Coffee Rhetoric: A Wrinkle in Time

September 07, 2007

A Wrinkle in Time

I have a confession to make. While I am glad to have made it to 30 (and it was a tumultuous ride to say the least), I've become a bit obsessed with the aesthetic of aging. I've upped the ante on my skin regimen and want to kick myself if I fall asleep without having washed off my eye makeup and the environmental elements. It's maddening when I do that. I must also admit that seeing a woman with a heavily weathered, acned, or wrinkled visage makes me feel a bit, well, uncomfortable. My mind starts fast forwarding to the future. Wondering if my face will look like an old moccasin or a greasy pizza. Of course I fret over such matters when the rest of the world is asleep and I'm alone. I start checking for crow's feet, laugh lines, hormonal related acne. Or any other normal signs of aging. I wonder if I'm the only one who can see my pores or if I'm just giving in to my neuroses once again. I turn around around to and fro in the mirror, checking the span of my hips (which have gotten a bit wider), and bottom. I look to see if there is any additional dimpling in the backs of my thighs. Perhaps it's just me and my crazy idiosyncratic behavior, but I never expect age to make me ever more neurotic and nit picky about myself. Confidence and self-acceptance aside, I have to struggle not to agonize over my own, bothersome vanity. My growing narcissism has become the bane of my existence. These thoughts creep and crawl under and around more pertinent concerns. They snake and coil their way around more relevant matters. Prompting me to moisturize and exfoliate my way to comfort. When I let such thoughts have their way, I catch myself because I begin to feel guilty and foolish. ...