Party Pooper

Yesterday I ended up feeling pretty terrible. All kinds of grouchy and sad at the same time. What do I feel bad about? So many things, from the trivial to the poignant. Ready? Physically, I’m aging into the “grandma” years but I will never be a grandma. I don’t like looking at pictures of myself anymore. Is there a point to going on Weight Watchers, to trying to lose (forever) that ten or fifteen pounds? Is there a point, really, to extending my life as long as possible? For what purpose? What will my “golden years” consist of? And shouldn’t I reach an age and stage of life where I just accept myself?

Max and I have booked a vacation to Florence in December. We are looking forward to it, and it should be fun and interesting. Although I don’t like pasta, wine, or really Italian eating habits in general, with the very late dinners, I like the concept of visiting Florence and all the art and so forth and the touring. Max and I had a really good time visiting the UK and we should have fun in Italy.

I’m just afraid that I’m kind of a party pooper lately. Max wanted us to go see Killers of the Flower Moon yesterday, and we had both been looking forward to a movie date, but then I just couldn’t face sitting through a three and a half hour movie. Maybe I’ll get the energy today.

Sometimes I have to ask myself if Sarah’s death is just a convenient placeholder for my existential ennui. Well, it certainly hasn’t turned me into Ms. Congeniality.