Almost 23 years OLD
Today wasn’t a particularly good one for the ol’ body confidence. Ok, so it’s my fault that I haven’t had my roots done in 3 months; but, if I’m honest, I have become quite intrigued by how fast hair grows…and there is a part of me that wants to continue the experiment (in the same way that I’ve had the same nail varnish on my toes for 3 months now…hey, it’s Winter, don’t judge!).
But the problem I can’t seem to do anything about is that I’ve had this weird skin condition since I got pregnant with Sam, and it’s capable of putting me on a massive downer at times. By ‘weird skin condition’ I don’t mean anything horrific; my face is just annoyingly pink ALL the time and I flush really easily. I’ve been to the doctors on numerous occasions and they’ve treated me for acne (which it wasn’t), eczema (which it wasn’t), and diagnosed, but not treated it, as a result of hormonal changes in the body, that’d disappear once I stopped breastfeeding (which it didn’t).
Pink face. Note how excited I look though: I am in THE DEN!!
My most recent diagnosis is Rosacea…which, although it fits most accurately with my symptoms, is the one I have least appreciated hearing. I was told that it mostly affects middle-aged women (erm…excuse me!), and that it is incurable. I think there are some things you can do to help it, but having just gone on Wikipedia and found this encouraging sentence, I think I’ll save further research for another day:
In some cases, additional symptoms, such as semi-permanent redness, telangiectasia (dilation of superficial blood vessels on the face), red domed papules (small bumps) and pustules, red gritty eyes, burning and stinging sensations, and in some advanced cases, a red lobulated nose (rhinophyma), may develop.
I must say it’s fairly unfortunate that I appear to have reached middle age when just shy of turning 23. Other indications that I have lost touch with my youth include the fact I have been out on the razzle just 4 times in the past 2 years (+9months); instead of buying a load of tat from Primark, I am stockpiling wool, ready to knit my Christmas presents (scarves – anything harder than that is beyond me); and that my biggest thrill in life comes from finishing off food in plastic tubs (ice cream, marge, etc.) and then making the exciting decision on whether to use it as Tupperware or as a container for wax crayons.
Safe to say I kissed goodbye to the proper youthful me a long while ago (pesky responsibilities!), but if the Rosacea diagnosis was one more step on the slippery slope to being olllld, I think I got the final push this evening:
For a couple of days now I’ve been pondering over the mysterious arrival of what feels like a bruise on my leg. I am not the most graceful of people, so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to have walked into the sofa (tho less ordinary to have walked backwards into it – that should have been my clue). On close inspection of the area a few minutes ago, I discovered a bruise in the shape of…a vein! A vein??! I have varicose veins?!! Noooooooo! At a later date I’ll be back Googling to verify this notion, but I’ve been scared away for now.
So that’s me. A middle-aged-almost-23-year-old.
However, as I’ve been writing this, I’ve been asking myself whether it’s a true portrayal of how I see myself – have I become old before my time? And the answer is, in part, yes.
But on the other hand, I have never acted and thought more like a child. Well, since I was a child, obviously. Sam has helped me to embrace the things in life that had long since escaped my notice. Although life isn’t as easy as it once was, I am undoubtedly finding more things to be joyful about – most of which have always been present, I just haven’t taken advantage of them.
There are a million examples I could give to prove my childishness, and no doubt as I continue with this blog I will reveal too many secrets that show how simple my little brain is! But here is the example that springs to mind today:
I was VERY sad this morning, having to dismantle our den that has been a home from home for the past two weeks (or should that be a ‘home in home’?). Building dens is such a simple pleasure; one which I find myself participating in quite often these days. I can see that it is fairly normal for an adult to derive satisfaction from creating a fort for their child, but I think the thing that shows up my immaturity is that my enjoyment continues on for as long as Sam’s (longer actually). Yes, it’s been a bit of a pain to have the furniture at silly angles, and it’s not exactly made the place look tidier (although it did decrease the surface area reachable with a hoover – result!); but it has provided considerable happiness for us both. How much more exciting is it to read a book in a den? How much more exciting to put the toy kitchen in there and eat pretend food in a den? How much more exciting is EVERYTHING in a den?!
(Den was actually WAY better than it looks here. Two bed, open plan kitchen/diner, high ceilings and very light and airy. You will also notice what appears to be Christmas lights. If you made that assumption though, you were wrong. Those are my all-season lights. Part of the curse of being a child (albeit in an old person’s body) is that Christmas becomes equal in importance and excitement as…erm actually, I can’t think of anything more exciting than Christmas. So expect my posts to be filled with ever-increasing exclamation marks until Boxing Day; when my blog will become moribund. (Please someone comment on the use of ‘moribund’ – been wanting to use it since Hugh Grant said it in ‘Music and Lyrics’ but I’ve never known how to get it into a sentence!))
Getting hyped up about something so silly proves I can’t be THAT old. (We would have made another den in the woods today if it hadn’t been for Sam getting covered in maggots.)
All in all I think I’m a balance of age and youth. The trouble is I’m either 3 or 53. There’s no middle ground.
Plan to remedy this: Night Out #5 next weekend with my ex housemates. Helllllllllo studenty me!