Just got an e-mail from a college friend. She proposed that with all the negative news on shows like CNN, people must be rushing out to buy romance novels and she pictures me “prosperous, delighted and rolling in abundance.” I’m rolling, alright. ROFLMAO.
I haven’t written back yet. Printing the truth in black and white could require a Margarita drip…except that I don’t drink, so maybe a cake? The big kind, from Costco. The whole thing.
Being a broke artist at twenty was exhilarating. Being a struggling artist at thirty was motivating. At forty–a great spiritual growth experience. At forty-eight? It sorta bites.
Here’s the thing. Ever since menopause and the disappearance of my jaw line (how is it you have still have a sculpted jaw, Carolyn? If you’re getting nipped without telling me, I’m gonna get upset)…anyway, ever since menopause and, let’s face it, the myriad physical changes (and that brings me to why it’s REALLY called “the change,” but that’s another blog), I feel, well, grief when I think of the expectations I had and the reality I live. The reality is GOOD, GREAT in so many ways, but…different. And there is grief involved in its acceptance. Grief in letting go of so much. All those delicious delusions of grandeur. I really liked those.
Anyway, I know this menopause thing is a marvelous opportunity to grow. To find the endless summer within. And I’ll do that. Uh huh. Right after we win the Pillsbury Bake-Off, hit the NYT list and join a gym to sculpt age-defying muscles. Denial first, acceptance later. 😀