Declaring War

This is happening far more frequently than I like.  I'm seeing signs of aging.  And it's irritating.

Like my hair.  It's going gray.  My Combat Weapon?
Thank you Clairol.

Like my arms.  Namely, my triceps.  They're getting flappy.  My Combat Weapon?
Thank you backwards push ups.

Like my facial skin.  It's getting blotchy.  And liney.  My Combat Weapon?
Thank you Sephora.

Like my joints.  My right thumb joint.  It hurts all the time.  My Combat Weapon?
Thank you martyr attitude.

Like my ability to heal.  A simple cut takes a lot longer now.  My Combat Weapon?
Thank you Band Aid.

Like my ability to eat lots of candy and junk on Saturdays.  My tummy can't take it anymore.  My Combat Weapon?
Thank you fun-size candy bars.

While I stay in denial as much as I can (which I call Denialand), my children and husband are doing a good job of keeping me in reality (which I call Just Mean).  I feel young, but my body is telling me otherwise.


I refuse to go down without a fight.  (Re: Combat Weapons)  I will not try and be a teenager anymore, however I will not, WILL NOT be a gray old lady sooner than I need to.  If ever.  However, if I continue to focus not on what I can't do anymore or what is achy, broken, or not what it used to be; but rather who I can become for eternity, that will help my mental state.  Besides, after I die, I'll be the best me I was in this life.  And I won't have to worry about aging anymore.