My heart has beat, and well, for thirty years. 30. That's fucked up. I can't beat myself off for thirty seconds without a cramp... but I guess those are different muscles.
And my skin, my largest and arguably, most beautiful organ is 30 years.
It is holding in what can only be damaged (slightly and hopefully less) kidneys and liver and lungs; also thirty.
My abs seem to be 40 something with no excuse besides that they never get used... however my back is the same age, if not older, and it's used often and often complains. Nothing happened per say, just those bits of me seem wearied. And wary. Perhaps my 3 year old love handles aren't as kind as their name suggests...
My knees could argue their age but they too are thirty - despite the banging and bending and kneeling, surgeries and jumping and resting across each other.
My feet aren't cute, but they never were. In their humble size of 8.5 on my 5'10" figure carrying an extra 20 pounds, they have served me well and I treat them like queens and they too, are 30. Thirty years. I have got out of bed with them, stood on them when I was tired, kneeled on my toes when I wept as easily as when I played with children, celebrated on them, got from A to B and sometimes even Z... and they kept going even when I passed A again. 30 years!
I have so many wonderfully sad disappointments and more victories, even if small and never once did my 30 year old self retire.
Heaven knows my brain will tease itself and my body all the way to the end, be it bitter or sweet.
I was just feeling lonely and wide awake in my bed and thinking that I didn't shower today and should wash my sheets as their week of worth is almost up anyway... and I meant to write about laundry not this.
I suppose what we do to disgrace this gentle, resilient and recuperating machine called My Body is like doing laundry... we just cleanse away all of our transgressions and rub and rub until the stain is out. Or get used to our new marking.
Cheers my friend, to at least Thirty (x2) more happy and healthy years of washing colourful loads together!
(My my that cheers was raunchy)
