This Can't Be My Life

   I made a comment in my 8/14 "Walmart" blog about ruminating all night at work on "this can't be my life," and a commenter suggested I should write about that subject. As this was my first -- and only! -- actual blog content request, here goes.
   Do you ever have moments when you are jolted by the thought "Whose life is this I'm living? It sure doesn't feel like mine!" Seems like I've been jolted by this same thought nearly every day of my adult life. Why? I know I've been making the choices that have shaped this life, but it feels like some evil demon has possessed the outcomes because nothing turned out like I expected. There, that's the damn demon -- my expectations. I expected:

• that there was something special about me. Since I was a kid, I felt I had some special purpose, a calling all my own, that would someday magically appear and make me feel worthwhile and fulfilled. Nope. Hasn't happened. I've done a lot of jobs and tried a lot of things, but the closest I've come to feeling worthwhile and fulfilled is when I am writing, when I get in the "flow" of thoughts and words so deeply that I forget to pee until I am in pain. The flowing exhilaration is short-lived though. Once I'm done and what I've written is "out there," nothing happens. Or not much, anyway. I've published two books and given away more than I sold. I write three blogs, supposedly the platform that brings instant connection to your readers and solidifies your status as an author, and I rarely get a comment or a "like" on Facebook. Basically, what my business card says is true: I write so my head won't explode from word overload. I have to write whenever I can or I'll go crazy (crazier). And I write because nothing else I do makes me feel as good, despite the disappointments. But my writing, my special purpose if I have one, isn't bringing me fame or fortune or even fulfillment, so it doesn't feel like anything special to me.
• that I would be successful. I was brainwashed with the American Dream adage, that if I just worked hard enough I could be anything I wanted to be, and my parents hammered that home anytime I would slack off. What bullshit! I've worked hard all my life and where has it gotten me? I'm 51, working a part-time job that by the end of the day makes every joint in my body hurt like a toothache and that if I didn't show up, someone else could take over and no one would even know I was gone. I have no health insurance, not much in savings. I have no idea how I could support myself if my health fails, no light at the end of the work tunnel that I might someday be able to retire and relax. I was even voted "Most Likely To Succeed" in high school. Too bad they didn't give me a clue at what to "succeed." I've given my best at everything I've ever done -- job-wise and otherwise -- but it sure doesn't feel like I've been successful.
• that I would be happy. Even after realizing I'm nothing special and not successful, somehow hope prevailed that I would hit on the right combination of relationships, job(s), spiritual practices, and life bling (not jewelry, I'm talking hobbies, or travel, or whatever makes your life sparkle), and for once everything would click in my world. Then I would be happy, content with my lot in life. That hasn't happened either. Most days I have to think up a reason to keep on breathing. Don't get me wrong, I have snippets of happiness, but not nearly enough to give me contentment. I know it's possible. My grandparents had very simple lives, my grandpa working the same job most all his life while my grandma kept the house, but they were happy, content with what their lives were and weren't. I wish I knew their secret.

   These are the reasons why I feel like this can't be my life. Nothing has turned out the way I expected. It pisses me off, but then fool that I am, it also fuels me to keep trying and dreaming. So twice a week, I buy a MegaMillions ticket with my special numbers. Somebody has to win, I tell myself, and maybe one of these days my numbers will come up and I will be the next successful lottery millionaire. Then I will live at the beach as often as I want, I'll travel and have whopper-size adventures, and I'll write until my heart is content, whether I make any money or anyone reads it. AND I WILL BE HAPPY, or spend a million bucks trying. I figure, if I'm gonna be a fool and keep dreaming, I might as well dream huge!      

How old do I look?!

   Sometimes life be crazy, but sometimes life just be MEAN!

   I stopped in at my bestie's new office this afternoon to surprise her, and I got the surprise. When I asked if she was there, they said she had worked a short day and was already gone. Then one of the gals at the counter asked, "Are you her mom?"
  "What the frankin' frank?! Do I look old enough to be her mother?!" ran through my head immediately -- thank God it didn't come blurting out of my mouth as well -- and I covered my shock (at least I hope so) with a laugh and a "No, I'm her bestie." Then I got the hell out of there. I even called Bestie and made a joke of it. But it so wasn't funny. 
   I felt like I'd taken a bullet to the gut. I sat in the car for a while and fought back tears. All I could think of was: how old do I really look to people? I wanted to crawl under a rock until I died and became worm food.
   In all fairness, my bestie is still in her thirties but appears much younger. And her mama is a lovely, very youthful looking woman. I shouldn't take offense at the comment, but dammit, I do. I mean, I moisturize religiously. I stay hydrated. I keep my roots freshened up. I put on eye shadow to give my eyes some sparkle and wear gloss to keep my lips plump and lush. I wear bling and funky clothes. I don't even own a pair of stretch pants or squishy-soled granny shoes. But I guess it doesn't matter. The jig, that I am old, is up.
   I am baffled by how to continue from here. Should I give up completely, quit working out and trying to eat healthy, save cash and stop coloring my hair, forget the funky outfits and go for comfy clothes all the way, and let mother nature have her way with me since people see me as old anyway? Should I take down the "SEXY" pendant from my rearview mirror and hang a "SAGGY" instead? Or is this a fight I should keep on fighting, doing whatever it takes to make me feel good about myself despite how other folks see me?
   This aging business is HARD and UGLY and MEAN! And I'm barely over the 50 mark. How much worse it's going to get, I don't want to know.
   If anyone is reading, I would love to hear your thoughts on this. And if you've had a similar situation, how did it make you feel? What did you do with those feelings?
   Even in my bafflement with this slap in the face (figurative, but it felt quite literal), I can tell you one thing: I won't be making any more surprise visits to Bestie's office! And if I do see that mom-comment co-worker of hers again, I may just get all sassy old-gal on her and tell her to "Kiss my saggy ass! I'm the bestie, not the mama!"     

Walmart

   Last night after a grueling shift at the library, I found myself sitting in the Walmart parking lot waiting for my sister and niece to buy back-to-school supplies (and groceries, which weren't mentioned when I was asked to take them, but nonetheless there were bags and bags of groceries as well). Why they waited until the night before school started to get supplies, I won't go into here (that's a family drama that would take up a whole other blog!), but I waited A LONG TIME while they were getting them. Instead of ruminating on my black funk thoughts of "this can't be my life" -- which I'd already done all night at work -- or focusing on the ever increasing rumble of my empty belly, I watched people. Um, people-watching at Walmart at ten o'clock at night. What might I see?
   I was expecting to see some of those "people of Walmart" from the internet pictures. You know the ones, the butt-crack people and the bad cross-dressers and the show-off-your-hooters ladies. Nope, didn't see anything like that. Maybe I was at the wrong Walmart. What I did see was a lady pushing three carts hooked together like a train using the child-protection seat belts. Each cart was loaded down with bags, yet she was pushing them like it weighed no more than a stroller. I could tell she's done this train thing A LOT. Whether her load was all groceries or a little something something from every department, I couldn't tell, but she must've spent a fortune to rack up that many bags.
   I watched a cart-pusher tote load after load of carts from the parking lot. That dude was amazing in how smoothly he maneuvered those carts! I always seem to get the one with the cock-eyed wheel that goes the opposite of the others and makes me run into things. People kept bringing him stray carts, which at first I thought was a nice gesture. Then it made me mad. People, I wanted to say, this man is hunkered down and dragging those carts with a strap across his shoulder like a donkey pulling a plow. Get off your lazy ass and push that stray cart into the store, since you're headed in there anyway, and give that man a break. But I didn't. I just sat there and watched, shaking my head.
   I don't know what was going on in that Walmart, but people were coming out laughing and carrying on like it was a party. Walmart is no party to me. I dread shopping there like the plague. I wander around and can't find the one thing I'm looking for, then I end up buying other crap I can't afford because of all the wandering. In fact, I've taken to shopping at the Walmart Neighborhood Markets if at all possible. I can get in and get out in a flash, especially if I use the self check-out, with no cashier chit chat or temptation to overspend. 
   Since I had SO MUCH TIME to kill, I also noticed the Walmart sign on the store, probably for the first time in years. What the hell happened to the hyphen? And when? Didn't it used to be Wal-Mart?? And what is up with that yellow sun-looking logo? I worked there for six months, cashiering and later in customer service (yes, the dreaded returns desk!), and I wanted to die every day. There was absolutely nothing sunny about Walmart. The one decent thing about working there was when my TV died and I got a 10% employee discount on buying a new one. Of course, they still got $400 of my hard-earned dollars in the deal. Even the discount wasn't enough "sunshine" to make me want to continue to work there. And what happened to their "Always low prices. Always" slogan? Did they give that up because they are so ginormous now that they figure people are going to shop there no matter what their prices are? Unfortunately, they are probably right.
   Finally, after a milk spillage in the cart which necessitated finding a new round of school supplies to replace the sopping ones, my sister and niece finished their shopping and I was able to go home, eat a sandwich, and fall into bed exhausted. I do not plan on seeing a Walmart again for some time. Except, damn, I used up all the bread for my sandwich. No way am I going back -- I'll go to Food 4 Less instead. They still have a slogan: "Our name says it. Our prices prove it."