There may be typos, I'm having a second gin & tonic.
I'm not.
The freak flag is gonna fly just a little bit higher. We are still the most significant part of the U.S. population goddamit, we are the pig moving through the python. Let the rest of 'em kiss our drooping asses.
One of my "aha" moments in this aging thing is the fact that my (BELOVED) Grandmother lived 36 years past 60. Those last six years of hers were ... not pleasant to watch because of the dementia. Gram - who had been excruciatingly proper, who wouldn't even leave her bedroom in a full slip in front of "just us girls" was sneaking off to shit in the pantry at the nursing home. Gram - who had been an icon of self-sufficiency and restraint, was also crawling into bed with the other old ladies for ... I dunno, comfort?
I once jokingly referred to her (to my cousin) as "our pantry pooping lesbian grandmother." She would have been "mortified". She liked that word when she had all her senses.
She was a Gabor, a glamour puss. If the wind was blowing, she'd walk in claiming to look like "the wreck of the Herperus." Whatever that is, I've never looked it up.
Gram had always cared more about looks, clothes and physical fitness than mental fitness. I don't know if that's a factor in alzheimers - they say it is. You can't build those neurons and dendrites by cracking a BH&G for 15 minutes a week.
But fit? At 96 that woman could be standing and put the palm of her hands on the floor. She could out-energize half the aides in the home. She didn't have the brains the Good Lord gave broccoli, but she'd wear you out just watching.
I miss her a lot; but she overstayed by about five years. I do not expect that will happen to me.
So I'm going about my last week in my 50s proud of how agile I am at this age, how strong after a long illness; then I'm washing my face and my neck hurts. I have a giant lump under my jaw. The last time I felt a lump like that was 14 years ago. The lump was under the ear of my 3-year-old Bouvier and the poor sweet gentle baby was dead within a month.
I am proud that my first thought was not "omigod I'm gonna die" but "omigod, who will take care of my dogs if I die!!!" Also "who will call my son"; like he's not stressed enough.
I reigned the imagination in. I figured the swelling must be from the grinding. That's what always happens. I grind, I crack and loosen my teeth, my jaw swells and the dentist winds up taking about half of whatever I've earned for two months.
My only remaining "gift" from Mr. Hyde is the bite guard he went out and bought me "that time" my jaw swelled and I was in pain. I never told him why I needed the bite guard. My libido was bigger than his. I guess that's fairly common in our fifties and sixties.
Anyway I think of him every time I put it in at night. The bite guard. If you have one, you have to check this trailer for Date Night. It's so authentic I nearly peed my pants ... yeah, we both had bite guards.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aspBKFz2dBI&feature=related
The good news is I think I'm finally over him. Went out with him weekly for about a month - at which time he bored the living crap out of me; then he had company for a week or two, then there was another week of nothing, then he came back and something clicked and it was incredible nonstop for two months.
If only it had been real.
So my math is getting better in my old age. Went with him like three months out of four and - wow - only took three months to get to the point where I'm happy with my life again.
Only a lot warier. (Is that a word? It is now.)
Oh, the swelling. So I went to my dentist. He looks more like he should be in a flour doused apron making pizza at a strip mall or coaching high school football than doing crowns in Fort Myers, but he's a great guy.
I was in the chair one time and I confessed that I couldn't stand his one assistant. She is so inappropriately fawning and sicky-sweet you just want to spit on her shoes. (She's like Izzie Stevens on Grey's Anatomy). I hinted at the extreme annoyance factor like "how do you deal with that???" And his shrug and shake of the head implied he knew exactly what I was talkin' about.
I imagined him saying "Yeah, but you can't fire someone for perky; unfortunately."
He said to call him if there was a problem even as he was apologizing for not being able to do anything because he's a dentist, not a doctor.
Visit was free, prescription was free. Thank you AARP dental insurance through Delta Dental. A visit to a clinic would have cost about $80 or more.
I don't have income right now. The income I earned last spring went into ... you guessed it, assorted crowns and root canals. I vary between "fuck it" and "omigod, start packing because you can't afford to live here any more."
Bottom line is "on vacation with furniture."
I took the girls out for their last pee around 1 a.m. and the sky is incredible. A near-full moon and great swirls of milky white against deep midnight blue.
I remembered the day I pulled up with the Uhaul and all my possessions 3 years and 3 months ago. My feeling then was utter despair. Now it's just total love for where I landed.
Went out with one match guy since I got back from Michigan. He made some sexual joke that could have been taken as an invitation and I passed; haven't heard from him since. Good riddance play-ah.
Getting ready to go out with someone who was really intriguing. That could happen Sunday - wait, it's already Sunday.
I had it in my head that God would give me a meaningful relationship with a wonderful man before I turned 60. Like Woody Allen says "God is a Jewish waiter with too many tables."
Whatever. I don't "do" expectations any more.
About a month ago an acquaintance on Facebook posed the question "is life fate or is it random?" And I wrote "if you have faith in a higher power, I believe it's directed." A combination of faith, guidance and karma.
Because it seems like every time I just about freak out or give up, something good happens.
I think when you believe (and you work on being a good person), life is pretty much what it's supposed to be.
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