Sexy, sexy, sexy

Yet again, I begin, or continue, as my wise friend Ruth writes, to find the flow. The winter and early spring were miserable times of self flagellation, a habitual eroding of spirit and bodily dysfunction and depression as I struggled with my first almost full time position in almost 20 years, grief over my father's death, and the self-doubt that I've spent lots of time and funds on to master. The last few months at my last job being made too much use of and being blamed for mistakes that I didn't make eroded my confidence. I tried, tried tried not to let it but it led to a kind of low level terror at the new gig, a fear of making mistakes that was kind of ridiculous given that I was learning a whole new industry, system, and working almost twice as many hours while still experiencing the energy sucking rebellion of this wacky body.  Couple that with my attempts to be relentlessly positive and high stress ensued. That's my intellectual version of what was happening, anyway. It could have been that the moons of saturn were in retrograde or an infestation of the Asian Depressive Beatle invaded the neighborhood.

I think of these periods when I'm better as clean up and aftercare. Back on the stricter healthcare regimen, back on the medicines and ungents and treatments that seem to help, back to being more social, back to writing and other creative pursuits and dreaming, and playing with Dolce for long periods. Oh, but that all of us could be as satisfied and happy as he is playing with a piece of yarn. 

I think one of the other terrors of my winter of discontent is that I'll be 50, 50 years old, next May (with the skin of a goddess in some areas. ha!). It's funny now, that that seemed so sad, in winter, when now it seems like a blessing that I made it this far. And I'm back to writing again (again and again and again). 

So look for my "save the date" for next May's celebration of making it this far and still being as sexy as Sally O'Malley (see link, below.)

I'm 50 years old