Heartburn, Ironically* -- or, Am I Having a Midlife Crisis at Age 28?
Last week, I learned that if I am juuuust stressed enough, I get some crazy digestion problems which involve having no appetite, throwing up half my meals when I force myself to eat, and getting reflux after eating the other half. I've never had that happen before, so I suppose I was more stressed than I've ever been. It certainly felt so. Alternatively, I'm old and don't deal with stress as well as I used to.
I should probably have a tag 'illness' for this blog, because it seems a good proportion of my posts are about medical problems; I recall a stretch a couple of years ago when I mostly discussed the terrorism committed by my urinary tract, which the rest of my body views with Republican-like paranoia to this day. I can't bring myself to create the label, however, because I already feel I'm turning into an old woman.
On the phone this week, my mother informed me matter-of-factly that I am now middle-aged, since I might as well be thirty.
She also received my new headshot in the mail, and her only comment? "You're getting old."
"But do you like the picture?" I pressed, offended hysteria rising like the bile in my acid-etched esophagus.
"Weeell, I guess you look pretty, but you're old. There are so many lines around your eyes. I took it to the tenant in the front flat, and he said, 'She's aging. It's natural.'"
I sent her a spiteful e-mail afterward asking (sarcastically) if she would send me money for plastic surgery so I don't disappoint her in future photographs. I guess I should call her to kiss and make up sometime tonight.
The headshot in question can currently be viewed on my Facebook and MySpace profiles, in case you're curious.
*The irony is that my heartburn is caused by affairs of the heart -- and neither of these ailments has anything to do with the cardiac organ. Suck it, Alanis Morrisette.
I should probably have a tag 'illness' for this blog, because it seems a good proportion of my posts are about medical problems; I recall a stretch a couple of years ago when I mostly discussed the terrorism committed by my urinary tract, which the rest of my body views with Republican-like paranoia to this day. I can't bring myself to create the label, however, because I already feel I'm turning into an old woman.
On the phone this week, my mother informed me matter-of-factly that I am now middle-aged, since I might as well be thirty.
She also received my new headshot in the mail, and her only comment? "You're getting old."
"But do you like the picture?" I pressed, offended hysteria rising like the bile in my acid-etched esophagus.
"Weeell, I guess you look pretty, but you're old. There are so many lines around your eyes. I took it to the tenant in the front flat, and he said, 'She's aging. It's natural.'"
I sent her a spiteful e-mail afterward asking (sarcastically) if she would send me money for plastic surgery so I don't disappoint her in future photographs. I guess I should call her to kiss and make up sometime tonight.
The headshot in question can currently be viewed on my Facebook and MySpace profiles, in case you're curious.
*The irony is that my heartburn is caused by affairs of the heart -- and neither of these ailments has anything to do with the cardiac organ. Suck it, Alanis Morrisette.
posted by Mormolyke at
22:03
2 Comments:
Don't worry, this isn't a middle-life crisis. This is a quarter-life crisis. I had mine recently. My answer was to get two tattoes and consider going back to college. Yours seems to be a bit more stressful than mine, though, so I think you'll have to get at LEAST twelve tattoes. Minimum.
I think you look beautiful in your pic. What do mums know anyway. Mine bitched about my long hair for ten years - to the point where I got very paranoid that she would sneak in at night and cut it off while I was sleeping. And if you're having a midlife crisis, that makes me approaching ancient. And here I thought 40 was the new 30.
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