As evidenced by my chin hairs, I am getting old.

I'm not old when compared to octogenarians, or people my parent's age, or even those in their 40s (sorry, guys). I'm on the tail end of being truly, undebatably young, which is a strange place to be. The late 20s and early 30s are filled with wistfullness for the days gone by and nervous anticipation of what's to come. It's when you realize you can actually remember things that happened 20 years ago, and when you begin to see how the landscape 20 years from now will be completely changed. People you can't live without today will be gone, and people you haven't yet met will be fully grown.

My skin used to be smooth, and unencumbered by spiky black outcroppings. Now I need to go in regularly with a magnifying mirror and the tweezers. Some days it's annoying, on others disturbing, and if the hormones are in enough of a tizzy, it can be downright depressing. Like the gradual slackening of the skin and the fine lines that will become wrinkles, your body will remind you of the passage of time even if you manage to disregard all outside indicators.


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