It’s been weeks now that my heart races every night when I lay down.
I’m sure that it’s probably nothing but every night I tell whoever listens – me, perhaps, or the program in charge of my life, or maybe god, if there is such a thing – that I need to live through another night because I’m not ready to die yet. I don’t have a will written up, and I don’t want my 18-year old son to be the one to find me, late afternoon once he returns from school the following day and wondering hours later why dinner hasn’t been started yet, only to find me laying in bed expired.
But Maggie, who I don’t really know (in that I have never actually read any of her work and we have never actually MET, either) seems a soul sister of sorts.
I went to her blog (which I also have never read prior to this) and read her last post (titled “Strippers, Sluts & Umlauts“). I had to look up Umlauts (and I might add I am profusely embarrassed by that fact, because if anyone in the world should KNOW what a fucking umlaut is, it ought to be someone of a Hungarian and Swab descent, but I digress) – the other two I am familiar with.
I posted something (else about Maggie) to my Facebook wall… check it out if you get a chance.
I think a book about old people having sex should be written… because sex doesn’t stop with youth, and it also is more than about the aesthetics of beauty… of the porn of youth… and why is aging considered ugly? It bothers me. Nicki Sixx (or however it’s spelled) had this book with these photos he took of strange looking people. He said that he likes to capture beauty in the decidedly unbeautiful. I get that, because I feel the same way about things. I think Maggie did too.
Putting the dishwasher on and heading to bed. Maybe tonight I’ll finally sleep well.