I am not 30 anymore. I know it. You know it. Everyone around me knows it. I can’t stop talking about it. In this ongoing trek through the quagmire of aging….I wonder how to describe myself. I do what we were all taught to do back in the day – look it up in the dictionary. Okay, don’t do that. It’s depressing. I qualify for “elderly” but, am not quite there yet.
I usually say “old lady” because it’s funny and has more than one meaning. I googled “mature women” and started to laugh, there is so very little mature about me. Well, that’s what I think, anyway. I used to ask my mom how it felt to be old. She died when she was 59. 6 years older than me. 6 years. Of course, I started asking her this when she was in her 40s. What a little snot I was.
But, here I am. Teenaged kids and divorced. Starting over. I feel not old, but experienced. Mature? Old? I don’t think so, Susan. Parts of me (body parts, mostly) feel pretty old. The rest of me? Well, just a few days ago, I was fangirling like a 15 year old over a has-band rocker – local at that. I was tittering and giggling and stalking his fb page – look, he is so cute, I can’t help myself. See? 15 year old fangirl. Please note, I was fangirling with another elderly woman.
Very little has changed about my irreverent attitude and my devil may care, throw it to the winds existence since I was a teen. But, I am wiser (wise asser, too) calmer, and more comfortable in my skin. Or, at least I’m trying to be.
In one area though, I have definitely become a dinosaur. I have a smart phone, laptop, ipad. Continue to self publish this blog and manage an online existence for my writing persona. Some of the other raptors I hang with think I am the pinnacle of “up with the times.” They think I can do everything electronic and internet based. And, mostly I can.
I have finally learned how to copy and paste on my cell phone. It’s awesome. Some of you have stopped reading in laughter. This isn’t for you. Move along. This is for those like me from a prehistoric era. Here is the funny part. I “copy” with one finger and I hold it up and do not let it touch anything. I do not lower it to type. I do not lower it to answer my phone or swipe a way a tweet notification. I actually hold it up – like it is actually something – and keep it up until I get to the “paste” page. And, you should see the contortions I make trying to make this happen. I laugh everytime. So stupid. And yet, I can’t stop doing it. I don’t want to “lose” it.
I don’t know how long it was before I noticed I was doing this. Maybe I should listen more when the snarky teenager says, “mom, you aren’t doing that right.” As if that is going to fucking happen.