Newscoma

I woke up this morning with a huge case of the middle-aged crazies. I’m usually more than all right with getting older but every once in a while, I have a meltdown.

I noticed the gray. I like the gray in my hair quite actually. It’s at the temples. My hair is as ash-blonde though (or was) so now there are white streaks slowly moving in. I stared at it contemplatively as what does one do. I stared into the mirror, squinting because I’m now in trifocals, and grimaced.
I realized I’m in my mid-40s and it totally knocked my cranium about.
And then I had to have a conversation with my inside voice. Shut up. You know you have these too.

Me: Arrgghhhaaaa!
Inside Voice: Get over it. So you have some gray hair. I think it’s kinda sexy.
Me: Arrrgghhhaaa!!
IV: You could be dead, you know. Lord knows I don’t how you made it this long.
Me: (calming down) I’m … I still wear Chuck Taylors. I can’t be getting old.
IV: Consider yourself seasoned.
Me: What about the sleep deficit thing? What about that? It’s like that Stephen King book “Insomnia.” Am I going to start seeing little doctors cutting the life ribbons on people? Am I?! DAMMIT!! AM I??!!
IV: Quit being so melodramatic.
Me: My staff didn’t even get my joke last summer about my car being Steve Austin! The joke doesn’t work it they don’t even know who he is.
IV: It was funny.
Me: I thought so too.
IV: You are going to be all right.
Me: I’m not dyeing my hair.
IV: Good for you.
Me: Seriously, people always are telling me to dye my hair. Hell, I’m getting a Mohawk. Where’s my Sex Pistols Album. (I started singing “Bodies” as loud as I could in the middle of the night.)
IV: Not a good look for you I’m afraid. And you will scare the dogs if you do it.
Me: And I’m not buying a flat iron. Why does everyone want me to buy a flat iron? Most people get perms for crying out loud.
IV: You’ve never had any fashion sense. These things are beyond you. Just own it.
Me: Bite me.

This conversation went on for two hours. My inner voice told me many things but the most prevalent ideas where that A.) I’m vainer than I knew and B.) I possibly need a live-in life coach.
If you haven’t hit 40 yet, this might not make any sense to you. If you have, I have a feeling you know what I’m talking about.
And I’ve lost my love for PopTarts.
What the hell is that all about?