Comment: It's Official.

For awhile there I was too busy to write, and on the rare occasion when I sat down to try, I felt like I had nothing to say.

But that appears to have changed.

Enter: MIDDLE AGE. Aaahhhhh!

It's not like I just became middle-aged. I've been middle-aged for awhile now. But today I hit a milestone, because I broke down and bought......

reading glasses.

Yup, that was me in the back of the store, surreptitiously trying on different levels of magnification and seeing what I could read on the little chart that Foster Grant provides for my elucidation. I naively thought that since I have great vision in a family clad in glasses that somehow I would escape the fate.

But age has a way of fucking with you like nothing else. Hence, the glasses.

I mean, I can't read the damn writing on the ibuprofen bottle and at 2 in the morning that's pretty annoying.

I haven't even used the glasses yet. I just got them this afternoon. And I wonder if anyone will notice or care, or if I'll end up making a big deal out of it because "Oh my god, I wear GLASSES now, look at me, I've over 40!" I do tend to skew on the dramatic side.

But I kind of leaned into it today, and at the same time bought some moisturizer for "mature" skin. I don't know how exactly they determine what mature means. My skin is probably more mature than me, but that's not saying much.

Somehow I ended up subscribing accidentally to Women's Health magazine and on the cover there are always twenty year-olds on the cover, baring their midriff, with the heading "Chrissy Celebutastic shows you her secrets to staying fit!"

And the secret is? She's TWENTY. She doesn't EAT. Not really much of a secret, people.

I'm more than twice that age, and I love to eat, so this magazine does me no good. I've just got to figure out how to unsubscribe. There's no tab on the bottom of the magazine to click on!

As I like to say to anyone who will listen, and especially to my best friend, we're not 20, and we're not 80. So being in the middle is pretty much where I'm going to be for awhile. So get set for more ranting about the middle ground.

If you're strong enough to take it.

Question: Boundaries?

Why is it so easy to set boundaries with groups of children, but not with grown ups?

You'd think the grown-ups would be easier. They're more reasonable and allegedly more mature.

I just went outside twice in the last half hour and read the riot act to the neighborhood kids who were doing stupid and dangerous things on our lawn. I had been alerted by my generally rule-abiding daughter. I had no hesitation to scare the crap out of them and warn them if they didn't shape up, they couldn't come over.

NOBODY else on my street talks to kids that way.

Now let me say, I love kids, and not just my own. I do not want anything bad to happen to any of them. Which is why I was yelling the first place. I happened to read about the tragic death recently of an Emerson undergrad who fell off a roof to his death while making a film. Horrible.

So when I saw three little girls hanging carelessly over the edge of our raised (and I mean RAISED) back deck, I knocked down a chair and a music player to get out the door and raise holy hell in order to stop them.

Anyway, that kind of thing is a no-brainer. Keep safe, be nice, rock on. Pretty simple.

But when it comes to dealing with adults...it's so much harder to stand up for yourself. It's been called to my attention on more than one occasion in my life that I am "too nice". That I "give away my power" and try to please people more than myself. Sadly, this is true.

I can't get airlines to give me vouchers in a situation where they would if you asked the right way. I can't get hotels to give me deals when the person right in front of me gets one. I don't know how to be demanding or forceful with other adults. I often apologize in a veiled or overt way when I do something, ANYTHING. Like I need permission to take a whiz. Honestly.

This is something I really need to work on. I believe this is a chronic condition in many, many women. I need to take action.

Because I feel like if I don't, one day I will just blow a gasket in an inappropriate situation and wreak havoc unnecessarily.

I'd like to learn to say what I think and fell WITHOUT APOLOGY, CAVEATS or ENDLESS PARAGRAPHS of JUSTIFICATION. Which is what I do now.

I'll let you know how it's going.

Is that okay with you? (Yes, I'm aware of the irony here.)

Comment: The F Word

Do you ever have an experience which, even while you're in it, you swear it will change you deeply? Where you're sure it's going to alter your perception of certain things for the rest of your life? At least, that's what you hope, and think, at the time?

That's where I am now.

When you have a minor medical scare, your life flashes before you. You're reminded that you're mortal, and that as a middle-aged person, your life is, arguably, half over. (or half begun, for you optimists out there) These things happen all the time; scares, concerns, unknowns.

What I tried to do differently this time is not panic at a 300% level, which is what I usually do. I tried to just kind of take things day by day and not flip out. I've spent so much of my life at maximum drama, and frankly, it's exhausting to me and everyone else. So I kept it (relatively) under control. I avoided thinking about writing my own obituary or fearing for my children's future. I rationally thought about odds and statistics and precedents. And then, for now, I was taken off the hook. Sweet relief.

And I was struck by how much fear we all carry around in our lives. Fear and anxiety are our M.O.s, and that has to stop somehow. I already talked last post about how we wait for everything; implicit in that waiting is anxiety and fear. If we weren't stuck waiting, we'd be anticipating, because we'd be looking forward to something positive. We wait for things, often in agony, because we fear the worst possible outcome, which, natch, rarely happens.

Humans sure do fuck with their own heads.

I for one would like to try to live with less fear and anxiety. A tall order, granted.

But one worth striving for.

Because if we're already in mid-life, isn't it time we started trying to enjoy what we have, as opposed to what we don't? Isn't it time to kick fear OUT of our lives for good?

I'm just sayin'.

Comment: Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

You know in "Oh the Places You'll Go" by Dr. Seuss, there's this part where he talks about "The Waiting Place", and how you really don't want to spend time there?

That's where I am.

It's uncomfortable.

I'm sure you've been there, too. We all go there. It's one of those parts of life we have to deal with, like it or not.

What do we wait for? Exam results, both educational and medical, job offers or rejections, phone calls, gestation, paying for groceries, mail and deliveries, that coveted novel you're in the queue for at the library, life to somehow magically "begin" with the onset of that perfect house, partner, promotion, hair cut, job.

Damn, we wait for a lot.

So how do we make the waiting place a productive one?

I think it's a mindset, really. It's the whole living in the moment thing.

Which I'm kind of waiting to get good at.

Ha.

Comment: The Power of the Sun

Not to keep flogging a dead horse here (which, by the way, is sick and disturbing and would smell TERRIBLE), but this overcast scene is really OVER.

Yesterday, the sun would come up for five minute increments, and every time it was out, my mood was lifted; every time it fell, so plummeted my mood.

It's not fun to be a slave to the sun; my mental mood ring just kept crashing from black to green, black to green. Enough!

Complaining doesn't serve any purpose, though, does it?

I've long ago sought my light by artificial means, in order to prevent myself from yo-yoing for an entire two seasons.

However, sunlight and artificial light are not the same. And they never will be. One is a pale substitute for the other, no pun intended.

That's about all I've got to say right now. I also smashed my head quite hard on the open door of my cabinet, which did not help my nascent migraine, I have to say.

Here's hoping Little Orphan Annie is right.

Complaint: Oh Come ON!

Okay, it's hilarious. I'm laughing. Ha ha ha.

It's still before noon, so I understand the humor. But if this snow continues past noon, I will no longer be laughing.

Why is it that you can only pull an April Fool's joke before noon? Did I dream that? Or is it just Canadian? And is there really a difference between the two?

I'm also having a memory that my French Canadian neighbour growing up, Sylvie Toulouse, said that in her culture, people put fish on people's windshields. Was this a French-French thing, or a French-Canadian thing? I never found out. But on April 1, there was indeed a paper bag cut-out fish and a note in broken English on our windshield sayings "We hope you are not mad!" (We weren't. I mean, it wasn't a REAL fish.)

I know that happened.

Anyway, this snow is decidedly not funny.

And speaking of feeling foolish, I spent the morning suffering the minor and unpleasant indignities of the American health system. Nothing like wearing paper sheets, gowns that don't tie properly, getting your boobs smashed to the thickness of a placemat, and ultrasound wands probing the depths of your body, and, I'd add, your soul.

But hey, at least I'm writing about it!

I hate getting mammograms. I mean, they are always scary. I had a scare a few years ago and it turned out not to be a big thing, but now every time I go, I feel sort of dreadful and queasy. And then they don't TELL you anything! They said they'll send a letter, or call you, but they add, "Don't panic if we call you"! That's like saying, "Don't PEE!", after you've downed 32 ounces of water at 8:30 in the morning for a pelvic ultrasound.

I need some chocolate. I'm sure that will help.

In the meantime, I'm hoping to start Script Frenzy today, which is like National Novel Writing Month, only scripty, not novelly.

Wish me luck!

Comment: Still here.

Howdy, Readers.

I'm still here. Just got very deep into my multiple jobs, plus for the first time in over ten years, I performed in a show. It was awesome and got that thespian itch going for me again. My friends and I each wrote a monologue that we literally and figuratively strung together, with some rope. It was so much fun.

But I don't want to be one of those bloggers who write about how great their life is because if you're having a shitty day you'll feel like kicking my teeth in. Actually, I'm mixing up what I'm trying to say. The brilliant improv guru Keith Johnstone says that "Every time you tell someone something good about yourself, it's like kicking them", which I have found to be true. It's like when you go on Facebook and everyone's seeming to have a better day than you and you feel like the lyrics to a Morrissey song and you just feel very very sorry for yourself for no particular reason.

The things to remember are: (1) Facebook is not reality, (2) The person could be lying, either to you or to her/himself (3) People hide behind vacuuous statements and shallow pursuits to quell their inner fear that life is meaningless, groundless, or just plain terrifying.

Jesus H., what's got into me today?

Actually, I just finished working on some gigs that had high highs, low lows, and creamy vanilla frosting middles. I saw my high schoolers yesterday for the last time. I was attempting to teach them playwriting. This was a group of urban, disaffected, angry, resistant and apathetic students who didn't find me as charming or hilarious as I had hoped. But I connected with a few of them, and most of them did write something, so it was not all for naught. Damn, high schoolers are challenging. The state of education in this country is sorry and depressing. But I'm not going there right now...

The preschoolers were a lot more fun and a lot more gratifying. Since last I wrote, I have enrolled in and am about to start another grad program; this time, I'm getting focused and practical: early childhood education, baby. That's where my heart is, and that's where I can get away with being the creative and freaky/goofy person I really am.

So I'm on a path. And that's probably why I haven't written in so long. I used this blog as my constant (just like Desmond on Lost!) as we moved from one side of the country to the other, and now that I am more settled into my life, I don't need it as much. But I don't want to just abandon you. My friend and fellow blogger, The Solipsist, reminded me today not to leave my readers in the lurch.

So exit the lurch, dear ones, and stay tuned for occasional postings here about art, life and being a middle-aged college student (again).

Rock on.