Coming to Grips

If there’s one thing that I want everyone out there to understand it’s this; you’re finite. You actually have an ‘expiration date’. You will die. It’s inevitable.

Was that a downer?

Bummer.

The truth is no matter what you do, no matter how weight you gain or lose, how much you workout, how healthy you do or don’t eat, how much plastic surgery you have, how much makeup you wear, how many times a month you dye your hair, how much alcohol you drink, how many drugs you do, how much meat you don’t eat…you are GOING TO DIE.

Could be today.

Could be tomorrow.

Could be next year.

Could be decades from now.

But we ALL come to the same end no matter who we are, what our race is, what our religion is, or how we lived our lives.

DEATH is the final outcome.

There’s no escaping it.

YOU WILL DIE.

Oh, my GOD! Moonie! Why are are you writing this shit?

Because it’s the only inescapable truth.

Ok, look, I went to the Doctor last week for my COPD and they had me do a ‘breathing test’. They put some cushioned clothespin on my nose and expected me to BREATHE. Seriously, they did. That didn’t work out too well. Mostly because I ‘breathe’ like normal people have become accustomed to doing so; my diaphragm CONTRACTS while taking IN a breath. So no matter how hard I ‘blow’ into the contraption I’m destined to fail.

Then, they put my ass on a SCALE.

I told them not to say my weight out loud but they did so anyway.

162 pounds.

Oh my fucking GOD! I wanted to DIE right then and there.

Look…..Once Upon a Time I vomited forcefully, I took laxatives, I LIVED on a Dexatrim and a Diet Coke a day, in fact, I REFUSED to EAT if I tipped the scales at over 90 pounds. In fact, the very fact that I weighed in at 89 pounds through out my ‘high school career’ was a Badge of Honor.

Then they announced my height. I’ve LOST two inches. Yes, I am now exactly 5’2 even where I was once 5/4 (and a half!)

Well, that explains why I can no longer reach to the bottom of the washing machine to get the clothes out. LOL

Then I went back and had my little consult with the doctor who couldn’t remember everything I’d told him last time. So he asked me; how do you feel when you exert yourself?

Pardon? Look, for one, I wore exceedingly high heels for DECADES. I have shortened calves. I’ve spent 20 years sitting at a desk as a secretary and when I wasn’t doing that I was sitting at a desk beingĀ  a writer.

Walk? Uphill? I don’t think so. I’m in agony long before I’m out of breath. From my calves to my ankles to my hips and lower back…there better be a damn good reason why I’m walking. I mean, seriously, honestly, I damn well better be trying to run towards this

Or away from this

Got me?

Yeah.

Anything in between equals me talking my way out of the situation or just not caring about the same.

Why?

Because we all DIE.

It is the inescapable truth of the TWO things every single living being on the planet shares.

We are BORN and we DIE.

In between some of us get to pay taxes…oh joy!

I came home from that appointment feeling very ashamed of myself. More so than I did in high school when I was literally starving myself in hopes of attracting a mate. I never stopped to think if he would be a ‘worthy’ mate because my self-esteem (as dictated by the ads and movies and TV shows and Victoria Secret BS I say) was all wrapped up in landing ‘a guy’.

Fast forward several decades.

I landed a ‘guy’ who was about 120 pounds soaking wet when I met him but who is now well over 250 pounds. Yes, when I met him I could read a newspaper through him.

Do I love him any less?

Of course I don’t. He’s MY guy. The love of my life. My soulmate…I don’t give a shit how much he weights or if he has a six-pack. I just care that he’s HERE with ME and we get to spend the rest of our lives together. That’s it.

But I keep reading article after article regarding how we’re both supposed to “stay young” and “fit”.

Fuck that.

Those articles state that people now live to be between 85 and 100 years old.

What they leave out is; dementia, diapers, immobility.

I’d rather die fat, happy, and stoned at 60 than go through 15 years of ‘who am I? Who are you? How did I get here?’

(That’s my Aunt Babe went through…20 years in a nursing home suffering from Alzheimers until she couldn’t even use the bathroom any longer let alone recognize her own children!)

So, I speak from experience, honestly, I do.

My father died at 68 years of age after working for 35 years for the same company which supposedly offered a pension and an annuity. He collected THREE Social Security checks. THREE.

My mother tried to collect said ‘widows benefits’ but they were denied to her. She went BACK TO WORK at 60 and died at 64…several years after my father. She didn’t collect one single Social Security check.

They both, honestly literally…worked themselves to death. Saving every penny and never enjoying all that Life had to offer. In their defense they were both members of the “Greatest Generation” and “Depression Era” kids. To this day I feel so sorry for them.

True, being their Only Child, they left me the house that I still live in, they left a very small inheritance but not enough to for me to keep the house we live in without doing battle with the Tax Man for a few decades because taxes in the City of New London are far beyond belief!

I will not be my parents.

I will live fat, happy, and stoned with a head full of gray hairs, without make up, without pretense or falsehood when I meet my Maker.

And I’ll be broke as shit.

(Sorry kiddos, I love you to death)

But I’ll meet Him as ME.

With any luck, may you be able to say the same.

Because you know what? Like it. Lump it. Leave it.

We’re all

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s