A tale of two pimples

Aren't I lovely?

This morning I was greeted by two different zits. One on my cheek, probably from clogged pores because it's been so damn hot and humid lately. One under my chin, courtesy of an ingrown hair. A whisker, if you will.

This leaves me feeling old. And I don't like it.

Of course I feel old. Because I am old. My oldest friend is arriving in less than two weeks to celebrate her 60th birthday. I am crossing the Rubicon next year. According to the US Government, I am not middle aged, I am old.*

I'm going to catalog everything that's bedeviling me physically, and it all feels age related.

•  My hair is thinner by the day.
•  As is the skin on my eyelids.
•  As are my eyebrows.
•  Yet I am noticing more and more sturdy dark hairs on my chin.
•  No matter how hard I try to combat it, the skin on my décolletage is wrinkling.
•  I got depressed, thanks to the menopausal hormones coursing through my veins, and took Lexapro to keep from crying all the time. The Lexapro made me fat.
•  I am unable to lose those pounds.
•  I walk slower than ever.
•  My eyes are worse (must remember to make an appointment with the optometrist).
•  I think my hearing is weaker.

Oh, well. It's the price of still being here. I shall try to be grateful that I'm above ground and able to age.

*I am more than halfway -- 68%, to be exact -- to my final curtain.