What's worse getting fatter or wrinkly? Part deux

I've been thinking more, actually feeling more, about what's worse, getting fatter or getting more wrinkly, and I have concluded that it is worse to feel the realities of wrinkly, Shar-pei drooping skin set in. With getting fatter, at least you can go on a program, and drop the weight. Bam, no problem we're back into skinny jeans. When your skin starts to droop, fall to the ground, and look leathery, you will either need to start spending some serious money on face cream concoctions, get some nip/tuck, or start wearing veils over your head like cooky Michael Jackson to hide the lines of time.

I know, I know, we are supposed to be trying to rise above the superficiality of physical appearance, but I am having a serious problem with it. My feelings are not okay with it. My earth bound small self, is just absolutely having a hissy fit over the aging process. I'm sitting here typing away and all I can feel at this moment is fat and wrinkled. I'm turning into a big, old, hefer with sock titties, and I feel helpless. I cannot bargain with time to get my elastic skin back. I cannot negotiate with time to get my perky boobs back. I cannot bribe time into giving me back another 20 years of virginal-looking glow. If I want to prolong the inevitable just a little longer, I will need to get plastic surgeons.

Shallow. Yes, it is all shallow, and extremely hard on myself. Logically, I know that I am a beautiful, vibrant, creative spirit, but that is not what I feel at this moment. I am smart, and talented, but all I can fixate on at this moment is that I need another bra for the fat rolls on my back coming off the straps of my bra. We are taught to fight off and bottle up the ugliness and superficiality of our dark sides because it's not pretty. Good girls are not supposed to talk out loud about any feelings that are contrary to politeness, being above pettiness, and social normalcy. We all get fucked up because we simply do not talk about ALL our feelings, and let them out. Only the good feelings are allowed out. The bad feelings need to stay indoors or get screamed out when you're alone in a wheat field. 

I am feeling all kinds of self depreciating things, and instead of stuffing it all, I'm letting it out here with you. I'm letting it be. I'm just going to feel the sorrow, the disgust, the helplessness, and the cat fit. I'd also really like to sink my teeth into a mouth watering submarine sandwich with a side of garlic fries lathered in ketchup. I want to say out loud that physically aging sucks. It just flat out sucks to see your body prune up, inflate, and droop. We all have to go through that process and it sucks. It blows chunks all over the frackin' hemisphere. Today, this is what I feel.

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