I seem to bemoan the passing of time on here quite often, mainly because it's a bit of a shock every time I look in the mirror. What happened to that fresh-faced 20-something who frequently got asked for id in pubs and bars, I wonder? When was it that the creases in my face started to last after my morning shower, to jump out and assault me when I put my contact lenses in? When did I become that woman who no longer bothers to look in the mirror between applying mascara first thing and taking it off at the end of the day?
I don't feel middle-aged, I tell myself, but if I live until 84 years old then this, right here right now, is definitely my middle age. Of course, if I beat the odds and am still fighting fit at 95 like my grandmother, then I don't hit it until another 5 years have passed - which actually doesn't seem very long, now I come to think about it.
Mostly I just ignore it in the hope that the whole age issue will go away, but every now and again something happens that makes me realise my priorities have changed and are no longer in line with that of a young whippersnapper. Like, when I don't have the last glass of wine. Or I put the beautiful shoes back on the shelf in the shop and decide that whilst they're gorgeous, I just don't have anything to wear them to. Or, when I make a purchase that even 5 years would have seemed incomprehensible - like the 'coat with a hood' that I've written about in Powder Room Graffiti this week...
(Apologies, but yes, it's a link post...)