So, tomorrow is my birthday.
I seriously have no idea how I got here. For all that is holy, I swear, all I did was blink a few times.
I have not accomplished nearly what I thought I would and so much more than I ever dreamed. I have tried to control my surroundings for years and life cut through that shit like a hot knife through butter.
I like getting older. I mean, menopause is fucking bullshit, but I like getting older.
I feel the same in my head as I have since before we were wearing Member’s Only jackets and LA Gear sneaks with neon shoestrings. I’ve just had time to work shit out.
Life is better the more I sort the shit out in my head.
As time passes, I realize am I more than I’ve given myself credit for. I understand that I’ve been afraid of the wrong things. It’s nice to believe in myself. It would be nice to let go of the fear, though.
I spend an inordinate amount of time talking myself out of being negative or crazy.
I’m good with this. I think the path I am taking is difficult. I make life more difficult than it needs to be, but I am moving forward. That at least earns me a participation award.
As I move forward, I realize that “Crone” has a bad reputation.
What’s so bad about being a crone? So, we are getting older? Who cares? Getting old isn’t for pussies, but if you get through the hard parts, the rewards are amazing.
Why is it when women age, we are supposed to fall into some neat categories?
Kindly, fluffy haired grandma who knows her way around a rolling pin. Crazy, lonely woman with too many cats. The doting matriarch who can dispense wise advice while whipping up a turkey dinner with all the trimmings from scratch. Including two kinds of pie.
What about the grandmas who know their way around rolling papers? What about the body builders and the dreamers and the lovers? I mean, how are we represented in entertainment? Bitter, controlling, and desperate to stay young or Aunt Bea from Mayberry.
I guess we did get Gemma Teller. It would be nice to have a hot granny on television who isn’t a psychotic nutjob with homicidal tendencies who eventually gets snuffed by her only living child. But hey, progress is progress.
We all have a voice. I had a voice when I was young. Or at least I wanted to have one. Mostly it was lost behind fear and self doubt. My voice was tight, quiet, and could be silenced with a glance. I’m finding it now. Just because I’m finding it later, doesn’t mean it’s too late.
We need to take crone back. Maybe, get some bumper stickers. Crone Power! Crone is the new sexy. Get your crone on. Or a new saying like “A throne fit for a crone” or “Everything’s coming up crones”. I honestly don’t even know what that means, but I like it anyway.
Also, I really want some pie now. Where is a goddamn kindly grandma when you need one?