It is 1pm, I’m still in bed. I’ve been lying here thinking I should get out of bed for the last hour, but it’s not happening. The cat is asleep next to me and getting up would wake her up. So I’ll lie here and write a blog.
When I grow up I’m going to be an old woman, yes I said an old an old a really old woman.
Can’t remember who sang that, but yes I will be a really old woman with extremely long white hair that slithers down my body like a snake. I’ll sit on a tree stump in the middle of a woods muttering to myself. You will visit me there, and I’ll probably spit at you and you will be pleased that I did. Though by then you will be really really old too. Unless you have had large quantities of plastic surgery to keep you young, in which case you probably won’t register as living to me, who will be talking mainly to the trees.
If then you are really old like me, bring a good red wine or bottle of champagne along with you and we can sit in the wood and drink the night away singing old half remembered songs. We will be so old by then we won’t worry about health conditions or waking up in the morning. Maybe we will take off all our clothes, so we’ll be really old and naked in the woods, and we’ll dance around all wrinkly like the trees.
Jo Fisher Roberts 