Skip to main content

Getting Old

Signs you might be getting old (and by 'you,' I clearly mean me because how the heck would I know if you're old or not??):

  1. My daughter starts high school next year.
  2. I no longer understand the teen-speak (no, seriously. If I'm around 2 or more of them, it's like I'm in a completely different's maddening).
  3. Periods of time like 3 or 4 years no longer seem like such a long time (I can remember being a teen and it seemed like it would take FOREVER to go from one year to the next. Now I see friends I haven't seen in a few years and its like I just saw them last week).
  4. Saying things like 'I can remember when I was a teenager' and only half mean it.
  5. And this: !cid_pic032908_9

Yes. that's right. I just flipped 100,000 miles on my car this weekend. This is a car I got in 2000 and it only had 27,000 miles on it. It's been a good little car for me. And I'm sure it will make a good starter car for my daughter when she starts driving in a couple of years. Yeah. I know I know.  Freaks me out, too, mmmkay?

And the final sign that I'm getting old? It's 11:30 on a Saturday night, and all I can think about is hitting PUBLISH on this damn thing so I can get to bed. Yes, somewhere in me is a long, rambling, possibly coherent post on perpetuation of the species, fruit of my loins, what it means to 'get old' in body, and maybe in mind....but dude. I'm not up to the task at the moment. Seriously. I'm tired. It's been a long day.


Popular posts from this blog

Marriage Material??

I had a friend call me today, fuming. I consider myself a good listener on most days. Considering that I was out of town on a work trip and doing absolutely nothing in my hotel room, my listening game was on-point.

She recounted the exchange that sent her off. I will spare you some of the more personal details, but the gist was, at one point, the dude-bro she was talking to flat out told her that she wasn’t marriage material.

Torn between wanting to be a supportive friend and being completely gobsmacked, I felt her frustration. No. That’s not quite right. I didn’t feel the same frustration she felt. I’m approaching what some consider middle age. I’m white. I’m primarily interested in women. Oh, and I have a penis., I can never truly feel the same frustration she was feeling. Or an anger that comes from the same place her anger came from. No matter how in touch I am witn my feminine side (whatever the fuck that actually means).

Instead, the frustration and anger I was feeling w…

Out of Sorts

Not sure what my deal is today. I got up this morning to go for a walk and it was spitting rain, but no biggie. My thriftstore Nikes were kind of hurting my feet, so that didn't help. But it felt good to go for the walk (other than the hurting feet). And it's all going well...and then I get into work and just turn into PMS-Man.  I don't know what my deal is. I just feel bitchy this morning and I'm not sure why. Yeah. That's all I got.

Post Con-Fusion

It's 5:40 AM on a Wednesday. I have been up for an hour. I have an outline for a work in progress that I intended to work on this morning. I was in the middle of a chapter that I started at lunch and had every intention of continuing this morning. But, much like me, it seems the characters wanted to sleep in today. They wanted to just hunker under the covers as the rain danced its hypnotic melody on my roof. The swoosh swoosh swoosh of the ceiling fan keeping time with the rest of the nocturnal orchestra.

So, I shifted gears. I am taking  a course on getting more words on the page. Something that I want to do need to do if I am to get all of these books that are floating around in my head out in to the world. It's not so much that I think the whole world will love and adore them, although I certainly hope that is the case. No, it's more the fact that it's getting crowded up there. I need to get these words on the page for my own sanity as much as anything else.