Age

I looked down at my hands tonight and saw not youth, but papery, scaly mitts, scarred by time, sunlight, manual labor, and cold. I'm 34, but to look at the backs of my hands you'd think I was much older. It's interesting that I've hit a point in my life at which the signs of almost constant stress, bad habits, and environmental trauma are beginning to manifest themselves in my physical appearance. My hair has decided that rather than remain in place on my head that it would prefer to leave the northern climes and reside on my back. That's not cool. I don't want to be nappy back-hair bald guy, but perhaps that's my lot in life. It seems that every morning expedition to leave the womb-like warmth and security of my bed is getting to be much more difficult than it used to be. Oh, and something new always aches every morning; this morning for instance it was my right ankle, not sure why? all I did yesterday was walk around like a normal human being.

Oh well, another day, another creaking joint, and possibly a stomach ulcer that is enjoying remaining at the limits of my pain tolerance...

Until the next one...

Getting Older in St. Paul