![]() Why? or ... Newest Older Diaryland
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The “tweens” used to refer to a sort of pre-adolescent period, when you were too old to be a kid and too young to be a teenager. But there’s another tween period, sometime between fifty-five and sixty-five. You’re too old to hire, but too young to be “old and cute,” like, say, Estelle Getty or Fyvush Finkel. Am I worried about getting old? I doubt it. If anything, I’m exasperated that I’m too young for Medicare. Am I bothered by wrinkles and gray hair? It doesn’t seem likely. On the other hand, I get really annoyed with the minor ills that slow me down. Now, I deal with the diabetes and I deal with the “slow eyes.” But I’ve developed this recurring pain when I sit. When I saw my doctor in April, she said, “if you can walk it off, don’t worry.” But it persists, and how stupid can that be? I walk just fine, but I’m a secretary and it hurts to sit. And I can’t stand up while I use the computer! So yesterday I went back to the doctor. She can’t see a thing. My blood pressure is good, my heart and lungs sound fine, my sugar seems to be under control. She sent me for blood work and X-rays – which I took care of this morning before Husband even got up. (If you go early enough, you can beat the rush at the lab; I just had to wait for the X-ray to warm up, or I would have been home before nine!) So how much do you want to bet they won’t see anything on the pictures? She’ll recommend that I use the special pillow and continue walking. It’s raining today, so I’ll have to decide on Costco or the supermarket – or both, since I didn’t walk yesterday. Tweens don’t get no respect. Current Reading: Leaping to the Stars by David Gerrold
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