How old do I feel?

How old do I feel?

Gingerly placing my feet on the floor on a morning as I get out of bed I could be 92.

I walk on the landing to the bathroom on what feels like tiny pins and lumps of rock, not the soft carpet which is really underfoot. Thankfully on the way back to the bedroom, normal sensations have returned and apart from a bit of careful manoeuvring when sitting down and standing up, during the day, my body allows me to move well, walk fast when required and feel probably younger than my actual age.

Its when I look in the mirror there’s a problem. Who is that staring back? I don’t recognise her. Who is the grey haired lady. The face is similar but its not the face I remember. I don’t like it as much as my old face, or should I say my young face. Where have my lips gone? Thinner lips are a sign of old age too.

 Aged 19  in serious pose !

Probably because I carry a few too many pounds,  my face is quite plump and there’s not too many lines. Friends remark on this. “You haven’t any lines” they say. Its the sagging jowls that give the game away, that and the crêpey skin on a scraggy neck. My Grandma who was actually only 61 when I was 16, always liked a chiffon scarf or similar tied around her neck. “The neck gives the game away”, she said and its true.

Hands too tell a tale. My hands have always had good skin. Not for me the constant applying of hand cream. Having a greasy skin has been good but eventually hands have old age thrust upon them and the test of nipping the skin to see how fast it returns to normal, shows my hands to have old skin on them!

Perhaps the greasy skin along with the plumpness  has helped keep off facial lines and crow’s feet. Nothing ages the skin more than dried out sun tanned skin and lines follow and whilst liking summer and sunny days, I have never been a sun worshipper to the point of laying all day on a lounger till burnt to a crisp.

As a child I was dark blonde which in summer always lightened, even to my late teens, after which I always had highlights or been completely blonde. Now my natural colour is grey. I don’t dislike it and it is certainly easier than keeping up to roots.

The question is, would I feel younger if I looked in a mirror to see myself with blonde hair? I don’t really think so.

Youth is past. Middle age is past. Old age is upon me.

I am not complaining. The alternative to old age is death and I am not ready yet.

I have lots more living to do.