Yep. Today’s my birthday. As much as I love presents, cake and adoration from my friend and most of my family members, I don’t want to get any older. But I don’t want to die, either. Kind of a lose-lose situation.

I haven’t reached the hearing aid, support hose, wandering off, false teeth, stool softeners, adult diapers stage. Yet. But it’s getting closer. I’m in my tweens–those years between childbirth and menopause–just waiting for my body to collapse in on itself like dying star.

So while I’m not quite to the Jazzy-driving grandma stage, I’ve noticed some definite signs of my impending geriatricy.

#1: Memory. My mind used to be like a steel. . .what’s the word I’m looking for? But I often find myself standing in the middle of the a) kitchen, b) grocery store or c) freeway, wondering how the hell I got there, and what the hell I was doing.

#2: Wrinkles. I’ve been using face cream, moisturizer, sunscreen and sandpaper for years. I can’t BEGIN to image what my face would look like if I HADN’T been using those products.

#3: Gray hair. Is it true that for every gray hair you pull out, five grow back in its place? Kind of like dandelions? If that’s true–I’m screwed. Each day, more and more coarse little gray hairs are sneaking across my border, taking jobs from my natural hairs and not even bothering to learn the language. I need to put up a fence.

#4: Doctors/Injuries. Women of a certain age subject themselves to humiliating medical procedures (see “Top 5 Reasons to Avoid My Annual Exam”). My doctor says things like “as you get older” and “now that you’re aging.” I think it’s time for a new doctor, dammit. She’s concerned about my fiber intake, cholesterol levels and the regularity of my bowels. I feel like I’m living a freakin’ Metamucil commercial.

Plus, although I’ve been physically active for a couple of years (I walk to the mailbox–and back), I’ve recently noticed a twinge in my shoulder and aches in my knees. Maybe it IS time for that Jazzy. And I think I’m shrinking.

#5: Sleep. Or should I say, lack thereof. Maybe my mind is so cool that it has to think ALL THE TIME–especially at 3 in the morning. I turn off the TV, read, meditate, count sheep, take a bath and/or snort melatonin. Doesn’t matter. I’m awake–and will stay awake until 3:30 in the afternoon when I fall asleep on the couch with my head at a weird angle.

Age or die. Not really a choice. So I guess I’ll age–but I won’t go gracefully!