I’m dragging ass today, nodding off in front of the monitor. I’m keeping a chair in my mom’s office warm today as she is at a business conference 200 miles away. I fill in here and there and help with the cleaning and phones for her. It works out well for both of us. But today I’d really like to go have a long nap.
DD and I got a bit … frisky … last night and I am sleepy and sore today. It was well worth it then (he always leaves me satisfied…) but today I feel that I am too old to stay up late having sex. And perhaps too old for such um… vigorous… adventures. Either that or I need to take a yoga class and work on some flexibility.
These moments of feeling my age seem to be coming more and more often. I Am Not Old. I refuse to be old yet. But I now wake up at 5:30. I need a daily nap. I can’t hold my liquor. I dislike driving after dark. I get these urges to cuss out the teenagers cutting through my dead end. And I need to be asleep by 9:30 every night. Late night lust sessions just aren’t as satisfying when grumpy and groggy are the result.
And there is the other part of getting old, what has made me age the most, raising children. It is hard to squeeze in couple time with small children. There’s nothing like a small fist beating on the bedroom door to make my half go dry and his go limp. At least they knock.
The irony of getting older is leaning over my shoulder, watching me type. I am finally old enough to know what I want and have the confidence to enjoy myself. It seems so unfair that I would learn to be comfortable in my skin just in time to watch it start sagging. Who is it who said youth is wasted on the young?