43 is…

birthday 43

43 is…

…a golden, delicious Spanish liquor or so I hear – my aging stomach pretty much only tolerates an occasional red or white with food…and coquito on Christmas. Otherwise, heartburn.

…is the atomic number of technetium. It’s silvery gray, much like the crown of my head these days. It’s radioactive and can be used in medical testing, but you have to make it as there is not much that occurs naturally. Also something that didn’t occur naturally? My new hair color.

…is the number of Messier object 43, which happens to be in the constellation of Orion…a part of Orion’s Nebula, which I actually know how to find on my own now thanks to the Man.

…is how I refer to (now, sometimes fondly given the Orange Menace currently wreaking havoc) George W. Bush, as that was his turn at the reins of this country.

…is the calling code for Austria, a country I have yet to visit, but it’s on the list.

…is also the number of candles on my birthday cake this year.



43? How did I get here?? Putting one foot in front of the other, continually. There was more change this year than I anticipated. Quite a few of the projects I started, never got going to where I thought they might. It was disappointing in many ways, but I am making my peace with it.

I’m finding as I get older that I am becoming more comfortable with just being as opposed to doing. My littlest began preschool in September of 2018 and as it happened, my schedule changed around. Ever since, I’ve had an inadequate amount of time to myself. I worried about this slightly before the change, then became busy into the new grind…in addition to angry, stressed out, and frankly depressed. It took me about four months to realize the change of schedule was a big reason why I felt this way. Not all of it, but a big part of it.

I’ve been digging out of that low-grade depression for about a month…getting back to longer meditations…back to more regular times where I’m moving my body. Not eating a shit ton of sugar.

There are other things to talk about, and now that I’ve got this space functional again (for awhile I couldn’t post and just said screw it), I will. It feels good to tippy tap on these keys again. To be home.




By Joy

I'm 42, a remarried mom of an 8 year old girl and a toddler son, a teacher, and a writer. People tell me I tend to be brutally honest and ...tell it like it is, so I had hoped to use this outlet to keep me sane while I got used to my new life as a stay-at-home Mom back when I was home with my daughter....it worked. And it's been therapeutic through the end of a marriage and the emergence of me...

What's your 2 sense?

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