Cleaning, decorating, composing, writing, gardening, letter-writing (with pen and paper), playing any and all of my musical instruments according to fancy, going out with friends, going to concerts, cafe-sitting and working during the work week.
Then, in 1992, I took on the role of my father’s caretaker during the last year of his life, and although I did it gladly, it took its toll on me. It aged me, in fact, emotionally, spiritually and physically. In photos taken of me in 1991 I looked no older than 30, but a year later I looked every bit of my 42 years. I always wondered how long I could milk looking 10 years younger—I’m one of those people that still got carded when I was in my thirties.
Then there was the abusive relationship.
Then, I became my mother’s caretaker during the last four years of her life; that wasn’t a labor of love like caring for my dad was. It was a stressful and difficult period due to my mother’s difficult personality. During this time we also got custody of the kids and the financial stress really took center stage, not to mention the ravages of an undiagnosed disease that had been sucking me dry for years.
I wouldn’t say I’m retired, I’m just retired from the eight-to-five office grind. I still work, and although I work from home, I put in more hours in a week than I did when I was a member of the Commute Group.
It’s not physical aging that’s hardest on my self-esteem, it’s my lifestyle, and the other night as I tried to fall asleep, I chided myself for allowing myself to get lazy. I made a mental checklist of things that needed to get done and when I got up I spent the day doing them.
Last night I was in bed by 3:00 and this morning I was up at 8:30. I’m tired of sleeping until 10:30 (or later) and although I enjoy the quiet and solitude of staying up all night, I’m afraid that’s going to have to stop. I just don’t feel good with such an erratic lifestyle.
So I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. We’ll see how long it lasts.
