Everybody made such a big deal about the number 60 yesterday that I actually started to feel older than I usually do.
My shoulders slumped for awhile, and I complained about my hip.
(I never complain about my hip).
["A full slate of plans": photo GAH]
But today is the dawn of another new day. I have coffee on the brew, a full slate of plans for the day, and though I said last night “I feel all of 45 - 50 tops,” I swear I’m back to feeling my true self, i.e., 40 - 45 years old and capable of fitting into jeans with a 32 waist.
How is it I can keep such dreams alive?
First, with the help of an attitude of gratitude for all that comes my way (don’t make a mountain out of a mole hill; make lemonade).
Second, with the help of a stretchy waist band in my miracle jeans.
Oh yeah, I can hit 32 inches for the next 40 years!
***
It doesn’t take much to humour me, eh?
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