Now what?

Written By: sherridaley - • •

I quit writing in a journal a few years ago when I feared that I was beginning to sound like Bridget Jones, whining about not being able to lose weight, get laid, quit drinking, or hang onto a career that would make me rich -or at least pay my bills on time. And since Bridget Jone’s Diary had already been (a) written (b) a best-seller and (c) made into a movie, I had no chance of MY journals being anything but peevish grumbling. Furthermore, my journals had already been made into a book 30 years ago when I actually had a life worth writing about (a) —  although my book did not (b) become a best-seller despite the heroic attempts of my publishers and their PR people, and I still hold the movie rights (c), for whatever that’s worth. I do, however, still believe that my book will be made into a film  Hope floats.

For everyone who has asked me the following questions:

1. Have you read any good books lately?

2. What should I go to see in New York?

3. Isn’t growing old fucking shitty?  (Yes)

4. How’s your love life?  (What?)

5. Why did the impatiens in my garden look like crap this year?

6. How do you stay so thin?  (I’m not, by the way.)

7. How did you keep your courage and spirit during chemotherapy? (I didn’t, by the way.)

8. Been to any good restaurants lately?

9. Why is good cheese so expensive?

10.  How’s your brother?

These and endless other such topics will be addressed ad nauseam, especially #3, as I am tired of the media telling me how great we older women are supposed to feel. Have you noticed?  There is not one style magazine for women over 60.  Not one.  And you can’t count AARP.  Please.  Ari Seth Cohen, please come take my picture!



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