Okay, okay, bitch might be a strong word. Aside from random bitchy moments that I imagine to be about average on the bitch scale, I’m not a bitch. But I have been away and now I’m back, back, BACK, so what the hell. And yes, I know that the word bitch is a tool of the patriarchy, but I’m reclaiming it in the spirit of fantastic women, either played by Joan Collins, or written by her sister Jackie.
In reality, I’ve been nowhere physically. Mentally, it’s another matter. I realised recently that it’s been well over two years since I posted here and about a year since I did any other writing. Why? Well, I can’t imagine that the answer to that question is of interest to anyone but myself, so I won’t bore you with the details at this point. I will say only this: we all have blips don’t we? Our lives are not, on the whole, made up of rigidly orchestrated achievements. We coast, we demur to the greater fates of existence. We might have a niggling feeling that somehow we are not living up to our full potential, but we are often distracted by other matters, or by just about managing to grift along on the rollercoaster of life on planet earth.
And what a rollercoaster that is these days. I’m not gonna get all political within moments of re-starting this blog but what the actual fuck is going on? My blood pressure rises every time I look at the media. Still, I’ll leave the whole political clusterfuck thing there for now; only adding that if you think the current political situation in the UK and the USA is fine, then you’re probably best to leave this blog now and never return. We’re not going to see eye to eye on much I don’t think. Fuckity-bye!
If you are still here then hello! I won’t talk about politics too much. Or even one thing in particular. I originally started this blog about my training to be a Spartan Queen in the Spartan Race, and my interests inevitably expanded. As has my waistline in the last two years. So, there will be future posts about my never-ending struggle and occasionally futile efforts to remain physically and mentally healthy in that ‘difficult’ period of a woman’s life.
To explain and give you a preview of coming attractions, I will give you a brief recap of what has been happening in the last two years of a Spartan Queen who isn’t feeling particularly regal these days. And at the risk of looking like a PowerPoint presentation, I will use bullet points to highlight the key areas in a succinct manner…
- I am now 47 years old and sliding towards 50, which is A THING, unlike turning forty. The fortieth birthday is an age which people often say is to be feared, but is actually freakin’ awesome. I’m assuming that at some point I will feel the same about turning ‘half a century years old’, but I’m not there yet. Not even close.
- I’m peri-menopausal. This is a change of life that has been rarely discussed openly in the past, and only in the last few years has become less taboo to talk about in the mainstream. Which is absolutely fucking bizarre, when you think of how many women are on the planet and we all go through it. If I had to choose one word to define this period of my life, it would be sweaty.
- Somehow, in the last few years, I’ve got to the point that I would consider to be fat and unhealthy. I lost my taste for the hard core exercising, ate too much, drank too much and got middle aged [see menopausal above]. This makes me unhappy and extra critical of myself, which is not good. However, finding gentler, more natural ways to exercise is key for this time of life. Ditto for food. Extreme regimes aren’t going to work for many of us.
- Despite being middle aged and deeply cynical, I managed to lose my grip on reality and get my heart broken this year. Nothing fatal, more of a flesh wound, but it has still required a recovery period. And it’s just as shite whether you are fourteen or forty seven, trust me. Still, such things are part of the joy and pain of being alive and as Oor Wullie Shakespeare would say, ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’. ‘Nuff said.
- I’ve become a bit of an insomniac. I’m unsure if it’s related to points two and three or if it is an ageing thing, related to point one. Remember our evil ex -PM Margaret Thatcher famously ran the country on only 4 and a half hours sleep a night? Was it the lack of sleep that made her a complete horror, or was the sleep thing just cos she was an old bird? We’ll never know and I’m certainly not comparing myself to that despot. My sleeplessness is not giving me the yearning to rule a nation with a fist of iron. Instead I fantasise about extended afternoon naps and the bliss of an unbroken eight hours.
- I’m about to experience the nightmare of the modern rental market. For the last eight years I’ve been cocooned in a wonderful flat, with great landlords, who never raised the rent when I transitioned from two-income family to single parent. Now they are selling and I am out there in the insane, uncertain Brexity world of property and finance. Readers, I’m an atheist, but I thought there was any point to it, I would bloody well KNEEL! And pray to the patron saint of happy tenants for salvation, even if I am not deserving of such beneficence.
I think that’s enough of the messy stuff for now. There are good things too…new friends made, new interests, experiences and new places. The yin and yang spin out of whack sometimes, but joy, passion and curiosity win out in the end. We live in tumultuous times, yet we can keep finding the good in things, especially the small things.
That’s where Queen Leda is at. If you like the sound of any of this, come and join me. If you don’t, feel free to join me anyway. I’ll be here, losing the plot, finding it again, and flexing my creative muscles. There will be foul language and tears, mostly my own. You never know, it might even make you feel better, because unless you’re one of those Instafilter-perfect-lifestyle goddesses or George Clooney, then chances are, you are feeling a bit fucked up too.
Until next time,