Log in

No account? Create an account
What is even the point.
Okay, warning. I've reverted to teenager emo blogging mode for this one. (I know, nothing has really changed.)

Aging. It's just so impossible for me to face this gracefully. Because it's not about weight or wrinkles or superficial things, which are all the things I've always associated with "aging gracefully," and things I (mostly) don't care about.

Aging is about constantly facing death. More people you love die. More people your friends love die. And I'm not as okay with mortality as I once thought I was. (When I was young.)

Aging is, maybe worse, making me feel that life is quite pointless. Visiting a nursing home once a week is not helping this at all, of course. It's so depressing. It's a decent one, not high class by any means, but decent. And on paper, it's lovely. You know, three meals a day, scheduled activities throughout the week. It almost sounds like a cruise.

But there are just so many people who simply exist. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. (Which is one of the phrases I use when I lead meditations, and it feels so calming in a busy life, so this is even more strangely upsetting.) They are in their rooms, or in wheelchairs in the halls, watching TV or just sitting. One guy strums the guitar sometimes, but I've never really heard him play a song. This makes me so sad.

what does it feel like, to have no future to plan for, nothing to look forward to besides lunch or afternoon bingo?

I feel like I'm seeing so much general futility in existence. That we all end up here, then dead, and we're lucky if this is as bad as it gets on the way.

I can't picture a happy old age for myself. For a while, I daydreamed about writing in the morning, the occasional lunch with friends, teaching senior yoga in the afternoons.

But now? I don't know. Writing a book is a daydream, but not a dream anymore. I love the idea of writing a book, but I don't enjoy the process of writing to finish a project, no matter how modest I make the goal. I don't spend a lot of time with friend on my days off now. Why would I do better then? And teaching yoga has certainly lost its gleam, but at least it would be a useful occupation.

I don't really have any dreams now. I don't know what life will be like in twenty years. I don't much like being middle-aged, though it's better than I imagined in some ways. (Worse in others. I never really thought I'd be alone, but now I'm pretty sure I'll always be alone.)

I already feel so old. I'm so tired all the time. So much of my life revolves around managing RA, medications, early bedtimes... I just don't care about much of anything.

There are things I look forward to (the Yogaville workshop in July; seeing Hamilton in October), but I don't really have dreams for myself, what I want to do with my life. I really miss that sense of working toward something that mattered. I don't feel like much of what I do now really matters.

Life just feels, again, utterly pointless.

*sigh* I do realize this post reeks of depression. I am probably at least mildly depressed. But I don't really know what else I can do about that, either.