whitney dziurawiec

I feel old, you guys. It hits me like a snowfall, one tiny flake at a time. I feel it lurking in my back, snapping in my wrists, grinding in my knee. Not all at once, of course. I'm not 80. But just enough. Enough that I'm starting to see these senile snowflakes accumulate on the ground and it's getting slippery and I might fall down. Sometimes pain traps us in our bodies, but this pain oddly separates myself from it. What is this thing that surrounds me, moves around when I want it? Why does it hurt? I feel oddly separated from my body when my knee flares up; I find myself staring it at as I would a flat tire or a check engine light. This home of mine for 25 years that has stretched as I have grown, shook as I laughed, wiped its own tears away, seems foreign and  other  as it begins to wear down, which is disconcerting, but couldn't we all use a smack of eternal perspective every now and again? I even feel old as we sit in church and I fi...