Letter from My 48th Year (Jan 19)
For no real reason at all I have it in my head that the coffee at the Tastee Diner is not that caffeinated. Which is why I had 4 or 5 cups this morning. And why my hands are currently shaking. B, my favorite waitress, joked this morning that I could get drunk from too much coffee, but really, it seems more like I have the delirium tremens. (Which is such a delicious phrase for something so awful.)
I’m kind of mad at the day right now. I mean if it’s going to insist on being Winter outside, I’d like mine with a side of romance. You know, a smoky eye kind of grayness, or gentle slow flurries, or a winter sun so dazzling it’s practically blinding. Yes, I know it’s warmer than it has been and yes, I know that it’s nice and sunny outside, but really Winter is only endurable if it feels cozy. (And yes, I know I shouldn’t be capitalizing Winter but I’m a poet and we’re known for taking liberties with grammar and such. Or maybe that’s just me and my ongoing war with the English language.)
Let’s see, what else should I complain about today? Oh yes, my hair. I am fulfilling my vow to let my ponytail grow out so I can have a delightfully messy bun thing going on by summer. (Oh, let’s not dwell on the fact that no matter how long my hair gets, there’s such a small patch of it left on my head that I probably won’t be able to make a respectable bun out of it, messy or otherwise.) My hair is lovely and soft, and keeps the most beautiful wave as the curls relax (yay for dirty hair!), but the darned ponytail keeps insisting on hanging limply to the left, like it’s taking that darned Beyonce song way too much to heart. Am I complaining that basically my ponytail is failing to hold on to its erection? Yes, yes, I am.
And now a word about my ovaries… Actually a word TO my ovaries: I’M NOT GOING TO HAVE A BABY AT 49 OR 50 SO KNOCK OFF YOUR HORMONAL B.S. AND STOP PUSHING OUT EGGS ALREADY SO I CAN STOP HAVING MY PERIOD CAUSE IT’S BEEN 38 YEARS AND I’M SICK OF IT. (In case you hadn’t guessed, that was a word from our sponsor: perimenopause….)
And speaking of our sponsor perimenopause, I’m also over the thing where round roughly 3pm I suddenly turn unintelligent for a few hours because Brain Fog. Seriously. Every thing I want to say becomes jumbled up on my tongue, and though I stare and stare at my to do list, in the second between turning away from my to do list back to my computer, I forget what it was I was supposed to be doing. Not just once, not even twice, but basically my brain plays Who’s on First for innings at a time. (Yes, my dear colleagues, that’s why if you ask me a question in the afternoon, I look at you blankly. I’m trying to remember your name, friend. Heck, sometimes I’m even trying to remember where I am and how I got there and if I remembered to put on pants before I left my apartment. Sigh.)
I joke because I appear to have used up all of my tears in the decades leading up to my 40s and though I’m a Prime member, my new supply seems to have not yet arrived. Sigh…
On that note, off I go to stride the moors as one does. And by moors, I mean the hallway outside my apartment, where I think my neighbors have finally stopped looking at me suspiciously as I circle past their apartments secretly casing the joint. As warm as it is, it’s still too cold outside to go look at the houses on Second Avenue (and that would involve determining how much clothing I could wear without either freezing or overheating, and really, who has the time for such strategery), and somehow walking the hallway is less boring than walking on the treadmill in our downstairs gym.
On that note, allons’y friends, allons’y!