I was writing on paper about this and figured it was a good enough thing to get into on screen. Or maybe I just type faster than I scrawl so it's more comfy. 

I've never been a morning person. Ever. Like, even as a small child. 

In my older years, I figured out that it's partly a personal space thing. Mornings where I have to interact with people are upsetting. No, seriously - there's this weird sort of bubble around my psyche that is overly sensitive and easily bruised by contact with others that early. It's why I rarely ever say, "good morning"; that phrase is particularly cruel to my soul. 

(Okay, it didn't help that my asshole father used to force those words on me and my sister and demand we respond in kind, but still. "Good morning" is reserved for a select few loved ones who understand me.)

Being self-employed and making my own schedule for years has allowed me to avoid mornings, a lot. An obscenely comfortable bed, animals that are hedonist jerks/sweetiepies who also love the bed, and a naturally late ciradian rhythm usually dictate that my days usually don't start until 11am at the earliest. 

(I know, hate me - but know that in turn, I don't usually get the clean cool scruff of morning or the wide-open-day-ahead feeling that mornings usually afford.)

I was just thinking, though, as I was journalling, that mornings weren't always awful. Boston mornings were gold for me. Idunno, the combination of taking the dog out into the cool air, the coffee, the solitude-bubble formed by a cloud of music-noise at the right level, and coffee, and writing, brought back that feel: the cold crowded fuzz of foot-commuting with headphones and notebooks and trains of people in that cold grey. We were all respectful of the fact that it was morning. No one pressed horrible greetings on you. No one made eye contact. But it wasn't out of animosity; we were all part of the same club, and something about that and the sensate noise of walking from stations to destinations and vice versa feels holy in my memory. 

Sigh. 

Maybe I can do mornings a little more. 

I might have to, if I want to make enough money and keep a proper swim habit. 

I just wish I could walk distances like I used to. Whatever. 

Metric. Metric is good morning music. Okay, they're good music, period.

Ello is pretty dead these days. Like, deader than livejournal. Wow. 

Anyway. What was it that I thought might be blog-worthy, again?

Ah. Now I remember. 

Something about being in your 40s. Warning: this might become a lot of cane-shaking and yelling at kids to get off my lawn.

I guess I started thinking on this because I follow Persephone Magazine and Femsplain in my feedly. Mostly for Unfuck Your Habitat and the occassional dog-related post. I've started skimming the rest, sometimes looking on with an eye of, "oh, sweet summer children, bless your green little hearts." Because most of the posts are by 20-somethings, peppered with a few 30-somethings. And, boy howdy is it obvious.

Don't get me wrong - the stuff that's posted there is pretty intelligent. But man have I outgrown that shit. The introspective self-learning revelations about jealousy, insecurity, dating, etc. Shit what I am too damned old for.

HA! How appropriate that my media player just pulled up an old demo recording of one of my favorite originals:

Maybe, maybe I should compose

Another jilted love song of agony's throes

Maybe, maybe my childhood was a mess

My self esteem was stunted by the things my daddy said

(I really need to properly record that one, and many others. But I'm really kind of proud of that particular song.)

Anyhow. 

I suppose I just realized what a huge difference there is between being in your 40s and being in your 20s. Sure, you're still an "adult," either way. And you're only as old or young as you feel. And whether or not you have kids is another factor, as well. 

But seriously? I couldn't care less about cute shoes. I care about shoes that don't make my knees hurt, and that don't create blisters on my ultra-narrow heels. Dating angst? Crushes? Pah. I care about nurturing my marriage, about not screwing my friendships and relationships up any more than I have in the past, about not falling back on the models of my parents and siblings. I still love romance, but I recognize that long-term love and marriage is a working partnership, not a whirlwind of drama and angst and sparkles and moonlight. Yes, that stuff can be there in the beginning, but when reality sets in, are you still up for the challenge? 

On the flip side, I'm only 42. I still completely lack the proper amount of responsibility I need to even think about 50. Hell, I'm irresponsible as fuck for a 42 year old. Our finances are a wreck, our house is a shambles that we can't afford to repair, and me personally? Oh, man - I'm a self-employed "free spirit" at its worst. Okay, maybe not THAT bad. But my sleep schedule is obscene, and my business system is ridiculously disorganized. The only thing I have going for me is that, at the piano, I have the kind of work ethic that rides on fear of flaw and fear of being discovered as a fraud. (Guess that's one thing I haven't outgrown.) I'm a "perfectionist" because my worst fear in work is an unhappy customer. A bad tuning. An instable tuning. That translates into "work ethic" to some people, I suppose.

I don't really know where this was headed, except that I need to find more age and attitude appropriate blogs/sites for my rss feed. I need liberal, feminist, messy, imperfect, snarky, ranty blogs by people who love Firefly, The Newsroom, Doctor Who, etc.; who fondly remember their 70s/80s childhoods, and not having internet, and discovering and breaking in the internet in the 90s. Parents welcome, too, because man - how the fuck do you deal with raising kids in today's world? That shit terrifies me.

Any recommendations are appreciated! 

Or, hey, my G+ friends could actually, like, ya know - come over here and blog, too. :P

Finally a good enough inspiration to plop some words down here.

Neil Diamond. 

My mom was/is in love with the man. Enough that he was my first concert. And I've seen him live several times. That was a fact I tucked deep into my closet during adolescence and high school years. Then I grew up as a person and a musician enough to embrace the awesome. 

Because the man is. Absolutely awesome. His voice is like velvet on gravel, saturated with that impossible-to-train, sublime quality of pure music. And as a songwriter he's a fucking genius. 

Yesterday I was trawling the internet for deals and picked up his "All Greatest Hits" in digital format for $3. I'm sad to say until now my library has been woefully lacking in Neil. Mom has all the CDs. 

So, tonight, it's Forever In Blue Jeans, Sweet Caroline, Holly Holy (ooooh I actually didn't know that one, and it's... *fans self*), even Hello and Love on the Rocks. 

I recommend it. In headphones. 

But you know what's even more awesome? The man is in his 70s and still completely rockin' it. Embracing his own cheesy reputation with his latest video including puppies and sparkles. At the same time, he's active on twitter, and even did a really awesome AMA on reddit a month or so ago. 

Seriously. Neil fucking Diamond. Get it.