When last we blogged, I had been previously unaware that I was mortal, and I had come to know it. Not intellectually. Viscerally.
APPARENTLY this is a BFD.
It’s such a Bee Eff Dee that they have a name for it: Mid-Life Crisis. Most people, somewhere in their forties, realize they are mortal, and a lot of them respond by purchasing Mustangs or injecting pig botulism directly into their faces—mostly harmless.
Some even use their MLCes for good, deciding to FINALLY take up scuba diving, or forgive their mothers, or move to Italy, or get out of savagely poor relationships. The most self destructive respond by contracting their first STD while banging a 22 year old fetus with a Daddy/ Mommy complex.
Now, you, my longtime best beloveds, know that I was never a candidate for a MLC. I am as joyfully, blissfully UNselfaware as a happy turnip. I sublimate anything I actually FEEL or QUESTION into novels, and then decorate the novels with fast paced plots, twists, kissing and shooting, until the thematic stuff I am actually exploring is a network of spider-thin-threads submerged in the glittery surface.
DIGRESSION: I think my books are especially good for Book Clubs, because book clubs like to root around and FIND those threads. But if you don’t? They work as escape reads—you can grab one and head to the beach with a rum drink, resting on your towel in absolute assurance that there will be plot twists and black humor—-maybe not a bluebirds-can-do-the-housework- style happy ending, but I always find my way to a truly hopeful one. Why, you can read a book of mine and never NOTICE that network, if you don’t feel like thinking. SO CAN I.
That’s the point, yes?
My Motto: Belly buttons are not for gazing into! (PS Nor are they for piercing, GAH, KIDS TODAY!) With this kind of TURNIP level introspection, I was scheduled to realize I was mortal and have a MLC at about 86 years old, during my fatal heart attack.
But instead, almost dying thrust it upon me more on schedule with the self aware people. That second year, post ZOMGAH! ALMOST DYING! (and now you see, we are a mere 9 months or so away from NOW and the POINT of the posts….) I responded to the MLC by going to bed.
But, all day? I mostly lay in bed. Not sleeping: Thanks, Insomnia. Just staring at things like walls and dust motes. I spent 12- 18 hours a day there, sniveling and eating transgressive foods. (UPSIDE: Hard to Bang a 22 year old fetus with a mommy complex and contract an STD this way. #brightsiding)
I drew back a good ten feet from all but my most key relationships with other humans. I do this when things are very bad indeed. I don’t tell people I am in trouble. I just kinda…disappear. Puff-A-Smoke time. It’s the introverted half of me, turtling up when the shiz gets all REAL.
Best beloveds, it was double plus ungood.
And while I lay there, I dwelt deeply upon all my failures over at the Plates.
It seemed like a metaphor. It seemed like a good reason to stop with all the TRY, you know? Might as well just sleep the days away until death claimed me HO HUM.
And yeah, part of this was hormones, and a good part was a BAD and LONG STANDING reaction to anesthesia. My body chemistry is WEIRD, my brain chemistry is WEIRDER. I can’t tolerate most drugs, much less the massive, complicated drug-infusion required to keep a person sleeping while they are flayed open on a table for many hours while a VERY nice and patient surgeon saves their intestines and another VERY nice and patient surgeon saves, you know, their life…
You: SO WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH NOT BEING ORGANIZED?
Me: About 8 months ago, I looked at my behaviors, REALIZED I was unhappy, and decided to change it.
You: Changed it by finally becoming organized?
Me: No. Like I said in that open letter, it is not within the realm of my myriad possibilities. I will NEVER be able to be organized.
You: THEN WHAT THE FRABJOUS RABBIT ARE YOU BABBLING ABOUT?????
Me: ALMOST there. Really, And shouldn’t I be PRAISED for not Pink Socking? LOOK I AM TELLING THE REST OF IT and not even wandering off when I see MINI TWIX BARS. You should totally positively reinforce this behavior. (Probably by giving me a mini Twix bar.)
Let me distract you with the news that my husband told me he wanst to start fasting once a week as a spiritual discipline. Is that a thing? He says it is a thing.
I THINK IT SOUNDS CRAZY, but then again, I want to eat a bag of candy corn once a week as a spiritual discipline. He says that is TOTALLY not a thing. I suspect he is right. I am researching FASTING right now to learn the best way to fast once a week. If he is actually going to do it, I AM TOO. Any links, knowledge or experience is HEPFUL.
What do you know or think about it?
(I dunno. Tell me in the comments.)