I don’t like it. So far, not so good. On a personal level, my life is still awesome. Hott husband, adult daughter who is proving to be more and more mature every day (or maybe more accurately, more or less mature every day), a job that allows me to do the things I am passionate about (even if there are facets of it that make me want to hide in bed), younger kids who are pleasant, smart, and healthy, finances are in order, book is being published, etc, etc, etc.
Body-wise…ick. Oh, people told me, “just wait until you’re forty”, “you can’t lose weight after forty”, “your eyesight goes after forty”, “blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.” In my mind, I always thought they were just super grumpy people who finally found something on which to blame their afflictions. Not me – no way. Why on earth would, one day – suddenly – my eyesight, health, AND metabolism all decide to abandon me simultaneously?
Guess what has happened in the two months since I’ve turned forty… I can’t see a thing up close without cheater glasses on. I’ve gained five MORE pounds – totaling 10 since the school-year started. I’ve developed panic attacks, acute occasional anxiety, vertigo, my first back-ache, and a whooshing sound in my right ear that sounds like a baby’s heartbeat in an ultrasound sounds, except it’s mine. My heartbeat. Now projected through my right ear so loud at times that I can’t pay attention to what people are saying. Nice.
Had my hormones tested. Normal. Had my ears checked. Nothing. Got off the holiday junk food kick. Gained five pounds. W.T.F.???
Every day I just want to come home and get in bed. I want to watch tv and scroll through Twitter and drink Prosecco. I have to get over/through/past this, but suddenly it feels like that would require going backward in time, and that hasn’t been invented yet.
I need to feel obsessed with something healthy again. Tonight, we started a writing group at my house. There are five of us at this very moment. Five of us, sitting, writing, conversing with some one or some thing via hands and words. I don’t think we’ll change the world. I don’t think we’ll change our own worlds. But I do think this is the vehicle that has motivated me before, and it’s the method of choice for me deciding to whip my body’s ass back into the land of the living again. And I’m grateful for the time and kindred spirit that we all can share so that I’ll leave the tv off, stay awake, and write.
So as before, here are my professions: 1) I will eat right this week, 2) I will exercise with the enthusiasm of a model, 3) I will drink more water than alcohol, 4) I will pretend I’m 39 until my body stops acting like it’s 40, 5) I will write at least twice a week.
When President Obama speaks, I always seem get caught on something he said that just bugs me more than the vocal majority. During his executive order speech about gun control a couple of days ago, he stated something about the fact that gun violence in America has little or no correlation to licensed gun owners. Then the very next thing out of his mouth was a very stern, presidential, “I reject that thinking!” If he can reject a fact, then so can I! I am 39 and 14 months. Forty is for suckas.