Friday, 19 March 2010

middle finger?

Middle age doesn't much agree with me.

 Young enough to still want to enjoy all life has to offer, old enough to realise time is running out.
Just when you have reached a point in your life where money is not so tight, the children are standing on their own two feet, parents passed away, hey, seems like you can do whatever you like.

Then it hits you.
All the warnings and good advice from your parents, your teachers, preachers, doctors - the stuff you refused to listen to cos you were too busy living, experiencing, experimenting; smoking, drinking, sex and drugs, not to mention the lesser sin of over-indulging in food. Rock 'n roll, late nights, no exercise - but you thought you were indestructible.
And even ìf, you could walk under a bus tomorrow and never have really lived.
You owed it to yourself.
Ya, we all used that excuse, thinking later, I'll get to it later. Plenty of time to fool around now, I'll start towing the line when I'm older. Like 30. You think you'll be past it once you reach 30. But when you are 30 you are in your prime, at 40 you still look good, feel good, who's counting anyway?
Later, not now.

But over 50 there is nowhere to hide, your friends are beginning to fray at the edges; cancer, heart attacks, strokes - words that keep popping up more and more frequently.
Guys who once drove you wild at the disco have become old farts, your thenadays sassy girlfriends - for all the make-up, the nips and the tucks - the dash of youth is lost forever.
Dear god, these are my peers. I would dearly like to believe it has not happened to me, by some fluke, some incredible stroke of good luck, it has passed me by.

It takes one look in the mirror.

If I possibly can I will avoid doing that, go without make-up, brush my teeth with eyes closed, give the hairdresser a miss - but sometimes in a fitting room, or like when I needed pass-photos, I see myself and I can't believe that's me.
That reminds me, I still have to collect those photos, but I told the man I would not have them sitting in my passport for the next ten years.
He was quite offended when I said that. 'Perfectly good likeness,' he thought.
Thanks a lot for destroying that last bit of confidence.
'In that case,' I said 'I'll be back after I've seen a plastic surgeon.'
He thought I was joking...........

It is not just about looks of course, even though they are a humbling reminder of what you want to ignore: middle-age. And old-age already grinning at you: come come, my lovely.

Time to start reckoning - how much time left to cram in all the stuff I put off and desperately want to do now?
I think I can safely cross off the universities I meant to attend, I won't pick up where I left off after 4 years of piano practice, and the classic example, ballet dancing, no, I never desired that anyway, but belly dancing, yes, maybe, at least I've got the belly now.
Hmm. How many books left to read till my eyesight is blurred?
But I don't want to think like that, I just want to pick up any old book without worrying it means I might miss out on a really good one.

See what I mean, it's a bugger, and I haven't even got to the things that really matter yet.

It's lunchtime and I'd better stop anyway. Calm down and give it some thought.

I'll be back, this quinquagenarian is not quite done yet.

Just look it up:)

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