Signs

What's happened? Since when am I not 23 anymore? For some reason that's the age that I always am in my mind. Maybe it's because that's how old I was when I packed up the disco couch and gear table and moved a thousand miles away from home to start a new life in Seattle.

Or maybe it's just random.

At any rate, it seems to me that the signs of aging are coming more and more rapidly. I most certainly am not 23 anymore. And the really sad thing here is, I'M STILL YOUNG! But, here are the top three signs that prove the passing of my youth:

1. The grey hair. The grey hair! They keep sprouting up all over and I'd like to know where they are coming from. I'm holding out coloring, because I falsely believe that they are going to stop coming. Surely they will. Surely. I've never colored my hair, and I LOVE my hair. It's my favorite feature. The thought of coloring it stresses me out, which probably spurs the growth another one or two grey hairs each day.

2. The elevens. What are the elevens? Well, every morning when I look into the mirror, first I think, "My God, when did my mother move in?" (Disclaimer: Mom, you look fabulous and I hope that I can age as well as you... just not yet!) But then I look closer and see two wrinkles on my forehead running about an inch long on either side of the bridge of my nose. And the worst thing about them is that they are getting deeper, and in the morning, the areas around them are red and puffy. It's as if I sleep with my brow furrowed. Do you know why, Internets? Because I sleep with my brow furrowed! Why? Why do I do this? Why am I an angry sleeper? I have no idea, but apparently a lot of people do it, and have therefore coined these wrinkles "the elevens."

3. This is the worst of all... chin hair. I'd actually say there's a recent fuzzification of my face, but the worst are the crazy errant chin hairs. They are wiry and they grow in all dark and poky. And if I don't tweeze them immediately, when I'm distracted and in a semi-conscious state (say like in meetings at work), I will play with them. It's not like I'm braiding them or anything, but I'll feel them there and grip them as if I can pull them out without tweezers. And then I'll "wake-up," mortified that I was just fidgeting with my grandma chin hairs in public.

I can deal with the grey and the elevens adorning my face. I'm not a big believer in cosmetic surgery, but am thinking that at the rate I'm tweezing I'm bound to burn through many a tweezers.

Note to self: Check into electrolysis--and while you're at it revise your "no cosmetic surgery" decree.