When will I stop feeling so damned OLD???

I get upset over little things, as well as bigger ones. :-) Cancellations are one of the biggest, and I've always felt that way. If I've counted on someone to spend time with me, and then they cancel last minute, I feel personally offended, though usually it has little to do with me and everything to do with the other person's schedule. This always hits especially during downtimes (e.g., vacations) and used to kill me when I was unemployed and desperately seeking ways to keep myself busy and NOT preoccupied by the job search. (Fortunately, I haven't had to look for a job for over 10 years, so the latter has not been the case for a long, long time.) In this case, one friend cancelled tomorrow night's dinner plans (which she had suggested), and another only has time to meet for an hour. Both people have perfectly legitimate reasons to reneg--pressing work issues--but it's still disappointing. I get this sinking feeling, and then wonder if I'll ever have someone in my life whom I can truly count on (by which I mean a boyfriend, if you were wondering). I'm not upset at either friend, and I don't even mind having the time to myself (b/c it's going to be a very busy weekend, even with these changes), but it's just the idea that someone would cancel (and in one case, it's not particularly unexpected).

Anyway, I think about my solitary state alot--how can I not, at almost 42 years old (next Sunday, and it's something I'd rather not contemplate at the moment)--and am constantly surrounded by things that remind me of how old I am (or young, but for me, it's old), whether it's people getting engaged, or me finding another gray hair (so damn many of them), or going to a new hairdresser today (Rob, on Huntington Ave in Boston, and v. good, let me say) and being extremely relieved at the fact that he's 42. a whole year older than me, and doesn't look his age, either! There was a time, not that long ago, when I wouldn't obsess about my age, but that time ceased to be nearly two years ago, as I turned 40, and it's gotten progressively worse. I swear that I thought by the time I turned 41 I would have accepted the fact that I was no longer in my 30s, but no, I can't do it. I admit my age (generally--sometimes I say I'm 40, but never younger), but I do so w/ sadness and trepidation. The great irony, of course, is that I hated my life in my 20s and part of my 30s (never mind my childhood, which was a landscape of depression), and am far happier now than I was then. But when you're in your teens, 20s, and even 30s, you don't contemplate mortality--well, that's not entirely true, as I've always feared death, starting when I was very young, 10, perhaps, and had nightmares about nuclear holocausts and felt I was being suffocated in my sleep or falling to my death from a high building I fell off. But I didn't obsess about my age, instead just feeling generally miserable. Now I think, Why can't I be in my 30s and be happy? How can I possibly find a man who wants me and doesn't look like he's about to keel over? (Okay, I'm being overly dramatic, but you know what I mean.) I wish I didn't care if a man were balding or going gray or looked old (older than me???), but I do, and I can't really help it. I desperately wish I were my youngest sister's age, 35, so that I would have a better chance of finding a man, and so my therapy could really help while I was still viable. And of course I am still viable, but okcupid doesn't seem to think so, or match.com, or The Boston Phoenix, or anyone I know.

So, it's disheartening, particularly b/c I'm still struggling with the idea of physical intimacy, and the years are tick, tick, ticking away. How can I be turning 42 ??? How is this feasible? Why are most roles written for 20 and 30 somethings? Why won't someone ask me out? Do I really, truly give off signals that I'm not interested or available? And most of all, when will I feel comfortable being my age? It helps that I look younger and work out every day and am losing weight; in fact, last night, a former student (whom I've always adored, b/c he's cute, nice, smart, and hard-working, and I am so happy for him that he's married w/ a baby, but I would love to marry someone like him) gave me a big hug at a lecture and said, Hey, Skinny Sue, and I couldn't stop beaming, feeling incredibly validated (and not feeling as fat as usual in yoga class today, which is a place where it's easy to feel fat and ugly, as many participants weigh about 100 lbs). But inside me, I don't feel...okay with myself. I do more than I used to, that's for sure; I dress better, my hair is a helluva lot more stylish, and I think I move with more confidence (I hope I do). But I can't say, Yep, I'm happy with who I am, and that's an almost 42 year old single woman, b/c I don't want to be an almost 42 year old single woman. Or maybe I do, but by choice. I want to date, and I want to know that men find me desirable. I want someone to hug me and ask me how my day was. I want to share a play I saw or a story I'm working on with someone who's cuddled up in bed with me, and this seems entirely inconceivable to me.

I'm very fortunate to have friends who are also single or are married but without kids, so that I have compatriots to go to plays and movies and concerts and cafes with, and I don't take these friendships lightly, but I still long for a different kind of relationship, and yet it continues to seem unfathomable. Really, I want to say, I'm 42 (almost) and that's okay, b/c I have a job and I take care of myself and I'm creative and talented and loveable and faithful and all of that. But...I...just...can't quite say it. At least not the part about being 42. Not yet. Maybe when I turn 43...