Freyja and he are beside themselves with happiness and joy and exuberance and I could mostly not care less, which may, once and for all seal my fate as a terrible person.
Never have been much of a joiner myself, I can't relate one iota to sports, so it's tricky.
I also find the time commitment oppressive.
Freyja, on the other hand lives to be busy, to be in motion.
Where I like to clean my house thoughtfully and with great attention to detail, then lie down with a good book, or sit in solitude with a bit of sewing, or maybe, on a Friday evening have two cocktails with a close friend in a bar with jazz, she would like nothing better than to attend three parties and a sporting event, all in one afternoon.
I was talking to my friend Lisa about this recently.
Lisa, also an English major, with an unkempt yard and a dog with the beginnings of teensy dreadlocks on her delicious belly, Lisa who has a Volvo as old as rattle trapish as my beloved old and rattle trapish Volvo, Lisa so smart and funny and lovely, said
"I am just tired and hungry"
and I think she summed up middle-age rather nicely for me, right there on the front steps of her house, that, like mine, could really use a paint job, or at the very least, a pressure wash.
I am tired and hungry and a little bit numb from all that life continues to throw right in my face.
A lively series of fastballs that I am unable to recover from, or dodge.
I told Mark last night
"I just need to go away."
"but then you need to come back... What then?"
"I haven't gotten that far yet"
Alaska, that might be good. Someplace beautiful that isn't hot. Heat would just spoil the whole thing, wouldn't it?