Most birthdays haven't bothered me. The only birthday I remember feeling blue about was my 3oth. I wore all black to work that day, and told everyone I was in mourning for my youth. God, I was so young and foolish!
The difference between 2o and 30 wasn't too great. Maybe I was more inclined to get a hangover if I drank too much. But physically I was in better shape and lower weight at 30 than at 20. (Maybe because I lost approximately 170 pounds of ex-husband...ya think?)
I had a lot of life changes in my 30's. I moved across the country; I remarried; I had my one and only child. I was afraid that my 40th birthday would be depressing but in fact it was rather exhilerating. I was amazed at how FREEING it felt. And I was still in pretty good shape, physically.
Now here I sit, on the cusp of 50, and I realize I am the laziest woman on the planet. I really should own about a tenth of the items I actually do, because I have no energy or interest in cleaning or dusting them.
Hubs is sleeping, having spent the last two days at work (after surgery on Monday - I knew he was overdoing it by going back too soon). Darling Daughter is off to the mall with her BFF. It's a beautiful sunny day, but other than a few loads of laundry I have spent most of the day on my
The garden is full of weeds, my house is full of clutter. I have a million "I should be doing _______" sentences running through my head. Yep, I really should. My mother, who is seventy-mumble-mumble years old, has more energy and gets more accomplished than me. I feel like my own lazy teenager.
But here I sit, surrounded by three sleeping cats who are putting the idea of a nap into my head.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go switch my laundry loads....yawn....snort....zzzzzzzz.