I’m Becoming Old and Grumpy Before my Time

I’m going to stay home with my cat

Back in March, I turned 37, and it was scary as fuck, or, as my kids say, scary af. My youngest daughter claims that I’m one of the few mothers that can get away with saying things like af. At least my eleven-year-old thinks I’m cool, I suppose.

That might be because this past Sunday evening we sang ridiculous children’s songs together at the top of our lungs, laughing. I taught her some of the silly songs we sang when I was a little girl. We made an exaggerated attempt at the Chicken Dance. I introduced her to Australian convict songs.

We said stupid shit simply because it was stupid shit, and we were living it up by being silly and ridiculous. She loved it and in many ways, so did I. I was having a good time with my little girl who is rapidly growing into a big girl. In other words, a young woman.

I realized I’d changed a lot when I started looking for clothes based on comfort rather than style. I still have some standards, but these days I’d rather wear a comfortable cotton dress.

There are bonus points if I don’t have to wear a bra with said dress. I figure if God wanted me to wear a bra the rest of my life, he would have given me boobs big enough to be bothered with a bra.

That’s all I will say about my bra size, although I will look at a man and tell him my bra size if he’s dumb enough to try to tell me the size of his dick. I’m not into men and don’t give a shit about his penis.

He will look at me like I’m an idiot and ask me why I would tell him that, and I respond by telling him my bra size is as relevant to him as his dick size is to me. It’s not as magnificent as he thinks it is, and he just can’t stand that some women don’t find it amazing.

That’s also all I should say about penises, except maybe to say that if I never see another one in my lifetime it will be too soon.

I’m disabled and it’s hard to get around, especially when a lot of places have inadequate disability accommodations, and I’m always grumpy when I can’t get around. I struggle had enough to keep the mobility I do have, and if the place is too small to get a walker through, I don’t go back.

Since I struggle with mobility, and also with crowds, I’d rather sit at home and order groceries from Walmart with curbside pick-up, and anything I don’t get from there I get from Amazon Prime. I buy kitty litter on Amazon Prime because I can’t lift it real well but the postman can.

The postman is a dear, by the way. He knows I’m disabled and he will knock on the door so that I can catch him when he brings things like litter, and if I open the door he will just pick the litter up and push it inside the door. What a lovely man.

It is still exciting to me to get packages in the mail like it was when I was a little girl. It’s one of those things that makes me feel loved and cared for except that these days, the packages the arrive are all ones I had to pay for myself. Kitty litter is hardly exciting, but my cat seems to appreciate it.

Speaking of cats, we are definitely cat people. Dogs are nice but cats are where it’s at for us. Felines are one of the most amazing creatures to ever exist. Well, domesticated ones anyway. Our cat was on death row when we adopted him. I have no idea what kind of cat he is. His meows says he is a Siamese, but his eyes say differently.

He’s a very affectionate, loving cat who gets lonely quite quickly. I think our cat is old and grumpy before his time too, he only likes chicken for his wet food, and he looked at me with contempt when I tried to give him catnip. He just doesn’t appreciate catnip.

Maybe that’s why the cat likes me so much. We can be old and grumpy together, even though both of us are still probably too young for that shit.

The rent is cheap for this area, but it’s still high for me and I have to give up basic necessities at times so I can pay the rent and give the kids everything they need. What this means is that I’m home a lot.

I do get cabin fever, but I humor myself and say that the real reason I stay home a lot is because all my stuff is here and rent is expensive so I’m at home getting my money’s worth.

I sit and read books, write articles for Medium, and pray. Those are the things I do the most of. I think what happened is I had to live a lifetime worth of bullshit already and I’m tired.

I’m one of the apparently rare women that would rather not have grandchildren, but my kids are going to make their own decisions about having children and so if I end up being a grandma, then I shall be the best grandma I can be.

Since I’ve already lived through a lot of very hard things, it’s time to take a break. What I’m really doing is working hard and taking time to heal. I’m socially awkward anyway, and so I feel like I’m a drag for people to be around.

I go to church and I love my people but I always assume that they know so many people that I’m probably not as important to them as they are to me, and I’m learning to be okay with that.

I don’t have a next-of-kin so if there is an emergency where they need one, we are all shit out of luck.

Most people suck, but I do have the few that I love. I think I’d rather just sit with my cat.