Mid-Life or Transition or Whatever

Disclaimer: This post will probably have a lot of foul language. If you cannot appreciate all of the ways I’m going to drop the f bomb and a few other tidbits, well, thanks for the page view, and come back another day when I am able to contain myself.

Fuck. There. I said it. Really, I had no choice. I told you to expect it. I mean what I say, and say what I mean. Yeah, just like Dr. Seuss.

So I’m having a little bit of a moment. I know. I’m not the only one. But, this is affecting me, and, well, there is no situation that I cannot make about me.  Go read some shitty feel-good story on Huff Po if you want a bunch of bullshit that makes you feel good about yourself, oh, and really, just a bunch of aggregated bullshit. This is going to make you feel good, about me. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out.

I am a bitch.

Yes. I am. I own it. I am proud of it. I love that about myself. Apparently I have built up a bit of a fan club based on what a bitch I am, mostly (is that even a word?) because all of the people who love what a bitch I am appreciate the fact that its honesty and not malice,  straight talk, not phony bullshit.

I don’t know how to be phony. Maybe that would have gotten me further in life, but then I would not be able to look at my beautiful face in the mirror, and I love to look at my gorgeous reflection, especially on a really good hair day. Oh and also on a day when I can draw in some fabulous eyebrows.

Anyway, I’m in a bit of a transitional period. Some call it a mid-life crisis. I wouldn’t mind that because then that means I’m going to live till I’m 100. Well, wait, fuck that. I only want to live to 100 if I’m going to be disgustingly Jay Z rich and have an infiniti pool and someone to cut my onions.

I made a promise to myself back when David Letterman was the thing that I’d go on his show when I was filthy rich and talk about how I’d never cut onions again. He went and retired before I made it big like that. I’ll never forgive him.

I know. You want me to get to the point. I don’t have one. Did you miss the part where I said I’m in a transitional period?

In 48 hours, give or take, I will be leaving a job that I absolutely love. I mean, I love it and wish that Mark Cuban, or anyone with a shitload of cash, would throw some money my way so that I could feed my kids, keep my lights on, and continue at my job working with disadvantaged  youth who need someone to love them the way that I do.

My co-worker thinks its hysterical that I Tweet messages to Drake and expect him to answer. I think its hysterical that she doesn’t understand that he IS going to answer me. And probably send some money to the cause I’m demanding he supports.

No, I’m not Mother Teresa. Well, maybe a little, but the version in need of someone to wash my mouth out with soap.

I mean I’d punch anyone in the face who tried, but you know what I mean about the whole I’m not really a saint thing. Still, you can continue to think I am.

I’m 50 and trying to figure out what to be when I grow up. Some people figured that shit out in their 20’s. I didn’t. Some people figured that shit out when they were in their 30’s. Yeah. No. Not me. I’ll skip the 40’s because it will just piss me off.

At 50, I know this. I may be changing jobs soon. I am poor as fuck. I drive a car that still has the kind of key you can go get made up at ACE. I get shut off notices regularly.

I also get fan mail regularly. Ok, so maybe not officially mailed to me with my fan club address on the label, but in the form of the kids I work with, one who hugged me tonight and told me she was going to miss me, and wouldn’t let go. In the form of a kid who OD’d in my house and hugged me and wouldn’t let go. In the form of all of the amazing friends that I have collected, yes, I said collected, because they are an eclectic group of people who enhance my life, and that’s a rule of mine, you better enhance my life in some way or there’s the door.

You’re waiting for my point. I already told you there really isn’t one. I’m transitioning. Again. I’m building. I’m regrouping. And I love to put out there how magnificent I am. That part took me a long time, too long.

But really the point is that I’m transitioning. As poor as I am, and as old as I am, that is a luxury. And that makes me rich!





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