GO

There’s a song called “Go” by Tones on Tail that I used to listen to in high school. It was an infectious song that made you want to jump up and down. Back then in the 80s, we used to go to a club called Marilyn’s in Pasadena and they would always play the song at the end of the night. The song would come on and my best friends and I would run onto the dance floor screaming with joy, dancing in a circle holding hands.

I wish I could still feel excitement like that. Most days, I feel hobbled and so damn old for my forty something self. Yes, I know I need to exercise and eat better, but the worse I feel, the worse I eat and the less I move.

Even when we were in France last month, I didn’t feel young and free like I thought I would. I was happy, yet also anxious, worrying about this or that and in constant pain from my foot issue.

Some days, the only place where I feel like me is here. On the page.

It’s as if I am my real self here and all of the other “JEMs” don’t matter. Here, I am only JEM the narrator.

I am not:

The attorney who over preps on a regular basis, and cares so much about her clients that her stomach hurts.

I am not:

The girl who can’t sleep, or the early riser who wakes up and quickly downs two double espresso shots to start the day.

I am not:

The sad girl who drinks too much then wakes up in the middle of the night asking herself if she’s just like her alcoholic father.

I am:

The happy girl who dances to Bowie and The Pixies whenever she can. The woman who loves her two shih tzus to distraction and loves to make her husband pancakes.


I am:

The girl would sell her soul to see a punk or post punk show and who adores The Cure, X and U2 so much that they make her cry when she sees them live.

I am not:

The woman who thinks she is too old, and tired.

I am not:

The girl who weeps every time she thinks of her failed IVF and that horrible day when all her dreams of a baby shattered into fragments.

I am:

A writer.

I am:

The girl who tells herself every morning, “GO!” And then the girl gets up. Maybe not with as much gusto as she had at sixteen, but still, it’s something.