On getting older


You know, most people I know fight tooth & nail to avoid the march of time. Either makeup or exercise or just plain old denial that it does happen. If it makes them happy, so be it.

I’m good with it, truthfully. I know – “no ones like to think about getting older – means you’re closer to dying” – that’s the usual response.

Thing is there are lots of times in my life that, according to the MDs involved, I shouldn’t be alive any more. Hell, I shouldn’t be all that functional any more – there’s been a lot of random damage to me that should leave me less capable.

I look at it like this – I’m not even half way to the age span of some of my relatives. At the same time, I’m less than 15 years from my father’s death-age. Why should the process of getting older bother me? Other option isn’t exactly fantastic (though after that, I suspect I’ll care even less).

Spend time with those whose age is greater than yours. Find time to spend with those younger than you. Stop paying attention to the ages and start paying attention to the people as people. The awesome ones will help you love your life because they enrich it. Love your life and age becomes entirely irrelevant.


Maybe I should stop

Trying but failing. I don’t know how to explain to you how much this hurts or how much I hate that you don’t seem to care.

I hate feeling like this. I loathe the way it makes me want to behave. I’m trying to be responsible for my own stuff but it is hard when I hit that wall over & over.

Maybe it’s time to acknowledge defeat & choose a next step. After all, change may scare me but the self-loathing for letting this happen is worse.

What are you? Stupid?

The next time you’re going to push yourself like this, perhaps having a plan on how you’re going to deal with the rest of your day might be in order, you mindless twit?

Yes, yes, you’re very strong and we’re all terribly impressed with your single-minded idiocy that leaves you weak as a kitten and whimpering in a corner because you don’t have the brains god gave a tuna fish who’d know “hey, this is becoming a bad idea – why don’t you call (or whatever it is that fish do) for help?”

Stop whining, take some pain pills, get some rest and try to pretend that you won’t do this to yourself again or that at least I won’t have to listen to you whinge that you’re in pain again from something you knew bloody well was going to hurt.

Augh.  Idjit.


Smiles are worth it. The joy glowing from the core of the soul that ignites an answering grin of delight.

Thank you for sharing that smile.

Don’t I wish

No, really, I wish there was an easier way.  I wish there was a way I could explain to you what I think & feel that didn’t inevitably wind up with one or both of us grumpy or confused.

I know you don’t always know that state winds up being achieved, but then again, I’m incredibly good at masking my feelings (quiet all you who think I wear my heart on my sleeve – trust me, y’all don’t see everything).  Plus I’m not always positive you’d appreciate hearing me say again that I feel like you don’t understand what I’m saying.

Especially when we do it in writing.  Hell, part of this blog exercise is to teach me to be able to put words on “paper” that allows me to organize them enough that I have a chance of being understood.

[reads the above]

Okay – so that won’t be today.

Don’t get me wrong.  I still think you’re awesome.  I wouldn’t have invested the time I have in you if I didn’t. I just wish there was an easier way to let what’s in my head out without all the rest of the nonsense getting in the way.

Tiny thing that makes me scream

You don’t dialogue with someone.  You talk to them.  Grah.

Perhaps I missed a memo?

I’m really really sorry the bad thing happened.  I’m sorry it happens all the frakking time.  I really really wish there was anything that could be done about it, but shy of removing all the humans from the equation (and I’m not sure that would solve the overarching problem, but let’s leave survival of the fittest out of this for the moment), I don’t see a way to stop it.

You’re right – that doesn’t mean that it should be allowed to continue unchecked or uncommented upon.

That doesn’t mean the only thing I ever hear from you needs to be about how bad this is.

I’m not Catholic, but I was raised that way.  I remember the priest that showed me how to “work an audience” as it were.  To be able to give a group of people the somber message about the bad things in the world and in our collective hearts WITHOUT making them all feel either 3″ tall or grumpy because of…well, the preachiness.  That’s the reason, far as I can see, for the existence of the homily.  It’s there to give the priest a chance to briefly lighten the mood – to make the whole sermon more accessible and absorbable.

There’s little point in hammering that pulpit every minute of the day because no matter how ardent your follower, eventually?  It gets a little wearisome.  Either they get sick of hearing it and stop paying attention or they get heart-sick that nothing can be done because despite of all the publicizing and effort, the same horrible things keep happening.

So here’s a thought – find your homily.  Find your moment of humour, lightness, something not quite so damned awful.  Share it with people.  It will help engage them when you are deadly serious.

Just because they keep following you online doesn’t mean they’re paying attention any more.