This is a picture of a hormone.  This explains a lot.

It is no wonder we women are prone to hormonal unbalance.  Who wouldn’t be if one of these radioactive jellyfishlookingthingys was floating around reeking havoc on the days when everything else is going wrong?  Waiting for just the right time to go kaflooey.  Lying in wait to implode into a mishmash of pure t-hell.

Oh yeah.  That’s right.

Pure. T. Hell.

I never gave it much thought.  Never. I have never been adverse to aging. Though I vow to not go into it without a fight- I have accepted the process.  Sort of. I thought it would be something I would breeze through from here to there; always active I was- forever moving about-tinkering some would say.  I thought I would have no trouble with gravity-or body parts that slowly head south. But no. While I joke from time to time about that new piece of flesh on the back of my leg…yes, that one that used to be my perky marathons I have run and bikes I have peddled ass. Yes, that one that sprung back from birthing a baby.  But wait: 40 came and went and my ass still stayed. And yet, in these later years, there is goes,  sinking slowly no matter the amount of Lycra.

Once, and yes, it was only once for me- during the prep and pampering for swimsuit competition in the Miss. North Carolina pageant,circa 1984- I looked over and watched as Miss. Fayetteville grabbed a portion of her cheeky flesh( yes, that cheek ) and sprayed it with the same spray athletes use to grip the ball better. She “Firm Gripped” her butt to new heights-she lifted up her ass- sprayed it and it stuck.  Right there.  Right where she wanted it.  This was new to me-but darn if I did not meander over and ask for a spray myself.  Now firmly gripped in my fuchsia one piece-with matching sandals- and sure my ass was high and mighty,I arranged my sash just right and off I went. I was going to make my county proud I was.  The effects lasted only through the next shower-and there was something to be said for the  sticky residue. It lingered-but my butt fell back to where it was pre Firm Grip.   Where was I?  Oh, yes, hormones.  Oh these tangents of mine. Wait a minute.  I wonder where Miss. Fayetteville is now or for that matter, her butt?

And now- a thought will enter my mind and suddenly take leave. Or go off on these wild tangents pulling stories from very early on in my book of life. (See above) My sharp as a tack mind is being challenged by a hormonally unbalanced radioactive jelly fish.  My skin is dry-and so are my eyes-never mind the myopic view point.    There is a certain sort of sag that finds itself setting up shop on various parts of my face-and try as I may ( you should see my side of the medicine cabinet) the sag continues.  Don’t get me started on my hair. No, I will not be cutting it short.

My ability to multitask has taken up residence somewhere else- I strive now to just get a few things done-and not at the same time.  It is the midlife time of my life. Let me just relish in the things I can not remember anymore.  My fondness for flannel pajamas as day wear suits me just fine, drawstring please?

It is true what they say.  To my great dismay-it is hard to get up and go.  I hit it hard at the gym and then pay for it the next day in the oddest of places.  I recently discovered I can no longer do a rock star slide on a hard wood floor ( it’s a long story-ruined a great pair of stockings but it made a good memory) without severe damage. My right knee will never be the same.  Ever.

I get impatient.  Now, this is nothing new to anyone who really knows me -but my level of impatience has about a two minute window.  Throw in something I really don’t want to do and the window is gone.

I have no tolerance for stupid people.  Again, nothing new to anyone who really knows me-but I find it interesting to note the number of stupid people that seem to have been recently released onto the world is in direct proportion to my inability to tolerate them.  Mean people no longer have a chance with me.  I have morphed into a blundered version of Pollyanna and Alexis Carrington. One minute I am going to save the world and the next, well, let’s just say it is not attractive and I never knew flipping someone off could be so satisfying-even if said person did not catch sight of my bird.  I blast Ce-lo Green’s hit song on my iPod.  The unedited version. Yesssssssss.

AND I LIKE IT.  I really, really do.

I love that I love the word no now.

No.

Say it loud and proud.

No. No, I can not.  No, not at this time.  No. No. No. No. No.

And that is final.

I love my new found midlife sense of power.  It goes great with everything I own-and it only took me this long to find it.

Someone asked me how I got on the fast track to the life I am living.

Wait. What?

Fast track.  You know- the plan was all laid out, good family, good school, good job, good husband, good children…. and I just simply followed the plan.

Oh.

God no.

I got on one road and went as far as I could.  Got on another, took a short path-then took a long path-hit a roadblock, or ten, got on another road, made some pit stops, took a short cut, had to go back and do it again, took the road less traveled-many times (trust me) and here I am. I have been hurt, betrayed by friends and family, stuck it out, sucked it up, got it wrong, got it right, led astray, led away, dumped, doted on, figured it out, somehow, some way, by force, circumstance and the help of a pretty amazing mentor/therapist/friend.  So here I am. Stuck in the middle of this particular midlife mid point.  For me, there was no fast track.  Heck, I am still looking for a right turn-or at least, another one to take-here at this mid life-resting point.

Let’s see where this will go.