Moving On...
13 years ago
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Short Note so I Don't Forget (Because I'm Old and Have No Memory)
I'm looking through random blogs here and I decided that when I have time to kill every day (yeah, that'll happen) I will keep looking randomly until I find one each day (session? week?) that I want to follow for no good reason other than nobody else is AND I liked the content. So I found one today and she has some interesting pictures and colors. Let's see how long I keep up with this little idea.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Age and Rage
I've noticed that it's getting harder for me to get really, truly, bitch-slapping angry anymore. I used to be able to rage with the best of them, to throw tantrums and hissy fits that were proverbial in my family. I maintain that my tempermental behavior was justified about 65% of the time, and still is, but reactions are so muted that it's become a topic of conversation.
The man in my life (hereafter known as Miml) says it's an effect of happiness. Mom says it's maternal hormones. My kids are just glad I don't fly off the handle three times a day and wouldn't care if it were heroin-induced bliss.
I think I'm just too tired to work up the proper amount of steam for a good rage. Which leads, inevitably to age.
I don't think I've mellowed with age, because I still hate most people and I still get irked by their behavior; I just think that the older I get, the more energy is required just to get my ass out of bed in the morning and do what has to be done. There's just not enough left by the time I get everything accomplished to waste on anger and vitriol.
That being said, I still have my moments. Even old, tired women can get worked up now and again. Right now I'm fuming that my son is late for his birthday dinner. I haven't worked up to rage yet, but I can feel quite the storm building.
I'd like to throw a fit when he walks in the door, but I'm tired, so I think I'll just hack into the birthday cake before he gets here.
The man in my life (hereafter known as Miml) says it's an effect of happiness. Mom says it's maternal hormones. My kids are just glad I don't fly off the handle three times a day and wouldn't care if it were heroin-induced bliss.
I think I'm just too tired to work up the proper amount of steam for a good rage. Which leads, inevitably to age.
I don't think I've mellowed with age, because I still hate most people and I still get irked by their behavior; I just think that the older I get, the more energy is required just to get my ass out of bed in the morning and do what has to be done. There's just not enough left by the time I get everything accomplished to waste on anger and vitriol.
That being said, I still have my moments. Even old, tired women can get worked up now and again. Right now I'm fuming that my son is late for his birthday dinner. I haven't worked up to rage yet, but I can feel quite the storm building.
I'd like to throw a fit when he walks in the door, but I'm tired, so I think I'll just hack into the birthday cake before he gets here.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Still Old and Still Irrelevant
My oldest child turns 21 tomorrow and I'm sure I'm supposed to be freaked out, but I'm not really. Maybe it's because he's still just a big kid who is more interested in playing Magic and video games than in "growing up". I'm not in any hurry and I'm glad he's not either.
My youngest child turned 5 months old on Sunday. I am freaked out about that, but I've been freaked out since the little pee-stick gave me a plus-sign, so it's not a new feeling. I really think he's a lot more serious than his big brother...he'll probably be looking at mortgages by the time he's 10. He just has that kind of serious outlook on life. He's trying to type with me right now, and I'm sure he'd say something amazing if he had any motor control. Maybe then I'd understand why he keeps giving me those disapproving looks when I offer him applesauce.
There is a middle child who must be mentioned, just in case she somehow reads this. I can't just imagine the conversation if she were not included:
She: Soooo, I read about M. and the Peanut, but nothing about me.
Me: Sorry, I was just comparing their ages and thinking about how old I am to have a baby.
She: I'm used to it, I'm a middle child, we're always left out.
Me: You've only been a middle child for five months...you were the baby for sixteen years.
She: You've always loved them more than me.
Me: That's not true.
She: Prove it. Take me to see ICP.
Me: I don't think so.
She: You took M. to X-Fest.
Me: I liked some of the bands. I don't like ICP.
She: You'd like ICP if M. or the Peanut liked them.
Me: I don't think so.
She: I hate you. Can I have 5 dollars and a ride to the mall.
I tried to stay young and relevant, I really did. I read books recommended on Pajiba, I listen to a lot of the same music ans my kids (no, not ICP, I really can't stand them) and all the kids love to hang out at my house, but today I realized I am really not young and definitely not relevant. I read a review of a book written by an author I love who's been dead for 23 years and I realized that it was the first time in a while I've felt connected to the work in question
I don't think I'm the only one to ever feel this way. I'm sure a lot of my age-mates are waking up and realizing that we aren't the driving force in culture anymore. Our music is dated, our reading tastes aren't even close to avant-garde and we are bored to tears by the "good" movies.
So, I'm going to do what any sane 42-year-old in my situation would do: dig up my copy of Dune, put Alice Cooper on the cd player and refuse to watch Gossip Girl with my daughter from now on.
My youngest child turned 5 months old on Sunday. I am freaked out about that, but I've been freaked out since the little pee-stick gave me a plus-sign, so it's not a new feeling. I really think he's a lot more serious than his big brother...he'll probably be looking at mortgages by the time he's 10. He just has that kind of serious outlook on life. He's trying to type with me right now, and I'm sure he'd say something amazing if he had any motor control. Maybe then I'd understand why he keeps giving me those disapproving looks when I offer him applesauce.
There is a middle child who must be mentioned, just in case she somehow reads this. I can't just imagine the conversation if she were not included:
She: Soooo, I read about M. and the Peanut, but nothing about me.
Me: Sorry, I was just comparing their ages and thinking about how old I am to have a baby.
She: I'm used to it, I'm a middle child, we're always left out.
Me: You've only been a middle child for five months...you were the baby for sixteen years.
She: You've always loved them more than me.
Me: That's not true.
She: Prove it. Take me to see ICP.
Me: I don't think so.
She: You took M. to X-Fest.
Me: I liked some of the bands. I don't like ICP.
She: You'd like ICP if M. or the Peanut liked them.
Me: I don't think so.
She: I hate you. Can I have 5 dollars and a ride to the mall.
I tried to stay young and relevant, I really did. I read books recommended on Pajiba, I listen to a lot of the same music ans my kids (no, not ICP, I really can't stand them) and all the kids love to hang out at my house, but today I realized I am really not young and definitely not relevant. I read a review of a book written by an author I love who's been dead for 23 years and I realized that it was the first time in a while I've felt connected to the work in question
I don't think I'm the only one to ever feel this way. I'm sure a lot of my age-mates are waking up and realizing that we aren't the driving force in culture anymore. Our music is dated, our reading tastes aren't even close to avant-garde and we are bored to tears by the "good" movies.
So, I'm going to do what any sane 42-year-old in my situation would do: dig up my copy of Dune, put Alice Cooper on the cd player and refuse to watch Gossip Girl with my daughter from now on.
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