Aging Not So Gracefully

So I was getting out of the shower the other day, towelling off, applying lotion and the usual. As I was smoothing the lotion over the back of my right knee, I noticed something that looked like a nasty bruise. Now, bruises are not unusual for me, I am the worlds biggest klutz. I went to get in the shower a few weeks ago and almost fell and busted my butt, ending up with an ugly bruise on my shin. See, not unusual.

But this was not a bruise. This was nature's way of saying, "Guess what, kiddo. You are not quite as young as you used to be. I thought I'd slap a reminder in your face by planting this god-awful VARICOSE vein right here for the world to see. Have a good day!"

I was on the bathroom floor hyperventilating for about two minutes after I found it.

I am not a vain person, I swear. I am a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl. I don't wear make-up, and about the most exciting thing I do with my hair is throw it up in a pony-tail before work. And it's not that I mind getting older, really. Turning thirty only freaked me out a tiny bit. Seeing that gravity works doesn't bother me as much as some other people. Noticing the tiny fine lines around my eyes is not making me crazy, yet.

But as each year passes, I am starting to realize that I have not accomplished much in the almost third of a century I have been alive.

Sure, my life is better off than a lot of people. I have steady work from an employer that is not going anywhere in the near future. I have pretty decent health benefits. I have a roof over my head, a car to drive and food in my belly whenever I want it. I am not hooked on drugs any longer. I have four butt-head cats who think I'm the shit. My life is decent.

So why is it that I feel like there is a huge piece of something missing from my life?

I don't know if I am just naturally blue, like my mother, or if it is something more serious.

Maybe I am just guilty of the American disease of "I want more."

Dreams

A perfect angel.

Ten tiny, perfect pink fingernails.

Green eyes like her mommy.

Halo of brown curls, like her daddy.

The culmination of me and him.

She sighs and nuzzles herself tighter in my arms.

Brick wall, apply head...forcefully

I've been thinking lately. Dangerous, I know. I want things, I think. But those things are not something I can reach. Or maybe they are, but I just don't know how to get them.

Every time I get on the road, I think of driving till I run out of gas. Just going. Far. West, maybe. Where the country is still mostly untamed, to match my spirit. Where there are vast open spaces, with no one there to bother me. Where I can have FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE AND DAMNED QUIET! Maybe its the Sagittarius in me, fueling my wanderlust. Maybe I am just unhappy sitting still. I just don't want to be here in this place any longer. This place in the physical sense or metaphorical sense is the bigger question.

I don't allow myself the luxury or examining these feelings very often. It depresses me, and I cannot afford depression. Depression spirals out of control in me, and I end up in worse places than where I am now.

I have to wonder if this melancholy is an inherited trait. My mother is the bluest woman I have ever known. As a child, she and I would skip through the aisles in the grocery store, singing crazy songs at the top of our lungs. And then at home, she would become this other person. The one who let her dreams be ruined by children. She had a chance to be a singer, you know. She had a chance to get out of this state. And then she got pregnant. And that was the end of her dream.

At least she has an excuse. I, on the other hand, have none. I have allowed my dreams, wants, desires to slowly die so that others would be happy. Watched them suffocate. Didn't cry even. And yes, I said allowed. I had choices. Its not like someone held a gun to my head and forced me to live the life I've lead, I did this to myself. Which is possibly the saddest statement in this post so far.

So what do I want? This is where complication sets in.

Someone once said I was smart. A few someones, actually. I want to feel that way. Not this scared, confused little girl who doesn't know up from down.

I want to go back to school. Finish my degree, any degree. Accomplish something, anything.

Someone once loved me for the person I am, and not who they thought they could mold me into. I want to feel that again. I am so tired of trying to be someone I am not. I want to be able to talk to someone without them thinking I am blaming all of my issues on them.

I want to feel something other than despondent. Blah. Grey.

I just want. And it sucks to want and not have.