This middle age shit isn’t for chickens.
This about middle age was particularly breathtaking. I was super pissed at myself that I didn’t create those words myself. The hot sticky shame of knowing I have more to give than my ass on the couch playing a game on an electronic.
All the fun milestones we wait for while growing up are behind me. Graduations, Marriage, Career, child(ren). No more bling and sparkly fun scrapbooky things for Dawn to register for. Nope. Those events are in the rear view of my 10 year old car and over-40-need-bifocals-vision.
All the upcoming events are more like which parent will get a life threatening health condition next? which parent’s funeral needs arranged next?
My firsts are “first hospitalization”, “first chronic illness that will probably earn a line on my death certificate”, “first surgery”. It’s all terrifying and when I wake up at 4am to pee because I had a sip of water after 6pm, it’s all I can think about.
My kids are out of the sticky stage and in the electronics are cooler than me stage. I think I’ve tried all the ways to have sex at least once. I’ve bought a house, I’ve bought a car. I can get a grown up job. I can quit a grown up job because it was killing me. I can stretch a buck and eat PBJ for a week or spend 500 dollars on a pair of shoes. I know what bullshit I just will not stand for, yet am not ready to lead the charge against all the evils of this world.
I feel like I should be doing greater things, but then I get home and couch lock and I’m just done. I could burst out in a Helen Mirren is my idol, brighter than the sun, vivacious middle aged female but I can’t because I still feel 20 and not strong enough to attract attention, yet ancient and old from everything in the last two years.
I am solidly sandwiched between a child who isn’t a man for another decade and a mother who needs her only child.
I’ve come to basically accept that this chapter of my life doesn’t belong to me. It’s a long tedious footnoted chapter of what I’m doing for everyone else. I’m on that list, but so far down I would have to turn the page to find me.
I’m split between longing to do it all again and taking better advantage of simply being young and before all the shiny milestones and being grateful that youthful awkwardness is behind me, replaced by 40 something awkwardness.
If you think I’m going to wrap this up in some way that will make any of us feel better, you’re not paying attention. Everything is un-done. Undone. Either taken apart or not finished. Yes. Both. Please. I can’t even get the dog to stop scratching or look decent in photograph. Looking for someone to nod with you and say ‘I can’t believe we’re here either’ … That. I’m your girl.