Ever since I was little, I have always been determined that I would never grow old.
I didn’t think I was Peter Pan; I just knew that old age wasn’t for me.
This wasn’t something I thought about much, I just knew I wasn’t having any of that.
The thought that I might not live very long never occurred to me, but it must have been in my head somewhere, for I have dreaded reaching eighty.
This happens tomorrow. I am not expecting to be struck down by the curse of Methuselah, mainly because it arrived a while ago. In the last twelve months, I have aged considerably, resulting in some serious bouts of depression whenever I struggle to do something that was once a piece of cake.
Despite tons of positive thinking, gentle yoga exercises and some stubborn determination, I am now officially old and frail, and incapable of so many of the things I have always enjoyed. Plus a load of things I haven’t. Swings and Roundabouts?
The family are taking me out for the day tomorrow to a secret destination. I hope it goes well, for the weather forecast is dismal…
I can’t be fragile, not yet!
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