Fuck It I'm 50

Hello me, hello you. Don’t worry about me, I am not too worried about me. Though given my personality, I am probably more worried about you.

The sadness and self-reflection of the last two days has been triggered by opening up myself and this process. It has been a wild ride on the inside. And now the outside. And I appreciate all the kudos and understanding and inference I have been receiving from key people in my life- I nod to a few here:

Aunt B-let’s try to talk this weekend, thanks for your amazing encouragement

LS-your pain is ripping me apart

IS-your call today was wonderful, though I fear you may be mad at me

SPE-all the criticism is good, so don’t worry, none of it is harsh. But your love is my stalwart.

Lucy- knick it!

Others have written. Thank you, I am flattered and honored.

Now I dive back into what I am meant to do here-write. This is my personal writing exercise, so could you all please shut up? ( I don’t mean this, I thrive on your feedback and wise words and your criticism)

Let me recount this morning…

Yep, I woke up with the dread. I have this weird zit that has turned into a little wound, (no I did not lick it last night), and this morning it is infected and angry. It sits right under my left bra strap below my collarbone and I have been trying to heal it with antiseptic and band aids. Nonetheless, it chaffs all day. But while it mutates into various forms of ugliness and mild pain, I check in with two things. 1- is it a result of being run down and I am beginning the slow slip into ill health and decrepitude, and 2- my more preferred tale, when I turned 40 and my husband and I broke up, my Mom died, I lost my job, I moved and I developed this persistent and insistent zit, sort of in the same place, and when I squeezed it poured out the toxins of heaven and hell, wrapping up an era.

This is what I thought and felt as this little abomination on my body was forced to the surface. Well, the new zit infected little thing, is in the same place. I think it is my 10 year transformative marker, grown 10 years, therefore that much more complicated, with much more at stake, and much more ugly. It’s transformation is my breaking through to the other side…or decade, of 50.

That was gross, but I am a storyteller and I am always looking for symmetry, or dramatic unity, in my work and in my life. Harder to find in life than in fiction.

Otherwise today was a stressie day. I started at 6:30am,  anticipating the loud contractors who did indeed start talking very loudly outside my window at 7:30. Then I got up and had to acknowledge that I am dealing with a new class I still feel anxious about and that I have to find parking in a new unknown territory and that I am aware of my roommate’s boyfriend in the next room and that I miss my boyfriend which is such a hard story right now and my dog Lefty needs to be walked before I go to school  and I need to meet with my folks at the de Young Museum to discuss the iPhone downloadable application tour of artists’ interpretation of the permanent collection that I am designing and then meet with all the lead producers on my feature film to talk about re-launching our fundraising and production plans. I forgot to mention that I now have a new job at City College as one of the Issue Room Monitors. A year ago I would have had an enormous issue with this issue room thing, but now I am grateful and have no isssue.

I think that sums it up. Welcome to my brain. I am not so sad today, too busy. But I think it may take the above to make the sad go away, busy, busy, busy.