The Beginning Of The End

I never was afraid of old age. I felt with age would come responsibility and cool things like owning a house, having a family and a dog, and having things settled in your life. With age come togetherness, I always thought. Old age was something that is going to happen a long time from now was another belief that I had. I actually welcomed the thought of being a little old lady with grey hair and a porch to sit on while I sipped tea and swung back and forth in a large chair swing suspended from the ceiling. I would have kids in the neighborhood come by and eat gram crackers at my house as we talked about whatever they want and I would listen and be loving towards them. That was my idea of old age, a long time from now.

Well, old age apparently decided it was time to start chipping away at my life. As I was brushing my hair this morning a short kinky hair that stood straight up on the top of head caught my attention in the light. “Huhh, that’s one blond hair” I thought. For some reason or another I felt that this particular hair warranted further inspection so I plucked it and brought it down to eye level. There staring up at me from between two fingers was the first grey hair I have every grown. For whatever reason that particular follicle decided it was tired for being young and gave up making pigment but kept growing one unholy piece of hair. My body has begun the slow spiral into old age.

This is my first sign of old age and where am I? I’m living with my boyfriend in a rented apartment in the middle of Boston. No house, no dog, no togetherness. I’m lucky if I see Steve more then two nights a week before one of us passes out from exhaustion. Yet my body has marched on in time without me. For the first time, I’m afraid of getting old