I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to age gracefully – I haven’t done a single graceful thing in my entire life. Tuesday’s child, full of grace my ASS.
I’ve been trying, though. Over the pandemic, I grew comfortable leaving the house looking less than Full Kimli. I go outside all the time without makeup. Yesterday, I left the house wearing PANTS and a T-SHIRT and what the fuck is up with that? Anyway, I’m trying. I even stopped colouring my hair to rediscover my natural hair colour, because “unmitigated disaster” is too much to fit on a driver’s license. My brother and sister have both been rocking dad’s bright white hair, but my mother’s genes are too strong – I didn’t get the graceful plume of Gandalf hair that gleams from afar and flutters lazily in the breeze. No, I’ve got some sort of passive Medusa ombré vortex of black and white and .. orange? Great. I’m a fucking Halloween decoration, and I don’t even get to turn people to stone.
Ed says he really likes my grey hair, so I’ve been keeping it for him and not at all because I’m too lazy to figure out what I want to do with it. The grey has been growing on me (no pun intended), but I don’t love it – especially not in the current state of hopeless fuckery that it’s in. Luckily, summer is almost over, and I’ll inevitably be in a sequinned beanie from now until next June. That’s plenty of time to decide what I’m doing with my head, right?
During this latest bout of unemployment, I’ve been trying to streamline my life to make things a little less chaotic. I’ve finally had to admit to myself that keeping my passwords organized in my head is probably not the best way to go about it, so I spent most of my Saturday setting up a password utility to remember things for me. I suppose I’m really late to the game on this one, but I’ve always prided myself on having a good memory and lately I’ve just been .. forgetting things. Passwords, dates, why I went into a particular room. I’ve forgotten what I was doing while doing it. This is all new, and I don’t know if it’s simply a symptom of age or other, leafier reasons. I don’t want to make myself sick worrying about my memory, so I’m going to try using lists and tools to keep shit organized. Progress. Small steps. Prune juice.
I feel drab.