Nearly 28 going on 82

I am not really sure when it happened, but I am turning into an old lady. I am pretty sure that it began when I got not only one but two cats, and I started treating them more like people than like animals. I actively tried for a long time not to be one of those people that talked about their cats as though they were children. But lets face it, call a spade a spade, and identify them as the super smart mind fucking Jedis that they are that eventually wear you down until you are speaking in ridiculous baby talk to, and about,  your precious poopsies. I am sure that they only make this happen for their own amusement. It must be hilarious to watch a grown human make kissy faces and speak in a language that no one can really understand.

However,  I have to admit that being a crazy cat lady is not the only thing that makes me realize that I may be old beyond my years. I have also began to realize that my body is slowly giving out on me. There was a time when I could do whatever I wanted without consequence, and now if I sleep incorrectly (like with one leg hanging off the lounger while I am face down in the pillow and both hands strait out over my head while trying to get a tan in the yard) my bones creak and crack, and I feel as though I have been hit by a bus*. I never really understood why people complained that their knees hurt or they had a kink in their neck when they had done nothing more then eat Cheetos and watch TV for an entire day, but now if I look to the left too quickly while trying to stand up while working in my flowerbeds it is likely that I will suffer severe whiplash and chronic awfulness disease as a result. Which is accompanied by multiple days of comparing my new owie with anyone how mentions one of their own, and then reliving the event in detail to prove to them that my trauma was way worse and debilitating than theirs.

See my pretty tulips!***

By the way...when the fuck did I get so interested in gardening? Not vegetable gardening, we have done that my whole life that isn't something that I consider a hobby that is survival and hard work, and I am way too cheap to pay those high fluting store prices for salsa in the dead of winter. I am talking about flower gardening. I always find myself thinking of Papa Jimmy (a gruff and surly man with a heart of gold that was a surrogate grandfather for the first part of my life) as I happily watch my colorful whatevers bloom with bated breath: "You can't eat those Goddamn flowers." There is some strange part of me that can spend hours in the dirt cultivating flowers for no other reason than to flaunt it in the face of my flowerless friends. I do this by inviting them over and nonchalantly walking about my yard while things are in bloom waiting for someone to comment on the stunning tulips or lilies or flocks. And if I get none of this I then bait my unsuspecting victim by saying something like, "I can't believe these Peonies made it. It took them 3 years, but they have finally done it." Now that it has been brought the their attention they are forced to comment in an awed and thoughtful manner....or else!
So here I am 28 years old going on 82. I find myself surveying bumps and moles** and talking openly about my creaking bones and forgetfulness (we will talk about that phenomenon in a future post). I can't help but wonder if this is the age that my parents and grandparents started to find these traits in themselves. And if it is, please, please who ever you are that is in charge of this science experiment and sitcom that is life do not let me begin to call things whats-its and whos-its and what-cha-ma-things. I certainly must be too young to be a what-cha-ma-call-it with the thing-a-ma-bob that drives me crazy when Snicklefritz does it.

* Plus the old person skin on my legs never really tans anymore. I can literally lay in the sun for hours and never get the least bit tan. I burn turn red like a lobster in a pot, and then I promptly return to my unhealthy ghostlike state.
** I wonder if I should start a mole journal...note to self.
***Yes, this really is a picture that I took from my garden a couple of days ago. Not only do I grow flowers, talk about growing flowers, and try to get others to enjoy growing flowers as much as I do, I also shamelessly document in photos my beautiful yield because I am one of those weirdos. Besides these pictures make an excellent addition to my photo albums full of pictures of my cats wearing ridiculous head gear and looking less than enthused.