In a few hours I will be turning 49 years old. I will also be turning 6. How you might ask? And no, there isn’t some weird March 28th leap year shenanigans…although that would make some things make so much more sense…ok back to the point. Six years ago, at this very moment, I was “celebrating” my impending natal day. I was drinking red wine with some friends, and then I cried, and then I was drinking red wine alone, and then I cried, and then I sent mean texts, and then I cried, and then I made horrific Facebook posts, and then I cried, and then I had a panic attack, and then I took Xanax, and then…well…I turned into a goddam basket case. This was my ritual, except for on this particular night, it went a just a wee bit too far. And by “wee bit”, I mean “a lot bit, but that is a story for another time. I am trying to keep it light here, folks. So for today, I reflect but I do not obsess. My reason for even sharing this information is that a lot of people in recovery say that you are reborn the day you decide to sober up. That makes me both 49 and 6. A whole lot to unpack there. Anyway, as I am about to enter into my 50th year as a living, breathing, human, I am wondering how this next chapter of my life is going to play out. So cliche, right? I am also sort of wondering if it is too late to become the child that I was destined to be had life not gotten in the way? What can I learn new, and be great at? Does it even have to be great? Or can it just be? After all, I am only 6, and the possibilities are endless.

My wife moved out almost 6 months ago, and i haven’t seen her since. Hence, I am the actual ex in The Generation Ex. The following week my employee quit without notice, and the week after that, my grandmother died. And if that is not enough, there is Donald motherfucking Tr*mp, who daily sends me over the edge of sanity. I wont even try to lie, y’all – it has been brutal. Now, this Coronavirus is taking over, so I am practicing social distancing like a boss, which really just means I closed my hair studio and am exercising a lot to balance out all of the Easter candy, which takes care of the sad feelings of isolation and aloneness. So…let me lay it out for you – no income, soon to be divorcée, addicted to sugar, sober, a little past middle age, haven’t shaved my legs since November, has been known to eat Spaghetti-O’s 2x a day, got a pet hedgehog named Dawn “my midlife crisis” Gottlieb, peri menopausal AF, and now…have found myself at a very still point. Could this be the calm before the storm, or am I just remarkably calm during the storm? On this eve of my 49th/6th birthday, I am alone in the house that is slowly becoming my home again. I attended an online AA meeting while eating Cheetos for supper. I watched an episode (or 4) of A Girlfriends’ Guide to Divorce because I live for emotional discomfort. I am sitting on my sofa with 3 sleeping dogs around me, and I am experiencing this strange feeling that is new to me. Something that I always thought of more as a life skill, not really a feeling. Not a real one, anyway. You see, in my world, feelings are big. Feelings are raw and messy. Feelings are never small. Feelings are never easy. Feelings are explosive…and dangerous. Feelings require action, yet they typically render me unable to do anything but react. Yeah…and that makes quite the mess. So what exactly is this new feeling thingy that I have stumbled upon as of late? I am not quite sure, but I think that I just might be content! Whoa. That felt strange to even type. I just exhaled. Really exhaled. I think I just exhaled the past 6 months. Yes. It is official…I am confuckingtent, ya’ll!

I think?

Why a blog? Why not just write in a journal, as I have done since I was, ironically, 6? The answer is two-fold: 1) Due to the daily texting, emailing, facebooking and twittering culture, I can no longer use a pen. My once really cool handwriting has now become unintelligible, and writing makes my wrist hurt. So there. 2) For some reason, unbeknownst to me, people want to see what I have to say about shit. Daily, I am asked why I don’t have a blog, and my answer has always been the same – “I am not a writer”. The truth is, I have an irrational fear of rejection and compare myself to just everyone. But I do have a voice. I am very passionate about all that I am passionate about, and due to my collection of strange personality quirks, mental illnesses, combined with my many defining minority traits, I possess a pretty unique world view. As Joan Rivers once said to me (true story) “A Southern, Lesbian, Jew? I didn’t know that even existed. You’re a goddam unicorn”.

Ah…One of my favorite moments. For once, my differentness wasn’t something I was ashamed of. I was proud. I am a goddam unicorn.

Maybe this blog will inspire me, or maybe it will inspire the 17 people who actually read it. Maybe it will distract me enough to form some new perspectives, and insights. Maybe it will give voice to my inner child…or perhaps, my inner demons. OR…maybe it will be brilliantly spectacular and I will make millions and trillions of dollars from the comfort of my sofa. Who knows? Maybe it isn’t too late to be a child prodigy.

Oh…and if you haven’t tried the birthday cake flavored Peeps, then you have ceased to exist. You’re welcome.

Oh look….it’s my birthday

Peace and big love to you all,

The Generation Ex

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