November Results Rant

I may have mentioned, getting old sucks.  What happened to the song/poem I wrote in my thirties about getting a PhD at 103?  Kids see old folks moaning and groaning about their backaches, knee replacements, needs to walk with canes, but that won’t be them! No way! They’ll be Lewis Carroll’s Father William threatening to kick the young man downstairs. Hah!  Then something happens, bones and brains ossify, sometimes independently. In my case, the bod (and brain parts dependent on the bod) went first. My attitude, not so much.  It seems strange I feel young because I admire an old man, Bernie Sanders, who sinks baskets almost every time and can be seen jogging to catch a plane.  I still see myself as a hippie, left wing, nerd except grass (pot? weed? What the hell is it now?) has become too strong for me.  I want a mellow high, not origami frogs with teeth leaping to bite me through my sliding glass door. And though my multitudinous medications now preclude my precious nightly glass of vino rojo, I’m the rabble rouser who wants to save the world but rarely leaves the house.

Ok, yeah you know this all came out of somewhere. I can’t decide if I am more depressed or pissed.  My worries were about working on climate change early enough to save the world for my grandkids.  Now, that world may not only fry, but may be ruled by gazillionaires who can move into bubbles on earth or elsewhere while everyone else is screwed.  And those everyone elses? They voted for him!

Now when I try to sleep, I wonder if this outspoken old gal will be collected and disposed of on day one for her rants against the dictator.  I live near the Mexican border where lots of US citizens with Hispanic/native roots may be herded into trucks. What’s an extra gray-haired troublemaker in the mix?  

I’m tired.  Going to get this posted and rest.  Today I met with a geriatrician.  A geriatrician for god sakes!  If you say something, I might kick you downstairs.