Hookers and blow are just not my style…

Standard

Mornin’ all.

Hang on a sec. I need to put on some music today. I’m thinking we go retro. A bit of rainy winter morning Depeche Mode to go with the coffee.

“Are we emo today, Bethie?”

Nah, I just got up in a funky mood. I had weird dreams last night and the vibe lingers. There are two types of weird dreams:

1. run-of-the-mill slightly odd dreams, where you wake up and say, “….huh. Okay, then.”

2. mental trip so far out there that you wake up in a cold sweat and google the symptoms of psychopathy just to make sure you’re not in the grips of a serious meltdown

Fortunately, mine were just the odd ball type. Don’t worry, guys. I haven’t cracked up entirely.

Yet.

You know what? I got through one and a half Depeche Modes, and I’m good. Depeche Mode is great in short bursts, but I don’t think I want to hang out with them all morning. I don’t have enough Aqua net and purple eye shadow to pull it off. Israel Kamakawiwo’Ole. That’s what today needs. Ukes over synthesizers to perk this morning up.

Can I have a midlife crisis?

I’ve been thinking about this recently because I read an article title that at first pissed me off but then became a reality check.

45 Year Old Out To Prove Middle Aged Women Can Still Be Desirable

My gut reaction was to let my inner sassy biotch out for a second to have her say. Oh *clap* no *clap* they *clap* did *clap* NOT. Of COURSE a woman can be desirable at ANY age you absolute condescending knob. And…middle aged? MIDDLE AGED? Ec-SCUSE me?! Since when is 45 “middle aged?” 45 is still young and vibrant and…

…and…

…half of 90…which would…be…

…oh.

While my sassy inner self is still riled up about the antiquated idea that women have a shelf life, she was put in her place a bit when it sank in that 45 is, indeed, middle aged. 45, which seemed so old to me only a handful of years ago. I’m not at the 45 mark, but I’m not that far off. Factor in the other things that go into determining longevity (or lack thereof) and I’m probably a good bit PAST the middle of my life.

I am quite thoroughly ensconced in my middle age.

“Uh oh. Are you listening to Depeche Mode still, Bethie? Because it sounds like we might be going from a funk to a depression.”

No, actually I’m bebopping to Modern English. Back to 80s, just peppy 80s.

I’m not depressed about it. I just guess I never thought of my age in terms of the overall lifespan. You don’t when you’re young, do you? When you’re 18, 20, 25, you never usually stop and work out the fractions. Life is life, and my life at those years was filled with many babies and the constant scramble to figure out how to feed them all with no money. There’s not much time for existential pondering.

I hit the milestone birthdays, and of course I took a second to consider a bit what they meant. Maybe I had a halfhearted day of realization here and there, but never a deep and actual understanding of the passage of time. It never really occurred to me that I was creeping up on the halfway mark.

I’m here. I’m probably past the halfway mark. And yet, I have not had a single midlife crisis. I’m really dropping the ball.

What kind of midlife crisis should I have?

Slick cars and loose women are too cliché. Besides, I don’t roll in either of those directions. I like my cars the way I like my men…old and loud.

Let’s see. What are some other classic midlife crises? Pierced ear and wardrobe change. Bleh. I have always hated the idea of repeatedly sticking a metal object into my body, and a wardrobe change sounds like a lot of work. I’d have to do research. And go to…malls *shudder*. I could get a new hair style I guess. What’s a hip hair style the kids sport these days? Whiffle cut?

I could start going to clubs.

“OMG, Bethie, if you do that you MUST Snapchat the entire experience.”

It was a joke. Calm down. I’m not going clubbing.

You look disappointed. Hm. Okay, here and now, I make you a promise. You’ve been a good friend to me. You deserve to be there for my life’s most awkward moments. I make you a solemn and sincere vow that if I ever go to a club, I will most definitely film the experience for your enjoyment, k?

None of the classic midlife breaks from the norm feel right. Most midlife crises happen because people are actually in crisis mode when they realize youth is slipping away. I’m not. I don’t want to recapture my youth. I HATED my youth. I didn’t like who I was as a youth, either. I MUCH prefer myself now at 40. Yes, aching knees and stiff hip and pressing-desire-to-get-a-glass-display-cabinet-like-all-grandmas-have and all. The whole package now is far more appealing to me than the hurting, lost, stressed, miserable 20 year old I was. Her knees were better, but that was about it. I even prefer my hair streaked with gray. I earned these grays. I faced shit and LIVED. Each gray hair that waves in the breeze is a flag of victory.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to take advantage of societal expectations to get away with something that would otherwise be considered unseemly. Why can’t I have a midlife crisis just because I’m not pining for the me of yesterday? Like the gray hair, I think I’ve earned it.

REO Speedwagon just came on!!! I haven’t dusted off this playlist in awhile and I forgot what was on here. “I believe it’s time for me to flyyyyyyyyy-aye-aye-eee-aye…” Fitting.

I don’t know, guys. I suppose I’ll just have to think about it some more. I have to decide soon, though, or else I’ll miss my midlife entirely and slip right into the “is it dementia or is she just eccentric” years, and I already have firm plans for those. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but there may or may not be a suped up power scooter, feather boa, and bedazzled ten gallon hat on tap for my 57th birthday.

Guess you’ll have to wait and see.

Thus concludes a bit of a ramble for Sunday, December 2, 2018. Maybe I’ll come up with a midlife crisis action plan while I’m doing housework. Anything to take my mind off the drudgery of *shudder* organizing The Pile.

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