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Rated: 18+ · Book · Personal · #2017254

My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum.

I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon.
March 27, 2017 at 8:21pm
March 27, 2017 at 8:21pm
#907750
PROMPT: Motivational Monday! Jazz singer Sarah Vaughan, born on this day in 1924, once said, "When I sing, trouble can sit right on my shoulder and I don't even notice." What affect does writing have for you when trouble sits on your shoulder?
          If trouble decided to sit on my shoulder and brood like a vexatious vulture, I'd probably open my mouth and squawk. Yep, my singing would frighten anything into hiding. Well, almost everything...
          My trouble decided long ago to attach itself to my knees. It somehow managed to turn those joints against me, and stage a mutiny. Now they rebel constantly. They moan and groan in protest when asked to stand. They creak and squeak if required to move. Each step evokes a grumble. Aches, stabbings, burning, and twinges remind me I'm not in charge. Trouble is pain with a capital 'P'.
          I find that trouble cannot always monopolize my attention. When I'm writing, trouble is forced to take a back seat, buckle up, and accompany me on a ride. Sometimes, the journey lasts for several hours, and the time speeds by. Playing with words, plotting a story line, defining descriptions, and crafting characters, pushes my physical discomfort aside. My pain recedes to a dull throb.
          Perhaps it's a cliché, but with my imagination I am able to take flight. I can run, soar, skip, leap, whatever. My knees do not weigh me down when I write. Creation is liberating, and better than wallowing in self-pity.


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