One of my greatest fears has always been gettin old. Not just old, but old without any stories to tell, without any significant accomplishments.
My entire family (the ones who speak to me, anyway) live within 5 miles of me, and have done so for decades. I've seen them grow old around me, and that's about all that's changed. I used to get so excited when my parents talked about moving---Dad would be up for a promotion, and we'd have a choice of 3 other states to go to. Or, there was the time we actually went out looking at houses in different parts of the county. I was freakin thrilled at the prospect of something, somewhere new.
It never happened. We stayed in the same damn house, and built on new rooms every few years.
And when my hubby and I got preggers and tried to live in his hometown, a couple hours away, we couldn't do it. Those people were self-righteous idiots. We came back here, and, without any experience or degrees, there wasn't a whole lot for us. If my parents weren't so generous and eager to get us out of their damn house, we'd be homeless.
Instead, we're in the house my great-grandfather built a million years ago. The pipes are made from dinosaur bones, which are deteriorated to the point of uselessness. Methuselah is buried in the freakin crawlspace.
And we sit here, getting older and older. Nothing is changing, except for the wrinkles and new stains on the carpet.
I see my family, my friends, myself, all growing older, and it depresses the hell out of me. I tend to watch everyone's birthdays creep up on the calendar and hold my breath until they pass me by. Sometimes I remember to get gifts, but more often I don't. I try to ignore the ones I love aging, which isn't taken too kindly around here and, in my parents' case, is always thrown back at me in attempts to create a guilt trip. I don't fall for that trap, but I don't explain myself either.
There are a few people I know who go all out for birthdays, so I try to make a biggie of their's. I still suck at it. But I try. Just please know that it about hurts to do so, but I know it's something you really, really care about.
When I was a teen, I never saw my life past 20. I always figured it was because that's when I'd die. Then I hit 20, and 21, and 28. . . that shit ain't fair. It's all still the same old crap, and it looks like it's never gonna change. My life will be the same as my parents', and my grandparents', and so on and so forth. I mean, apparently it's meant to be that way---I married a damn Marine and still managed to stay on the same friggin road I was raised on, what the hell?
Even my kids' birthdays depress me. What happened to my babies, those sweet chunky munkies with toothless grins and cuddly naps? Now, the older they get, the more they talk back, the bigger messes they make, the louder they cry and whine and argue. . . I really want to just rewind the past 10 years and do it all over again, and this time maybe do it right. Or, at least, less wrong. I just wish I could figure out what was wrong.
 |
| No--although adorably awesome, these don't count. I've seen plenty of lazy fucktards make cute babies. |
It never happened. We stayed in the same damn house, and built on new rooms every few years.
And when my hubby and I got preggers and tried to live in his hometown, a couple hours away, we couldn't do it. Those people were self-righteous idiots. We came back here, and, without any experience or degrees, there wasn't a whole lot for us. If my parents weren't so generous and eager to get us out of their damn house, we'd be homeless.
Instead, we're in the house my great-grandfather built a million years ago. The pipes are made from dinosaur bones, which are deteriorated to the point of uselessness. Methuselah is buried in the freakin crawlspace.
And we sit here, getting older and older. Nothing is changing, except for the wrinkles and new stains on the carpet.
I see my family, my friends, myself, all growing older, and it depresses the hell out of me. I tend to watch everyone's birthdays creep up on the calendar and hold my breath until they pass me by. Sometimes I remember to get gifts, but more often I don't. I try to ignore the ones I love aging, which isn't taken too kindly around here and, in my parents' case, is always thrown back at me in attempts to create a guilt trip. I don't fall for that trap, but I don't explain myself either.
There are a few people I know who go all out for birthdays, so I try to make a biggie of their's. I still suck at it. But I try. Just please know that it about hurts to do so, but I know it's something you really, really care about.
 |
| This chick makes me do stupid shit on birthdays, but she also makes me laugh so I allow it. And yeah, that crown says, "IT'S MY BIRFDAY!" |
When I was a teen, I never saw my life past 20. I always figured it was because that's when I'd die. Then I hit 20, and 21, and 28. . . that shit ain't fair. It's all still the same old crap, and it looks like it's never gonna change. My life will be the same as my parents', and my grandparents', and so on and so forth. I mean, apparently it's meant to be that way---I married a damn Marine and still managed to stay on the same friggin road I was raised on, what the hell?
Even my kids' birthdays depress me. What happened to my babies, those sweet chunky munkies with toothless grins and cuddly naps? Now, the older they get, the more they talk back, the bigger messes they make, the louder they cry and whine and argue. . . I really want to just rewind the past 10 years and do it all over again, and this time maybe do it right. Or, at least, less wrong. I just wish I could figure out what was wrong.
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