Getting Older

I've decided that getting old is very much like the Alanis Morisette song, "Ironic".  You know the one.

It's like rain on your wedding day.

It's a free ride when you've already paid.

It's the good advice that you just didn't take.

Now, I'm not one to argue with Alanis over the definition of "ironic".  I mean, the name of the song should really be "Unfortunate" but I guess it just didn't sound as angry.  I don't know.  The point is, I'm wondering if this song was written about getting older. I turned 39 last week and here are a few unfortunate circumstances I've been experiencing lately.

• I like to enjoy relaxing with a book, but that tiny, tiny print is so, well, tiny. When did they start shrinking the print? Thank goodness for the Kindle and the ability to enlarge the font. No reading glasses yet. That font will be one word per page before I acquiesce to that.
• I am working hard to stay in shape.  I run marathons, y'all. I can do 2 back-to-back Zumba classes.  But, I am tired.  So, so, tired. I don't sleep as well at night and there is no built-in naptime anymore. Oh, how I miss naptime.  
• We finally have money to do cool stuff, but we have to spend it on stupid stuff like tires. Tires are not cool!
• It takes me two weeks to lose 5 lbs, but two really good meals to gain it back.  What the hell?

These are just a few inconveniences.  They are really annoying, but I can't say that they are really impeding my life so much.  But, there is one recent discovery that really has a bee in my bonnet. I can't even wrap my head around this.  It's a loss.  A deep hurt that inspires the best songs.  A sadness that even Nicholas Sparks dare not attempt to write about.  I've been dealing with reflux for the past year or so.  I'm on a prescription for it.  It's the kind of reflux that will keep you up at night.  It feels like a tsunami of acid in my stomach, chest, and throat.  It caused me to lose my voice last summer, which is really bad for the whole singing thing.  It was so bad this morning that I had to stop my run for fear I was going to be sick. What I'm trying to say is, it's bad.  I do finally think that I've found the culprit.  You'd think I'd be elated.  You'd think I'd cut the bitch that was making me so miserable.  You'd think I would just kick it to the curb.  Well, I'm having a hard time letting go of this one, but we've come to a point where we have to part ways.  I just keep saying, "It's not you, it's me" in the hopes that if I say it enough, feelings will be spared and it will be an easy split.  I'd like to visit from time to time without things being all awkward.  We have so many mutual friends.  Y'all, guess what really causes the reflux.

Red Wine.