Fear of commitment

My skin care routine vaguely resembles Cher’s wardrobe: minimalistic at best. So why am I a club member for an expensive line of skin care products? Why do I have two unopened boxes of a 90 day supply of cleanser and moisturizer, which I fully intend to re-gift to family members this Christmas? Because I looked in the mirror one morning and realized that I look like Ed McMahon on a good day. I have a dark splotch on one cheek that looks like the Virgin Mary.

Somehow I got the wild idea that if I made a commitment to a simple morning routine, I would stick to it. Past experience has taught me nothing.

Previous diet plans which worked included: a deep depression; drinking more of my meals than I ate; and cigarettes and diet Coke. Now I’m trying to lose weight the old fashioned way: salt water taffy and denial.

My fear of commitment stems from the fact that I’m bad at it. I find it hard to accept that my body is changing as I get older; even harder to change the habits of a lifetime.

Perhaps my biggest fear is falling. A couple years ago, shortly after I learned that I have osteoporosis, my shoulder snapped like a twig. One minute I was walking the dog, the next I was in the emergency room with a tube of KY jelly, trying to get my wedding ring off before my finger could swell up to the size of a bratwurst.

I love to watch football, but each time I see someone fall in a manner which bends an arm or leg in a direction which God never intended, I’m reminded of my shoulder. I am afraid that I might fall on asphalt, in the bathtub, or in a darkened movie theater. The latter has more to do with the condition of movie theater floors.

I think the ultimate commitment would be a bathroom “appliance.” Anytime you have to find a stud in a wall, whatever you’re hanging is staying for good. This, more than anything else is the main reason that I repeatedly abandoned the idea of hanging a trapeze in the bedroom. I instinctively knew that one day I would be too old for aerial acrobatics. I’ll have to make a decision on that bar in the bathroom, before washing between my toes qualifies as a circus act.

6 thoughts on “Fear of commitment

  1. I don’t think I want a helper bar in the shower. I want a nice comfortable seat where I can sit with my back to the spray and soak my aching back. Of course, that bar might come in handy when it comes time to leave the shower.

    About five years ago, my wife and I took a cruise on Holland America and had booked a mini-suite. We had the good fortune to be assigned one of the handicapped accessible suites. The bathroom had just the kind of shower I’m talking about with a seat in it. You didn’t need hand rails, because the shower was huge and you just walked into the area. It was perfect!

    • The cruise sounds wonderful, but then, so does a seat in the shower. If I could only pick one or the other, I’m not sure if I’d be 100% committed to going on a cruise.

    • Thanks, Mary. I haven’t really tried writing verse, other than angst-filled song lyrics when I was a teenager.

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