What the years do (to some) of us

"Does he drink a lot"? asked a friend.
That would explain the puffy eyes, she said.
I wouldn't know how to recognize the signs.
I've been thinking about the problems age seems to bring with it.
At least to some of us.
Perhaps, in some cases, it exarcebates, carves in marble, disfunction  that was there already.
If I hadn't had a profile posted online, I would not have recognized how great a variety of mental health issues exist among my cohort.
I ran into a lot of guys with serious challenges.
And I'm not talking about an extra twenty pounds or a bunch of old pictures (though I don't understand why people would post old snaps -- what about the same factor?)
I'm not speaking about depression, or other medical conditions. I assume that someone who is getting treated for these conditions has been grappling with them for a long time.
Even a spectacular "fail" in early life can be an occasion for self-reflection and growth.  Stuff happens, ya know?
It's not even the superficiality (post a different picture, and you'll get "hits" from guys who have already viewed your photos before, five times or more, and never actually contacted you.)
It was the married men who got to me. (Well, mostly).
It was when I had two of them contact me within a minute, with their wheedling emails, that I shut down my profile on that site.
"Pathetic" AND "annoying."
Maybe someday I'll go back to that site.
But for right now, I find it too difficult. 
Massage parlors...prisons.. men who lead secret lives as someone else that I can never imagine.
I have a lot of trouble believing that my friends, mostly married, are one thing on the outside and someone else completely on the inside.
Perhaps I'm vain.
But I see myself as more like my friends -- a woman who has struggled with real-life issues, and has real-life problems, but is generally healthy.
I wouldn't mind seeing a few of these men in therapy, once I get my counseling degree.
Maybe a few of them could be friends.
But I wouldn't want them in my life a romantic way.
That's not to say that all the men I found online were messed up. Not at all. But the percentage, I'm willing to guess, is a lot higher than our general population -- which is a disquieting thought.
What DO the years do to us?
My cat slumbers peacefully in my lap, looking up at me now and again, bronze eyes glinting.
How simple it must be to be a cat, I think -- not to be mentally affected by the passage of time.
Then he gets off my lap, and starts meowing, more loudly as I try to figure out what he wants.
Turns out it was a piece of sharp cheddar cheese.
I will never understand men -- or cats.