With Less Than An Hour To Live: What Happens?

Into the sunsetI am told I have less than an hour to live. This oddly makes me happy and relieved. I will finally know if there is life after life. If there is such a thing as a heaven then my father is waiting for me to join him. I walk to the beach to wait for my time to go. And I am in sheer and utter peace with this waiting. 

Next thing I learn is that a lifelong friend of mine has always had a thing for me. And by a thing for me, I learn from a friend that a friend is in love with me. I am never told the name but I know who it is. It’s Johnny Depp. I tell him he’s too late, I have a husband whom I love and am totally crazy about. Without a moment of hesitation and sans regret, I turn him down. Had I known Johnny had it hard for me would I had said “I do” five years ago to Mr. Love-at-first-sight? Yes. Again and again. Even if the other prize was Mr Depp.

What kind of day follows dreams like these?

Would you believe I am sitting at my laptop with nothing on but a pair of underwear and a bikini top with a new coat of fiery orange nail polish drying on my fingers? What if I told you a friend gave me a xanax or two to help deal with my sudden blast of sadness and I simply placed them in my coin purse without even being tempted to take one and allow my odd feelings to be swallowed by a comforting sensation of inner fog? What if I then wrote an even longer sentence with more confusing questions?

I need to breathe.

I’ve just returned from an upsetting visit with the doctor. She confirmed via today’s modern technological magic that I am menopausal. *cringe* How did that happen? Have I missed one of life’s important and major steps aka adulthood? How did I do that? How did I go from teenage to menopause? I went directly to jail without passing go thus keeping me from claiming my much desired $200.

So I did what most modern woman would under under such circumstances and consulted my social network. Of course I went on Facebook posting a mysterious post about the saddest thing to sadness is the depression which fish tailed into a discussion about the wonder pill: xanax.

And then I went out for a paddle board ride. I rode that board hard. I rode it through 4-foot waves. And I rode her into the sunset. I was a Marlborough ad minus the gruff cowboy and the stinky cigarette.

I will re-write the book on how a woman should live hammer through her menopausal years like a teenager. I feel the need for a new pair of Doc Martens.

wordpressThis week’s creative writing challenge at The Daily Post is Metamorphosis. The purpose is really about hybrids and werewolves, half man half beast creatures that create a complete metamorphosis. What with what I am currently going through I thought a teenage-mutant-menopausal-boarding-chick? Why not?


24 thoughts on “With Less Than An Hour To Live: What Happens?”

  1. Even through difficult, personal questions you paint a lovely picture. I love how your nail polish color is mirrored by that sunset you paddled into.


  2. I expect someone else will have to do the actual writing of the book, because you’ll be out there blazing new paths.

    And hey, now you don’t have to worry about birth control!


    1. But I want to write it!

      The birth control thing remains to be determined. I am seeing another “specialist” today. I love being tested. I pretend the tester is an alien wanting to know more about humans and allow them to poke and prod and tap-tap…

      p.s. you would be disappointed to learn that although I hammered through those waves I did not surf them, I was being called elsewhere!


  3. I’m loving you a lot right now. I’m not sure if it’s the dream, the nail polish, your anti-xanax determinism, the slight sexual reference when describing how you rode your board, the fact that I would kill a motherfucker with another motherfucker for a cigarette right now, or your quip about Docs, but I’m loving you a lot. For some reason, I feel like, sometimes, a lot of things would be solved if we just lived closer.


    1. Yes. I agree with you a lot on that. We’d be running wild barefoot causing all sorts of disturbances in the little town… It would be fun. And scary. Because what good is fun when there isn’t a splash of fear involved?


  4. rewrite that book…life is what you make of it…the circumstances just add texture to the scene you know…depp’s over rated anyway…best wishes on the adventure…smiles.


    1. You don’t choose what happens in life, but you do get to choose how you’ll live it and how you’ll look at it. Thanks B”Man!

      p.s. where did your wife take you?


  5. Menopause………….been there done that…………for me it was a breeze only a few hot flushes a couple of night sweats and some mood changes now and again…………the worse part was the mood changes……….as for happy pills well if I don’t take mine I spend a lot of time crying and feeling sad and like a failure……………..so I take them daily…………


  6. I had to stop and think about this for the last 15 minutes. Just thinking, If I had one hour left I would call my children and tell them how much I love them and then write the love letter I have always wanted to write and put it in an actual mailbox and watch the sunset.

    Menopause is freedom if you look at it from another perspective?


    1. Everything has another perspective to look at, another chance to become a positive. Yes. I like that a lot and try to practice it as much as possible. I guess I’m already over the sticker shock of it.


    2. You know. I’ve been thinking about your comment on what you would do if you had such a short time to live. I find it peculiar that in my dream all I wanted to do was sit on the beach, watch the waves and wait it out. Alone. The fact that I simply just headed out to do that and not seek people out makes me wonder about myself. I know it was just a dream, but what we choose to do in a dream must mean something!


      1. We kind of had the same thoughts. I wanted to be alone too..Let’s hope we are never confronted with this dilemma !


  7. I really like your blog after somehow stumbling upon it. For me, I am right behind you having been “perimenopausal” for a while now. I hate even that it has a name. Why can’t it just be?


    1. None of those monstrous transformations should have names… Bleh. Well, at least we know what’s happening I guess!

      And thanks for stumbling upon me!


  8. Holy crap-in-a-pita! No way! Well, as much as that sucks, from what little I know about you, the Big MPaws knows not what it is in for. And I agree that you’ll be WAY too busy to rewrite the book. I’d totally shadow rewrite it for you, but I’m betting boys aren’t allowed to write about that stuff.


  9. I survived menopause without killing anyone (however tempted I was at times) you can too.
    And it is liberating, and part of life.
    And I know it wont change any of your wonderfulness


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