I 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.
This 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?