Midlife Revisited: Not Enough Wine in the World

*Lisa’s first Midlife Crisis post was hysterical. This one is more along the lines of  open hysteria. Hey, back off, she’s old and she’s entitled.

Yesterday I went to an Apple store. Not to buy a hip new device for myself, but to have my daughter’s MacBook examined. A pleasant, seemingly intelligent young man diagnosed the problem as a malfunctioning cord. Because it was under warranty, I could have it replaced, but one of the Apple Geniuses would have to look at it first. They were very busy little savants that day, so I had to make an appointment.

I returned today at the scheduled time and was logged in by a blue-shirted, apparently sub-genius level individual, and I awaited my appointment with the true Genius. Unsurprisingly, he also decided it was the cord and replaced it. I left the store feeling unsettled. At first I thought it may have been the irritation of having to verbally refer to the Apple employee as a genius. And that did annoy me. I said it grudgingly and under duress.

But enough that going to Morgan and York to buy a case of wine could not lift me out of my funk? This may be a first. I love the feeling of security an entire case of wine brings. At home, gently placing my new purchases on the racks in the basement, the source of my distress came to me: I am not a genius. I think the Genius Bar at Apple stores is a foolish affectation, but I can rest assured that Apple would not consider me a genius. The MacArthur Foundation is not going to come pounding on my door. As the forties have taken their toll I find it hard to remember simple words such as… door or… pancakes. I stand around with a frying pan and say things like, “Does anyone want some…umm…uh…round things. Fried round things? You know.” Then I wave the pan helpfully at my staring children who just can’t believe how pathetic the sad wreck in front of them really is.

With my IQ points running gently out of my ears, I face the facts: I am never going to be a genius.  And this is the crux of every good mid-life crisis–the first time you truly look at yourself and realize what you will never be. Previously, I had a small flame of possible genius flickering in the back of my mind. After all, I had so much ahead of me. But now? It fades a little more every morning as I force myself out of bed to face a job with reduced hours and increasing difficulty, another rejection letter, another couple of pounds, another crop of gray hair–and the only comfort I have is that in a few years my tired old brain probably won’t remember any of this.

On a brighter note, TOL here (The Other Lisa). I have known Lisa wasn’t a genius for a long time. I, too, am no genius. Mensa has a restraining order against me. My motto is a lot like “work smarter, not harder,” except it’s “work faster, every day death is a little closer.” It’s an old-age adage. Whereas Lisa is depressed, I am deranged. She is discouraged, I am desperate. What we both need more of is determination. And “d” words, dammit.
Fortunately with age comes moxie. And severe dragon breath. And sometimes creative, wishful thinking (wheelchairs: the fun, adult-size stroller!) Bottom line: we take the bad with the good because that’s how we roll (in our adult-size strollers).
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11 responses to “Midlife Revisited: Not Enough Wine in the World

  1. This was hilarious! Thanks for the laugh this morning–I needed it to! 🙂

  2. This was SO funny…thank you very much…I can relate…sigh

    • Okay, Granny1947, with your username and grinning cat pic, you probably hear this all the time, but I cannot stop myself from saying, “Oh Granny, what big teeth you have!”

  3. My irreverent husband suggests the Apple employee name tags read “F@#%ing Genius” instead.

  4. Did you use the d-word “delusional”? I have decided that genius is in the mind of the beholder. Therefore, despite the fact that I lost most of my brain cells when my children were expelled from my body, that I sometimes get lost on my way from my bed to my bathroom, and that when I look in the mirror I can remember the face but not the name, I am pure genius. Or maybe it’s genial? Ooo, now I’m thinking it’s gentile. But perhaps I’m a general? No! Wait, it’s geriatric! Whatever, I’m sure it still means genius. And geesh, am I ever glad I’m not as old as you two!

  5. Lol@Ellen…your husband is right.

  6. You SERIOUSLY have to address the employees at the Apple Store as F%$^$ Geniuses? What a bunch of crap. This is the problem with that da** Millennium Generation. “Not only am I employable, but I am smarter than you. Just ask my Helicopter Parents. I still live in their basement.” This Gen-X ne’re-do-well is NOT impressed.

    Plus – you know what? I can balance my checkbook while blogging, letting my dog outside for the millionth time, dealing with teenage angst and sibling rivalry and cooking dinners that appeal to none of my kids. If that ain’t genius, I don’t know what is.

    • You don’t HAVE to address them thus, but they do have name tags which say genius on them… so you are obviously ENCOURAGED to do so.

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