I used to have so much energy and then I got old, well not really old, I'm only 50.   I did hit menopause early, around 45  and it just seemed to zap all the radiating abilities from my body. I'm befuddled, muddled, confused, testy, weepy, hot, cold, loving, screeching like a fishwife.  It's like being  pregnant all over again.

I always  figured that menopause would be one of those moments where you run up the hill, two fisted in Rocky fashion over your head winning the race.  Eye of the tiger and all is well with my world.  Unfortunately, I am more like Mr. Magoo, stumbling over rocks, not able to see where I'm going.  I'm lucky if I get to the top.  Honestly!

You would be surprised at how many articles there are about how not to be tired at 50, what foods to eat for energy,  what exercises to do.  Even types of sex to have in your relationship, possibly without the relationship.  Really?  Just reading every column makes me tired.

The truth is..., menopause is just tiring.  It sucks an ungodly amount of energy from your body.

I thought raising children, having children, carrying children, bearing children, made me tired.    I was WRONG and what's worse is I feel guilty. It's not like I work in construction or teach dance:)  I could easily take a nap every single day.

I do have an appointment with my doctor about this ability I've developed to sleep 16 hours a day.  She's wonderful but very laissez faire. She will doubtlessly tell me that, "yes, it is menopause.  Shall we try hormones again?"

Over my dead body.  We tried hormones once.  I didn't take to them.  In fact, I started my period.  Well...., that's nice.  Menopause feelings with a menstruation cycle.  We had to put the knives away.

What I really need is speed.  I'll look my doctor straight in the eye and beg for speed.  I'm not sure it's good form to ask for speed but I'm going to try.  At this point, what can I lose?  I need to start finishing projects.  I need to at least get something done besides sleeping..., which I want to do right now.

I can't go back to sleep. Steve Kornacki is on and the Melissa Harris Perry show is on right afterwards.  I have to stay awake long enough to watch both shows or my little progressive heart won't be the same.  Just a couple cups of coffee with caffeine shots and I'll will be ready to go....

Meanwhile, while I'm still awake, I'll write my Play, Purpose and Crap.

This is a video Emma shot of Maggie and McKenna.  Maggie is her horse - white.  McKenna is mine - she is the dominant and will prance around and keep Maggie protected from the other horses in the pasture.

Quote:  "Reading is everything. Reading makes me feel like I've accomplished something, learned something, become a better person. Reading makes me smarter. Reading gives me something to talk about later on. Reading is the unbelievably healthy way my attention deficit disorder medicates itself. Reading is escape, and the opposite of escape; it's a way to make contact with reality after a day of making things up, and it's a way of making contact with someone else's imagination after a day that's all too real. Reading is grist. Reading is bliss."

—Nora Ephron

Works of genius:

Have a happy week.  Our weather looks to be nice and cool this week with some rain.  The best kind.  I wish the best kind for you.

Stop, rewind.  I'll talk about me and you just listen.  Works for me.

Have you ever wondered about the schizophrenic existence of one of your friends?  You've known them for awhile.  You've loved them for awhile.  You've spent time with them, discussed the world, religion, family life, politics. You know their value system.  You've spent time with their kids.

My daughters present great insight into who I am and what I'm about.  Most of my friends have had my daughters either teach their children, babysit their children.  At some point, most of them have spent time with Bonnie and Emma themselves.

In a nutshell, with the help of my daughters, here I am.
I'm politically fanatical and active.
I'm a progressive to the marrow of my bones.
I'm a teacher.
I'm more than an avid reader.  I am a ridiculously avid reader.
If there is a documentary on, I'm watching it and so are my kids whether they want to or not.
My favorite show is Frontline.
I'm 50 and I pretty much don't care what anyone thinks about me anymore.
I say what I mean and I mean what I say.
I'm a "feminazi."  My daughters love that term.
I'm very particular about what I like.
My sense of humor is dry and sarcastic.
I believe that social justice should be our first and foremost priority in life.
I don't "do" camping, or dirt, or bugs, or swimming anywhere if I can't see my toes.
I only tolerate gardening because I have gloves and I love my rose bushes.
I absolutely hate to sweat and dirt on my body brings about squealing and running to the nearest INDOOR bathroom with an INDOOR shower.

So why would I watch the PBR enjoying the hell out watching a bunch of cowboys ride bulls? And.., having the time of my life just sitting in family room glued to the TV?
Hard to say.
I could say, "How the hell would I know.  I just woke up and there I was."
I could say, "I enjoy watching how the other half lives."  I'm not supposed to be a cowboy lover although I have my own horse.  She's a priss through and through.

Just a joke, don't get up and try to find me so that you can sock me and then lecture me on my "snobbishness."  Although I don't get the chewing and spitting.  That is just disgusting!!! I mean, would anyone like it if I chewed bread and instead of swallowing just spit it out, on the floor, or in a can, or on the sidewalk as I was walking by?  NO, they would not but it seems perfectly appropriate to chew some nasty looking brown dirt and spit out the juice.  Are you kidding me?

I could say one of my family members is a competitor and I'm showing my faithful support but I don't have any family members left and I was an only child.
The truth? I love, love, love, cowboys.  I love the wranglers they wear.  I love their chaps and the way they frame their ass.  I love their hats.  I love their boots.  I love the horses.  I LOVE the smell.  I keep records of the top 20 riders and bulls.

But, oh my, I really love the wranglers, chaps, and ass.

Sometimes I want to slap myself and say "Grow the F*&! up.  For Pete's sake, you're almost 50."

I can't help myself, I can't.  I'd go to detox if I could.
No I wouldn't.  I love it too much.
I watch it every weekend, with Beau, who happens to like the bulls.  He's a stupid dog.  He barks when the bulls are on but then looks away when it's just the cowboys.  What an idiot.

Okay, my heart is starting to beat

There you go.  That's the truth.  My friends are confused and perplexed.  In the beginning, I think they thought I was just going through a phase.  You know - mid life crisis, blah, blah, blah.  Nope. Now I believe they think I'm schizophrenic.  It's a topic of discussion for them.  I don't care, put me away.  Just make sure I have the VS channel so I can get my weekly fix.

So for your enjoyment: pictures from my last PBR trip.

Just a little more to the left but the side views great too.

Highlighted, Oh my

No words needed

Yep, I'm definitely off the deep end.

This is how I will feel on Thursday morning.  "Tomorrow is Friday. Friday, Friday, Friday."  I will feel my heartbeat slowing, my muscles relaxing, my mind going into Zen mode.

Which is quite comical because I don't have a Monday to Friday, nine to five job.  I teach, but at this moment only on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.  I don't home school the girls anymore.  They are both in college and working.  I do spend part of the week taking care of all household  and administrative duties.  I go out to the farm.

But still it will be Friday and I will have  the weekend spread before me like a smorgasbord of time - time to finish every job that I have neglected.  The weekend to watch Bull Riding.  The evening to read without feeling guilty about some job that I didn't accomplish that day.  Time to finish knitting my latest project.  Time to work on my rose bushes that have decided to bloom like there is no tomorrow.  Even now, I  tear up just thinking about it.

But, last Friday has come and gone with no hamster dance.  It turned out to be more of a water moccasin dance day because Bonnie was in a pissy mood - a pissy mood before Mother's Day - and just felt like everything I said was about as stupid as something a 2 year old would say.  She drove me to work and picked me up when class was over.  This was our conversation in the car coming home.

"The girls were so excited about Princess Kate having a baby."  These were my 9th graders.  "I gave them the last 10 minutes  of class to go to the computer lab and look up pictures of her and Prince William.  And they were over the moon about Harry visiting our country. "He's so cuuuuuttttte"."

Bonnie = "Grunt"

"They were thrilled.  When they saw the pictures they started fawning and exclaiming how they would give anything to be a real princess just like Kate."

"But you know me Bonnie. I'm a feminazi.  I couldn't let that slide.  I pointed out to them that she is nothing special.  They are all princesses too.  She's only a  human being just like them.  They weren't buying it.  They just kept oohing and aahing.  "She's so beautiful."  "I wish I could be a princess."  "I want to marry a prince."  "I want to be royalty."  Again, I tried to point out their own value as girls.  "You are all as beautiful as she is."  "You'll find your own prince."  "And actually his family line is German so therefore, technically, he's not really English royalty, Princess Diana was more blue blooded than Prince Charles was and in fact Kate is a commoner.  So see, you all are just a royal as they are:)"  They weren't having any of it.  I said, "Girls did you know that Bill and Melinda Gates have a motto for their foundation?  No one life is more important than any other." First, they wanted to know who Bill and Melinda Gates were.  Then, they just didn't care what Bill or Melinda Gates thought because frankly they didn't know who they were.  I gave up.  There is only so much lecturing I can do with 9th grade girls that I didn't raise."

I took a breath and looked expectantly at my lovely, sweet, daughter, who I did raise.

I'm telling Bonnie this story as she's driving us home.  I patiently wait for her to add her two cents - which by all reasoning should be feminist - like, "Good for you Mom.  They need to be reminded of their own personal power as women."  BUT NO!  She turns her head, looks at me and says, "Way to go mom.  You ruined the magic of their lives.  Are you happy at destroying little girls dreams?"

What the F***.  I know I'm old but I'm not hard of hearing so I asked her to repeat  it just in case I misunderstood her because she couldn't possibly be telling me that I should have encouraged their hero worship.  NOPE, she was and she got louder and more agitated and proceeded to tell me how I was a dream killer, how I had taken all the sparkle and sunshine from their lives and that now they will never have anything they can dream about.

These are not 5 year olds, people.  They are 14 and 15 year old girls, Jewish girls.  I'm not destroying their belief in the Easter bunny or Santa Claus...., they are Jewish.  I'm pretty sure they know that unicorns don't exist or that rainbows don't really rain skittles down upon our heads.

By the time we got home, I was shocked and dismayed.  I raised this child. I made her watch biographies on the women's movement and the civil rights movement. I've read Virginia Woolf out loud to her and Emma.  We've studied matriarchal societies.  Bonnie just finished a women's studies class.  I've been telling both my daughters, since they were born, that  people are wonderful, glorious, special human beings when they do something that improves the world around them, like Walt Whitman, or Virginia Woolf, or Florence Nightingale, Fredrick Douglas, or Susan B. Anthony.

We arrived home. We got out of the car, slammed the doors, stomped up to the  front door and then I sweetly turned to her and said, "I'm not feeding you today, because you pissed me off.  Clearly, I'm being punished.  In fact, don't bother talking to me at all right now."  In her defense, she was immediately contrite and apologized.  "I'm sorry mommy.  I'm just having a bad day."

You know what, I hold grudges.  Yep, it's the truth.  I'm sorry mommy?  Is that supposed to make me feel better. In a fifteen minute drive, she completely destroyed my faith in 21 years of parenting.  I'm a failure.  Parenting is just a crap shoot, really, why bother???

What's a 50 year old, fanatically, progressive, feminist mother supposed to do when her grown daughter tells her believing in princesses is a good thing?  Drink vodka that's what.  Take a nap and dream of the day when we tore off our bras and burned them for audiences to prove a point.  Wow, the good old days.