Before I was even properly awake today, I started singing this:
"I took my love, I took it down. I climbed a mountain and I turned around. And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills. Till the landslide brought me down. Oh mirror in the sky what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? Well I've been afraid of changing, cause I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older. And I'm getting older too...If you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills, will the landslide bring it down?" [Fleetwood Mac]
Maybe it was the mountain reference, maybe the sense of being braver about things, seeing as I've had to adjust rather a lot lately, but this song got stuck in my mind and kept coming back to me all day. I noticed I sang it louder and louder as I gradually woke up while standing at the sink in the bathroom. (I think there's an air vent above the wash basin, through which you can hear everything, so my neighbours must truly love me today.)
I feel a gentle magnetic nudge pulling me back to my old life, partly to old friends and old music habits but mostly to have a little more freedom over my time. I'm tired of being dictated to. I'm not good at it. I need the space to think and plan things properly. And I also need to feel less doomed. Here, I'm totally written off. Though only on paper. This country is somewhat ageist. Everyone assumes I must still be in my 20s, ("our survey says: X X") which is hilarious. So when they find out my real age, they recoil in shock. Why haven't I got a 'proper life' by now? (Dull, dull, dull. ,Nil points' on the originality-front there people!)
The deal here is, you're written off as a spinster if you're still single before you get into your late 20s and they'll start giving up seats to you on the tram when you hit 50. Haven't they seen actors, who've learnt the skill of pushing yourself to keep going, despite your real age? It's time people here did this. Stop assessing yourself according to what other people think are the limitations of a number and find out what you are truly capable of. At least acquire the evidence that you tried reeeaallly hard, but just couldn't do it. Hey, I'm the expert at this. I spend my life acquiring evidence that trying reeeallly hard isn't enough to be able to do certain, 'other-people-dependent' things.
(This really should be written on my gravestone. "She tried." Probably next week.)
Mind you, I can still do the splits, I'll have you know! And I can lift my leg to head height. At the weekend, when I did this, the architect insisted I was like a ballerina, which launched me into a tirade of information of why I most certainly am NOT a ballerina. (Some of which should have been obvious, surely?)
Oh, and if living and staying young is all about 'change', then it will stand in my longevity-seeking favour that I've started a new addiction. Pribináček yoghurts. They're so good, they were made before the end of the communist era. (Resounding endorsement, eh?) You can tell they're really yummy because the cat on the front sticks its tongue out in lip-smacking glee. This is entirely the architect's fault. "This was probably my very first real food", he tells me. Real food, it is not. But it is comforting and after the first pot, I thought I'd never acquire the taste, but the second really reeled me in, just like all the best drugs do:
(I'm currently most addicted to the 'kokosový' [coconut] and 'perník' [gingerbread] flavours, pictured.)
It may be International Women's Day, but I shall still behave like a child.
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