I’m Still Old

You know, I used to like to write.  About everything.  And now I find myself unable to think about putting my thoughts or my memories on paper.  I used to belong to a memory keepers writing group, and while it is still going on, I cannot bring myself to attend those monthly meetings, because I do not have anything to say — or rather, write.  I wrote pages and pages of memories and realized they are all about me.  Others write about their families, their ancestral homes, their research on historical family members, and so on.  I write about my experiences.  There is only so much to say about one individual’s experiences, even if that person, being me, has had an interesting life.  There are certain things one just doesn’t write about, and those, maybe, are the things that would make another person give a damn about reading the  memory.

In just a year’s time I have changed.   How is that even possible?  After living 74 years, one should stop changing, I think, and have some consistency in life.  Like, relax and enjoy life.  However, when I am at home, I want to be out.  When I am out, I want to be home.  Perhaps that is what aging does to you:  trying to find a place where one belongs at this stage of life.

Indeed, I have changed.  For one thing, I weigh 45 pounds less than I did a year ago.   I feel better.  I have more energy.  I am healthier, and I need new clothes.  Unfortunately, I do not have money for new clothes.  I am retired, and while not poor, certainly can’t go out and purchase new clothes.  Of course, I don’t need much, since all I do is hang around  home, go grocery shopping, and go to the barn.  I guess I should mention, I have horses, and I try to ride at least three times a week, which is why I’m out of money.  That fulfills my “getting away from home” dilemma.  I finally took on a volunteer position.  It’s okay, but I’d rather be selfish and simply spend time doing my own thing.   So, in that way, I haven’t changed.

I am more opinionated than ever.  I pay more attention to the political situations in the world.  (Now, why in the hell would anyone want to do that when their life is winding down and there is not a thing that can be accomplished by an old lady filled with angst?)    I marched in the Million Women’s March in Washington, D.C. in January, 2017.   It was an interesting experience, filled with hope and anticipation of making a difference.   It also brought me sadness, fatigue, and an aching body.  But, boy was it ever worth it!

I am still old.  That hasn’t changed.  Everyday I am older, and my life is shortened.   Kind of sad, I think.  Just when I realized I could do so much, I have less time to do it.  Another dilemma, perhaps.   Well, we shall see what tomorrow brings.

 

Published by mjm1942

I have aged. Of course. I was born in Trenton, NJ in 1942. I now live in Kentucky. It's 2019. My marriage has lasted 56 years, and I still love the man. My three children live far from us, and we do miss them; however, it's fine with just he and me. We are best friends. I love my dogs and my horses. I have failed as a writer (dreams died long ago), but I still dabble now and then. I have always been restless; perhaps because I have moved so many times in my life. I feel like something is waiting to happen around the corner. I graduated from Salem College at 55 years of age. I am a woman.

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