Not Just A Number

i'm always thinking as i'm hurting, i've been thinking a lot lately and i think i discovered a good point. i want to share it with you folks - i'm sure some other person like myself has addressed this idea but here it goes:

if you're a kid your parents should take care of you, right? if you're a super old senior citizen, with one foot in the grave you've had plenty of time to save a small fortune to retire on, right?

and everything in between is the harshest chunk that life has to offer, right? it's where the struggles and difficulties lie, where the crises take place, the hardships, the long periods of unpunishable depression, the crippling fear of life (that seems extinct, or barely a seedling when you're a kid and dissipates [i'd imagine/hope] when you reach those golden years).

what i'm trying to say here is - why do they get all the discounts. is it just a marketing ploy like almost everything else out there? or is it more? is life waterboarding us when we least need it? rolling our skinned bodies in salt, laughing all the way along? just another straw on our inbetween aged backs?

i have no idea, but its in poor taste.

8/28/10

on my train home from my first day of class i spotted this charming old man, skinny as could be, alone, bouquet of flowers in hand. he was so skinny through his clothes you could see his bones, the shirt was just hanging on him. he was so fragile and when i got a closer look at the flowers they looked as sad as him, mostly baby breath. i wondered if he found them pretty or if it's all he could afford. when i first started speculating where he was going i thought a girlfriends or maybe a granddaughters graduation party. then it slowly occurred to me what if it was a grave he was headed to.

his wifes 10 year death anniversary. somebody what - 6 feet under the ground - buried, being visited by probably one of the few souls left who even cares. her body wasting away only slightly less than his own. he briefly wishes doctor assisted suicide was legal, but then he hears her voice, all those years ago, while laying on her death bed. she said she'd be waiting for him. the scenes outside passing so fast he considers the terms of the vow - would she still be waiting after this long? after all he had waited for her, still bound to she who no longer existed in a tangible form. he thought it would be insulting to their marriage to stray even inches.

upstairs she was scrambling to make arrangements for their reunion, knowing much better than him the wait was almost over.

he got off at jamaica where we made eye contact, but his face was now expressionless.

Actions & Reactions

i was drinking a beer at 1045am. if you're seen drinking before noon you get a look, apparently if it's before 11am you get a sneer. just a couple feet away gawking like i was some sort of second class citizen, an untouchable, was this woman. middle aged, and judging me. and what i have nothing to offer because i'm a merry, jobless, alcoholic? she doesn't know me - she can "suck it". and normally i wouldn't judge but i felt entitlement after the looks she gave me. and thing is she was wearing a vest. and there is only one thing worse than a vest: a vest with a hood. i decide i hate this woman and believe she's bitter.

just another drag-you-down middle aged bitch.
i pity the fool.

and the next day i'm in the park, cause its 50 degrees and i have an hour to kill before class. i'm drinking a beer and this little boy is riding his scooter back and fourth as his nanny eats lunch. i smile at him because he's young, and cute, and seemingly fearless. after we exchange some friendly smiles, an understanding, he comes swiftly towards me down the blacktop, and attempts a bunny hop. he fails, falls off the scooter, hits the ground and looks up at me shamefully. i smile back proudly. he had been trying to impress me.

yet again the next week i'm at Duane Reade picking up a 24oz bud-light and the black lady behind me in line says "bud-liiiiiiiight" (emphasis on light), this is by far the classiest person that has spoken to me in weeks. i'm flattered. i look bashfully back and reply that it has 1/3 the calories. she says something about taste and my age and we laugh. she educates me and i listen.

i long to tell her what a bitch the lady in the vest was to me - that they shared nothing in common.

The Disheartening Facts For A Middle-Aged Woman

Dear Diary,
That balding fat therepist of mine continued his string of stupidity at my last session on Friday. He tells me to write Phil a letter where I "act as if nothing bad can come from it". I bet that asshole is on his fourth or fifth marriage. I don't know why I continue to go to him, I guess it's because of the close proximity to my house. Margaret told me that her therapist can read her mind. Oh gosh, if I could retain some therapy guru, he could be my confidant and together we'd solve all my foolish problems. Anyway, here's what I came up with so far...

Dear Phil,
I hate you so much, and I'm so sorry. When I'm next to you in bed I hate it. I hate looking at you and seeing you breathe. Damn I sound harsh, but I'm not meaning to. It's just things have changed so much between us, and I know I'm at least partially to blame. I always think of your sister's 40th birthday party when I sat on Linda's husband's lap, and how angry you were. I was drunk Phil. Plus I was getting rather sick of always playing second fiddle to whichever one of your receptionists was on the payroll at the time. Quite frankly I've endured a lot during all 17 years of this marriage and Phil I've finally woken up. I'm not even going to ask you to give up your insignificant affairs and short-lived relations, I know you're much too selfish. Rather, I'm giving you some notice that I will be engaging in my own escapades shortly and your involvement is not requested. And who knows Phil, maybe one day I'll be gone, and when you send for me it'll take days, and you won't like the response...

It could use some work, but it's not bad so far. I'm gonna go off to sleep now.

XOXO
Elizabeth Wilder

Looking Older All The Time, Feeling Younger In My Mind

oh man.

last night i'm with my two friends who work with small children. one is swim instructor and one is a elementary school student teacher. as we're relaxing i suddenly feel myself far removed from the conversation as it turns it's attention towards "their" kids (both of them have become very possesive, you'd think they carried all 30 somewhat kids for 9 months - yack). but they say the kids are just terrible sometimes and especially if they're in bunches and without a strong authoritative figure. they're running all over so fast, zipping right by you, kickballs flying everywhere, screaming, yelling, and the whole nine yards.

and i don't hear another word they say because in my head i'm doing a comparison between the kids just described, and this kid - me. i wondered why a 20 year old like myself felt as if i was just described. i thought about when i was 10, and how that was 10 long years ago, and i asked myself what has changed. i still feel the same chaos around me and i still feel small. although currently i am college student, i was drinking a beer, my car was parked out front, i hold a part time job...are these just our ways of faking it? these are supposed to be the things that make me older? and then i looked down and i was worried because i was wearing the same sneaker i wore when i was 10. of course they are different colors, maybe a little bit bigger in size, but the same model none the less. they are adidas sambas in case you cared, a good shoe design that has obviously withstood the test of time.

but will i?