I’ve matured enough to admit: I’m not a cyborg, I can’t do everything, I don’t do it without cost
I’ve grown to admit it: for years I lived in the belief that I was a cyborg. I thought I could do anything and I would do it with the lightness of a ballerina, not puffing myself up like some strongwoman. My superpowers included stretching time so that everything could be crammed in, and if that sometimes didn’t have the desired effect, I had skills like the ability to not eat and/or not sleep in my bosom.
I’ve been a bore in recent years anyway, because somehow I didn’t particularly smoke. Before, I used to smoke like a chimney, thinking that I didn’t have to worry about the consequences like mere mortals, because my complexion never deteriorated because of smoking, and when I went to the pool after a long break, I still managed to make those twenty lengths around like a mermaid. But in truth, my attitude to sport has always been that it would be best if it were chess or bridge, because you can smoke while doing it, you don’t get tired, you can listen to jazz, and most of all, it’s not boring like at the gym or, God forbid, while running.
I’ve also just matured to admit: I’m not a cyborg, I can’t do everything, and I certainly can’t do it without a cost. I have overheated fuses, as indicated by my sickness lately, although I’ve always been fit as a fiddle, so I unfortunately have to learn to eat more often, sleep more regularly, and move my limbs from time to time.
Frankly, I am surprised and deeply disappointed by this. As it turns out, I was very attached to my image of the indestructible superheroine and my ego got a little bruised, but my innate intellectual honesty prevents me from keeping quiet about it. The thought of children, on the other hand, keeps me from getting back on track. Of course, my secret plan is that once I hit 75, I’d bravely return to normalcy, where I get up again in the morning just for a cigarette with my morning coffee and the newspaper, but for now I need to be an adult for a while. Please wish me luck and keep your fingers crossed on this new path.
Author: Natalia Waloch
Photo: unsplash.com
The text was published on wysokieobcasy.pl on 30 April 2022
