This Dratted Flesh

My body is a quickly changing machine. Kind of a magnificent one in many ways, but changing too fast for my liking.

My flat stomach is flat differently than was previously the case. And there is a slight curve to the below the belly button portion of my abdomen. I don't like it, although I recognize that this is nothing that anyone else would complain about. But it makes my pants fit slightly differently. For now. I am so busy doing sit-ups that if you come to visit me you'd better grab a seat on the floor and talk to me on the upbeat. Because I am not planning to replace my entire wardrobe. What I have now better last me until the day I die. I'll be 100 in a mini-skirt but I'm not getting any skirts that accomodate an inch more of me.

I have post-inflammatory hyperpigmentation (PIH) on my neck and chin. This excess of pigment can be caused by infections, allergic reactions, mechanical injuries, medication reactions and inflammatory diseases. My PIH appears to have resulted from a trauma, a sunburn that attached to cologne spritzed on my neck in early morning Las Vegas. This unfortunate discoloration of my glorious skin has nicked my vanity something terrible. I've not considered myself terribly vain because I could always count on my face. I was possessed of mild, but not pernicious vanity, I'll warrant. Now, however, I am terribly vain. Walking around with monkey mouth and cheetah neck'll do that to you.

I also worry that sitting too long at my computer will give me FAS (Flappy Ass Syndrome). I walk 4 miles daily, do Pilates, swim and work out with a trainer. But walking ahead of me on the Cedar River Trail I always see flippity floppy hind parts that are getting away from the people to whom they are attached. While fascinating, this is not something I want to happen to me. Now, this is not likely. My parents both have FAB (Firmly Attached Butts) so, unless a recessive gene affects that particular part of me, or I sit so long that my cells break down and fill my computer chair like an overflowing sink, I should be all right. But just in case, I strip off my gown the moment I get out of bed in the morning and step sideways in front of the mirror. No FAS yet. I haven't tripped over any body parts so far. I'll check back in 2020. See what hindsight proves and planning prevents.

And my brain, I have begun to think, was a delicious bowl of noodle soup that is quickly losing its seasoning and savor. Worse, I may have just learned that there was only ever one noodle, a really, really large one, but just one. Which is mushing up in the liquid at the same time as it, I don't know - is being eaten by the little people who live in my brain and keep me awake at night?

So, I am trying to keep my belly, epidermis, butt and brain together for a while longer. My 85 year old father works out with a trainer twice weekly - his two-pack looks OK. My mother works out 90 minutes daily. She is hard as a rock and just lost control of her stomach last week at 81. I cannot see it. So, just so long as I don't run out of brain noodles, I should be all right. Or I may not care. Because I may not be able to tell.