Is it SIxty-Plus, or is it Me? Or does Sixty-Plus added to Me result in a catalytic, combination of apocalyptic proportion?
Is it residual hormones that make the emotional ride even more wrenching than pre-menopausal trips?
Are the night sweats left over from menopause, or a turn to second childhood? And if I'm sleeping like a toddler why am I awake so frequently at night? Besides the multitude of bathroom visits, that is.
Is my ornery attitude because of maturity refusing to bow to duty any longer, or a revisit to the rebellious teens?
Is that protesting voice I hear in my head as I watch television wisdom speaking to the young, or fussy old age refusing to admit the new?
Choosing between the ripe and the rotten of a Sixty-Plus attitude is a stroll in the proverbial mine field.