The earliest memory I have of a gray hair is back in high school--there was a wayward gray hair that a friend found and pulled out--I was probably 15, so it was a freak of nature. Since that time, I have been completely unconscious of gray hairs altogether, that is until last week.
I have pulled out no less than 3 gray hairs this week. I'm not sure what's happening here. Maybe what they say is true--you pull one, and more grow in its place. Or maybe they were there, I didn't notice, and I'm only noticing now because it's my birthday? Or maybe I've finally hit that invisible wall where my body says, 'uh-uh, no more dark hair for you, you're too old'--and BAM, gray hair.
Whatever it is, I am not liking it. I turn 34 this week, and smart asses know that means I've completed my 34th year, and am beginning my 35th one. When you put it that way--YIKES. Yes, time continues to pull me inexorably forward whether I want it to or not, blah blah blah. There is no getting off this death train! Cue obscure reference to "The Last Car," that Tales from the Darkside episode where four dead passengers (who don't know they're dead) end up riding the last car for eternity, and annoying the hell out of one another in the process.
But I'm not on the last car just yet. This week has been a flurry of lunches and dinners and celebrations--starting with my initial birthday Mexican food/80s dancing on Saturday, then lunch/dinner/lunch/dinner/lunch. And this weekend, one last family dinner, with cake. Even though it's undeniable that I'm getting older, and that I've gained 2 pounds this week from all the excess (my Wii Fit yelled at me last night), I'd say my 35th year is so far going well. I have good friends and family, a job, my health, and more importantly, I am more or less happy with myself and where I am in life. Whatever year 35 brings, I hope it's as much fun.
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