note: by the time i hit "publish", it will be much later than when i began writing. it is officially 5:05 am. this information is critical for the reader. just sayin'.
in my professional life as The Homosexual Rights Movement, i work most closely with a fabulous field organizer that i often refer to as Young Matthew. because he's, um, young. like early 20's young. he'll sometimes send me late night (or early morning) emails that are either work-related or hysterically funny or deeply disturbing, depending on what he's doing at that very moment. i'll read them in the morning (sometimes a few hours after he sends them) and then promptly reply. yesterday afternoon he sent me an email which said, and i quote, "while i realize it must disturb you sometimes to get emails from me at 1am, it often bothers me to get emails from you at 5:30am."
i have tried to explain to the boy that this is All About Aging. yes, indeed. as you get, er, older, your sleep patterns take strange twists and turns. you find yourself getting sleepy after the final answer is revealed on jeopardy. if you weren't fortunate enough to squeeze in a nap earlier in the day, you're doomed to fall asleep on the couch by the time The Next Show airs its "previously on...." message. you often wake up two or three times in the night, i won't say why because that's just too personal although i can tell you it has something to do with aging bladders. if you're lucky you'll fall back asleep. then you have this ridiculous internal alarm clock that goes off around, hmmm, 5:00 am, and one of the first groggy thoughts that slips into your semi-consciousness is "sweet. i didn't die in my sleep last night. time to wakey wakey." ok. it's maybe not quite that morbid. i have been known to exaggerate for entertainment purposes.
my point, and i am pretty sure i have one, is that unless you've got something stimulating and/or important to do after 8:00 pm, the older you get, the sooner you want to find your way to bed. i can stay up late with the best of 'em and sometimes do and i always feel like "woo hoo, huntress you're a freaking party animal!!" but if i've got nothing on the calendar, chances are i'm going to be tucked into bed with a good book by 8:45. true story people. i can't figure out if the early-to-bed urge is in direct response to the early-to-rise urge, or visa versa. kinda like the chicken and the egg conundrum, i do not know which came first. i'm just trying to find a way for them to peacefully co-exist.
it's just bizarre, this Aging thing. while i am fully aware that i have years to go before i am officially put out to pasture, the sometimes subtle and other times horribly obvious changes can be, hmmm, unnerving. there's all that internal stuff, like the whole Sleeping Pattern Gone Mad. with these things, you adjust and move on and hope that no one notices. but the external stuff? oh how i struggle with that. eh. it's like all the warnings i received as a young, good-lookin' and physically fit 20-something dyke are coming to fruition.
back in those Good Old Days, i had a friend, a big. ole. bull. dyke., that i simultaneously worshipped and was terrified of. i think she decided to be my Butch Mentor and we had some ridiculous times, goddamn we had fun. and she was always tossing out her Words of Wisdom to me. among other things, she'd wax poetic about tops and bottoms and neckties, oh my. i graduated to butch high school the day i realized that not all those references were fashion-related. someday if you're lucky i'll write about the night i got my Butch Diploma. it's a story for the ages.
almost every saturday night we would go drinkin' at entre nous, a lesbian bar that become a gay bar which became another gay bar which became another gay bar which, sweet jesus, became another gay bar and which is now a straight bar that is owned by, i think, two lesbians. phew. annnyway, we would drink stoli, we would smoke some weed on the roof of the bar, we would just get out and out and wickedly wasted (ah...youth) and then we'd hit Denny's at 1:30 in the morning to deal with the inevitable munchies thang. and i would just shovel. the. food. in. she would sit back, rub her big buddha-like belly, nod her head and say, "huntress, i have never seen anyone eat like you do and not gain a fucking pound. you just wait. you hit 40, and that shit is gonna come back and haunt your ass."
uncanny. it's more haunting my stomach than my ass. but still. she was right.
i used to have that athletic kinda belly, didn't have to do one damn sit-up to keep it that way, and could eat half a pan of brownies at midnight and not gain an ounce. now i see a picture of a pan of brownies and i gain five pounds. for real. i affectionately describe my abdomen area as My Muffin Top Belly (my nieces get a serious laugh outta that and now refer to me as Auntie Muffin Top. nice.) i noticed said belly the very day i turned forty. at first i thought i was either pregnant through immaculate conception or had a Belly Tumor, until it occured to me that this was the Bull Dyke's words comin' back to haunt me. damn.
so your body changes. indeed. i've never been one to exercise for the sake of exercising...blah...and i wouldn't know a sit-up if it walked into my apartment and poured me a cup of coffee. i try to do what i can...being car-less surely helps, and i walk all over this damn city, hills and all. i love to hike, and bike, which, by the way, i do not consider exercise because they both have a destination point that has nothing to do with a stair-master timer, making them more, uh, recreational than torture-inducing. i've lately started trying to "Eat Right", though that's challenging for two reasons. number one, i don't cook and number two, when you're on a tight budget, you tend to buy things like Celeste Frozen Pizzas at a buck twenty five a piece. but i'm working on it. i figure it's a losing battle, but i'm just not quite ready to surrender. i mean, i gave in to the grey hair awhile ago because i think it makes me look, um, distinguished. but i'll wage the battle of the bulge for a bit longer before i just give up completely and start buying bigger shorts.
my pal dawn from mdi has been threatening to sew me a skirt in response to my Mouse Adventure (see comments from of mice and dykes and update) and she's been HARASSING me, in an entertaining way, about what "size" i am. last night she sent me a quick little email that simply said: 28" ? i assumed she meant waist size, and my very terse response was: um, i'll be a 28" again after i've been dead for about 2 weeks.
of course, she meant inseam, and she spent the better part of the next ten minutes scratching her head and trying to figure out if your legs actually shrink, or grow, when you've been dead for two weeks. funny stuff.
anyway. this was an utter ramble. but hopefully fun and entertaining, if you find self-deprecation adorable.
stay out of the heat today. and stay away from me, unless i'm in an air-conditioned room. this humidity makes me really, really cranky. like old-lady cranky.