Monday, April 4, 2016

Odds and Ends on Aging

I’ve been going through a dry period. Tell me this is normal!!

I’ve been someone who could dash off a short story a week, about a dozen flashes, along with 3 blog posts. I kept a critique group busy every 2 weeks reading my stuff. Now I’m lucky to hold a single thought in my head for 20 minutes. I’d like to blame the Internet because secretly I’m afraid it is a sign I’m growing old.

And I’m petrified of aging.

It is all about the mystery. I’ve never been here before, each new year, each new day and I have all these questions. If only I knew what the future looked like, then I might not be so afraid. But we don’t have that luxury.

I need to be able to ride my bike, write stories, find enjoyment in reading, meeting new people. I live in a building with an elevator, so I’m okay with letting go of climbing stairs. In fact, lately, I stare up the stairs and then walk around the corner to the elevator bank.

Speaking of banks—I got my first perk of aging! I have quit have a dozen banks all because they wanted to charge me for holding my money. I find this surreal. Money I have earned, worked hard for and am depositing in a savings account—and a bank wants to charge me for it. No way. I already have paid my taxes. This part is mine. EXCEPT, now I fall into a category of depositer—55 and older who are not going to be accessed a fee. Thank you Universe. 

I got another perk, some assurance that I’m not losing it. I finally found a book to read. The sides of my bed are blanketed with books, Stacks of them. Yet of that number I was having a hard time finding something that engaged me. The worst part is when you want to love a book or think you should. I know, I know, life is short, just move on. But I tear myself down and try to make myself stick with something even if for the first 50 pages. 

I want to announce that I am loving Our Souls at Night by the late Kent Haruf and The History of Great Things by Elizabeth Crane—tune in later for a full review of her book. Whew! One less thing to worry about—losing my passion for words. Now all I have to manage is a soul-killing revision on my MG novel.

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