I won’t give up, but I will curse. -t-shirt
I will be 45 on the 12th. Lately, my thoughts work in overtime. I’ve gotten quieter within myself. Old truths don’t really scare me anymore. They know me, I know them. I just pour a cup of tea and consider pushing them off tables to fall startled onto the floor. Quite well aware they will be getting petty revenge later.
I’ve been watching my hair turn silver with a kind of wonder. I get to see what I look like as an old lady. I’ve never once worried about vanity, but maybe I worried a bit about acceptance of old me. Now, I’m just soo fucking grateful to get the chance to grow old. I’ve seen too many die, you see. Too many that I needed.
I’m not in a hurry anymore. These days my fears are more about security. Will I be able to afford my senior life? What if my body doesn’t respond quite so readily to work that earns me paychecks? Will I lose memory? Will I lose dignity?
I saw a television program where the older man said that older people tend to disappear from peoples gaze. Where once they were ugly, pretty, fat or thin, now they are just seen as random old people. People stop seeing you once you have nothing to offer them. You aren’t young, so they don’t want to bed you. You aren’t rich, so they don’t want to wed you. You’re just a reminder that people age, and nobody wants that.
I find I don’t care. I thought I would care, but I kinda don’t. More time to think, more time to write. Eat without remorse, fart without apology.
I don’t even mind the dying part really. Only concerned it doesn’t hurt too much when it does happen.
I have lived my life making sure I have no regrets. I am about telling my truth. I tell people I love them. Admit if I like them or if I don’t. Acceptance of people has become my default setting. People are just human feelings. Everyone deserves love. Everyone deserves dignity.
I live my life with integrity. If I die today they all know I loved them, because I tell them. It feels really good to let go of fear and just enjoy the hell out of things. Forgiving myself for my past mistakes has been ever so much harder than forgiving others for theirs.
My only real worry is companionship and economy. I work in retail and live with other people because humans can’t afford to live alone these days. Not in a world that pays the least it can for the most expected.
And then there is that damn King of Wands. He’ll arrive when he’s ready, but I miss him something awful. Sounds weird considering he hasn’t met me yet, nor I him. I’ll know him when I see him and he’ll know me. He’ll like the sparkle in my eyes and the way I cry over dorky sentimental things .
He won’t know why he’s drawn to me, but he’ll still come. When he’s ready.
I hope he likes silver hair.