I’m going to be middle-aged in November

Well, if I live to a hundred.
As you can see in the picture below I still haven’t given up my wicked ways. Well, not at Burning Man anyway. The guy next to me is the leader of our camp Spanky’s Wine Bar. Admiral Painjoy. This was taken at the Spanker’s Ball last year.

Rachael at Burning Man hanging with Admiral Painjoy

Moi at Burning Man hanging with Admiral Painjoy

Don’t know if the age thing is making me fucking berserk or just life in general. Woke up this morning¬† (hmmmm sounds like a bad blues song) and seriously considered making a list of my accomplishments, in order to jolt myself out of this creeping depression. C’mon. You spend 3 months in surgical recovery in constant pain restricted to your bedroom and your depression quotient would increase as well. Plus my kid is going off to college. Major Cabin Fever.

Then realized the list would take about a quarter of a page. Double spaced. In Number 2 pencil.
What the hell happened?
I was going to be the next Bette Midler (did start out playing piano and singing in gay bars in the LA area), but she had that niche down. Then thought Cole Porter, another hero. While I do love a good looking young man I prefer mine straight. So that was out.

Thought for a while I’d go the Dorothy Parker route. She was funny, drank and smoked too much, and her audience could never get enough of her witty writing and recorded banter. Hell she was even bi-polar. Realized that even at the peak of my blogging (about 2 years ago) my highest audience was 300 readers a day.
Besides, every time I met a guy and told him I was Bi he’d get an immediate boner…until I finished the statement with ‘polar.’

Considered Zelda Fitzgerald: another nutjob with vitality and wit. F. Scott used many of his character lines directly from Zelda’s words and actions. Except in my case it would be a husband who played second fiddle. This genius idea lasted until my second divorce, when I realized that both of the previous betrothed were leaching cretins. And those were their good points.

So music seemed to be it. Did my share of playing shows, some in venues which people have actually heard of.

Suddenly I was 30. What the hell? I’d done enough drugs, smoked enough ciggies and downed enough booze to kill at least three Irish villages. Yet…. I was still alive. How did this happen?
At this turning point I had a daughter. Not having made enough as a New York City financial vulture, nor musician or writer this was done on my own.
Oh the pain which could have been avoided by simply purchasing one at the local market.  the cost is tied in with the housing market.

Turned out it was the best and most important thing I’d ever accomplished at all. I quit drinking, ingesting illegal (or at least illegally obtained) pharmaceuticals and knocked off the ciggies as well.
And lost 75 pounds. And opened a thriving business. And some more shit I like to call ‘My Life as an Aging Punk Rocker Mom Entrepreneur Burner Half-Assed Writer Now Living on SSD Disability and What The Fuck Happened’

Look forward to my next installment ‘The List’
Hoping it will cheer me up as the razor blades are downstairs in the basement and my damned walker won’t fit in the stairway.

And of course my solemn pledge to you all: No more whining. Hell that’s worth the price of admission alone. OI!

walker locked to pole

~Miss R