I turned fifty.  My existential year so proclaims my therapist.

Existentialism is generally considered to be the philosophical and cultural movement which holds that the starting point of philosophical thinking must be the individual and the experiences of the individual, that moral thinking and scientific thinking together do not suffice to understand human existence, and, therefore, that a further set of categories, governed by the norm of authenticity, is necessary to understand human existence. (Authenticity, in the context of existentialism, is being true to one's own personality, spirit, or character.) - Definition from Wikipedia.

I am assured by my most adored and wonderful therapist, that psychologists generally agree now that women tend to go through an existential stage when they turn fifty.

I am here to tell you, she, my adored and most wonderful therapist, is right.  She usually is, a most depressing thought.  I'd like to think that after all the years I've spent in therapy and the fact that I am now over half a century old, I would have all of this figured out and the next thirty years would be spent rubbing it in other's faces or saying "kiss my ass".

I noticed on PW's site - please, I don't really read her.  I am a firm believer in "what you see is what you get, period". And, "say what you mean and mean what you say".  I don't pander to anyone, unfortunately for me. - that she is taking questions and giving answers.  She's too damn young.  Ask me those questions.  I'm too damn young.  I'm still trying to figure out who I am.

I know what I stand for.  I have very strong beliefs and morals and remember, I'm agnostic and an Unitarian.  I respect everyone's right to their faith as long as they don't ask me to conform to their value system.  In most cases I think mine is better anyway.

Honestly, it started almost a week before my birthday.  Oh and I do flip people off in case anyone is wondering.  It's almost orgasmic.  I've tried to be such a kind and gentle woman for so long.  Those days are long gone.  Never to return.

I have been in a state of constant confusion though.  For fifty years, I've been someone's daughter, someone's mother, someone's wife, someone's lover, someone's caretaker.  I'm no longer someone's daughter.  My father passed away three years ago, my mother almost 13 years ago.  My stepmother and my mother-in-law passed away in the last three years also.  My youngest is off to college this year.

(too fucking bad she isn't taking all these damn animals with her.  And I'd like to point out that the only animal I brought home is one dog who is getting ready to kick the bucket.  I timed that right.  And a horse.  My, I'm turning 50, Ferrarri.  The horse doesn't live me.  Doesn't pee on my floors.  Doesn't chew my furniture, shoes, floor, wood trim, cans. Someone else feeds her, waters her and even works her if I can't get out to the barn.  Have I ever mentioned that we replaced our furniture 3 times in the last two years because of chew boy? Yes, we're the idiots that hang on to animals as if they were children.)

So who am I? What do I do now?  I gave up my life and my career to raise and home school my children.  To move when Beerhound went to a new duty station.  Well, that's all over now.  Beerhound is retired and has a job in the Tidewater Area that he will be able to retire from in ten more years.  The girls are both off to college and moving in together.  One is in a committed relationship with the boy.  The other has dreams of the Peace Corp.  They both want to move back west, the little shits.  I grew up out west.  So did Beerhound.  If we knew they were going to pull this shit, we would of never moved.

Trust me, Virginia is beautiful, no doubt.  But it is run by a group of crazy, mentally stunted conservatives that believe in celebrating Confederacy month.  Yes, our Governor is Vaginal probe O'Connell.  Not to mention, it snows in the winter and then subjects us to 99* heat with 100% humidity.  Which then causes our power to go out.  Not to mention the constant, yearly threat of hurricanes.

*Look if you don't believe in global warming, you need to move to Virginia.  Seriously, we'll straighten that misconception right up*

I'm off to complete my laundry.  Do I still do laundry?  Am I supposed to do laundry?  I've been doing it for 32 fucking years now (yes my mother did mine until I left for college).  Then I will iron, even my pillowcases and my place napkins.  There's something wrong with that isn't there?

I'll keep you posted.

Somethings never change! Thank God!

Still one my greatest joys in life. Ride that bull cowboy