So, I’ll be celebrating the 21st anniversary of my 29th birthday this month. Oh, yeah. And I’m quite happy with most of my choices over the years that have helped shape me into the person I am today. I’m a pretty okay with me as a human. My mind is pretty sharp and I have this razor wit to match it. I love to challenge my brain with word puzzles and learning new things as often as possible.

But let me tell you something:  My body is revolting. NO! I don’t mean my appearance will make you vomit. (Well, it might. But honestly, that’s YOUR problem if it does.) I mean it’s rebelling against all the stuff my brain is telling it to do. For instance, in the last two weeks, I’ve painted three rooms in my house. My hands refuse to cooperate anymore and if I paint for eight hours in one day to complete the task, then I am lying in bed or across the couch for the entire next day with throbbing pain in knees and across my knuckles.
Arthritis is not the stuff that dreams are made of.

I argue with myself a lot anymore. I force myself to get out of bed at 6 a.m. and I usually lose the fight with my knees as I mentally attempt to force them to stop popping and cracking as I walk across the house.  Suffice it to say that my days of sneaking up on people are over. They’ll hear me coming from a mile away.

It’s difficult knowing that your body can’t keep up with your mind anymore. I do still try to force my body to keep up. My mind isn’t hearing that “but I’m old” excuse. It wants what it wants and it wants it right now. But my body keeps telling my brain, “YOU might feel only 25 still, but down here below the neck? This shit is ALL 50, sister. So you can just get bent.” (My body is kind of crass to my brain.)

Whatever age I am and/or feel, I refuse to give up. I will continue to keep pushing myself to learn and paint and work and move. There is still a lot of truth to that saying, “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”  I just know that I’ll be using a lot more ibuprofen and joint creams.

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