half-eaten dinner and the freedom of knowing you're bin scrapings
Soon, again, a new year. Nothing new in my life whatsoever, other than the twelveness of my son, but a new blog, because I miss writing, I miss putting thoughts onto the page. I miss my fingers moving and my head clearing a little. I'd love to say it's a pensieve, but that might be a little bit of an overstatement.
A Twitter friend wrote the most masterful haiku the other day, comparing middle aged women to half finished dinners. I'm a sucker for a clever, depressive analogy. They feel empowering in their honesty, to me - the more I contemplated it, the more it made sense - you're half-finished, but you're also over. Still there, but, really, trash. No one's going to want to eat you again.
I find a freedom in the acceptance of such ideas - not that I believe it applies universally at all, not at all. Middle aged women defy all sorts of limits - not by looking young or embracing the gym or plastic surgery, though I suppose that is also a triumph. Staying strong, staying 'young'. I'd like that too, if I was arsed to do the hard work and put in the time. But it's easier to get decrepit and feel sorry for myself, god knows.
So yes, acceptance. It's so much better than yearning. Someone told me recently I was much too young to think that sex is over for me now. But this is the same someone who once stated that no matter how hard you work on yourself, a fifty year old ass is still a fifty year old ass. Well, I'm forty-three. Tick tock. But that's not even the why of it. It's so easy for people to tell each other they're great, they're deserving, they are doing their best, they're worthy, they're lovable. The truth is, people can be flawed, and not everybody can manage relationships, themselves, intimacy, whatever you need to bring to be involved with others without bringing them more pain than joy. Being alone is not the worst thing, even if part of it is detrimental.
In truth, I don't have the energy for friendship anymore, never mind the maintenance that would be required for sex, or an intimate relationship.
I could have called this blog 'workshy'. But that's a post for another day.
A Twitter friend wrote the most masterful haiku the other day, comparing middle aged women to half finished dinners. I'm a sucker for a clever, depressive analogy. They feel empowering in their honesty, to me - the more I contemplated it, the more it made sense - you're half-finished, but you're also over. Still there, but, really, trash. No one's going to want to eat you again.
I find a freedom in the acceptance of such ideas - not that I believe it applies universally at all, not at all. Middle aged women defy all sorts of limits - not by looking young or embracing the gym or plastic surgery, though I suppose that is also a triumph. Staying strong, staying 'young'. I'd like that too, if I was arsed to do the hard work and put in the time. But it's easier to get decrepit and feel sorry for myself, god knows.
So yes, acceptance. It's so much better than yearning. Someone told me recently I was much too young to think that sex is over for me now. But this is the same someone who once stated that no matter how hard you work on yourself, a fifty year old ass is still a fifty year old ass. Well, I'm forty-three. Tick tock. But that's not even the why of it. It's so easy for people to tell each other they're great, they're deserving, they are doing their best, they're worthy, they're lovable. The truth is, people can be flawed, and not everybody can manage relationships, themselves, intimacy, whatever you need to bring to be involved with others without bringing them more pain than joy. Being alone is not the worst thing, even if part of it is detrimental.
In truth, I don't have the energy for friendship anymore, never mind the maintenance that would be required for sex, or an intimate relationship.
I could have called this blog 'workshy'. But that's a post for another day.
I'm not going to try and convince you that you are indeed all of those things that you listed that you feel you are not. Of course we are all flawed. But there's a hell of a lot of very, very flawed people who manage to love and be loved.
ReplyDeleteAnd we ALL deserve that simple thing.
And yeah- a fifty year old ass is a fifty year old ass. Horrors! I have a sixty-five year old ass! And yet, well, I also have a sixty-five year old husband and I still love his ass so there you go...
Well, you know, not to try to be annoying, but I do look at those people with their flaws, and think, god, how bad am I, that people still love them, but not me?
DeleteI do believe that 65 five year old asses are meant to be loved for many of the years that led them there - you might be less keen to love someone else's 65 year old ass, ya know?