Archives for posts with tag: women

I write the most amazing, thought provoking crap while I’m lying in bed and can’t sleep.  Do I get up and write it down so I won’t forget it? Of course not.  Instead I fool myself into thinking it will remain in my memory for the few hours of darkness and I’ll jump out of bed and write it out, word for word, once the sun comes up.  And after I’ve let the dogs out and fed them.  And straightened up the kitchen, gone to the gym, had coffee at Starbucks, worked, run errands and whatever else I do before I think, “Crap, I forgot what I wrote in my head last night, and dammit, it was good.” 

You’d think I’d remember that I don’t remember and actually write it down, but clearly that’s asking too much.  Probably it’s not nearly as fantastic as I think it is anyway.  I’m sure it’s a tired attempt at the most, but it sure seems good in the haze of sleeplessness. 

I haven’t worked much on my book lately.  The first draft is done, and I’ve got eight chapters of the final draft rewritten, but I’ve taken a well needed break.  The plan was to have it all done and ready for editing in October.  Of 2012, but that isn’t an option anymore.  Instead, my goal is to finish it by March.  Editing services are not cheap and I’ve got other expenses before I pay someone to tell me I suck at writing so March it is.  I’ve been writing for work a lot lately and it seems to stifle my muse so the break was needed. 

Even though I’m not working on Unfinished Business, I have been reading what others write, and what they think about writing, and mostly, about how they write.  I’m glad to see I’m not any different than most.  Sometimes I can write like a crazy person and it’s good and other times I can’t get a word on the screen to save my life.  Most of the time I find my best writing is while I’m driving and can’t do anything about it.  I do record some of it, but then I have to listen to it and type it and I…hate…that…  Hate it.  Who wants to retype their own dictation? It’s like listening to nails on a chalkboard for me.  I listen and think, “Who the hell is that person talking and why can’t she say something interesting?”  

I mentioned this to my husband and because he’s pretty darn wonderful, he got me that Dragon software.   It allow me to talk and record and then it magically types it out.  HOW COOL IS THAT? I’m hoping it works on my Mac.  If not, I’m going to go through a form of depression.  Planning to install it once the boy is back in school and my house is mine again. 

I’m looking forward to writing more.  I miss it, and it’s time. 

Yikes. 

Things are happening and it’s not fun.  Not fun at all.  Now I completely get why old people sit around and talk about their ailments.  It’s because they’re so totally freaked out and fascinated about what’s happening to their bodies they simply feel compelled to find others who understand. Share the grief, if you will. 

I do it now, too.  I have two friends with whom I text on a regular basis.  We joke and laugh, and share and vent about everything and anything and I cannot even tell you how many embarrassing secrets we’ve shared.  (Chicken fat). If we published that stuff, we’d be totally horrified, but incredibly rich.  It’s priceless.  Anyway, I share with these two, things currently happening to my body, or the body I now have.  Honestly, this can’t be my body.  My body would not, under any circumstance, betray me the way this one has. 

My body, the one I rarely appreciated, took somewhat decent care of, and now miss terribly, would not grow chin hairs without prior approval.  That body would not develop these funky little brown spots I initially mistook for freckles, but are, in fact, age spots.  My body would not appreciate age spots.  My body would not, no way, no how, nuh-uh, ever, EVER dribble a little when I pick up the pace on the treadmill, or cough.  N.E.V.E.R. What the hell is that all about? Note to those younger than me.  Kegels.  All day.  Every day.  Kegels.  Who knew those would end up being so important after all? Obviously not me. 

Whomever swapped out my formerly unappreciated, and now terribly missed body, please return it, and take back this crap you left with you because it does not belong here! 

I’m only 46, and just turned, at that.  Yeah, I know, if you consider the average lifespan of a woman (wikipedia reports it as 69, but I’m calling BS on that!), then I am far past ‘middle age’ and well into ‘old age’, but the thing is, while my body may be aging, my mind has yet to catch up. 

Sure, I’m older and wiser, but I still think like I’m a 30-something, so when these old people things start happening to me, I get a little freaked.  Then reality hits and I realize I am, in fact, bordering on the brink of old.  And that makes me want to cry, which by the way, is not something I ever really did until the changes started happening.  Now I seem to tear up at everything.  (remember the moose?) 

Truth be told, I’m okay with the old part.  It’s the changes that happen because of the old part I can do without.  I sleep less, but seem to need more.  I tolerate less unhealthy foods, (which would be a good thing if I were less stubborn!) and gray hair is coarse.  My hair is already a bundle of frizz, I don’t need the wire-like grays to make it worse.  My once tight facial skin seems to hang a little more than before and while I may not have a lot of wrinkles (thank you, God for that!), I feel saggy.  Feeling saggy is not fun. 

Oprah said the new 30 was 40, then she turned 50 and said the new 40 is 50.  I was kind of going with that thought when I hit 40, but I’m not much liking the thought of what 50 is going to bring, even if it’s new.  Had I known my 40’s would include this crap, I would have, well, I don’t know what I would have done, but I wouldn’t have been happy, that’s for sure. 

I can happily report the hot flashes have ceased.  Actually, they stopped a few years ago.  Sadly, that means the real stuff is starting.  I didn’t like the hot flashes, but I’ll take them back if this other crap will hit the road.  

I hear that once I’m through actual menopause life will be great.  Great? Facial hair growing in mass volumes, other important hairs turning gray, sagging facial muscles, DRIBBLING and age spots do not sound great. 

Can someone tell me what the great part is? 

First, it’s important to note that I am not a doctor, nor am I an expert on menopause.

I am a just-over-the-hump-of-middle-age, if I live to be over 90, wife and mother.   So while I’m not an expert at anything, I’m actually an expert at everything.  I never know what I’m talking about, yet I’m always right.  I have ESP.  Things I say will happen, do happen, and I’m proud to admit, “I told you so,” is my favorite saying.  I can find anything lost, misplaced or hidden, in seconds flat.  The eyes in the back of my head can detect poor manners at the kitchen table through thousands of dollars worth of hair product, and I can smell a fresh pile of dog poop three floors down, while sleeping, through a closed door, with a Glade Plug In in the room.

I can cook a four-course meal while simultaneously cleaning the house, wrapping holiday gifts and getting glam, and not bat a fake eyelash.

I am superwoman.

I cannot however, stop myself from tearing up when I see a picture of a puppy.   Or a moose.

I’m not sure why a moose chokes me up, but it does, and I bet the next time you happen upon a moose, you’ll get choked up too.

Because menopause is contagious.

This I know for a fact.

The other day while sitting in Starbucks, critiquing all of the women standing in line, because admit it, that’s what women do, including you, I felt a hair tickle my chin, and while brushing it away, I noticed it stuck.  Okay, so it wasn’t actually stuck, more like attached, but the point is, it was there, and it had to go.

It’s not like I haven’t had a random hair growing, at lightning speed, on my chin before, that’s not the issue.

All women have hormonal hair.  It’s not a big deal usually.  Once a month we feel the prickle of a whisker, rub it repeatedly because we either want to force it out, or are in shock that it’s growing out of us, you pick.  Eventually we get to a place, like our bathroom, where we can tweeze it out, star at it and think to ourselves how freaking huge it is and revel in the fact that it was ATTACHED TO OUR FACE.  Once a month, since sometime in our twenties we’ve done that.  Once a month.  Except that I’d just had my hormonal hair a two days before.  So yeah, I was a little freaked.  Two hormonal hairs in one week isn’t the norm and I wanted that thing gone, and quick.

I gently and inconspicuously pulled at the hair, yanking it out in one swift jerk.  Actually, in retrospect, I may have screamed in panic as I grabbed the hair with a finger and a thumb and yanked full throttle.  Either way, that little MF’er was gone.   After examining it and tearing up over the thick, coarse blackness of it, I quickly flicked it into the seat next to me, and tried to pretend the horrific incident was just a bad dream.

My friend happened to come over at that time, and noticing the look of horror on my face, was truly concerned.
“What’s wrong,” asked concerned friend (whom, by the way, I did not criticize in the line because she’s my friend and I only criticize friends when they look like they’ve lost weight).

“I just pulled the biggest freaking black hair out of my chin,” I told her.

“Oh, no biggie. It’s a hormonal hair.  I get them once a month,” she innocently replied.

“I just had one the other day,” I shuddered at the thought, and might have said a little too loudly, too.

Concerned friend tilted her head and looked at me like a confused dog, and then slowly, face ashen, eyes wide, she reached a hand up to her chin.

And felt it.

“Holy shit,” she said.   “I have one too, and I had my period last week.”

Yup, menopause is contagious.

And multiple hormonal hairs are just the beginning.