It is rounding the end of summer and I haven’t even experienced the beginning yet. Usually a summer consists of a week at the shore or a flight to the West Coast or me entering a SPA in Aruba alone. OK, the last one I made up.
This summer has been tied up with an aggregation of responsibility and no breathing room. Every time I think I have a chance to just sit and stare at a wall without any thought and sip my coffee some minute encroachment befalls my attention. An Attention that has been placed amongst an estrogen free society.
I find in this newly acquired menopausal state that my sleeping patterns are more erratic than normal. I have yet to sleep through an entire night without a bathroom break or grabbing a swifter to mop up my sweat pools. Why does the body have to go through this after the age of 50? Why do I feel like I have a giant hangover every morning and I haven’t even had a drink the night before. Why does my body feel as though I need a tow truck and a fork lift to make me presentable in the morning. Why can’t I be as resilient as my pup and bounce out of my bed and jump on people licking their face off. Why does God chose women of the age of 50 plus to bear the brunt of hormone adjustments? Why do women get to experience the swelling of a left boob over a right and run a body temperature that fluctuates more than a Siesmograph situated in downtown Los Angeles.
What is the point of putting women through this at a certain point in life. What is the purpose of shutting down the body works of a viable human being just because they are not going to reproduce anymore. Why not let the fluids flow indefinitely? What harm can that cause? I say, let the hormones continue as status quo throughout a lifetime and shut the works off upon death. Just think how much happier women of that age would be if they didn’t have to contend with a shut off valve when they turn 50. They wouldn’t have to fight the demons of the hormonal crash and alter what was once a reputable personality with a sense of humor. They would not have to uncork a 2009 Rose d’Anjou and follow it with a fresh Apple Pie Ala Mode chaser. We would not have to be ABili-fied or prozac-ed in order to CELEBRex our lives as we drive our LEXI-pro to a Zo-Loft in SOHO….
No. If God has chosen that woman shall bear false witness to losing control of their bodily functions and having their vagina dry up like the Sahara, and having a conscious waking state of wanting to eliminate every stupid comment out of another human being, well then, I say AMEN! We have earned the privilege to go ballistic on an Inept youngster that is lagging behind in the hormone caboose who is trying to tell us how to run our lives. We have already fought numerous battles with our libido and won in comparison with our younger counterparts. The younger generation is still finding fault with what God gave them. We, on the other hand, have mastered the storm from our first periods to our last labor pain to the rise and fall of the Fallopian empire.
We are women that can measure beyond the richter scale and not submit to the trials and tribulations that menopause can muster. We can open our droopy eyes and stand forthright and go into the battle of the bulging waistline fighting that pull between youth and aging. We will fight with our weapons of anti wrinkle creams and raise our Botox bayonets into the air as we race against time. We will show the youth a new Regenerist-nation and stand firm like a ROC. OLAY! er OLE…
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