I'm anxiously awaiting the final act of this "potentially-deadly-illness" nonsense: the switch-out of my water balloon place-holder, with a custom gently-sloped silicone youth-evoking handful...just 2 weeks away on January 30 (stay tuned). During my pre-op visit, the surgeon reminded me that this nip-and-tuck will be only a temporary state of perfection, and require replacement in 10 or 15 YEARS! Yeah...right....I'm 56 years-old, so that means when I'm freaking 70 years-old, or so, I may be going through this whole business again.
I'm already aware of the limitations of my age. I can't get a tortoise, or a macaw, or even a koi, as they will out-live me, and I'll have to account for their future well-being in my will. When Hubby and I talk about a new house, the thought of a 30-year mortgage makes me laugh. And even though I always wanted to go to medical school, dropping dead at graduation would certainly put a damper on the celebration.
I used to think that seeing the year 1984, was a milestone. Then, later, watching the calendar turn to 2000 seemed as far into the future as I could imagine. But now, (have you noticed?), it's 2017 and although the world is officially going to hell in a hand basket, I'm still kind of surprised to be here, watching it all play out. Aren't you?
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