I’m aggravated about getting old knowing there’s not
anything I can do about it. I don’t mind having stored some tidbits of
knowledge and wisdom over the years somewhere in my brain. But, the rest of growing old is not okay
with me. The idea of having a bucket list
and trying to accomplish everything on that list is NOT compensation for having
to have the list in the first place.
It’s a diversion, nothing more.
What ever happened to not being concerned about death or
time? Where are the days of endless summers when lying on the beach soaking up
the sun were many? Where making love in the sand was fun? Where splashing in
the waves was glorious?
I don’t like the aches and pains my body has developed. I
don’t like being the target of nasty germs that make me sick. I hate taking weeks
to get over a cold. I don’t like having to eat bland vegetables. I long for spicy
Mexican food, for hotter than hot chili spread over a mound of tamales; for
chili con queso with jalapenos. I am mad I don’t have freedom to eat as much as
I want without having to take antacids. I want rich creamy ice cream eaten out of the
carton shared with a lover.
I just heard the song “Younger than springtime am I. Gayer
than laughter am I” and I miss that feeling, the one of being “in love”, not
just “loving.” I love plenty but my hormones are lazy, lethargic. I’m angry I won’t again experience that young,
naïve love where nothing matters but seeing and touching someone I think I can’t
live without another minute. Now I know love can end leaving only memories for me to enjoy –
or not.
I’m pissed off that I’m a hanger on; someone that is only on
the periphery of society; someone whose opinions are considered out of date; someone
whose ideas are listened to and ignored; someone who is given society’s condescending smile; someone
who cannot get a meaningful job.
I’m not growing old gracefully. I’m fighting it every day
keeping the old body moving, the brain neurons firing and talking louder and
longer when I have an opinion I think is worthy. Writing is a way, a
way to stay viable. If I’m fortunate to have someone read what I put on paper
most of the time they have no way of knowing I’m an old broad hanging in and on
to life with an axe to grind.
