Hide the children. The following is not suitable for younger and more sensitive readers, by which I mean those under 50.
My body is doing some funky stuff. I suspect aging may be involved.
1) Stuff is migrating. Formerly vital parts of my body, front and back, have become snowbirds. They moved south. We’d become quite close over the years and I miss them. My hair is also relocating. There’s a steady exodus going forth from my scalp to colonize brave, new lands like the chin and the bazoombas.
2) Inside stuff is showing up outside: My circulatory system has been operating behind the scenes my whole life. I’ve appreciated that discretion. Lately, however, it wants attention. Note to self: no need to put veins on the outside of my legs. The fact that I am still with the living is proof enough that the blood is moving.
3) New stuff is being manufactured: My skin has had its moments over the years, but now it’s REALLY getting creative. New bumps, lumps, grooves and splotches are popping up all over the place. The latest additions are neither attractive, nor, as far as I can tell, do they serve any useful purpose.
4) Some stuff is growing. Burgeoning bunions have me looking longingly at orthopedic shoes while desperately clinging to high-heels. My bulging belly is spreading at an alarming rate. I’ve heard that the ears and nose continue to grow, up to and possibly even after death. I haven’t noticed that yet; it gives me something to look forward to.
5) Some stuff is shrinking. I’m already almost 1/2 inch shorter than I used to be. My lips are shrinking, too, their former pouting lushness morphing to a thin, mean line. If this keeps up I may consider having that fish-lip surgery that’s mandatory for the wealthy and all reality show bimbos over the age of 30.
6) I’ve lost The Night Stuff: I used to be able to dance the night away, close the joint down, go out for breakfast and still be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for work the next day. Now I’m dozing in front of the TV in my sweats before Pat and Vanna flip their first letter.
7) Some foodstuffs are rough. Food and drink once made a smooth, trouble free journey through my body. Now such trips often result in a breakdown at the side of the digestive track, leaving me waiting for a tow truck from AAA (Alimentary Aggravation Abatement.) ‘Nuff said.
8) Stuff hurts. With the notable exceptions of childbirth and gall bladder attacks, my nerve endings used to be in the business of delivering good news; things like “Oh, baby, yeah, baby…THAT’s the spot!” Now, however, they’re saying, “your parts can’t move like that” and “don’t sleep in that position” and “it’s going to rain.” My nerves are the Whos down in Whoville shouting, “We are here! We are here!”
9) Can’t find stuff. My brain cells have been abandoning ship at an alarming rate and my memory is shot. I KNOW I know your name, where I put my car keys, and what I had for dinner last night, but I can’t find that information in my mental filing cabinet. Important stuff, like world history, is lost forever.
There you have it. That’s the stuff that’s going on with me. I had a much longer list when I started this rant, but I can’t remember the rest of it.
Any funky stuff going on with you?