I’m just a gal who’s dying to feel young again | AspenTimes.com
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I’m just a gal who’s dying to feel young again

I’m not even 35 yet (for three more weeks, anyway, to be exact), but lately I’ve been feeling particularly old. Part of the reason could be my imminent birthday. But it could also be due to the fact that I’ve just been utterly exhausted.

This past Wednesday night was meant to be a big one. I had plans to go to Aspen Film’s Shortsfest at the Wheeler Opera House and then the Radiators afterwards at Belly Up. But when the film program ended after 10, I knew the only music I’d be hearing that night was my husband Rick snoring on the couch in front of the TV downstairs while I drifted off in bed upstairs.

The truth is, I’d known since four that morning I wouldn’t make it out for the live music. I had woken up and started thinking about how the show probably wouldn’t start until just before 11, which meant I would likely get home after one and in bed around two and then I’d be a basket case for the next few days. The stress of the probable future fatigue ensured I never went back to sleep, rendering me a Cindy McCain-like zombie (minus the pearls and perfectly-coiffed hair) for the rest of the day.



Another thing keeping me up nights is my death. While neither of us are sick, Rick and I have embarked on a we’re-grown-ups-now-so-we-should-have-life-insurance-and-wills project. Nothing has ever made me feel quite so old as having to fill out a legal form designating a personal representative to collect all of my assets, pay all bills and make distributions to my beneficiaries in the event of my demise. Actually, I stand corrected. The one thing that made me feel older was filling out the final wishes questionnaire sent over by our lawyer forcing me to decide on a scale of one to five the extent to which I’d want treatments to keep me alive under various mortally ill scenarios.

Fortunately last Sunday my issues weren’t quite so bleak. I simply had trouble deciding whether to watch the “John Adams” miniseries on HBO or Masterpiece Theatre’s “Sense and Sensibility.” As I chose the latter and set the former to be recorded, I noticed PBS dropped the Theatre from the show’s name. The show also had a sexy new opening montage (sexy for PBS, that is) and its theme song had been given a makeover. It’s as if they’re trying to entice younger people to adopt the viewing habits of older ones simply by getting rid of the big leather armchair and the roaring fire in the beginning.




And yet ” fair enough ” the show is trying to give its brand a makeover. But while former “X Files” actress Gillian Anderson may now host in place of Alistair Cooke (may he rest in peace), there’s never going to be anything hip about petticoats and Jane Austen unless she mysteriously turns up wearing only a petticoat on the Internet in a long lost sex tape.

Besides, I don’t think it’s such a coup for PBS that I’m not a member of AARP and yet I tuned in anyway. After all, I doubt there’s a female liberal arts English major graduate out there who doesn’t jump at the chance for some 19th century British chick lit on the big or small screen every now and again. Either way, in an attempt to turn back my mental clock and remind myself that I’m not retiring to Boca just yet, I think tomorrow night I’ll spare myself from any heavy thinking and just tune in to “Legally Blonde 2” on TBS.

The truth is that being old has little to do with age ” it’s just in my head these days. Like my mom. She had her second hip replacement in less than five years last week and she’s already resumed her regular bridge game, made it to the beauty parlor for her weekly appointment, planned the activities for my trip to New York in two weeks and our trip to Disney World in four (at which time her newest hip will be all of 42 days old). I’ve called her every day since her surgery and she’s mostly been too busy doing everything under the sun to spend too much time on the phone.

And me? I couldn’t manage to shower for three days in a row last week (much to Rick’s dismay) because I was too lazy or tired (in my own sanitary defense, though, we had no hot water for one of the three days).

Still, I don’t think it’s time to find me a suitable nursing home just yet. I had been thinking about forgoing the traditional all-chocolate (if it’s not chocolate, it’s not worth it) cake on my birthday, thinking about how the fat and calories just don’t burn off as easily as they used to and maybe the caffeine from the chocolate would keep me up. But then I laughed. There’s no age limit on chocolate.


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