Therapy Bits

At forty-five, I’m feeling spry,
With knees that crack when I just try
To tie my shoes or climb the stairs—
My joints now creak like rocking chairs.

My back has moods, it talks in groans,
I grunt more now than ancient phones.
I sneeze and throw my whole back out,
Then yell, “I’m fine!” through fear and doubt.

But hey! I’m wise and full of flair,
With wisdom sprouting in my hair.
(And by “my hair,” I mean what’s left—
The rest has gone on early theft.)

My snacks are now… just pills in rows,
For blood and pressure, guts and toes.
And every doc I’ve ever met
Just grins and says, “You aging yet?”

I text my friends in slang that’s dead,
They roll their eyes and shake their head.
“Cringe,” they say. “You’re not that cool.”
But I still dance like it’s old school!

And though my abs are MIA,
I still have jokes and sass to slay.
So here’s to 45, no doubt—
Too old to care, too young to count!

https://lindaghill.com/2025/04/18/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-april-19-2025/