There’s a lot to say about anyone’s life if you make it to middle age. There’s been children, maybe grandchildren, cars and houses bought and sold, parents aging and dying, accidents, illnesses, jobs found, jobs lost, pounds added but rarely shed.
For me, I’m going to be one of those knobby, skinny old ladies with skin thin like paper and blue veins popping out. I can see it already in my shoulders, the hint of old age. I put henna in my hair to cover the gray, and it still works for the moment, but I’m not far away from the decision to dye or not to dye.
I can feel the precursors of menopause, even though it’s not arrived yet. There’s apparently a musical “Menopause! Singing about the Change”. I would have found that stupid a few years ago; now I want tickets, of course.
I had one of those Sad Childhoods, which I’ve done so much therapy for that it bores me now. At our age, we’re not suppressing memories, but since we can’t remember where we parked the car in the car lot or where we put those new reading glasses (if we just had longer arms!), it’s pretty impossible to bring back with any certainty the Bad Times that traumatized us for most of our adult life. The memories aren’t suppressed, they’ve just been replaced by trying to recall passwords.
So why am I blogging at 3am? Because it’s all back, closer than I could have imagined. All the insecurity of adolescent love but with a job and shoulder pain and RESPONSIBILITIES.
Just wondering when I might finally feel like a grown-up.