Bullet Train to 50

Well, my lose 50 by 50 diet failed miserably.  No, that's not exactly true.  It started out great but then it failed miserably.  But this doesn't mean I won't try again.  I will.  But with only 10 more days to that big day, it's not going to happen on time.

I'm trying to come to terms with that number.  That 5, that 0.  It seems so evil.  50.  I guess my problem with it all is that I don't feel 50.  I really don't.  Mentally I feel about 18 maybe.   Physically, well sometimes I feel older than 50 especially this week *cough* *sneeze* *wheeze*.   Fifty means more than half my life is over.  It means I'm no closer to doing the things I want to do.  It means I have to start thinking about things like retirement funds and AARP and life insurance.  All that is just too adult.  I'd rather be going to a concert or thinking about that fabulous pair of Fluevog's I want to buy.   I don't want to think about who's going to take care of me in my old age.  

Sometimes I feel like I've missed out on some great times.  Actually I don't just think it, I know it. When the one you're with has no zest for life, no interest in exploring the world, no desire at all to do anything other than maintain the mundane life that he's leading, eventually a few things happen. You fall right into the same rut, which I did, for far too long.  Or you snap out of it and decide to do the things you want to do, with or without him.  Which is now what I have been doing.  Life is too short, far too short.  Yesterday I was making my First Communion in second grade and in 10 days I turn 50. WTF!?  

I have learned through the years to never declare something I am "determined" to do.  I think it sets one up for failure.  But I would like to secure a full time job (yes, still looking even though I have a pretty great temporary job that I will be going back to soon), I would like to travel, I would like to make a commitment to fun.  

I don't know, does that seem attainable?

Frustrated Part Two

After all the unnecessary angst, the trip to Chicago was very very nice.  My mom was in heaven being with so much of her extended family that she doesn't see much anymore.  And it was nice for me to get to know some family I never really knew at all.  The drive was not too long but kind of boring (straight and nothing to see but a lot of cornfields).  My dad did very well with the people we hired to come in and check in on him, and my aunt and uncle came by to see him several times.  All in all, everything turned out beautifully.

Aunt Lucy's 90th birthday party was held at an Italian restaurant in Naperville and was just lovely.  The food was delicious, the desserts were to die for, and Aunt Lucy had a wonderful time.  She was so surprised by all who had come from out of town.  There were pictures of her throughout the years from very young until now.  Balloons that said 90 years old on them.  She wore a lovely corsage.  On every table were placards with things that happened the year she was born.  No detail was left out.  It was really special.

And then it happened.  The fucking bitch cousin of mine who was not invited because she's a fucking bitch and is always getting in people's faces and causing trouble (and she's 48 years old!!) found out about the party.  How?  The bitch was snooping around on my Facebook page.  She is not on my friends list and I have my FB page set to friends only, so I don't know how she did it, but she saw a post I made about being in Chicago for my aunt's 90th birthday party.  Can you even guess what she did with this information?  I bet you can't.  Because normal people don't think this way or react this way.  She called up 90 year old Aunt Lucy and SCREAMED at her.  She ripped her up one side and down the other about not being invited to the party.  She blamed her, she blamed my aunts son, she blamed my mother (!!), she blamed everyone but herself and her own fucked up behavior.  She succeeded in upsetting Aunt Lucy greatly, but did not succeed in causing any regrets.  In fact Aunt Lucy got a big dose of why it was the right move not inviting her.  And she said that no matter what that fucked up bitch says, she cannot take away the beautiful time she had.  OK, Aunt Lucy didn't call her a fucked up bitch, but I don't know what else to call her.  Aunt Lucy said it was the best day of her life and nothing can take that away from her.

I can't remember if I have mentioned this before, but this is the cousin who lived with my Grandma and made her last years so miserable.  She would yell at my Grandma that way, for no reason, and there was never anything we could do about it because my Grandma always defended her.  It made me crazy.  The woman is seriously disturbed and I hate her fucking guts.  And whenever I think she is out of my life for good, that we have no more to tie us to each other, she comes back into our lives like a cockroach.  A diseased, disgusting cockroach.  She even had the audacity to tell Aunt Lucy that my mom and I turned everyone against her.  Yeah we did that.  It has nothing to do with the fact that she's a psycho hell bitch.  Seriously, like I have the time or inclination to bother turning anyone against anyone else.  It's the rantings of a lunatic.

At any rate, I don't know what happens from here.  Something?  Nothing?  I don't know.  Aunt Lucy's son may want to take it up with her and quite frankly if I wouldn't blame him.  The mind boggles at someone who would bitch out a 90 year old who merely attended her own surprise party and was not a part of the invitation sending.

And with that, I turn my rant off and leave you with a song that reminds me of my darling psycho hell bitch of a cousin..

46 Approaches

Monday is my birthday.  I'll be forty fucking six.  I'd like to go on record as saying, I don't like it, not one little bit.  But yeah yeah, it's better than the alternative, blah blah blah.  I'm trying to get to the "it's only a number" mindset because really, I don't feel 46.  I barely feel 26.  But I'm creeping close to that number that starts with 5 and it gives me agita thinking about it.

But then again, if I look at things today... right now, where I'm at and what I'm doing.  I feel pretty good.  I love my little business.  I love my friends and going out more and feel like I might be breaking out of a many years long funk of sameness.  I feel like possibilities are looming.  And it feels really good.  Dare I say I feel optimistic?  It's a new year and it's time to make things happen. I got a candy order (referral) today which is the only way for my business to grow really, referrals.  I'm back on the diet train and fine let's just say it... 2012 is the year of Lalia!

Which brings me the Debbie Downer portion of our show.  What gives me pause more than my own aging, is the aging of my parents.  It's hard to watch, and I have a front row seat.  My parents depend on me for a lot of things and that is difficult. My mom turned 80 this past October.  My dad will be 80 this coming September.  So often I feel such a role reversal and like they are the child and I am the parent.  Since my father's health declined, he has not wanted to do much of anything other than sit in is chair and watch TV.  He has created a life of being an invalid when he really doesn't have to be.  But it's what he has chosen for himself.  No amount of talking to him has changed it in the least.  Which in turn makes life difficult for my mom because even at 80 she is pretty vibrant.  But she is too timid to do things on her own and he can't be alone for too long.

About a month ago we had a scare with her.  I took her to get a cataract out.   After the procedure she was fine.  We even went shopping afterwards.  But by the next day, when I returned to do more shopping (it was before Christmas), it was very clear that something was very wrong.  My dad told me immediately that she was off and I could see it too.  She denied any problem and would only say she was kind of tired.  She had gone to the doctor that morning before I arrived, for the follow up on her eye and they were concerned about the pressure in her eye being very high.  But otherwise she was OK.  We did go shopping but she was definitely off.  She could barely keep her eyes open and her words were slurred.  I took her home, trying very hard not to jump to conclusions and felt that maybe she was reacting the anesthesia.   It had been over 30 years since she's had any kind of anesthesia, so maybe that was it.  After consulting with my brothers and my sister we all decided that it was in fact the anesthesia.   But it nagged at me that it was something more.

I went back again, the next day because she had to go back to the doctor for another follow up and see if the eye pressure was down.  Again, they thought she was fine.  And the pressure had gone down.  But she was not fine, not at all.  She could hardly function she was so tired.  She slept all the time unless she was up making something for my dad to eat.  The next day was Saturday and I called my brother and told him we have to do something if she isn't better today.  He agreed.  I wanted to take her to the ER, but she absolutely refused.  She would not go.  And interestingly enough, by Sunday she was a lot better.  Like 75% better.  It was really bizarre.  And when she asked me why everyone was so worried it was like explaining why you don't put your hand on a hot stove to a child.  I told her she was unfunctioning, that her speech was slurred, and it was very worrisome, and I really thought she had had a stroke.  She was a little stunned by that and I said, "Mom, you're 80!  I hate that I have to keep telling you that, but you are and you can't just blow things off anymore."  Honestly, I don't really think she knew where I was coming from.

All this trauma made me feel the aging process very strongly, just not my own.  My mind went to a place where I have tried to avoid it going.  If something does happen to my mom, what will happen to my dad?  Will he expect to come live with me, because my parents lived with me for about 8 months or so when he was recuperating and it was difficult to say the least.  It's something that I guess really needs to be worked out but when I think about how I don't want him to come live with me, I feel like the worst, most selfish person in the world.  When do you feel as though you have done enough?  When is it someone else's turn to take the reins?