I’m cheap, hate to shop and have anxiety about driving more than 100 miles alone. None of these traits are genetic; I developed them all by myself. I can’t order a $10 glass of wine without getting a small rash. Unfortunately it is becoming increasing difficult to find a nice Sauvignon Blanc for less, which makes me sad and I’m afraid I’ll have to switch to beer. The tollbooth gives me buyer’s remorse as, after flinging in a $1.50, I think about the free back road I could have taken.
Shopping makes me nuts, as after 10 minutes rifling through a clothing rack I desperately run for the nearest exit with some poor sales girls running after me “Ma’am would you like me to put something in a dressing room for you?” “No, I’m double parked” I shout back as I high tail it out the door. Sometimes it’s difficult to be me.
I love sports and politics, although discussing politics has become more like a duel to the death than a conversation these days. I might have to learn to keep my mouth shut – this will require surgery. Sports is good neutral territory and I don’t get into too many fights talking about college basketball or football, although ironically it is getting more difficult to find a man with whom to watch games. Where did they go?
Is there anything that doesn’t bring me anxiety? I love to ride horses, this is anxiety proof except when the jumps get too big, but now in my older years I just burst into tears and beg my trainer to make them lower. Sometimes this works. I’m a runner but can’t take one step without music, so I always carry extra batteries for my walkman….no, I don’t have an iPod….remember I’m cheap. I love my beefy boy Yellow Lab Elliot aka Potato although this is slightly hard on my ego as he is far more attractive than I am and gets all the attention everywhere we go.
I also complain a lot about the weather. It’s always too cold for me. I wear my North Face arctic parka all the time except in June, July, August and the first two weeks of September. I dislike snow and get very, very nervous when I hear the Channel 5 weatherman in Chicago scream in a shrill voice that a huge storm is coming. I run for cover and grab a bottle of wine on the way. By the way I dislike him.
I started gonepausal as a way to rant and rave. I noticed all of my girlfriends were doing the same thing. We were “testy,” a little snarky, and no longer took direction well. As independent as each of us was I sensed we were becoming even more outspoken. Our tolerance levels were dropping as fast as our hormone levels. No thoughts were sacred or private as we blurted out tales of our diminishing sex drive and were relieved to hear we all had this in common. Desiring sex came right after laundry, cleaning the bathroom and eating ice cream out of the container. I couldn’t resist the urge to write about our new peri and then menopausal lives. There was no more polite conversation amongst us, just “tell it like it is baby.” Gonepausal, I hope, expresses this new state of being and mind…because there ain’t no turnin’ back.