It's like a bad dream that never ends
I'm not much of a blog/LJ type of person. Never have been. It always seemed so narcissistic and (dare I say it?) juvenile -- the notion that anyone would be interested in the little details of my life, my thoughts, my complaints, what have you.
But there's something different about this community. It has an open, welcoming vibe I haven't found elsewhere. And I admit to being somewhat of a voyeur -- I enjoy reading other people's blogs and getting a peek into their personalities and lives. I'm interested in what makes other people tick. So, why not start a blog of my own, even if I'm the only one who will ever read it?
Right now I'm struggling with a few issues. The first and foremost, all-encompassing thing in my life is my mother's death. I can't seem to stop thinking about it and I don't know if I'll ever get over it. She died April 7. She died that day because it was the day I chose for her to die. I'm an only child and my parents are divorced -- she was in the hospital, being kept alive by a machine, and I alone issued the order to pull the plug. More on that cheerful topic later.
The other thought running through my head is this. When did I become an old has-been? My mother-in-law came to town this week to help out, provide moral support in the aftermath of my bereavement, and along with that offered to watch the kids Friday night so DH and I could go out for dinner. We had a nice meal at P.F. Chang's, then I felt an urge to go to a bar. Ten years ago (I'm 38 now), my social life seemed to center around bars. Meeting friends for drinks, seeing bands play, etc. Life was sort of fun and carefree. But somewhere along the line, that all changed. We walked through the door and instantly I could tell -- everything was different. DH and I were surrounded by twentysomethings who were laughing, drinking, flirting, dancing, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. That's just not my life anymore. I wish it were, because it was fun while it lasted. I wish I could be young again. The whole experience had a depressing "This WAS your life" quality, and after two quick beers, we were out of there.
Maybe what it is, is that I'm just afraid of growing old and dying. Like my mother.
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