I’ve had a busy week, one which has found me running behind myself, pushing myself forward to try and catch up with myself. It has also been a week where I have inadvertently seen myself in either camera or film shots, more times than I’m comfortable with. Not because I am under any illusion that I’m of celebrity star posing quality, oh no. It’s more to do with the image I have in my head verses the reality of what is before me.
For instance, I am convinced, every morning, that my hair looks presentable, slightly wild, but ‘interesting’. In reality, there is a great deal wrong with my perception. What I see in no way reflects what I feel. The same as my sense of style. I am convinced that I have a groovy look going on, but in reality, this flat bottomed, overweight bird is looking at me, and honestly, I hardly recognise her.
However, both of these things are sortable. I really do need to address the issues of my hair, and start working out a wardrobe that actually suits me rather than one filled with clothes that are a good bargain. I suppose I could while away the hours at a gym, or run around a park, but I prefer to garden, go swimming and walk dogs. I just need to do these things more regularly. Also, it would really help if we actually had a dog. It’s on the list.
But the thing that probably freaks me out most of all, one that I never thought would, is the ridiculous battle I have in my mind’s eye between looking youthful, and the ageing process. I didn’t expect to age this way. I’m not too sure what I expected, if I’m honest. But it wasn’t this. There are bits of me, in images I catch of myself, that resemble teachers I had at school. And they were OLD.
I do notice, that although not a celebrity watcher per se, every now and again a front page catches my eye of someone ‘known’ looking like a bag of spanners. Just like me. But it is of little or no comfort whatsoever. I just think to myself, ‘Know how you feel, love’. You see the thing is, I was positive that I used to wake up as a Rubens painting, then I thought perhaps Picasso, and now, I promise you, I am veering closer each day to Old Father Time himself. We could be twins some mornings. And, if I’m honest, it unnerves me much more than I ever thought it would.
Obviously these thoughts are not all consuming, and seldom reach the surface above all the other much more interesting thoughts and ideas which occupy my mind, but when they do, I am taken aback. Every time.
Which is one of the many reasons why I wear rose tinted glasses.