Tuesday, November 18, 2008


I am discovering that the older I am getting, the less I care. About a lot of things.

I mean, I still care about my kids. I can't say I'm exceptionally fond when one calls me at 4 a.m. (this morning, as a matter of fact), but I at least took the trouble to pick her up at the ER.

I care about my animals - even when it's an extremely silly gelding whinnying for two hours before feeding time or a dog who whines and whines about going outside and then turns around and comes right back in the house,expecting to get a treat.

And I care about the environment... at least to the point that if a recycle bin is immediately under my fingertips, I'll throw a soda can in.

But I honestly don't care about a lot of things that used to matter. I don't care about how my car looks... well, wait a minute, I guess I've never really cared about what my transportation looks like. I mean, I drive an extremely dusty truck with 138 bumper stickers on it.

I don't worry about how I look in public... hmm, well, that's been almost all my life. My mom was one of those dress-me-pretty-in-pink and ringlets in my impossibly straight hair - and I was enough of a 60's and 70's child to be one of the denim forerunners. I mean, I actually was part of TWO protests against school clothing policy, one in high school, one in college (both about blue jeans)

I'm not concerned about my weight. To be honest, though, I think I have simply giving UP on trying to LOSE any weight. I can get slightly trimmer, I can lose an inch or two, but the actual, literal POUNDS never seem to budge.
Hmm. I don't think I have stopped caring - I just don't have enough ENERGY to care any more.
Pass the ice cream.