Well, it's March. Let's welcome it in properly with the promise of snow showers and
another cup of wine.
I've been joking around today on the Internet about how out of touch I feel with
everything, but to a certain extent it really isn't a joke. I feel to some real
extent that I've somhow become incredibly old. My daughter and my husband are in on
the jokes of the world; on the other hand, I, myself, stand back befuddled,
scratching my head and wondering what the next step is.
I guess it isn't so bad. I just never thought I'd live in a universe where I didn't
"get" things. So much pop culture just passes me by. I'm not paying attention
anymore. I'm an old woman, stuck in nostalgia, typing stuff out on gopher sites
because the idea of trying to design with all the new crazy code freaks the shit out
of me. I blinked, and the world passed me. When we have a kid next year, that kid is
going to grow up and wonder why his mother is so out of touch with everything. Not
like Aisling, who -- until recently -- though I was pretty cool and hip with
everything.
The fact that I'm using the phrase "hip with everything" is probably the best
indicator that I need to be packing it in.
There are a lot of things that I probably should be doing tonight -- writing, at the
very least, or balancing budgets, or studying for RE teaching this Sunday, or
answering emails, or making playlists, or working on the long array of things
littering my Kanban board. Instead, I think I'll log off, take my wine into the
bedroom, and enjoy some quiet reading time -- if by quiet, you mean playing Pandora
through my iPad speakers. Or maybe I'll actually pull out some vinyl and play that
instead. This old woman is in a very old school mood.
And it's frightening, isn't it? That eventually you will grow old and die, that the
people you love will grow old and die. My husband, as a Type I diabetic, might even
have complications in the future that will make that journey even more harrowing. It
makes you want to live for the moment, to do whatever you can with the time you have
left.
Except, here's all this time, and what are you going to do with it?
Y'know, I really shouldn't write things down. I just end up depressing myself.
