Flexing the Muscle

All the writing advice tells us to flex the writing muscle daily so for the umpteenth time I resolve to do that. My problem is I forget where I do it. After so much trouble with laptops and computers and phones and printers maybe it has all settled down at last including my toothache. The dentist removed the nerve a few days ago.
So, what about getting old.
I do not want to wear purple or spit in the street. I want to do much more interesting things than that. That is why I moved to France and tried to learn French. So here I am living in France and finding learning a language gets harder as one gets older but hey, I am doing it. I am part of the commune, and I am dancing and playing music; I am swimming and walking. I am going to BBQ's. I am writing for the local paper. I even manage to paint from time to time. I am bored with old people. The ones who say I'll be xty in July and expect you to say, 'Oh really, you don't look a day over xty!' They seem to think that all one needs to do when growing old is to look younger than one's age. That's just sour grapes because I grow wrinkles by the hour, and I hate mirrors because I don't find myself in there. Sometimes I see my sister who was 10 years older than me but died aged 57. Sometimes I see my mother who died aged 93. That should be a comfort if I live as long as her. My neighbour here is 100. She still lives alone and sings and tells jokes at local meals without a crib sheet and without spectacles.