My brain is empty, nothing really rhymes with seventy, so I’ll give up while I’m winning and start at the beginning…
Before I was ten I was learning to read, pen, understand and add. I was always very glad that I had something to do. I had a “friend” too who would play with me. I was better than she, after all she was there in my young imagination as I was an only child, not spoiled, not yet wild. When I was ten I went to high school, so then I was always busy learning although yearning for something other than staying in with mother playing with toys.
In my teens I became interested in games, the energetic kind. I was actually born blind to hockey, or athletics, but loved gymnastics. Our team in netball was the best of them all. Being their captain, games was my passion. I loved swimming baths. I was good at maths, English, languages, history through the ages. I had a natural defense against art or science (Earth or domestic). In the ‘ologies I was thick. Then I met boys!
When I became twenty and more I found plenty of things that I had to do because I had kids to bring up. I was assured I would not be bored until they went to school. Then, not being a fool, I wanted more in life than being mother and wife. I was always a believer that I could achieve a lot more than before when school was a chore. So I got a well paid job and became quite a snob, stopped paying rent and on a house money spent. Oh mortgage joys!
Soon, when I was thirty odd, my spouse did the dirty and cheated with another, I too found myself a lover (not the human kind, mind, I’m not that way inclined). Never being one to shirk, my new love was my work and I threw myself well in, heart and soul, for my sin. (Husband said “I think you should be tied to the sink.”) Work seemed to satisfy me, my desires to be happy as a bride put to one side, ‘though many tears I cried. My soul needed hardening, so I did lots of gardening and lived my life planning daughter’s coming wedding, and then my boy’s.
Then, oh boy! I was forty! Meanwhile I’d become sporty and went cycling, swimming and (a few times) running. My aim was to do a triathlon, true, but most people knew the reason was that my living had been losing its meaning and I needed a challenge. But it was now time for a change. After my children and husband had gone, I was left all alone.Even my old cats had died. It was time tat I regained my pride. I bought a new house in another town and found a better lover. (Not a job, although I changed that too!) This was a man who made me laugh, sing and dance. A real passionate romance full of new joys.
When I reached fifty, still pretty nifty, I had learned how to be thrifty but my lover’s business I carried. But even so, we two got married. But soon I became widows, not by death, but by golf and windows. Five years or more I stood it, I was always thinking how good it could be if ever he became rich. But he too had the itch, went off with a bitch and they’re living “happily” ever after. But me, I’m content with laughter. I stayed on my own, except for my dogs, and found someone to phone when I felt all alone. Joined a club for old crones, listened to their moans and buried myself in my work, by then I was a super duper accounts clerk. I did very well during that spell. I didn’t often dwell. My life was never hell. I kept my poise.
Then I was sixty. Twenty times three. I found a brand new beau for me: a laptop and the internet. On line dating. There was a chance for me yet. I had so much fun chatting up lads who’d run soon as I said that I’d done with living with anyone. I just wanted to meet someone firm on their feet, someone who would make my life complete. Then I had to admit to defeat. So it’s been just me and my dogs, and a couple of snogs with some frogs hoping they’ll tun into princes, and a friend who’s transvestite, and minces. And of course, I still worked a bit. That came and went. Well I did til I quit. No more employers, toyers or boys.
Now I am seventy. Three score and ten. Time to start living my life again. I’ve taken up my pen. I’ll fight the fight with the poetry that I just have to write. I’ll walk my dog when I like, or take a hike. I might even buy a mountain bike. I’ll bake, make loads of cakes (I’ll freeze them for ‘ron if that’s what it takes). I’ll get up late, and stay up late too. I’ll titivate my garden only when I want to. I’ll clean my house when visitors are due but if not, then just when I need to. Now I can at last be lazy after working hard all my life. Maybe I’ve gone crazy but my next decade, while I’m still in my prime, is set to be sublime me time. No employers, toyers or boys. Just joys.