I used to be more impulsive. I do things in spur of the moment and never care what happened next. I was known to put all on the line for the things I would like to do. I can lose everything, it never bothers me. At least, I’ve had the experience. Those people who know me can only watch in disbelief. Once upon a time, I used to be… daring.
It’s different lately. Before I even consider making a decision, I would lay awake whole night worrying and fretting; only to stand up the next day without reaching to any conclusion what is the best to do. Lately, I am not so sure anymore about anything.
And I hate it! I hardly recognize myself these days. Where is the sassy, confident, let-the-devil-may-care, adventurous, funny, happy-go-lucky- brave girl I used to know?
Gone! Creeping in is this unknown middle aged insecure, over-sensitive, ghostly individual who worries about anything and everything. Hateful!
Without me even knowing where (the hell) it’s coming from; thoughts of: what if he leaves me – find someone younger – the gravity is winning – house fire – traffic accident – robbery – homicide – bankruptcy – wheelchair – what he will do when I am gone – so many strangers – bills to pay – family to kill – are populating what’s left of my brain.
Now, why these thoughts are spooking me? They were none of my concern? A long, long time ago; I used to be ALIVE! I could feel current in the air, electricity between people, hear the plants talk; smell the earth and beyond! Now, I am just…Dead!
Where is the tingling feeling? The anticipation? The power of attraction? The glorious excitement! The warm, sensuous expectation of something new! I miss those lazy moments of feeling fulfilled, content, seduced and belong!
Forgotten hilarious situations, naughty playfulness, strong desires and sweet innocence! Those where the days! Where are they now? What happened? I cannot understand! Why am I changing? What is happening to me?
When I mentioned these to my daughter (between her goings to the fridge to check for something to eat (again) in her room she looked at me with poor-woman- she’s- in- denial-phase- looks on her face and said matter-of-factly:
“Mama, it’s called getting old.”