I Have Become My Parents
When I was young and restless I couldn't understand why my parents spent most of their evenings alone together at home. I mean for much of the time I was growing up they had the delights of my presence (yes, I'm sure I was a charming, grouchy obnoxious adolescent who made their every hour precious and complete) but even when I was out a lot and then moved away they seemed to like to stay at home and just hang out, watching TV, drinking tea, reading, and petting and playing with the dog.
Now I'm their age, whatever age that was, and guess what? What do I like most? Hanging out at home, messing about on the computer (writing and reading and all), drinking tea, reading books, and petting and playing with the cats.
What? When did I become my parents?
I could never figure out why they didn't hang out with their friends more. There were concerts to go to, plays to see, movies to watch, restaurants to eat in, drunken conversations to have, sleep to miss.
All I wanted to be was out and about. There was some special life out there and if I hung out enough I knew I'd find it. I quickly discovered I wouldn't find it in bars, as I don't drink beer and few bars used to have cider and scotch was too damn expensive and mixed drinks were (1) expensive and (2) mostly gave me horrible stomach pains, and watching other people have drunken conversations is, well, boring. One down.
I still like going to concerts and plays and movies and all, but when it's competing with sitting at home with tea, a good book, Jim nearby, and a two-cat cuddling minimum, well, these things rarely win the bet.
I also have learned the value of sleep (especially now that I sometimes have trouble getting to sleep).
I still like seeing friends but more and more I prefer they come to our place. I know they get tired of it, but frankly three hours on uncomfortable furniture kills me, and none of the people we hang out with that way have comfortable furniture. Not even the ones who think they do.
I'm not sure what sparked this entry so much as (1) being amazed at how boring my life generally is and how happy I am that it's boring. (2) looking ahead at how busy this month is scheduled to be and dreading it, and (3) realizing that when Jim first met my parents they were pretty much the age that we are now.
This getting old stuff is really weird. How can I be my parents' age?
For my listening, reading, writing, and excerpts from old journals, see Les Semaines.