“Holy buckets Batman, this must mean the end is near!”

Batman straightens up a little, cracks a single knuckle, and slowly turns to face the exclamation, “Why’s that?”

“Two! Count them… one… TWO blog posts within the same week!!” 

Batman shrugs. 

Batman has a long list of bad guys to bring to justice and hasn’t got time to be concerned by the end of the world. Kinda like ain’t nobody got time for bronchitis. Or Covid. Or an endless string of CO2 emissions snaking their way to heaven. 

Presumably, everyone and everything wants so desperately to be with the baby Jesus that we can’t help ourselves. 

Except maybe Batman. Tiring as the night job is, all the empty soda cans, sticky plastic cups, and used-up condiment containers still get separated from the regular trash, rinsed clean, and placed into the recycling bin. If there is a baby Jesus, Batman is earning a ticket to the paradise afterlife the old-fashioned way—by being a good human. Or at least trying to be. 

“Bam!” “Kapow!” “Fizzle…”

Good gravy. 

***

What nonsense. You know what’s nonsense? The roller coaster ride I’m on this week with my emotions. I’ve got premenstrual syndrome, premenopausal symptoms, and pre-birthday angst. 

And I don’t get pre-birthday anything ever so it must just be the PMS. Does seem worse than normal though so there’s something else going on. 

Twice today I was on the verge of tears. Like a swell of sadness I couldn’t keep down. I’m not sad. I’m pretty sure I’m not depressed. I was having some intense thoughts and my brain wandered to places it doesn’t normally go. Deep in the past—regret, the uncontrollable future—fear, and the here and now—unpinnable unrest. 

In the post I wrote earlier this week I mentioned half a dozen things that are going on, or have gone on, that are noteworthy. But I can’t seem to focus my attention for long enough to do one damn thing on my to-do list to justify writing for a good little stretch to get it down. 

That’s a lie. I’ve actually taken care of a lot of business this week and should feel like I can reward myself with some writing or reading time. Check, check, check… but when you add two things for every one thing crossed off, it doesn’t feel like progress.

I can also say that when I enter the PMS zone, no amount of progress on anything makes me feel as if I’ve been productive enough. It’s kind of ridiculous that there are days I do my chores and maybe one or two extra things and feel great about it and then days like today (and yesterday) where I do one thing after another and just never feel good about it. 

Maybe it’s the things I’m letting slide that make me feel shitty. There are a few things I’ve been procrastinating, only the Universe knows why, and they linger in my brain and stab me behind the eye every time I check something else off my list. 

I took donations to the Goodwill. I made a target run and bought something we’ve needed at the house here for quite some time. I opened all the paper mail and semi-sorted the piles—needs attention, file for posterity, and shuffle to some other person here whose mail ended up in my office. 

I scheduled the pool closing and called the security company about an issue with our system. I’m working through the TGLR stuff and have posted twice this week plus sent acceptances and declines for the autumn issue. I followed up on emails and drove one of the kids to an appointment. 

It’s like a superhero amount of stuff and I’m trying to make a case for why I think I’ve earned a break. But no. 

Driving in my car on my way to meet one of my TGLR teammates for a working session, I start thinking about my former mother-in-law in the hospital and I’m just overcome. “No… no,” I say to myself. I push it down, park, regain composure, and get out of my car. 

Driving home from Target it happens again. This time it was anxiety over the future and I’m like “no!” I rewind a few songs on my current playlist to listen to “You Can Call Me Al” by Paul Simon. 

I turn the music up until my attention is consumed with the sound and lyrics. I’ve been working on memorizing all the lyrics for that one for a while now, for what reason I’m not sure, but it’s so compelling. There’s one line: “ducked back down the alley with some roly-poly little bat face girl.” So strange and mysterious and wonderful. 

The whole song is like that and I’ve been playing it often. Each time I get closer and closer to nailing it. This one shouldn’t be that tough because there are only three main verses. 

I get that way sometimes with random songs. In a way it’s obsessive and in another way soothing. I’ll get “hooked” and then play a song so many times until whatever that urge to listen to it subsides. In this case, playing it in the car absolutely helped me shift my focus away from the angst rising in my chest about things that I’m worried about because they are out of my control. 

When the song was over I didn’t rewind again. I just let the next song play which carried me home. Crisis averted. 

I have to lead a team meeting tonight and I’m wondering if that’s the cause of at least some of this drama because goodness knows that shit makes me nervous as hell, but it’s not what I was thinking about in the car. I really can’t remember what i was thinking actually. Paul did a good job of erasing it all. 

I really think it could be the birthday thing. Like I said, I’ve never been bothered by it. I’m healthy, look younger than my age, and have a lot of life left to look forward to. But there could be something about 50 that’s different. Something about half a century or the fact that health stuff really has become more of a challenge lately.

I can’t shed pounds like I used to and don’t have the same stamina or energy. Things take longer to heal. I don’t like the way my clothes fit or that there’s fat that I’ll probably never be able to get rid of. I get brain fog in the afternoons and have trouble focusing. It affects my productivity. I don’t think I’m as motivated or excited about new projects as I used to be. I also get little annoying aches and pains and sometimes I’m not even sure where they’ve come from. 

It all sounds so dire but it’s not really. Life is grand and I don’t have to work as hard as I used to. I’m being taken care of by someone who loves me and thinks I’m beautiful. He’s a kind and considerate and hard-working person. And we really “get” each other. 

So who cares what number of candles are on the cake? Who cares about all the stats, or the productivity, or what happened a hundred years ago, or what might happen next week? Who cares?…

Batman cares. 

And it’s a good thing too because someone has to in these troubling times when the whole damn planet has gotten out of control.  

OK, I suppose that’s enough nonsense for today. Thanks for reading. Hope you tune in tomorrow.

Same bat time, same bat channel,
~Miss SugarCookie