One time I went to Publix during the day and there were a lot of old people there.� More than usual, I think.� Some people that I passed on my way in talked very disaprovingly and loudly about my hair.� One of them crossed herself, I think.� As soon as I got inside, the guy stocking the yogurt gave me a look, like he was trying to stare me down or something.� At first I didn't understand, but then I realized that his hair was kind of like mine but didn't look as good.� I decided not to get any yogurt.� I saw an old person with some dirt on his forehead, and it freaked me out a little.� Old people being so helpless and frail really bothers me.� Mostly because I'm so afraid of it happening to me, I guess.� Physical weakness really scares the crap out of me.� It's like, if you can't get around, what can you do?� This is one of the reasons I'm afraid of old people.� So anyway, I thought this guy was so helpless that he didn't know he had dirt on his face and he couldn't get it off if he tried.� I went to get some Nutri-Grain bars, but they didn't have mixed berry.� I got peach, and when I looked up, there was an old guy at the oatmeal with dirt on his face.� At first I thought it was the same guy as before, 'cause they all look the same or whatever, but it wasn't. Then I thought the dirt might be a bruise, which only made more vivid how hard it is to be old.�� Needless to say, I became more freaked out.� Walking down the cereal aisle, I saw an older couple who had marks on their foreheads, in the same places as the other people.� Then I started seeing it everywhere, and chills went down my spine.� It's like when you go outside in the morning thinking you're safe and happy and you realize that everyone's a pod person--all the old people, anyway.� I'm surprised and a little proud that I didn't walk quickly and quitely out of the store right then and just get in my car and drive.� I'm not sure what kept that from happening, it sure wasn't my calm cool-headedness.� And I'll never understand how I figured it out, since I never know what day of the week it is, nor could I remember any significant date to save my life.� Maybe some hidden memory of my Catholic grandmother surfaced for a moment, I don't know.� But I probably owe a good portion of my present mental health to the fact that I realized it was Ash Wednesday.