When someone calls me Mrs. Georgeta;
When the neighbor next door calls me Miss🙈;
When I can’t remember people’s names even though I know their faces;
When, even though I wake up 2-3 hours before leaving home, I still leave with a pillowcase mark on my cheek;
That I have to go to the hairdresser weekly, my white hairs are too unruly;
That I can’t (or don’t want to?) leave the house without make-up;
That I’ve reached the age where my mum tells me she’s sorry she wasn’t born later, that she wishes she was younger too, she wishes she could do so much more but can’t :((;
That I need to be much more careful about what I eat, gone are the days of eating four cakes at a time and not gaining weight;
That I need to take pictures from afar, I still don’t want to see the wrinkles; I figure if I just look at them out of the corner of my eye, from a distance, I don’t make room for them in my life so easily;
When something breaks around the house and I have no idea where to start, a recent example being the fire on Christmas night that nearly knocked me to my knees;
When I tell a man that there’s a problem at my house, it smells like it’s burning, that the car has a problem, and he tells me that it’s only in my imagination. It’s never like that, unfortunately. But somehow, it’s like these people don’t take me seriously;
When a relationship only works if I keep it alive; if I stop, the connection disappears;
The ‘I wasn’t told, I wasn’t given’ expostulations; the impersonal reflexive hides disempowerment, victimization, passivity.
Ah, yes, it annoys me that all this annoys me. And yes, I know that balance comes from within, that it’s up to us to look at the world and life correctly, that everything that annoys us says something about us, and so on
.
But I’m thinking that even the Dalai Lama gets pissed if a pimple pops out of his nose, right?