40 who?

 

Dearest,

I must say something to all of you out there, if you are past the big 4.0,  I admire you.
Because I have to say this phase of life is a flipping meteoroid. I hope that’s a thing. If it’s not, it’s emotional.
I use to look at the older housewives et laugh, that was years ago. All of these women calling themselves housewives when i am yet to see them cook or clean or raise their own children.

Go on, fall off  your chair.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Now get back up, cause you bloody need to. Seriously though, it’s complicated to be a writer et feel so much but it’s more complicated to grow so much, to mature, to resume to a place where you can see all the bridges you have past, all the people you had to part with, because as you age, BS Is not one of the things you do well.
See, you get it. I feared you won’t. But lately I think that there’s so much, for the first time in my life, I can relate to people.
I was probably to pompous to realize so much.
Here were are in the 40’s, awaiting the wrinkles, the greys, the hormonal things. But truth is if Botox could fix that internal storm, would you get it?
I would.
But that’s not the problem, the real stir is happening, vous comprenez?

Well my work is fin here, heading to tea where I’ll stuff my face et watch Winnie become a Pooh.

Then I know it’s night but I’ll blast the cello so loudly et  thoroughly, that my distant neighbors would call Mr Todd the fox.  Or my husband would scream, “Kay why!”
I know, excitement I am

Well what do you expect, I am a writer after all.
Well you better carry on darlings.
I hope your night is not such a bore!

Bonsoir,

RS