update to resolute…..
After much consideration, I will NOT be dialing down the crazy, because: required meds suck the fun out of everything, the deer who winters in my back yard hangs with me on sleepless nights (we talk, it’s nice), I like being a card-carrying member of the AARP (Anxious Americans in Recycled Pubescence), any future invading armies of evil space weasels will likely give me wide berth. Plus, you people don’t pay my bills, so I don’t have to be sane. Besides, most of you are batshit crazy as well, so there’s that.
Oh, these fierce determinations we set upon each new year.
In younger days, acting suited me well. I was attractive, funny and….eccentric. Being bi-polar clearly offered certain dramatic advantages. By the time I was dragging forty-five, however, madhattery had upped its game. Combine that with various phobias and terminal cancer - voila! - a recluse was born.
Fast forward 20 years. Cancer’s still chilling off stage. But two things did change recently. Christmas Day, another year older. NYE day, someone in the family got a new phone….and felt compelled to shove its backwards video flaptrap in my face. So there I was - looking at myself looking at me. Not a mirror image, mind, but seeing myself as others do. When, I wondered, did I stop looking like (an older) Janeane Garofalo and start looking like a Saint Bernard? Holy hell.
So now, after a three day pajama-clad Ben & Jerry fueled pity-party, time to teach life who’s boss. While I can’t do anything about the years, I sure as hell can get healthier, look prettier (attitude + Olay), jack things up a bit, and dial down the crazy. Because 65 ain’t nowhere near done, and anything is possible - even for imperfect, unstable old compounds such as myself.
“I used to think you needed to see it, to believe it. But now I realize that to see it, you must first believe it. Everything is possible. Everything is possible.” Andre Jordan
is a failure to computerate. When one family member fried his motherboard the other day, I came up with a temporary solution. He can use mine until we can get him a replacement and I’ll share Mark’s laptop. Easy peasy, right? Turns out, not so much. Mark’s laptop has: so little free space left, it couldn’t accommodate a gnat’s sneeze let alone a basic application or two from my files; a screen resolution so large and font so tiny, I need an electron microscope to see; password protected everything, from updates to downloads to every single flipping folder. I have the passwords, but who has the time? So unless I come up with a new solution or the Patron Saint of Geeks drops a new computer in my lap, my current choices are a few days’ blog hiatus or migraine. Hiatus it is.