it's amazing how antisocial i am getting. it's sunday and, much like the title, i sit and read and think i should perhaps call up my mom and chat for a bit and i am unable to do it. i really don't feel like going into the details of our condo sale, or my heart palpitations, or my need to exercise or any number of things i know we will talk about. i don't want to talk. and not just to her. to anybody. this seems to be a more and more common state for me.
i can see already, the kind of grumpy old lady i will one day become: wild-eyed, bitter-mouthed, hatchet-faced, hateful and spiteful, despising everyone around her, scattering frightened children as she careens through their noisy crowd on her scooter because she is bothered by the noise and wants it to stop NOW.
shit. i'm already that.
minus the scooter.
parties have always frightened me. i love the idea until the reality looms on the horizon and i am faced with the realization that crowds will soon descend upon my quiet kingdom and demand to be fed dainties. and when they do, the fear goes away and i am able to enjoy myself, but as i get older, the fear period extends beyond what is reasonable. perhaps if my life was a little less chaotic i would look at social gatherings as pleasant activities, not more items to be crammed into my overflowing agenda.
however, i do see a solution of sorts. i think any entertainment we shall do from now on will be in small wine-soaked groups, tapas and booze, some background music, and no need to vacuum up the table scraps the following day (god, i will love not having a carpet anymore, not having to scrub red wine from it with the pink solution*, not having to wonder how much longer i can reasonably put off vacuuming, telling myself that i am imagining the crunching noise of crumbs and various decomposing exoskeletons as i walk).
perhaps, like a good self-aware woman, i should just say "no" to big parties, just like i said "no" to skiing several years ago when i suddenly realised that if i really wanted to sip mulled wine in a lodge, i could skip the pricey lift tickets and the guilt trips and sip the mulled wine and damn the naysayers, the cheerleaders, the ski bunnies who couldn't possibly fathom that someone who'd been skiing since the early single digits simply got tired of that particular exercise, what with the age-sharpened awareness of my own mortality and all.
so yes, no more large parties. maybe some old fashioned open houses, instead? i shall put the kettle on, set out saltines, a crystal bowl of pimento-stuffed olives, some nuts and sherry and y'all can come and go as you please while i sit and rock on my (non-existent) rocking chair.
or i can start to pop ativan, mix it up with wine and see what happens.
*i bought this stuff many years ago at a home show and, goddamn, it is AMAZING! it will get old forgotten wine stains from a light coloured carpet. it will remove anything from anything else. hell, i'm sure if they used it in the middle east, all strife would end. and it's biodegradable, environmentally safe and will not fry your lungs with ammonia. and hey, it's pink!