Hello dear reader(s)!
I apologize for my lack of postage (not the kind you would typically affix to a piece of mail or something; although if I failed to include postage on a piece of mail I might also be apt to apologize for it after rectifying the situation but that is not the case in this specific instance at this time) but I was out enjoying the day yesterday.
And then napping. Because too much sun makes me tired. Because I’m old.
Yesterday was beautiful. I took Dobson to the vet and there was this warm breeze and feel to the air that just put me in a great mood. Add to that the fact that Dobson is doing well and the whole vet experience was far less traumatic, and you have all the ingredients necessary to start off an amazing day. Except morning sex, of course. That is a nice ingredient in a good day. And winning the lottery. Maybe all while on a boat. But I digress.
And being out, having fun in the sun until such a time as I thought it necessary to seek shade thereby avoiding a sunburn and increased risk of skin cancer, I thought about how the vast majority of people in my age range seem to act really old. Like our parents did when we swore we’d never get that way. I still haven’t, and I’m not sure if I should be proud or ashamed of that fact.
I thought about the exceptions to the rule. Some of my friends on Facebook and the like. I was complaining about how every single post from some people seemed to be about the most boring things imaginable from some. I thought the common denominator might have been children, but then quickly realized the most fun, irreverent, and exciting posts come consistently from some of the best parents I know. Shout out to all y’all that make keep my feed my entertaining. Much love. Respect. As-Salaam-Alaikum. You da real MVP.
So what happened to everyone else? Were they always that boring? Did they always just want to live in a grind and lose all semblance of self outside of their family unit or their crappy job?
My favorite people are the people are the ones with personalities. It is the same reason I only follow a handful of parent-blogs. Yes, sometimes it is nice to read about what little Cindy or Johnny or Sho Chin or Zelda did, but what else did you do? Why is that really meaningful to you? You’re writing, not your kid. You still exist.
And it isn’t just with parents. Sometimes it is work. Yes, we know what you do for a living. What about you? Yes, work was crap today. Sorry. Oh, congratulations on that promotion. What about you? You do realize there is life outside your job as much as it may suck so much of it away, right?
If it sounds like I’m knocking responsibility, I am most definitely not. I still get saddened that children for me was not in the cards. When I was able to work, I worked hard, and did the best I could. Of course I cared about my job, and yes, I would bitch about the bad days and celebrate the good ones I had working.
But I always did everything I could to have some sort of personality outside of that.
I like using foul fucking language and I don’t give a fuck if anyone’s offended. Yes, I can shut my mouth to a degree around children so they don’t repeat it, but if they’re not in the room, “fuck” is just another word. If I had a child, I would want to teach them that, but also teach them there is a time and place for everything. I want to get another tattoo but probably won’t be able to unless all my counts make huge recoveries. I want to travel. I want to play drums in a band, or at least write and record music. No, it doesn’t have to be a career, but at least secondary. I want to fuck as much as is humanly possible until I am physically no longer capable, within the bounds of reality and time. I want to make out underneath a sunset as much as I can. I want to listen to loud music and paint and actually enjoy life.
Adulting is a world of bills, jobs, worry, and suck. Parenting, you can add that worry for your children, and the bills and jobs becomes that much more important.
But there is still a you, isn’t there? It doesn’t die with your family unit, suburban home, and 2.5 kids. Yes, it takes much more time from you, but not everything.
Not for all, anyway. I know those people who are still them, and they are the ones I respect the most.
The rest, when did you get so fucking old?