My Twenties, Before and After

First off, I want to apologize for the previous post-apparently, I had a LOT to say about remodeling. Secondly, my obsession with my aging face has put me in a funk. I think about it so often I've practically solidified a false sense of myself. I swear I look like an old leathered hag walking the streets of town.
It's funny how life works: From the day I could speak, I became focused on growing older, gaining more independence, more responsibility. To be old enough to have my ears pierced, my driver's license, the privilege to walk into a bar. Wrinkles and arthritis never crossed my mind. And then, when I turned 21 I had the world on a plate, my skin was dewy and taught, my body spry, my chest full and firm. And for exactly 9 years, I stopped wanting to be old. I just wanted to be.
When I reached 30 I analyzed my life again, my face, my body. And suddenly, I was looking back instead of ahead. No longer aching for the next step, I was moving forward with my neck strained to see all that was behind me. And after 2 years of this 30 something life, I'm trying to figure out how to recapture the skin I had in my twenties because I'm a realist. I know I can't recapture my unbridled optimism, or the firmness of my boobs (without a hefty price tag), I am well aware of the impossibility of renewing my naivety, or my flat stomach. But I can strive for the skin of youth. And forever after, I shall recall the face of my twenties.
And so it goes, we are born, we climb the mountain of our youth to capture the best of ourselves after only two decades. And then we begin the unavoidable slide down a long and slippery slope of life for the next umpteen decades. Our intellect may improve, our social mores refined, but forever after we shall work towards the physical image of our twenties.
And now I shall spend the rest of my day in bed because I've completely depressed myself.

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