“Who Turned Off The Happy Switch?”

I used to wake up in the morning with a big smile “wow, I woke up again. Now, I'll have another day, great. Then I'd walk around all day with that big idiot smile on my face and whistle a happy tune and feel really good about myself and my life.

Now what is happening more and more frequently is this scenario. I open up my eyes and the first consious thought is “Woke up again loser, well, better hope you at least can take a good dump cause that's the best thing that's going to happen to you and also, be sure you remember that today you're one day closer to the grave”. And I swear, there is no reason for this. My life is wonderful, I think. I have money issues, but who doesn't? My health is holding up pretty good, I mean there is nothing worth complaining about … poo poo. Let me explain about this poo poo thing. Jews do this poo poo thing, I'm a Jew, but have no idea what that means, but I'm doing it just in case there's a really good reason for it … you might call it insurance.

So, from the time I went to bed last night to the time I woke up this morning, who turned off the happy switch? … Switch, on/off … I'm wondering, could it be the television? Hmm.

Anyway, when did that bright, pretty light of cheerfulness go out? It happened so fast, or maybe it really happened so slowly that I didn't notice it at all.

I think there's a good chance that a contributing factor to this feeling stems from the fact that I can no longer hold in my stomach, the muscles that once did the job in an adequate … not good, but adequate manner must have atrophed with age. . I absolutely hate my paunch, you know, the middle age (which is in reality old age) The ever so slowly sagging belly … it's like a pile of oooze slowly sliding off a shelf. That badge that says I once grew babies in there. So what? So, I was stupid and got pregnant and was just a kid myself and didn't know any better. I tell you true, if I meet an old plastic surgeon who I can exchange services with … I mean … I could write, bake and draw flyers or - there are really a lot of things I could barter. Forget about that fantasy. But what if, speaking of fantasy, if Medicare … or is it Medicaid, I always get them confused, if they would make tummy tuck an eligible surgery I would be on that table so fast that my hair would turn white … no, it is not white. No it's not. It's blonde … watch these puckered, winkled lips … b l o n d e.

And speaking of wrinkles on my face! I don't give a boysenberry about those … I do not appreciate the sagging face, jowels, double chins … and, as I'm sure all the old fogies would agree, it would't be so bad if we were not such a youth oriented country. Everything is pretty and - like being young is automatically pretty – well it's not, it's young, young hair, young makeup and young clothes. God forbid you look like a stinking pile of boysenberries and yet you feel young and want to dress young, you're labeled as being crazy. Well, here's the jab I AM CRAZY, I know it and I'm getting crazier with each passing year.. But I'll be damned if someone is going to tell me what and what not to wear. My best friend gives my the best advice … good for everyone … screw the world, you want to wear whatever it is … do it and just screw them. Hey, everyone knows that you'll be wearing your favorite final ensemble for a very long time. Do you think it is possible that because I fall asleep with the television on, some subliminal message is getting through to my poor wittle unsuspecting bwain?

Anyway it's all advertising. If stinking Madison Ave realised that each and every one of those ad execs and wiz kids are all going to rot in a grave too and their flat behinds are going to sag and hit the curb just like yours will, maybe we'd have a chance to be happy and just be able to age more gracefully. Sure, that's what would happen. In a way that's what's happening with all the commercials on TV which now include old people, hey, the talent agencies now sort of even value old creepy actors and they call them in so they can auditiion for all the hemmerhoid creams or gas aides, erectile disfunction, or cholesterol/high blood pressure crap, sure and if you don't die from the very drugs they are actually pushing on TV then you could live a longer life and then spend more time in a nursing home drooling all over your sad self, what the heck are we all doing as a society anyway? Everyone is giving mixed messages. The Eskimos have the right idea, take grandma stick her on a slab of ice and push her out to sea. See, that's really kind, because as she freezes to death, before she is eaten by seals or sharks or whatever the fuck is swimming out there … polar bears and shit, she will fall asleep and simply drift into eternity. They don't need plots of land and boxes and funerals that cost thousands of dollars, forget about that, just drift out to nowhere land. Not frontierland, not fantasy land … just nowhereland, doesn't that sound great. It makes me want to take that slab now. Go, and get on a plane to Alaska wave, while flying over Palen's house and just buy a slab of ice on Mastercard and hire a limo to take me to the edge of the sea only to have four handsome young muscular studs give me a sendoff. Yeah. Give me that last big bang into eternity you guys. I hate that expression “you guys”..

And what the blank is that death trip anyway if not the cruelest joke ever created by nature? Here you are a young, happy innocent child and you learn about the birds and the bees and Bugs Bunny and all that's loving and pretty in the world like colors and crap, and little baby animals and birds and all the good sweet candy and stuff … and then … you learn THAT YOU ARE GOING TO DIE ONE DAY AND YOU WILL BE PUT INTO A HOLE IN THE GROUND HAMMERED INTO A BOX (are they afraid you wil change your mind? What's with the hammer stuff?) YOU WILL BE N THERE FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I came to the conclusion that I hate sag more than anything. SAG Stinking Aging Geezer. The old gravity thing is so unnatractive and my sagging is only repulsive to me, nobody sees my oooze anymore. Nobody has seen this carcass in years. There's no dark that's dark enough for me to take of my leotard and say “wanna have a good time?”. I live in leotards … it's the poor persons body wrap. I need to feel contained like a sausage to feel comfortable. But I do put the top down on my convertible because that makes me feel free. Funny, isn't it?

My brother used to say I was a walk in … maybe he was right. Maybe some other lost searching soul took over my miserable little body when I was a sad little girl and as I got older and the fear of tripping over my breasts was becoming more powerful, that walk in, just got disgusted and walked out. You know, I think it is the television. I'm going to try to turn off the TV BEFORE I attempt to actually sleep and see what happens, I'll let you know.

Have a nice day. I hate that expression too.