Smelling wafts of a fishy smell coupled with crustacean shells has left me feeling a bit crabby. I’m not mad, mind you, but I am noticing a hole in my knowledge base; why all the dead crabs on the Northwest beaches?
Scratch that. Google straightened me out; not dead, molted. Dungeness crabs shed their shell six times in the first year of their life. And since July is the peak season for females (August/September for males), that’s why I saw a concert arena full of those shapeshifters.
Other than that, my mind’s still. It’s like when you realize a toddler’s far too quiet, it’s making me suspicious.
Am I in the best state of mind I’ve ever been in, on the verge of a meltdown, or about to do an Ultimate Warrior running clothesline and power slam somebody?
This leads me to something not many people know; I was once obsessed with WWF wrestling. Jake the Snake Roberts, Hacksaw Jim Dugan, The Undertaker, Rowdy Roddy Python, Hulk Hogan, and The Hart Brothers, to name a few.
My parents used to urge me at our local video store to rent something other than Wrestlemanias and Rumbles. However nothing compared to a flying slam from the corner pylon or a whack in the back with a metal folding chair.
I don’t mean to ruin this for us, but at a certain point, like Santa Clause and the Easter bunny, I learned it wasn’t real. Which means the magic and mayhem lost their sheen the day the levee went dry.
With that said, I’m feeling bittersweet. A tad lost. And a wee bit worried that the best days are behind me.
But man, did those guys ever put on a good show.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 