I am not dead, yet
Fast approaching a birthday I would rather not think about if I had a choice while waiting for giant piles of snow to melt make me feel like some sort of ogre in a story. You know, all hairy and wrinkly, behind some heavy wooden door my livery lips flap over my gnarly teeth spitting at you, “I’m old, so old..” shakes bony finger at you while upper arm flab twitches in the breeze created by my wild hand gestures because words don’t cut it.
I am middle-aged. Two things come immediately to mind 1. that means I could die at 78 which seems probable but not likely 2. I am -a whole bunch of other shit that I am utterly and totally responsible for.
Youth, along with beautiful skin and hair, disposable income and great sex also comes with the idea that you are not completely in control. You might entertain the notion that other forces are at work, you blithely alight upon anything that looks interesting and cop a squat. With the advanced at I have sadly attained (although the alternative is less appealing-DEATH now) it occurs to me on an hourly basis that it is all my fault my life is the way it is.
Now, that means I can also take credit where credit is due for the good things I have done and no longer just push it aside as luck, good genes, support and encouragement-blahblahblah. No, I can say the things I do well. I know what they are. Shall I list some for you so you don’t think I am having the saddest pity party on the interwebs?
Sure. I have nice hair. I have green eyes which are unusual and pretty. I am a fabulous cook-I love to do it and am really good at it. I made it through nursing school -my class started out with 64 people and two years later we were only 28 and 3 of them were from classes before us of folks who had failed and got put behind-I didn’t fail anything and got decent grades-IN SCIENCE, which is a miracle because some of you know how I feel about fire…if you don’t I will email you. I can laugh at myself easily. I am very generous and would do almost anything for you-if’n I like you. I smile a lot and say hello to most everyone that meets my eye. I am extremely polite and courteous but have trouble remembering that with people I do not respect even if they are my boss (okay maybe thats not a good quality but I think I am genuine all the time-regardless of your rank above me), I am super enthusiastic and am quite the goober when it comes to stuff to be excited about-I clap hands, jump around, sing songs and act like a dork-a lot, you will never be lied to if you ask me a real question, I am a fabulous kisser, My boobs are pretty great even after two kids and nursing for 7 years straight, I have rad tattoos, I am a decent mother who loves her children fiercely and with abandon. Okay thats it.
I am NOT going to list all the stuff I find loathsome and atrocious about my self cause thats just silly and pointless on many levels and not really what I am talking about.
Despite all that good shit I mentioned I have realized what I was saying at the beginning…that cruel reality check that comes with age-eventually. That I am responsible for whatever I am, right now and unfortunately the two choices boil down to live with it or change it-if I don’t like it.
As I am not dead yet, I have no legit excuse.