Not anymore the funky fifty. Or the feisty. Or the furious. Actually, I was never furious about anything. So strike that.

Sixty, no matter what everyone has said to me, is not fifty. It is a big whole 10 years more. It is being wiser, being more patient, with more pain felt in the joints, unsteady walks. It’s about forgetting where you put your reading glasses (they’re on your head), and forgetting what you were just talking about but blaming the other person for interrupting your train of thoughts. Speaking of forgetfulness, I need to take my meds. Just some to control my high blood pressure. And some to counteract the effects of the high-blood pressure pills. Living life though chemicals, people!

It’s now 10:06pm of April 17, 2017. I want to call my family to tell them that I’m about to be 60. 6-0. I have been telling myself that it’s just another number. But who am I kidding? Everyone tells me that it’s just a number. And I agree too. But something in me is not feeling right. Everything in life is a number. Our time on earth might be measured in numbers, but there is more. More than I know. More than I can tell. And I just can’t explain it. (After 2 glasses of red and a vodka, no one can know, tell, or explain anything)

Being 60 – Does it t mean that I have fully lived my life, and everything beyond is just cream on the cake? Does it mean that I could die now, or that whatever I do now is no longer important to anyone? But I am not prepared yet for that, despite everything I said. Shit, no one is prepared for that.

I woke up today planning for a day of self-reflection, to treasure the remaining hours and minutes. But shuck happens. I got logged out of the iPad, someone needing my help, the tax docs for 2016 came and I needed to pay extra for both Federal and State taxes. Sucks that my birthday is around tax day. But I am happy to pay my taxes. Yeah, not like some president of some country who might not be paying taxes. Hehe!

Do you know that life expectancy in 1900 was 30 years, and in 1950 it was 60 years? We are in the 21st century, where one can be kept living till 90! Oh Gosh! I run out of idea for the naming of the 80s and 90s. The Eeeky Eighty? The Naughty Ninety? Haha!

Dad passed away at 63. I think, maybe 66 for me? I stopped working at 51, and since then everyday is Friday. I have lived quite fully, I dare say.  I now do what Dad used to do. In the mornings of Spring, he used to go out to the back yard and look closely at the trees and plants to see if any bud was forming. I thought he was going through – you know, what the 60-something were going though- dementia, alzheimers, essentially losing his marbles. Every morning now, when it doesn’t rain, I go out to the yard and admire the new growths. I can’t wait to see the green buds forming on my bare-root persimmon. The tiny leaves unfolding from the thorny jujube tree. I count and re-count every fruit that the plum and pluot trees bear. And let’s not talk about tomatoes and tomatillos.

I’m going out tomorrow night, party this weekend, and party next weekend. I don’t feel like going out shopping for a new dress.  So I’m going to wear the same dress for all 3 occasions. That’s the advantage of being old. You can do whatever you want  :)

Last weekend, Eric took me to see Logan. Such a good emo movie about Wolverine and aging. Ticket full price was $13.95. But I couldn’t have the senior discount ticket for $10.95 because I was 2 days short!

On the positive side. From now on, I can go to the shows and pay for senior tickets. I can get discounts on train fares, but not on travel insurance. Damn! Insurance goes up as you get older!  Oh, And I can swear as much as I want. Yes, I can say the word now. Not Shuck. Not Muck. Not Fvck.

FUCK!