What to write

I haven’t been feeling very motivated to write since I finished my book. I say finished loosely because it is going to need more work. Nothing major though. I hope to have it ready to publish by early next year.

I think I need to revisit my goals. What do I want to do next? Try my hand at fiction? Or am I happy to keep writing on a personal blog although with my book it seems like I told everything I wanted to tell. I think I want to keep writing in some capacity, but what?

There are always things going on in my life to write about. I guess I wasn’t meant for a life of mediocrity. Sometimes I am jealous of people who live an ordinary average life who can join groups on Facebook called the dull women’s club. True story, I looked at some of their posts and some people just sit around watching their garden grow. I could only post about watching my plants slowly die.

I figured part of my problem is that I was never shown how to care for plants. My mom got rid of all our houseplants when she went on a kick that my brother Matt was allergic to them all. Last summer I bought a banana plant and the only way it lived over winter was because a friend showed me basic plant care 101.

My grandpa had a nursery when I was young. One day, he pulled out a dying shrub he was going to get rid of. I decided I was going to ‘rescue’ the shrub. So I planted it in my backyard and watered it everyday. One day I went out to water it, and it was no longer dying. It even looked twice its size, green and healthy. It was a miracle, I saved it. But now as I am older I realize my grandpa probably had something to do with my unrealistic expectations about plant rescue.

This is totally going in an unanticipated path. I do have a lot of stories to tell, but we’ll save them for another rainy day. There have been a lot of rainy days as of late. The arthritis in my knee has been acting up for the last week or so. I may soon be able to predict the weather like my relatives of old. My arthritis is acting up, it’s going to rain. How time changes things. Five years ago I would be trying to get in a run before the storm. Now I sit around and complain about how hard it is to walk because my joints can feel the rain coming. It’s hard to think I will never be able to do something again I used to enjoy so much.

Maybe I’m just having another mid-life crisis. I will be 50 in less than a month. It’s hard kissing my 40’s good-bye. Fifty is old. I’ve gained weight. I can’t see worth a crap. Some days I have a hard time getting around. Arthritis. Grey hair. I don’t look or feel young anymore. I’m at an all time low, but it’s not going to get any better. But I’m trying not to complain about it too much because those people are just a drag to be around.

Otherwise, things are going okay. Arabella is stable on her medicine. On Monday, she has a goal planning appointment with her new case manager to help her gain independence. She literally hasn’t visited with friends for weeks and spends her day following me around. I don’t mind all that much. I’m trying to enjoy what time I have with her. She never liked me before so in that way it is kind of nice. I know I’m cool and all, but I want much more for her than that.

My other two kids, Angel and Alex, are not getting along. That has been stressful because I hate feeling like I am in the middle especially with a holiday weekend coming up. Not to mention dealing with the extended family. Then having a party and turning 50 right after that.

I have been feeling pensive and melancholy lately. Maybe I just need a little sunshine.

My magic wand

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When I was 34, I played the part of Glinda. I was given someone’s old ill fitting wedding dress to wear. I didn’t like it. So I dug out my wedding dress from the back closet and broke the vacuum pack seal that would forever preserve it. It still fit.

I was given a large magic wand, but the director did not like it although I did. The large wand was replaced with a smaller one and was held by some of the younger cast members.

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One morning I awoke to find my first magic wand in the front yard with a note attached. I felt young to be the receiver of pranks from a youthful crowd.

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Recently, I tried out for the part of a floozy at the local community theater. I didn’t get the part. The actor that was perfect to play the part of the floozy’s boyfriend is 18 years old, the same age as my daughter. Instead a young high school girl who never had a boyfriend was chosen to be the floozy.

What does she have that I don’t? Besides being 25 years younger?? Ha ha, oh well…hmm..

I was given the part of a homeless old bitchy hag.

I had to take a long hard look at myself in the mirror. I am not young anymore. I once was a beautiful flower, but now I’m at the end of my bloom. My petals are starting to droop…wrinkles…lines. My color is starting to fade…My hair a glistening gray…old hands…weird freckly dots..

I still like to think of myself as young. But I don’t glimpse much of that girl anymore in my self-reflection.

This past week I threw out my magic wand. It suddenly seemed a painful reminder of what I once was.

But if I could have my magic wand back and make one wish, it would be that I could feel young for just a little longer…

This year I will be 29 again…