Journal Entry for March 7, 2022

March 7, 2022

Here I am again, sitting and writing whatever comes into my mind.  If this turns out to be a decent piece of literature, I will be happy, but that is not necessary.  It is essential that I am writing again.

My blood sugar level continues to give me enough concern that I monitor it closely.  I should also be concerned about my weight, but I haven’t hit bottom on that yet.  If the pictures taken at the restaurant where we celebrated my late birthday last week don’t cause me to stop and go back on Weight Watchers, I don’t know what will.  I was the biggest thing in the room, especially compared to my friend Joan, who had been sick and looked thin in the pictures, and I looked like an elephant next to a meerkat.

My hair is another thing.  I have the I-haven’t-been-to-a-hairdresser-in-two-years COVID-19 look, with hair hanging halfway down my back.  I look like a late 1960s hippie.  I am nervous about going to a hairdresser for two reasons:  (1) I’m still afraid of COVID germs; and (2) I don’t know what kind of haircut I want.  Number 2 is quickly settled.  Number 1 will take some doing.  If I trust myself in someone else’s hands, I want those hands to be COVID-free.  Since I cannot guarantee that, I might have to table any plans to cut my hair soon and look up some long-hair styles.

The hippie look is complete when I decide to wear a tie-dyed blouse like in those pictures in the restaurant.

This reminds me.  I am now seventy-six years old.  If sixty is the new middle-age, I am getting well enough past it to be entering into old lady territory.  I am not ready to be an old lady yet.  If I live to be ninety or one-hundred, I’ll be an old lady, and even then, I’ll think about it.  I hope the march of middle-age will keep up with my aging so that I will always be a younger woman, even when I am white-haired and in a wheelchair.  I know, this doesn’t make sense.  Neither do half the things I say.  I’m like that.

In the meantime, here I am, sitting and writing journal entries and editing a building newsletter every month.  At least that’s something.

Journal Entry for February 24, 2022

 

February 24, 2022

So here I am, sitting at my computer, typing what will probably turn out to be a journal entry.  I don’t know what this will turn out to be, and it probably won’t be a masterpiece, which is disappointing but not unexpected.

I am trying to cure myself of a very long period of writer’s block.  I don’t know if I have real writer’s block or I’m just being lazy and depressed.  If I manage to cut through it here, I’ll be happy.

I turned 76 two days ago.  This is frightening, and it means that I’ll be 80 years old in four years.  Where did my life go?  It didn’t take very long to get to be 76 years old.  Wasn’t it just yesterday when I was walking the campus of Eastern Washington State College, away from home for the first time in my life?  Didn’t I just write a cliché?  Oh well, I’m entitled to one cliché here.  Those are the rules, which I made up myself.

Well, I just managed to stray from the subject.  I am getting older, and this is scary.  My finances are not strong, and I am terrified of ending up old and poor.  My therapist suggested that I take some action now to see if I can apply for Medicaid and other forms of help for seniors.  That’s a good idea.  I think I will call the Riverdale Senior Services center and see if I can talk to the social worker there.

I was right.  This is NOT turning out to be a masterpiece.

Why do I care about having my writing be correct and polished the first time around?  The thing is to WRITE.  I can edit later if I want to.  In the meantime, most likely, nobody else will read this, so my reputation as a writer is safe.

It isn’t as if I haven’t accomplished anything in the last few days and weeks.  I put in an application for food stamps, complete with documentation.  I did my taxes (hooray!), and I will get a substantial refund from the federal government and a little one from the State of New York.  I am not missing any good television programs.  I brought an empty box downstairs for disposal.  I sang at a funeral on my birthday, two days ago.  March’s Corlear Gardens Newsletter is ready to go.  I’m still bored as hell, with time on my hands.

I will try to get out of the apartment for at least a little while today, and maybe that will help.

In the meantime, I can always sit and write.