Surly Thursday - Midlife Edition

I haven't seen the movie This Is Forty, but if it's at all realistic I imagine that it's the characters experiencing, at ten-minute increments, things on their body becoming creaky, painful, droopy or non-functional, interspersed with things on their house breaking, leaking, molding or rusting and requiring intervention that costs some multiple of a thousand dollars.

My knee has been a problem since a few years ago when I got the stupid notion that running for fun and exercise (as opposed to only when someone's chasing me with a chainsaw) was a good idea. My shoulder (which I fell on when Lucy tried to kill me on the stairs) complains when I try to put on a coat or moisturize my back (in my memory I used to be able to put moisturizer on my shoulderblade, but I think it's more likely that my thumb used to graze the very bottom of it, and this made it feel moisturized, and now that I can't do that, it constantly feels dry and itchy). My hip is acting up now, I don't even KNOW why, maybe it just wanted some of the attention.

At the beginning of this week, I woke up feeling absolutely wretched. I was utterly exhausted, my arms ached even though I hadn't been to the gym for five days, and my head ached like there were poisoned boulders rolling around inside. I decided I probably had Total Body Cancer and hit social media to say good-bye to everyone. Hannah kindly talked me down and offered the consolation that I was probably just about to get sick, with a huge assignment due, a husband in Florida and a bunch of stuff to drive my kids around to (I'm not being sarcastic, this actually WAS consoling). But no. I didn't get sick. Apparently that was just the feeling of daring to be alive and awake in my mid-forties.

Do I have wrinkles and pimples at the same time? I do. Frequently the zits land on my neck, which is painful and gross. Why is this? Are my forty-five-year-old zits so senile that they've forgotten where they're supposed to go?

Let's not even talk about my periods. Wait, we just covered neck-zits, why would we balk at the Crimson Tide? See this book title? IT DESCRIBES MY UTERUS ONCE A MONTH. I know I shouldn't be so eager to move my status from Mother to Crone, but Jesus, at this point I can't help thinking Yay Menopause.

I know, I know. Consider the alternative. I will just continue my pathetic cycle of three weeks of regular, invigorating exercise followed by three months of whimpering, limping and physiotherapy to heal from the invigorating exercise. On the days when I can't do squats or lift weights or go on long, hard walks, Lucy and I will take a slow turn around the park and remind ourselves that every day above ground is a good day. Well, I will. Lucy will chase squirrels in the passionate conviction that THIS TIME she will ABSOLUTELY catch one, and roll in anything that's vile-smelling or dead.

Because This Mo can Blo Me

Go on, you can say it. We're all thinking it. I've been a sucky blogger for the past few months.

It was summer. Then my mild bipolar tendencies suddenly became less mild for a bit. For the first part of the fall I was full of energy - for getting up early, walking Lucy, working out, cleaning out closets and storage spaces, going out at night. I didn't read as much and I didn't have the focus to sit down and write.

Then came the ugly and inevitable crash. Couldn't wake up. The big assignment I had three-quarters done three weeks early languished unfinished. Had to drag myself to the gym and around the park with Lucy. We had frozen pizza for dinner TWICE last week (granted, on one of those nights there was no one here to actually eat anyway, but still.) Everything hurts. I've become borderline narcoleptic.

(You could be forgiven at this point for assuming that 'bipolar' means 'makes excuses for not blogging in both official languages').

And now it's November. It's cold and dark (except for my husband, who just left for Florida for a week, ISN'T THAT NICE FOR HIM?) and makes me question all my life choices and the cursed change is upon us and I don't know where I'm going to summon the wherewithal to finish my course and find my dining room table and feed my children, but NaBloPoMo is what I DO in November, and  I WILL blog every day. It won't be pretty, and it won't be easy, and there might be no one left here to read it, but it will be done.

Okay, I sat here staring at this for ten minutes trying to think of something witty to add, but how about I don't hurt myself the first day out?