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I decided a long time ago when the time came, I would refuse to enter my twilight years with any sort of dignity and grace. If I had to go in, I would go in kicking and screaming all the way. Now I just wanna be carried!

It's not that I've given up on my youth; it's just that I've become more comfortable in my middle age. It's the little things like talking to myself that bring me the most pleasure. I rather enjoy talking to myself in the mornings. I've found I'm a pretty interesting person. I just never gave myself a chance to listen to me!

Oh, I suppose the hardest things about aging are the physical changes we all must endure. I remember as a young girl the vanity we put ourselves through spending hours primping, preening and shaving. Today I don't see the need to shave anything above my ankles, which is just as well because my TOES seem to need it the most. As for my eyebrows, I don't even know what happened here. They have all but vanished. I try drawing them on like some of the trendy teenagers seem to be doing, but my hands shake so badly they look like they were applied with a jackhammer.

When I part my hair, my comb tends to find an even BIGGER part on the other side. In order to be freed from the ever dreaded "comb over," I must pull my hair back into a sporty ponytail. The only thing about that is one has to literally stand behind me to see that I indeed have hair. Perhaps the hardest reality check was that I kept thinking these lines and wrinkles were just due to me sleeping on my face all night and that they'd dissipate as the day wore on.

Unfortunately that was in March - it's now November.

- Mari' Emeraude

Mari' Emeraude is a writer and poet from Denver, Colorado. This essay is an excerpt from her book, Even God Hates Spinach.