floorpie

I was walking on the beach in Santa Barbara with my mom today. She was talking to me about my dad, and how he’s getting close to retirement age…but what would he do all day if he were to retire?

She went on to talk about how work has been his life for many years. How even when on vacation (like today), he still works, and how my mom has given up trying to stop him and instead tries to give him a couple of hours to toil away instead. Because he’s a perfectionist, and always tries to do what’s right, and has a sense of honor in what he does.

I can’t say that I measure up to all of these same characteristics, but I can say that a lot of these qualities also ring true in me, the apple not falling far from the tree. Case in point, as she was explaining all of this to me, I was checking my work email incessantly, responding only with “uh huh’s” every now and again. I’m confident that the various people I’ve gone on vacation with can attest to similar.

Note to self: make sure I have some other hobbies before I retire. Luckily I have the whole photography, guitar, wood working thing going for me at the moment. Hope it sticks.

I ask for very little in those I wish to spend my time with. Staggering beauty, intimidating intelligence, the ability to laugh at everything I do on even the faintest hint of humorous intent, and a communication style akin to a hilariously bawdy nobel laureate.

Nothing, really, no?

I find that communication, as the saying goes, is the most important thing. For me, it’s not even so much the content of said communication as much as it is the quality of the delivery. I want to want to talk for hours, I want to bark with unexpected laughter, I want to be challenged and to talk over one another. I want to be engaged.

I like the witty banter, you see.

The question, really, though, is whether I like the witty banter from the person I’m talking to, or if I like the opportunity to provide the witty banter myself. I think it’s a tad of both to be honest. If the other party can’t dish it, then they’re probably not getting the cleverness in the first place.

This is, of course, incredibly self-serving as it pre-supposes that I’m witty and clever in the first place. Perception is reality, though, and that’s my perception…of myself. Bah. To hell with the logic, I live primarily inside of my own head anyway.

Does everyone find the perfect balance in their counterpoint eventually, or do some things become less important as YOU do?

I don’t run into nearly enough weirdos these days. This blog used to be rife with anecdotes of interesting (to me) interactions with the slightly left of center. Now, though, it’s more likely thinly-veiled posts about my love life or job. And who cares to read about that?

I’ve decided that I’ve either gotten more conservative and therefore less likely to run in the company of those aberrant individuals I so truly enjoy observing…or I’m so accepting of oddity that it no longer phases me as much.

I’m voting for the second.

Not really on either count, but it’s got a catchy melody and the lyrics have a ring to them. I will, however, be another year older in a week. I find this terrifying, yet inevitable. Like Weekend At Bernies, IV.

See what I did there? I made a bad joke to cover my anxiety about entering the later half of my mid-30’s.

I wonder if I’ll have my act together by next year? I wonder if I already have my act together, I just don’t realize it.

I’m haunted a lot. Not in the ephemeral casper kind of way, but in the actual gnawing raw emotions, jaws clenched at night, permanent scowl lines kind of way. What this has to do with my birthday, I’m not entirely sure, but I believe it ties in to the “do I have my shit together, yet?” thing. I’m haunted by the past and the potential for the future. Should I have done this, might I had done that, why did I do those things?

etc

As I get older I begin to realize that you never really lose any of those same things that got to you as a kid…the only difference now being that you better know how to handle the situation through a vast array of experiences to draw from. It has very little to do with capabilities or skills or maturity, and a hell of a lot more to do with sheer rote memorization. When I was younger, writing a check was terrifying. I’d never done it before and it was so unequivocally adult that the anxiety over it was trebled jut by parental association alone.

Now though, of course, writing a check is not only not terrifying, but positively boring and annoying. Because I’m better equipped to “handle” it? No, because I’ve done it a billion times. Are adults more capable in surviving the “real” world? Sure, but only because they practiced for it.

The point? I don’t have one. I’m getting older, I miss a bunch of people, and I wish I had more time on the tail end of my life. Otherwise, I’m feelin’. fine.