The Queen of Weeping
I’ve not been here for a while, not because anything drastic has happened (thank goodness!), but just because the gas has leaked out of my balloons. Not just my helium-filled, sparkly Tarot balloon, but all the other balloons as well.
Maybe it’s because I became a veggie a few months ago. Basically so that I could look lambs in the eye and whisper ‘I don’t eat you’ when I take Nero on a long walk down to our nearby lochan. I’ve noticed that life has kinda gone a bit flat and wrinkly round the edges – maybe it’s lack of iron or something.
Blood tests will tell whether it’s what I’m eating or something more long-lasting that’s the cause …
… because I am 53 in a couple of weeks. Of course, I’m grateful that I’m still above the soil and able to feel the sun on my face and be healthy and all that jazz, but there is no doubt about it, Things Are Changing for me.
Chaps, look away now: menses talk ahead.
My Time of the Month has now become My Time of the Fortnight and my pre-menstrual moodiness seems to last for about three weeks. And the seven day window when I’m not snapping away like an angry pike at my DH and DS I’m to be found draped theatrically over the sofa like Ellen Terry, weeping into my Snickers bars at dog food adverts and Beyonce videos.
A couple of years ago, I stopped dying my hair. At the moment it is a sort of two-tone thing that looks as if someone has poured bleach all over my head and all the colour is draining away. A metaphor there, I think. But I’m sticking with it because …. like it or not ….. I am ENTERING CRONEHOOD.
Evidence: I keep signing up for afternoon art classes. Like I am suddenly going to discover that I can fall down the art rabbit hole and pop out the other end of a 6-week course and suddenly find myself a new, arty life …. I *know* it’s BEYOND PATHETIC.
On the upside, this means that one day soon, my older gal pals will initiate me into their Post Menopause Group, the DUFs Club. The Dried Up Fannies Club. I kid you not. REAL NAME. My goal is to be ensconced within their ranks, safely out the other side of this hormonal maelstrom, drinking wine, eating Dairy Milk and never having to worry about the gusset of my knickers again.
Now, if I’m absolutely honest. And I’ve just mentioned ‘gusset’ and ‘knickers’ in the same sentence, so we’re Through The Looking Glass now, this horrible flat and foggy feeling has been swirling around my ankles for a very long time. Longer than I’ve been veggie. Longer than my hormones have been sliding about like a drunk on a skateboard.
And as the fog rises like a suffocating tide, I just seem to be getting angrier and angrier and angrier.
Maybe it’s an anger borne of fear.
I know that I am on the brink of saying farewell to so many strands of my life and it scares me.
What will I be if I am not menstruating any more?
What am I now that my partner does not find me attractive?
Will we manage to make it through these choppy relationship waters?
What will I be when my son goes off to further education?
What am I without a job or career?
Drew a card to see what can help me, from the Wildwood Tarot and got this guy:
I am moving from primitive tool to sophisticated instrument.
Maybe also get viagra ;-D