being 25. On the eve of my, what I thought, 26th birthday my father broke it to me I was actually going to be 27 the next day. I had lost a whole year.
Now I no longer feel 26, I feel middle-aged.
I don’t like it, I don’t want it and I don’t know what to do about it. ( suggestions, that don’t cost a fortune, are welcome)