I feel like I ought to be doing something more meaningful with my life. But now that I have attained the all-knowing, much anticipated, even dreaded age of 40, I find myself falling asleep on the couch most nights by 10:00 pm. Waking up at 4:00 am with the TV still on and my contacts in does NOT make me feel accomplished.

I have to adjust my life to coincide with my body betraying me.

Weight Watchers doesn't even work well for me now. I feel deceived. I have to adjust my balance of foods to achieve meager weight loss, and then feel grateful that they let me pay them every week. Bah. I've decided to buy a more accurate scale and try it all on my own.

I miss TV shows I used to tape because I'd want to watch them over and over again.

I spend time with my beau, who even after 5 years amazes me. We spent time in a local casino and had a blast wandering around playing slot machines on the same $20 for two hours. And we laughed and left before we lost our $100 lead.

I am afraid of signs at the casino parking lot that advise not to leave children unattended in the car, and that one can find child care inside. That tells me someone must have done this before.

I am not ready for the onslaught of holidays that approach. I am uncharacteristically NOT feeling into Halloween this year. I'm not sad or anything, just indifferent.

But an Elle Driver costume would ROCK. The nurse with the eye patch get-up. I'm just feeling too lazy to pursue it this year.

I miss board games and card night. I miss people living close and having more free time.

I do not miss my old couch that belonged to two others before me, and was staring to slowly sink into the floor. The new one took a whole lot of trouble to get into my apartment. And it's all comfy and supportive and tall.

So what I think I'm trying to tell myself here, is that I have a lot going on in my life. I need plenty of quiet time to myself, and that it's okay that I haven't saved the world yet. It's never too late. I may even figure out a way people in this town who live in apartments can recycle stuff.

When I was in college, I took a cinema history class. One of the units we studied was entirely devoted to Alfred Hitchcock films. I have always considered myself a movie fan, but that was the first time I understood how to watch a film for themes, camera work, lighting and all that technical stuff. That opened up a whole new way of watching films for me.

The past couple of nights, I have been watching some of these films again on television. Or perhaps for the first time. Isn't it odd how we think we've seen a movie because of all the hype or ads, but we realize we probably never have when we do see it?

What I never realized before at my oh so young and idealistic age, was how incredible the women in these films are.

They are opinionated, they speak their minds, they take risks, they go after what they want, they get into trouble, they are full of faults and charm, they have secrets, they are living, breathing, real live women. And beautiful. And blond. They are sexy and classy, a bit naughty but always ladylike, and smart!

I don't know why that never dawned on me before. I think I hadn't yet seen the way of the world. I hadn't realized yet the difference between the way the world ought to be and the way it really is.

My one question would be, did he portray women as he saw them, or as the way he thought they out to be?

I like to think he saw those things in the actresses or in the women in the stories, or maybe even the women around him.

I tip my hat to Mr. Hitchcock, and while I'm at it, to Mr. Tarantino. Thanks for making films with women that I not only love to watch, but really admire.

I have learned that a lot of things I used to think were extremely important, really aren't. I've also learned that my beau loves me very much. He remembers our anniversary of when we met. He was visiting and hid a card away to tell me where to find it on that day. I didn't even realize it was our anniversary. I felt so terrible. He said it was all right, which, of course made it even harder.

I don't think we ought to measure, weigh, or count love out. We all love the ones we love as well as we can at the moments we are having. I can't think about what I did yesterday and what he might think. I can plan tomorrows with great care and affection. I collect gifts and items to bestow upon him at random times. I send him cards in the mail for no special reason.

I don't believe I need to prove to him nor to anyone else (except maybe myself) how much I really do love him. For now, he lives in another city. Until circumstances change, that is the way it is going to stay. For the here and now, and so far, it's something I'm willing to withstand.

I believe family is not only the people one is related to by blood, but those we surround ourselves with. Those whose paths we cross, who we root for and root for us. Those that support us and that we find ourselves rooting for, listening to, hugging, consoling and celebrating. I never have enough time for those dear ones.

This year, this landmark birthday year, I find myself struggling to stay fit, to have energy and time to do all the things I want to. My body loses the battle with sleep each night when there are still tasks left undone. I find this more maddening than anything. Mind over matter not longer seems to have any hold here.

I don't need a grand house or large place to feel like I've got a claim on my own little corner of the world. I can feel just as special making jam and knitting scarves that will find their way into other's homes. I am not sure how they will feel about that, though.

I believe that a well placed and enjoyed piece of dark chocolate can be a solace in any sort of day.

I miss my grandparents, but a random talk radio statement told me today that one cannot tell how well one did as a parent until one sees one's children raise their children. If this is true, then my grandparents are perhaps the most generous, special, kind, loving, supportive, caring and "kick you in the butt if you need it" people that ever walked the earth.

I'm sure they are at peace and rest, smiling down on all of us as we flounder through our lives, wondering what the heck we are doing, and pondering what is important and what is not.

I do still like to have some things around me that sparkle, though.

I am a dichotomy.

I love having friends and family over, but I don't enjoy things being out of place when my niece has been over, playing with my toys. Or my pots and pans.

I love cooking, but I dislike having everything out of the drawers and cupboards.

I love to travel, but I love being at home, just hanging out.

I love to read, but I tend to pick up and put down books at will for weeks at a time when there seems to be something better to do.

I love making gifts for people, but I really like to look around in the stores and see what cool things they have.

I love people watching, but at times, I find people in general to be annoying.

I love concerts but hate to deal with the parking and the crush of the audience.

I love children, their spirit and optimism, but I find some of them to be a real nuisance. (I often put that on the parents, though.)

I love movies and want to see some of them in the theater, but a lot of the time, other viewers ruin it for me by talking, or sitting right next to me and executing a series of jerky movements in their seat. It makes me want to knock them unconscious.

I seem to work well under pressure, but get very angry when others question how I'm doing what I'm doing, or tell me how to do my job, instead of wait for it to be done and see the end result.

I seem to have learned to love myself, but often hate my body.

I'm healthier and more fit than I've ever been but seem to have more random aches and pains.

I like the feeling of being well rested, but I hate to go to bed, for fear that I'll miss something (what, I ask myself? a random late night talk show guest?)

I love and adore my friends, but find free time at such a premium, I don't get to see them as much as I'd like to. And then they inevitably want to make plans when I have six other things lined up. (This usually occurs after at least 6 weekends in a row of not one thing going on.)

I like to be outside, but I don't like bugs, heat, humidity, camping, or getting myself too dirty. Ditto for gardening.

I believe that is all I can come up with just now. I'm sure more will occur to me later, like just after I turn off the computer.

I'm going on a vacation. Not just time off from work to wander around with my beau or visit family, though we'll do that.

My sister and I are going on a real live "get out of town and away from everyone" type of trip. Though she's going for work and I'm just tagging along.

I feel like I've just heard the last school bell of the year ring and they have flung open the doors and I'm running home to start my summer.

Summers of playing in the backyard, in the sandbox, on the swing set.
Summers of riding bikes, visiting the bookmobile, playing with barbies outside, staying out until it was almost dark.
Summers of sunshine and tether ball.
Summers of visits to Grandma and Grandpa, walking to 7-11 to buy whatever we wanted. Summers of paying "McDonald's drive through" at the open garage window.

This time I get to see the Grand Canyon, though. I can't hardly wait.