I am fatter, of course.
I have dark – shaded eyes and a few more wrinkles.
My breasts droop, and my nipples stick out where once they were flat (I prefer them now).
There’s a dry patch on my finger that arrived with Ziggler and hasn’t left yet. The doctor tells me to wash my hands less often, but I prefer the dry patch to a shit patina. I used to shake hands reluctantly because I knew mine were always damp, but now they are smooth and dry, like my own mother’s hands. They look more competent.
My belly is more globe than map-like, with rivers and estuaries clearly marked.
I don’t want to go into my mysterious inner workings. But believe me they’ve changed. I can’t walk and sneeze at the same time any more.
My hair and nails grow, and grow and grow; faster than before. Or maybe time passes without me noticing.