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| photo credit |
“I got chiiills, they’re multiplyin’…..”
Don’t worry, I’m not about to launch into a rousing rendition of Better Shape Up from Grease – not least because with a slight hint of a ‘tache and pasty un-made-up face I look more like Danny than Sandy right now. No, I’ve got chills because I’m sick.
2. A secondary word for awesome.
3. Gross, disgusting.
4. Tired, pissed off.
5. Horny.
2. Dude, that song is so sick!
3. That was sick when he had sex with that gorrilla.
4. I am sick of your attitude.
5. Who wants to get sick with me?
Since we live in a ridiculous time when “sick” can now mean both violently ill and also amazingly cool, allow me to clarify: I’m sick in the old-fashioned sense. Did you really think a forty-something woman would be using the word in the new trendy slang way? Nah. That would not be “sick”…that would be embarrassing.
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| Sam…or Slimer? |
So I’m sitting in my bed, bolstered by pillows and cushions to keep me bolt upright, since whenever I tilt even a few degrees to one side I leak snot like some kind of Ghostbusters blobby thing oozing ectoplasm, when it suddenly occurs to me: I’ve not been ill for ages. Sure, I’ve had the odd hangover, but that’s entirely self-inflicted and doesn’t exactly classify as illness; I mean, anyone who downs wine, jäger bombs and cocktails over the course of a lively evening hardly expects (or deserves) to wake up feeling full of beans, right?
No, what just struck me was how rarely I feel as rubbish as I do now, which is as an extra from Thriller might do (i.e freshly dug up) and ergo, how lucky I am. I can’t remember the last time I had a day off sick from work. Certainly not in the last two years (and I’m not about to start now: no-one likes a Sicknote). Health is something we all simply take for granted…until it’s not there.
Just as we don’t really appreciate our parents when we’re kids – the endless dinners prepped, expensive trainers, school trips, dad being our personal taxi service, ferrying us about (mine still does sometimes – cheers Pops) – we also don’t always appreciate feeling “normal”…until we don’t. It’s just taken as a given that we feel fine, thus allowing plenty of time to focus on the big stuff – like the size of Kim K’s ass, Queen Bey’s baby news, or our mutual loathing of Trump.
So this post contains no big revelation; it’s just a simple expression of gratitude for my health. I’m not particularly religious, so I’m not quite sure who I’m addressing it to – not God, exactly. The Universe?
It’s the same when it comes to discussing the ageing process. Of course I’d love to be gazelle-like (or maybe Gisele-like?) forever – springing about all plumped and pumped with the vigour of youth – but getting older is actually something to be proud of. I spend my days peddling “anti-ageing” products in my job as a beauty boutique manager – it’s big business – but why are we so ashamed of getting older? Yes, I’d rather look like Bambi than a taxidermist’s mishap, but a lived-in face shows character and experience. It says: “Oh I could tell you a story or two…..” delivered with a sly, crinkly-eyed wink 
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| photo credit |
I reckon we need to change our attitudes towards ageing. I mean, we made it this far – so many don’t. The alternative to getting old…is not getting old at all. I know plenty of amazing people whose lives were cruelly snatched like a rug from beneath their feet long before their time – some in their twenties and thirties or even younger.
Of course I bemoan the crow’s feet when I look in the mirror as much as the next person, but the overwhelming feeling is gratitude that I’m actually still here. I’ve put my body through a lot over the years, but still it soldiers on and serves me well (even if it is starting to creak and click a bit in protest).
So although from the outside it might look like a sorry scene in my bedroom this Sunday afternoon: me slumped in bed during the day clad in fox-print peejays (well Andy did say to “buy yourself something foxy”) accessorised with a big red bulbous hooter, sore from being blown umpteen times – I’m actually feeling decidedly upbeat.
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| Feeling bleugh: Netflix and a chill |
I might on the surface of things be feeling fifty shades of meh; the scene more “Netflix and chills” than chill, but underneath the mountains of Kleenex and trashy magazines is an ashen-faced 40-something who’s actually bloody grateful.
Grateful that this is just a cold.
Grateful that in a few days I’ll be right as rain.
Grateful that by next weekend I’ll be back to drinking wine and dancing with friends and taking my health for granted all over again….
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| About last weekend…clubbing with the gorgeous JenKat |
But in the meantime, I’m just chillin’.
Sam x
Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:
www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com
Follow me:
Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview
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]]>My squad. My birds. Our posse. The Gang.Call ’em what you like, but there’s no debating a close-knit gaggle of girlfriends is worth their weight in gold; like the sun in the sky, they are the one true constant in the ever-changing scenery of life. No matter what life throws at us, I know my Sisters From Other Misters have got my back.My closest female friends and I have been running as a wolfpack for almost three decades now. Fiercely loyal, we’ll savagely tear strips off anyone who dares to betray one of our pack, fangs bared in fearsome warning. We can often be found howling in unison at the moon, cycles synced, as together we tackle the stresses of everyday life….over a bottle or two of Prosecco, naturally.
My girls and I first laid eyes on one other back in 1987, as newbies at secondary school: a bunch of pimply pre-teens, clustered together like bacteria in a petri dish, united in our nose-crinkling dislike of the poncy purple uniform our parents had coaxed us into.
During those initial weeks at high school, we gradually gained the confidence to step out on our own: like newborn lambs we peered around, wide-eyed, before taking those first tentative, shaky steps towards adulthood. The echoing corridors of the imposing grammar school felt huge in comparison to the various quaint little primaries we’d come from, so it was a basic survival instinct that saw each of us seeking out a kindly face or two to latch onto.
Slowly, our petals unfurled and blossomed; over time our roots became entwined. We grew up together: a bunch of roses united in our journey through life – fighting off the pests, weeds and thorns that happened across our path.
Time passed, we became twelve hormonal teenagers, discovering boys, booze…and all the drama that invariably accompanies the two. We sat our GCSEs, then A-levels, gathering around in a huddle as we eagerly tore open our results. Some of us went to university, some straight into work. I scampered off to the University of Life (or that’s how I refer to my stint in Ibiza for a few sun-kissed summers).
But no matter where life took us, we were all together in spirit – and at the weekend, in spirits….literally. Liberally doused in vodka, we’d catch up on each other’s news: celebrating our successes or commiserating as another hapless fella fell by the wayside. “Oh well, plenty more fish in the sea,” we’d say, as we hugged…catching the eye of a handsome stranger at the bar over a damp (cried-on) shoulder.
The years hurtled by; there were sparkly engagement rings, wedding bells…the pitter-patter of tiny feet became a stampede. Some of us backpacked around the world, some settled down into cosy domesticity. But still, like a dozen snugly-packed eggs in a box, the twelve of us have nestled together, praying that our fragile shells can withstand the knocks of everyday life.
It’s not been all hearts and flowers, of course. There have been tears – rivers of tears between us over the years – as we’ve consoled each other through break-ups, health scares, grief and loss: clinging together like survivors of a shipwreck, floating amidst the wreckage. Thankfully, the raucous laughter has greatly outweighed the tears.
Those girls – women now, in our forty-first year of this crazy experience on planet Earth – are still the stabilisers on my bike, the armbands that keep me afloat; they are my trusty anchor in the stormy sea of life. As the months on the calendar flip over at an alarming rate, I’m increasingly aware of how lucky we are to have each other. We may have a few grey hairs between us, those telltale crow’s feet around the eyes, but when I look at them I just see the carefree giggling schoolgirls we once were.
There is an easy familiarity between us that only comes with eons of gossiping and shared life experiences; we still call each other by our teenage nicknames, much as we’d like to shrug some of them off. Like everyone these days, our lives are hectic, our schedules jam-packed, but we’ll always clear a space in our diaries for each other, and thanks to modern technology we have a constant flow of live group chatter streaming through our phones. It’s like having them all in my pocket: if I require a quick answer to a question or an honest opinion, there’s no need for Google – I just tap out a quick message and one of them will ping back a response almost instantaneously.
Recently, we went on a girly jaunt to Greece to celebrate our birthdays: a brand new decade. As we tipsily clinked shot glasses I sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the last thirty years of friendship – and another solemn request that we’ll all be together for the next thirty too.
I’m not remarkable. I’m no Olympian. I’ll never stand on that podium, beaming, as I proudly hold my gold medal aloft (I can’t even be bothered with the gym for Christ’s sake). But I know when it comes to friendship, I really have won the gold.
“Make new friends, but keep the old
One is silver, the other….gold.”
(Joseph Parry)
Sam x
Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:
www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com
Follow me:
Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview
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Ok, so by the age of 40 most people have managed to get their shit together : you’ve got the big house, the fancy car, the fitness model husband, the adorable 2.4 rug-rats, the high-powered career….oh wait, let me check that….so I have a house, tick, and I’m employed….yeeeees, but the rest?
Before you switch to Facebook thinking this is going to be a pity-party post – stop right there!
So the Big 4-0 is definitely time to take stock of your life, have a bit of a happiness audit, make a few tweaks and culls as one sees fit….but I can safely say to all those dreading the mid-life deadline, 40 is a good age. Ok, so you might not have the picture-perfect life that you envisaged at 20, when 40 sounded absolutely ancient and as far away and unlikely a place as Timbuktu, but it comes around mighty quick, let me tell you young whippersnappers, and when it does I reckon you’ll feel…..well kinda proud actually.
That’s not to say that life will have dealt you a winning hand, not at all, by 40 you’re bound to have had more than your fair share of setbacks, disappointments, countless broken-hearted outpourings of grief over a bottle of white or six with your besties….but you wear your battle-scars like a badge of honour, “yeah I’ve been through the wars but I’m still here, I’m still loving life (mostly!) and I intend to make this decade the best yet. What you gonna do about it?!”
Before I launch into a cat’s-chorus rendition of Elton’s ‘I’m Still Standing’ (which could be a tad embarrassing on this packed train), let me welcome you to my new blog – a series of observations, musings and mundane day-to-day chitter-chatter about life as a 40-years-young bird…..
Life : A Bird’s Eye View
Sam x
Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:
www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com
Follow me:
Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview
The post The Big 4-0. That’s Four….Oh!! appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.
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