I'm Old

Well, the next thing to come in the grand, acquire-a-life-for-Sheryl scheme is posting a picture.  I think I’m delaying my responses intentionally so I don’t have to reach that stage.  I have been rather camera shy for as long as I can remember.  I’m not hideous; I just don’t like the way I look on film.

But nevertheless, a co-worker is taking my picture tomorrow.  

I do have to ask myself, though, why I am doing this?  Why am I so afraid of dying alone all of a sudden?  Why do I have this brand new desire to procreate?

A couple of my friends have dubbed this my midlife crisis.  One friend was telling me that when her husband turned 35, he went out and bought a boat and trailer and all new fishing gear.  Another said that when hers turned 35, he bought a dirtbike and a four wheeler, both of which he insists on riding at top speed without helmets.  I suppose deciding that I need to have a man and a family is pretty safe, sane, and inexpensive compared to that.

And I don’t really believe I’m going to die alone somewhere surrounded by fish and teeny tiny hats that I attempted to knit for them.  No, by the time I get to that stage, Social Security will have gone bankrupt and I’ll die alone under a bridge and get eaten by cats instead.

Forgive my maudlin mood and self-deprecating humor today.  I kind of forgot to take my “happy pill” today, and that makes me a little moody and weird.

So where was I?  

Ah yes.  My midlife crisis.  Although really, I don’t think it is a true crisis.  I mean, I’m not like the mid-30’s single women you see all over the media.  They fall into one of two categories: the sluts, who sleep with anyone with a…well, use your imagination; and the whiners, who constantly bemoan their lack of a significant other.  Both stereotypes annoy me.  

See, that’s the reason I don’t want the main character in the novel I’m working on to have a romantic attachment.  She has entirely too much other stuff going on in her life to be worried about  a significant other.  Plus, I really want to make the point, even if it is obliquely, that a woman does not need to depend on having a man to be happy (or vice versa – except of course for the fact that my main character is female).

More thoughts on this later.  I’ve lost all track of time, and I’m about to be late for a very important date.