Today I read a boring article by Gen X poster boy Douglas Coupland about growing old. He notes that we all have two ages: the age we really are and the age we are in our heads.
Later this month, Sister Wolf will be 55. If you are taken aback, think how I feel. No one wants to be this age but, ahem, consider the alternative.
Being 55 means nothing much except that it isn’t considered a good thing by men who blabber on and on about women losing their appeal after 30. As if. I am completely awesome, so I am happy to refute that line of thinking.
I have come to love my cute hospital bed and my beautiful red sheets, but all things must pass and the hospital equipment is being picked up on Friday. I love cranking up my bed to read and I love knowing I can’t fall out. Oh well. Maybe I will end up buying a hospital bed for two….do they exist?! I’m excited just thinking about it!
During my recovery, I bought this Mischen silk dress online, because it was drastically reduced and because it has zippers down the entire length of each side. The fact that I won’t ever wear it is hardly worth mentioning. Bring on the Rapture! And the fucked-up looking hem in the photo isn’t like that in the real dress.
The age I am in my head is around 14. My oldest son is 32, and people generally think I’m his sister or girlfriend when we hang out together, but they don’t realize that in my head, I’m still a defiant hippie girl, angry and insecure but much cooler than those awful straight people.
How old are the rest of you in your heads?
Sister W., Patrickh, above, makes me sound remarkably dull. Pay no attention to him.
In my narcissistically feminine way, I think myself every bit as interesting as he is. Perhaps even more so.
Clio
Clio, you wound me! I was not making you sound dull at all, let alone remarkably dull! My quick is cut to all the way by you! You’re not a nihilist, a crypto-fascist, or a contrarian (umm, maybe I’ll rethink that last one). I was simply contrasting your depth to my shallowness and immaturity and flakiness and flibbertygibbetiness. Women! Give me them praise, and they throw it back in your face!
Hrmph, as you are fond of grunting out in response to some egregious comment or other, O Muse. And again hrmph!
I am seriously considering becoming a homosexual.
And speaking of men!….Spike, you are far too perversely polymorphous and take too much glee in messing with people’s expectations to be anything like 55 inside. You are either 88, as in curmudgeonly and more than half-mad (I’m pegging you at about 78% crazed), or 12, as in Damien, aka “the devil dances in that boy’s eyes!” You’re an outlier, my friend, always were, and always will be.
Dear, dear. No need to become a homosexual on my account, pH. That was just banter, and it was addressed more to Sister than to you.
Now we must be good, children, and stop taking over her thread.
Clio
Clio,
Our Dear Sister seems to have participated with relish in the “takeover”. I suspect she enjoys some hijackings as much as regularly scheduled travel routes. “We’re going to Cuba? Cooool. Now what should I wear?”
Sister, you really do collect Catholic schoolgirl uniforms? I can only say, the mind boggles. The. Mind. Boggles. I await the day when you will post a pic of you [STOP THIS RIGHT NOW–THE VATICAN. WE SAID STOP IT.]
You crazy kids!
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