Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Tiny little married ladies

For some reason, my school has an inordinate number of married women among its students. I use the term "women" with some trepidation, since some of them appear to be teenagers. Of course, they're not only much younger than I am, they're also considerably thinner. The dreaded skinny jean trend has made it to my school; I feel like an elephant.

It's hard enough returning to school after several (I won't say how many) years out in the workforce, and being older than most if not all of my classmates (and at least one of my professors). But I'm starting to get tired of seeing big shiny rocks on bony little hands. It makes me feel not just old, but REALLY old.

I was sitting in a classroom waiting for the instructor, half-heartedly reading a magazine and somewhat eavesdropping on two girls chatting. One of them said, "You're two years older than me, right? I'm 22."

"I'm old," said the other one. "I'm 26. Old, old, old. I'm an old woman." She giggled.

I got fed up and said to her, "I'm over 30. Shut up."

They were polite enough to laugh and include me in their conversation.

Compounding my dreary mood are my aching knees, which still elude diagnosis. Even though I know the pain doesn't mean I'm doing serious damage, it's hard to tolerate. And my back pain, which I thought the Cymbalta had put to rest forever, has resurfaced with a vengeance. Advil doesn't even begin to put a dent in it, and ice only helps briefly.

I'm going to have to talk to my new trainer again. The last thing I want to do is sit through another MRI, but I can't continue suffering like this.
Copyright (c) 2006 "Ayelet Survivor"

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