Its only a matter of time before I die.
My days are blending. I’m falling into habit, which is making me think, eventually I’ll wake with the rested content that threescore and ten was ages ago.
It’s only a matter of time.
One day soon, I’ll get old and grey and have problems feeling the pressure that comes from my bladder. I’ll be sensitive to change and love the way I always know how to set my breakfast, lunch, and dinner up just so. I’ll be comfortable in house coats and house shoes and hate when people don’t appreciate the flow of each room in my cute little house.
Its only a matter of time before I start believing that a box of oranges at Christmas is a great gift idea, and know the postman loves my ginger-molasses cookies with hot coffee and not with milk.
Its only a matter of time before I start pointing the finger at every young person who has no idea where they’d like to be in life. So disappointed in their progress, I’ll give them the eye of disdain for their lack of focus and direction.
Its only a matter of time before the heels on my feet harden so much that red-clay bricks don’t stand a chance and my hands get wrinkles on the backs of them.
Its only a matter of time before I have pains in my knees and the lack of cellulite on my upper thighs becomes the exception.
It will be a mere days before I’ve retired from my desk job that has underpaid me for the work that I do, and I’m depressed because I never sat down and accomplished any of my dreams. I’ve wasted years on end, paying bills, teaching others how to dream, forcing smiles on their faces when all along I failed to see the phoniness in my own smile.
Its only a matter of time before I am unable to wear 4-in heels, unable to sit longer than 1 hour in the same position, unable to get my breast to perk up..(even with the best vicky’s has to offer)!
Its only a matter of time before I get more moles on my neck and chest area, spots begin to appear on my face, and crows start tap dancing along the crease of my eyes.
Its only a matter of time before the state says that I can no longer drive. A simple matter of days before a start wearing too-small girdles that emphasize my irregular shape instead of hiding it.
In time, I ‘ll be weary and worn. Settled in my own comfortable existence that I’ve always known. Days will begin to look the same, surprises will no longer exist and the expectations of life will rest on the fact that I’ll wake up, have breakfast, take my pills and probably spend the day catchin up on dusting my knick-knacks in my living room space.
Sitting here with ¼ of my life accounted for, I have realized that unless I stop counting time and start living— I’ll never be able to say that I’ve earned the SEASONED PERFECTION that comes with getting old.
(To every woman that has taken the time to give me encouraging words of wisdom. You are an inspiration.)