Some Days I Just Don’t Care
A friend recently worried about a trip she was taking. The drive was only five hours, something we used to do without even thinking, but now it seemed onerous. She shares the driving with her husband, but he has neuropathy of the foot and sometimes can’t feel the gas pedal. Then she said, “Oh, well, we’re in our eighties.”
And that about sums up my life.
I used to care so much about everything, get all hot and bothered, worried about what was happening on planet earth, but now, well, what the hell, why bother? The seven deadly sins will always exist. The four horsemen are still on the war path. Life will go on without me. And I’ll go on without life.
Still, fond memories creep into my consciousness. Does anyone remember their first loaf of Wonder Bread, the joy of those mushy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, spread on soft ersatz what was passing for a loaf of bread? Sliced even? Sometimes I could even get my mother to cut off the crusts, a real treat. Now I live for crusty bread. How I miss the rye and pumpernickel of my youth.
What about the joys of going to the Automat in New York City, coins at the ready. What a thrill that was. I always had the chicken croquettes. Fine dining as I knew it. I can still remember streetcar tracks in the city, much more romantic than the subway. Speaking of which, why did they rename all the subway lines? 1/2/3/A/B/C, etc. No character whatsoever. Well, let’s face it. The NYC subway system is the most confusing I’ve ever encountered in the world. And this includes the time I had to travel by subway in Japan and China—with no English!
What about those decades when the country wasn’t so homogenized? Every summer I used to travel from downstate to upstate. Downstate rock and roll, rhythm and blues, one song two minutes long and then ten minutes of commercials. Upstate all country music. Perhaps it went along with Farmer George, my upstate boyfriend, while downstate Derick? Hmm.
Oh, yes, the mind goes backwards instead of forward. Well, what’s forward? More war in the Middle East. Money troubles supporting my husband’s dementia. A bird feeder that now hangs too high for me to fill. Decisions to make: Should I buy new towels? Mine are threadbare, but how long am I going to last?
The paper still comes every morning, never quite making it to the driveway. Becoming a subscriber in college, I used to read the New York Times diligently. I liked the Herald Tribune better, but it went defunct. I felt a need to know. Now I can finish the paper in twenty minutes. Playing their games takes longer.
I have disengaged. I no longer worry about the future because my future is here and now. I shrug.