I’ve been caught up in an obsessive, going nowhere in particular but still exhilarating in an unhealthy way, cyber relationship. Being of a certain generation this involves sending each other clips of inspirational music which have a tendency to veer towards the anarchic and explicit.
As I was posting my recalcitrant beloved a YouTube clip of Iggy Pop and Peaches, both dressed in latex, yowling an anthem, and beating off Romero designed zombies, I wondered if this was an appropriate courting ritual for a fifty year old woman?
I’ve never managed to have a husband or partner with an actual ‘job’ and although I regard myself as relatively straight, the people I am most comfortable around are decidedly counter cultural.
My tattoos (many now the faded blue that comes with age) are acceptable and can be shown with impunity, although my piercings are perhaps best kept tucked away as they don’t look quite as pert as they did when they were first done all those years ago.
In the scheme of my peers I’m doing okay in that I have my own home (well it’s a static one, but that’s a moot point), have relatively good dental work and am still healthy enough not to fret about needing to walk everywhere as I can’t afford bus fare and don’t have a car.
I hang out in charity shops, don’t have a pension plan and my garden is to feed as much as aesthetically please me.
Potential partners need to get the ‘well I have this little blood borne virus as a result of iv drug use, that will influence our sexual activities’ talk, and know that eating out is not part of a financially viable social life.
I’m an artist and writer who travels widely, is free if a little financially constrained, and very happy.
Whilst some people were gaining qualifications and moving up the career ladder, I was partying hard and taking far too many drugs. Whilst others were later buying their first property and starting a family, I was in rehab and treatment centres and on a long journey of personal exploration. At the time I discovered who I was and what I wanted to do, others were getting a larger house, a better job and putting their children through university.
I’d love to believe that this doesn’t pan out like the story of the ant and the grasshopper. I wouldn’t want to think that myself and my compatriots, some who are well into their sixties and still love an occasional e and rave, would suffer retribution for dancing (albeit in a sometimes painful and awkward way) through life to their own rhythm.