What a Drag it is, Getting Old

I miss having something to say. The thing I fear most in becoming older and content is there is nothing left to add. It scares me to think, I'm becoming boring. There are times when I've no desire to go out, no desire to have the fun I used to, times when I'd rather sit in with a good book, absorbing someone else's words instead of having my own. How did I become so non-confident, choking up when speaking out matters most? Where did this problem arise? I worry I'm fading out.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love J and everyone around me, but sometimes I wonder if this is it. Does that ever stop? Does one ever stop looking for the possibilities? When do the wandering eyes, looking at strangers on the subway and thinking about asking their numbers, when does that stop? Do I miss the exciting parts of dating, forgetting all the BS it really is in NYC, despite any glamorized version Sarah Jessica Parker might tell.

Sometimes I'll look at the rich men who walk down Fifth and fantasize about the lives of some of my married friends, home with children of privilege. I think about the personal trainers, the shopping sprees, the daily tasks these women endure in this never ending quest for absolute perfection. I miss it, and other times, even the thought of going back there, to that mind set, stresses me out. Sometimes I'm envious of my engaged friends, other times, I'm ready to fall on my knees in thanks that all my possibilities aren't gone, that there is no definite in place, that I can keep dreaming with possible purpose, not feeling too foolish.

I feel plain too often lately. Ugly, fat, and useless, as if I were my mother thirty years before my time. Why is it middle aged women always post a photo of their younger years up, like the women in Ker's world, as if to say "I once was beautiful." Why must we live in the past? What is it our lives amount to if nothing beyond our twenties, and my God, when do mine get any more accomplished feeling? I feel old, I'm tired, I'm cranky, and everyday is a nonstop turning merry go round of tasks and responsibilities I've no energy for. I'm too young to be this old.