I have 66,159 unread messages in my email account. How is that even possible?

I know, I know, I should not be allowed near technology. My question is, why isn’t Gmail asking me every year if they can just erase these unopened messages? I would totally agree. Why are they wasting their space on me? You see how this is not my fault?

Ok, so this century is only in its mid twenties, that explains everything.

Do you remember how dumb you were when you were 26? Now I’m not ready to write off this entire century, but do you remember the 1900’s? 

I know, I know, I’m stuck in a nostalgic trap, I can’t let go of the past. But honestly, can you? Remember when the presidency was noble? But then again, gay marriage was illegal. I don’t know if racism was better or worse; maybe we just glorify the past because the present seems to be so terrible.

Ok, if you are anywhere from 46-61, you are generally considered part of the GenerationX crowd.

What does this mean, you ask? Let’s just say it was different when we were kids. See, when I was a kid, there were like four TV channels, and there was no remote control; we also only had one TV. Since there were very few choices of what to watch, you would watch whatever was coming on at whatever time it came on, with commercial breaks. 

“What is love?” I asked.

“That’s the problem, right there. You guys keep doing this thing where you think your symbols, your words, mean something. Your words are only pointing to a meaning; they are not the thing itself. Love is not the word love. It’s a feeling that cannot be captured with a few letters.”

It seemed like he was singing that to me. Those words.“What is it then?” I was puzzled.

“It’s not just a feeling; it encompasses all that is; it is an energy, it cannot be put into words. You are love. Can you find a word that encompasses all that you are? Love is like that; it is complex and real.”

Okay, so my backdoor neighbor may be raising chickens. I’m not sure how legal that is in my city, but he doesn’t exactly seem like the law-abiding type.

He usually shows up at my front door every now and then, and if I don’t answer, he will call me and ask me to hang out. Along with the chickens, he kept a broken boat in his backyard.

Maybe you are wondering…what it’s like to be crazy. I can’t tell you what everyone else’s crazy feels like; I can only tell you my story.

I have been what some might call bat sh— crazy several times in my life. I have Bipolar Disorder. I don’t have a mild case of it. I am, however, fully medicated and perfectly sane and stable at the moment. I say at the moment because a moment can change so quickly, especially with this disease. 

Umm, I’m just throwing this out there, but is anyone else done with 2026? I mean, I’m done. What new tortures do we have waiting for us? 2026 is only a month-old baby, and it already needs therapy.

If you live in my parts, there’s an Arctic Blast, and the weather is so cold that I wish I were a bear and could hibernate for the rest of the winter, possibly the rest of my life. I’m not even going to mention what is going on in America these days; I feel like I just want to speak in metaphors about it from now on.

I’ve struggled with the way I look since I was very young. I was a chubby kid. When I was thirteen, I went on my first diet. It was an old school Weight Watchers diet that my aunt shared with me. I lost 20-30 pounds, and suddenly I wasn’t fat anymore. I discovered makeup at fourteen and suddenly felt pretty. When I was sixteen, I broke out into acne because of wearing the wrong kind of makeup. I was devastated. I never felt so ugly. It went away in a year, but scarred my soul.

So I found a mouse in my garage. Lord help me…It was 9 a.m., and I just started screaming the F-word over and over again until it ran away from my sight.

It’s a great mantra first thing in the morning, really gets your blood boiling. It was like below zero, and wow, what a way to wake yourself up. I’m sure I woke a neighbor or two up as well. 

I have to be honest, the mouse was cute. Don’t get me wrong, I remain appalled that there are mice in my garage. I stand by that.

I mentioned in a previous post that there are animals in our attic. When I told my friend about the mouse in the garage, he was just like, oh they are probably from the attic, like the same family, expanding their real estate options. 

Let’s face the reality that these are dark times. The only way to survive is to be aware of the dangers, but never let them steal your peace or joy. If they do, they win. The most important form of resistance is not letting them upset your equilibrium,

Yes, you should be outraged and afraid; this is really happening. The way I’m navigating my mental health is by expressing my feelings and thoughts through writing. Go to your art, music, books, films, and TV, like we did in the pandemic. Go to art. It may be the only thing that can save us.

Okay, I may or may not have eaten the alive parts of two dead bananas, because honestly, eating bananas for me is just a conduit for eating peanut butter. I can’t just eat a spoonful of peanut butter, I’m not a heathen!

I’m on a diet, so finding interesting things to eat that fit into my paradigm is now a huge pastime of mine. I’ve even started cooking, which is truly outrageous for me, and I feel I deserve some kind of medal for these actions, but apparently, no one is handing out basic survival duties medals. Who knew?

I will say that if you want to get on my good side, keep telling me I don’t look fifty at all. 

Why do I need this reassurance? Because I’m officially old, that’s why. I’m in the fifty-and-above category. So don’t ask me why I’m not smiling, and why I have that look on my face.

Maybe you didn’t notice, but I had to change the title of this blog to Fifty-Something Years in Ninaland. I haven’t written in months. In that time, I turned fifty. What do I have to say about that? Sometimes I think exactly nothing, other times I think I can’t stop talking about it. I could join a retirement facility. However, that does not mean life is over. Perhaps in many ways, a new life for me has just begun. 

It’s the end of January, hopefully this horrible month will end. I’m so tired I can barely talk about it. I don’t always write about politics because, honestly, I’m too tired. I’m tired of Trump, I’m tired of this entire administration, and I’m tired of MAGA.

At this point, it’s much worse than tiring; it’s frightening. ICE has created a situation where many of us are panicking.

I’m currently trying to get an enhanced ID because I don’t walk around with any proof of citizenship. I’m brown. They are killing white people; if they can do that, what can they do to my people?