Going out of Business

I have been dealing with some medical issues of late, that have gone from . "Well, given your family history it may be cancer..." to "Hmmm, have you tired vitamins?"

In my head I have run through the cancer route, given it is a topic I am acutely familiar with.  Diagnoses, maybe surgery, chemo, loss of hair, throwing up.  Looking at the upside, I could use some new scarves, I would probably lose weight, and the drugs that come with surgery don't sound all that bad.  

The downside of course would be death.  Leaving five children behind, three of them having lost all the parents they ever had.  A depressing thought to be sure.

For kicks, albeit morbid, I imagine my funeral.  I am curious who would say what about me.  Apparently even in death I am vain and narcissistic.

"she will be missed."

I hear the obnoxious whispering from a few people I do not even recognize, "Oh those poor children." If my ghost could smack them it would.  

After some poking, prodding, and numerous blood tests a verdict was reached.

"It seems that you are entering menopause Miss Evers."

The Earth stopped revolving.  I was already eyeing a Chanel scarf for my hair free chemo head.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"Well, given your symptoms and blood work there seems to be no other explanation."

I said, "No other explanation?" I looked at the wall to see where this crackpot know nothing Doctor got her degree, which online school of medicine printed out a fake certificate.  Harvard.  Great.

I started to tune out and her words faded away, "You can expect mood changes, irregular periods that could last as long as...."

My head was saying what the fuck? menopause? I am 43 years old.  So what, all my eggs are gone?  am I dropping the remainder all at once like a going out of business sale? mood changes? I already have mood changes, I live with teenagers.  

Snapping back to reality I looked at her with wide aging doe eyes and asked, "Are you absolutely sure it isn't caner?"

She thought I would be thrilled it was not cancer.

When I got into my car I cried.  Then I questioned if my crying was just a symptom of my impending lack of estrogen.

A young man smiled at me and I wanted to smack him and tell him I was no cougar, more like a dinosaur.

Yes I know there are wonderful books on this "stage" of life, yes I know what women will say to me.  Yes yes yes.  Fuck Gail Sheehy and her passages.  Can we please just slow everything down for once?

It is time to take up arms and not go gently into this dark night.  No way.  I refuse to learn how to crochet, I refuse to stop wanting to wear tiaras every day.  (I don't really wear one, I just want to.)

I will not buy a rocking chair or start covering my flabby arms.

Have I mentioned that I am only 43?

Yes my behaviour has been a bit erratic the last few months, and I suppose I could blame it all on my new found "Hormonal imbalance" but that is a cop out.  I have done and said things I am not proud of, but I am not ready to don a tee shirt that says, "Don't blame me, I lost all my eggs."

One upside I have noticed is that I have developed a certain hard edge that was not previously part of my self description.  I have little to no tolerance for certain attitudes, or people who are hell bent on blaming me for every pain in their lives.  Deal with it.

I have also noticed that along with my short temper has come a larger amount of forgiveness.  I am now able to express my feelings of hurt, but then move on and forgive.  These could be useful tools to have.

I have not yet, however forgiven my body for selling off all my eggs and hormones without discussing it with my first.

Maybe I need a second opinion.

Pay It Backwards

I remember this movie where a boy started a project at school and called it "Pay It Forward".  I have no idea if it was based on real life events or not, but I can tell you the movie left an impression on me.

Not because I finished watching it feeling the urge to pay it forward, but the movie managed to send out the opposite message.  If you do something good, something bad will happen.

A rather pessimistic look on things.  I would love to believe that for every good action there is an equal good reaction.  That does not always seem to be the case.

One of my many pet peeves, and I honestly do not have that many, is people who litter.  In my naive teen years I was known to clean my car out on a highway or two, until a sad Indian with a single tear drop changed all that.

If my daughter sees someone litter she will stop and pick it up and put it in our car until we get home.

Tonight I should have done that.  

I have noticed a change in me, I seem to be becoming less filtered with my ideas and opinions.  Some have said this is the beginning of menopause where we just don't give a shit anymore about keeping up with appearances.  Maybe this is true.  I may just be turning into Tawanda from Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe.   Minus the insurance.

While in search of my diet coke I pulled up to a McDonalds.  I noticed the car in front of me roll down their window and throw a cup out on to the grass.

I got out of my car and picked the cup up.  

Not being able to leave well enough alone I walked over to his car, noted the small children in the car and with as much sugar in my voice as I could muster I handed him the cup and said, "Here, I think you dropped this."

He took the cup and said, "Thanks."

When I got back in my car I was feeling pretty good about myself.  Until I saw the man ceremoniously dump three half full slurpees out of his window and on to the ground while giving me the finger.  I pulled up to get my own diet coke and asked the girl, "Did you just see that?  There is a trash can five feet away and he has children in his car!"

She blew it off and said, "He's and asshole". 

I concurred and drove around the corner.

I wish I could say my story ended there.  I am not happy with myself for what followed and even writing this shames me.

The man was waiting for me.  He had my car blocked and he began to dump every piece of trash in his car out of his window.

I honked and gave him the finger.  My window was down, as was his, and he yelled, "Why don't you clean it up?"

I screamed, yes screamed, "This is what you are teaching your children? Great exapmple!"

His retort was, "So clean up after me you white bitch."

Now I really wish that is where the story ends.  I really wish I had gotten out of the car and cleaned up after him.  What had I started ?

Where was my path of least resistance when I needed it the most?  Where was my zen?  Where was my brain?

My brain went immediately into racist mode and I screamed back at him, "Why don't you go the fuck back to Mexico."

Yes.  I did.  I said that.  No, I yelled that.  In a parking lot. His children probably heard.  

Where did that even come from?  I am not racist.  Or so I thought.  Was my mind just looking for the first insult it could muster?  And if so, why a racist one?

Everything I did was wrong.  If I could go back I would have picked up his trash and put it in my car and been silently pissed off at the stranger who littered.  At that point I did not see him as a "Mexican Who Litters"  I just saw him as a Litterer.  

Instead of my original good intention to pay it forward, I left a parking lot filled with more trash, literal and verbal.  Feeling not at all good about myself.

Pay it forward?  I think not.  All I did was cause harm, mostly to my own psyche as I sit here now and question my knee jerk reaction. Emphasis on jerk.

When I was a child there was an elderly lady who sat out on her front porch in a vinyl woven lawn chair and would yell at every passing car.  She would yell to slow down, or speed up, or call them names.  Clearly she had lost her filter long ago.

I do not want to be that old lady.  I was scared of her.  She always told me I was up to no good whenever my brother and I walked past her.

maybe she was prophetic and I am up to no good.

My trying to pay it forward resulted in disaster.  My own mostly.  

I am ashamed.

Been A Long Time

One of my daughters has a friend who happens to have a hot Dad.  I shared his picture with my friend Hilary.

Her response was, "Please tell me he is single and you are interested."

He is single, and as much as I like to tease my daughter about it, I am not interested in him.  My response to Hilary was different.

"I am afraid darling that I am out of his league."

She sighed, and said, "Remember when no one was out of our league, and it was the opposite?"

Yes, I remember.  

It is not a matter of how thin I was (though in this culture that helped) or how long my hair was, it was not that I thought of myself as the best looking girl/woman in the world.  What made me feel that way was confidence.

This feeling was back in a time when my height and weight were proportionate, and perhaps that helped give me the confidence to be the person I was.

Was. 

Proud, strong, optimistic, spontaneous, sexy, flirty, fun.  

I can hear the naysayers in my head now saying that I am still all that and more.  I can hear the voices clearly, the ones of my friends who love me no matter what.  How I love them for that.

I wish it was enough.  I wish that all their voices would give me back that confidence I once had.  If you met me now, you would not think I am a woman lacking in confidence.  I am extremely good at faking it.

There are areas of  my life where I am honestly confident.  My work.  I know I am good at what I do.  My writing, my photography.  All those aspects I never question or doubt.  They help make me feel alive and defined.

Much of the rest of the time I feel invisible.  This is a theme I have been writing about for some time now, and I know that I am the only one who can make myself visible again.  

I cut my hair today.  No one noticed except for one of my children who happened to be with me at the time it was being cut.  I am not talking a trim, I am talking a big giant cut, a big change.

I can not help but feel sad that no one noticed.  

I am even more sad that I care so much about it.

Sure I could post a picture online and scream, "LOOK I CUT MY HAIR". and let the comments roll in. But that is not what I am seeking either.

What I am seeking is the Nike motivation of "Just Do It" that does not seem to be happening.  That inner oomph that kicks my ass out of bed with gusto.

I want to rid myself of the excuses and fears and be all that I can be, without joining the Marines.

I want to be noticed.

Not by you, or strangers, or my daughter's friend's Dad.

I want to be noticed by myself.

To look in the mirror, or at my body, and say, "Ahhh there you are.  I have missed you and welcome back."

I Can Do This!

I have been accused of relishing in drama.  This accusation was stated some time back and I have been ruminating on it ever since.  Wondering if it is true.

Do I create drama?

I believe I have found the answer.  It is not a situation of drama that I thrive in, but rather one of chaos.

I will call upon my good friend Webster to step in here and define.

Drama:a state, situation, or series of events involving interesting or intense conflict of forces

Chaos:: a state of things in which chance is supreme; especially : the confused unorganized state of primordial matter before the creation of distinct forms

By my nature I am not a person of conflict with other people.  Within myself there is always conflict going on, regarding my thoughts, actions, beliefs.  Even that does not qualify as drama.

I am a person who tends to thrive in chaos.  Chaos has a chance to unfold and become un-chaotic.  Then in a cyclical fashion it will begin again.

I  use the example of my house.  Many times chaos abounds, the house is messy, I am often frantically searching for my car keys or some other lost object.  The house will eventually be cleaned, until it reverts back into a state of chaos once again.

There is no drama in that.  A sink full of dishes causes no drama.

The house that I grew up in was always filled with chaos.  People coming and going, family, friends, my brothers all playing different musical instruments in different rooms creating a cacophony of sounds.

My house and my children are much the same way.  I hear the door open and close and always wonder who is here or leaving now.  I enjoy this.  I thrive in it.  Chaos has an electric charge that gets me up and about and wandering in the midst of it.

Drama brings me down to a state of being where all I would prefer to do is hide until it all goes away.

Like a child seeking comfort from a storm when drama arrives I will hide.

"Mommy, there is Drama outside and it's loud, I'm going to stay in here with you."

Chaos on the other hand says, "Wake up and see this thing forming.  Watch these dynamics floating about your midst. Take witness to the change and the formation as things drift about, reach out grab something and put it in its place."

 I can sit in the midst of chaos and laugh at it all.

Drama is a breed entirely of its own,  Eric having cancer was not drama.  Yes it ended in tragedy, but the battle of it was more chaotic than dramatic.

I may cause drama on occasion and most often when I do, I am the one who suffers the most from it.

Not too long ago I wrote about my sisters in law and the drama that they were in.  I was not a key actor in that play.  My part was minor and would most certainly end up on the cutting room floor.  I was witness to it.

I did have drama with my brothers that I took part in the creation of.  I hated it.  I knew it would end, and looked forward to the end of it more than anything else.

I feel at peace having discovered that I am not a person who thrives in drama.

I choose chaos.

When I wake up in the morning and look in the mirror my head of curls is usually in a very chaotic afro like state.  I may choose to tame them with a flat iron, or wet them down so they might reform into the neat spirals, but I know by the end of the day the afro will be back and chaos on my head will resume.

My children love my hair and all the crazy things it can do.  I also love it.

What other choice does a woman like me with chaotic curls do but embrace it?

From drama I will remove myself as quickly as possible.

Chaos is a call to arms, and I gladly pick up my sword, or broom, or hair product and proclaim, "I can do this!"