On a Friday night, it was once a disco with the guy. Then pub with friends. Then fish night with the family.
… now it’s washing machine night.
Something must have gone wrong at some point, but I don’t understand what.
To be honest, if I wanted to go out, I would just have to text someone and I would find some friends right away. The point is: I don’t want to.
And it’s not just because I’ve worked so hard this week and I’ve had the flu (to tell the truth, I’ve worked with the flu), it’s a general feeling of being old.
The first symptom was when my friend Luna told me she was going to an outdoor concert and I told her to not forget the sunscreen rather than flirt with the cutest guy she could find.
But who am I kidding? This is not the first symptom. This is the latest alarm bell in a series of scattered clues.
Let’s start with the fact that my immune defenses are there mostly to show off, in the last three years I have seen more doctors than the cast of grey’s anatomy! And believe me in reality they are not all so beautiful and always smiling. Mostly they are pissed off by endless shifts and ugly by an evident state of neglect of personal care. From ward to ward I have become such an expert in pathologies and medicines that I almost get an honorary degree.
I don’t want to feel sorry for myself, but every now and then I wish a cold was just a cold and a mole just a mole. That’s it.
When I find videos of eighty-year-olds still doing the barre or lap-dance I’d like to kneel and cry out loud. Unfortunately, however, the knees are both in bad shape….
But it is not only this, while the body gives me respite and remembers that I am only thirty years old and gives me a jog (fast walk more than anything else, but because I hate running! I hate running!), A momentum of youth, it is my mind that plays tricks on me.
I begin to talk with phrases like “in my time”, “at that time”, even if I didn’t even have sixty. I mean, I have witnessed the digital revolution not the industrial one!
But it seems to me like a century has passed since…. Here, I was going to say “since I was young”. Holy misery. I AM young. If the Forty is the new Thirty, the Thirty is the new Twenty, right? (Which explains why 20-somethings think like pseudo-teens just out of puberty!). So why does the idea of spending an evening at the disco gives me hives?
Why after a week of work and limitations I don’t answer << Of course I’m coming to the pub tonight >> instead of << No, too tired >>.
What I really care about is the face.
Did I mention that I have a doll face? Yes I have already told you.
Well, if I feel 130 inside, I barely look 25 outside. Some even ask me if I am of age, but that is because of the boobs, or rather of the non-boobs …
With this face when I tell how I feel they look at me as if I were saying a lot of nonsense, as if I were screaming in pain for a cuticle. << YOU LOOK so young >> they keep repeating to me with a smug air (and a bit of envy because wrinkles or bellies are starting to appear), but they don’t understand that the word “you look” is the key.
I no longer have the energy of high school, when after nights of revelry I went to school without a blind spot. The head is shiny. The brisk and active step.
I no longer have the resumption of university, when after the night of win at the World Cup I showed up at the exam in social anthropology without having slept even a minute.
Or maybe yes, they just hid well under the burden of responsibility of adult life?
If I started living again on Friday night as it used to, would it come naturally again, or would I regret it on Saturday morning writhing back pain in bed, cursing myself because I still have to go to work?
As always, when it comes to existential questions, all that remains is scientific proof.
Friday, I have to go out.
Luckily, it’s still Monday.