I really didn’t expect this.

It’s not supposed to happen this way.  You are supposed to go from one phase to another, graciously and with dignity.  Or so it has always seemed to me.  Nobody told me it was possible to enter another phase while still in the previous phase, going back and forth, not like a metronome, which at least would have some sense of regularity to it, but like a crazed fruit fly stuck between the window and the curtain, able to see but not attain merciful freedom.

It’s worse than I thought it would be.  I got up this morning.  I usually get up, being ashamed to stay in bed when most sane folks are up working and energetically plowing through life; although some mornings lethargy out-maneuvers shame with some sly excuse, keeping the pillow to my ear just a little longer than necessary.  Be that as it may, I got up and wandered around the house a bit, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing.  I noticed that my daughter was also up, which gave my sense of responsibility a little kick in the pants and prompted me to get both of us moving.

So while she started on her school work (being a home schooled child of long standing) I again tried to come up with some productive plans.  And this is the frustration I am addressing:  I am experiencing some of the symptoms of the so-called “change of life” but not the ones I was hoping to be experiencing right about now!  Yes, folks, you heard it here first.  It is possible to have all of the symptoms of menopause (except the cessation of the menses after which menopause was named) and still experience all of the joys of the monthly period.  All of the usual suspects line up like clockwork every 28 days, but now they bring along some other shady characters heretofore not invited to the party.

What I am talking about is weight gain around the mid-section, bouts of crying, weird physical symptoms, and, the granddaddy of them all, the losing of the mind.

It’s true.  Pieces of my mind disappear daily, taking up their little backpacks and venturing off into the unknown, never to return.  This morning I discovered that although there were many things I could be doing, something always stood in the way of my ability to actually do them.

For instance, I could have loaded the dishwasher if only it were not already full of dishes.  They were clean and dry, and there they sat, thwarting my efforts to maintain a clean kitchen.

I could have emptied the overflowing recycling bin, but alas, I was wearing no shoes so could therefore not go outside.  When I related this to my husband, he, being a wonderful problem-solver, suggested that I could have gone outside barefoot; to which I replied with chagrin that I indeed could not have done that, as I was wearing socks!

Fortunately for me, I suddenly realized the absolute ridiculousness of my plight and, instead of wallowing in self-pity, I began to laugh uproariously at myself.  Of course, the pieces of my mind came tumbling back, attracted as they were to the self-acceptance contained in my unexpected mirth.  My previously unproductive day abruptly turned on it’s heel and presented me with 3 or 4 easily do-able projects, which I completed without further ennui.  

I’m kind of glad they didn’t tell me this would happen, or I might have missed out on the incredible feeling of relief and freedom found in simply surrendering many of my unrealistic expectations for life at 50 and beyond.  I get to cut myself some slack.  I get to have a bad day and not beat myself up for it.  And I get to slow down and spend time in the moment.  

I really DIDN’T expect this!