The Revolution Will Be Fueled by Fibergummies

I don’t even know what the fuck that means.

I was scrolling Facebook last week before bed, and chasing my blood pressure and cholesterol meds with my usual bedtime snack of three fibergummies*: an amber one and two dark red ones whose actual flavors elude me, when that phrase floated through my brain, right on the heels of realizing that it was goddamn Thursday again and I hadn’t written fuckall and also it was my half-birthday. In six months I will be 30 45 none of your damn business.

*gummy bears for people who have a child’s palate and an middle aged constitution. <<<to be read in Jessica Tandy’s voice.

I don’t want to write about being old and irrelevant. I did not study for that, I studied for “I’m Feisty For My Age,” fist raised in a one-finger salute to the notion that fifty shouldn’t have to be the new thirty and we should all stop trying to conform to an unreasonable standard of beauty and I, for one, was not going to let anyone tell me when to stop being a warrior.

That was some boolshit, yo.

I got rid of my beloved Jeep in January. I drove that car for 14 years. Both of my children came home from the hospital in that car. They have both projectile vomited in that car, one leaving an impressive pukesicle out the window and down the door in the middle of winter. I once sat at an intersection and talked myself down from driving away and never coming back in that car. I have made ambitious but unremarkable two-backed beasts in that car.

The right rear passenger window was covered in GIRL POWER stickers and there were things under the seat that I cannot identify, nor do I wish to discuss. The electric seat controls were broken and made robotic farting sounds that made you scream like a seagull when you accidentally knocked them with your purse as you got out in the dark.

I was ready for a new one. I love my new Ford Edge with the zippy bells and whistles, even if I did just now figure out how to set the radio stations and even though it calls my mom when I’m yelling at Siri for directions.

But suddenly, I was hyper-aware of the passage of time. If I drive this car as long as I drove that one…

Fuck.

I find myself wondering how many summers I have left.  So, yeah, I’m super fun to be around.

I am considering starting a new blog that is more suited to my current spiritual temperature, but “Fuck It, We Are All Dying And This World Makes My Ass Twitch,” isn’t a very good name.  “That Existential Hussy” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

I find some hope in the fact that my mother just turned 85 and she’s still going strong, if by “going strong” you mean “never leaves the house and thinks she can’t get a new computer because her bank lives in the one she has.”

In three days, I am cutting all my hair off. Something low maintenence, yet edgy. Like Ellen Barkin in Animal Kingdom. Like Susan Whatshername in The Legend of Billie Jean. Like Rose in The Golden Girls.

I surrender. If you need me, I’ll just be standing over here on the other side of this generation gap with my fibergummies and the copy of my paid mortgage.

Because the wheel in the sky keeps on turnin’. Don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow.

I don’t even know what the fuck that means.

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12 Comments

  1. I’ve never heard of Fibergummies before, but if that’s what it takes to fuel the revolution, who am I to argue? I do rather miss the youthful illusion of immortality, but (in the immortal words of Kurt Vonnegut) “So it goes.” Anyway, keep the current title. It may work even better by the time the current car is ready to retire.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The alternative to aging, to me, is far worse. Keep that quirky sense of humor and you’ll be fine. (From an oldie, but goodie with an asymmetrical haircut that has had blue streaks in it).

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I’ve lobbied for flavors such as “rum and coke” and “fuzzy navel,” but to no avail. My guess is that with less hair to shampoo, you’ll have more time to contemplate, or do other shit, or just stand still in the shower, and any combination of those are totally worth it. And a lot of times, I think “shameless” and “existential” are kind of synonymous. Whatever the fuck that means.

    Like

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