One Is Not Necessarily The Loneliest Number
So is your first New Year’s resolution that you won’t be alone anymore, or that you won’t end up alone? They are the same, yet as different as they can be.
I have kids, three really good kids, so maybe that means I’ll never end up alone. But I don’t think that’s the “alone” you’re talking about. Seeing as I am as single as you are, I can feel exactly what you’re saying. As comfortable as I am with being alone right now, I still can’t embrace the concept of being alone when I’m 60… Or 65… Or 70… Or more.
It’s not about who’s going to wipe my ass for me when I can’t wipe it myself. No matter how old I get, I will never let anybody else wipe my ass. If I can’t do that on my own, I’ll simply shoot myself. I may be a “glass half-empty” kind of guy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to live forever. As of now, my plan is simply to live forever, to be in great shape the whole time and to avoid every illness, disease and malady that commonly affects us in old age. Trust me; I will be the old guy at the gym who everyone whispers about in wonder at the shape I’m in. I’ll be the old guy at the restaurant watching the ball game while eating his dinner at the bar. I’ll be the old guy at the stoplight, bobbing his head to some Steely Dan with the sunroof open and his arm out the window. I don’t plan on going kicking and screaming – my plan is to not go at all.
Then reality kicks in, even for me. If I’m alone at 60, I won’t just be alone – I’ll be lonely. And the longer being alone lasts from there, the longer and lonelier I’ll become. I could become so pathetic that I wouldn’t even hang with me.
But what about knowing to its core that setting the bar high remains the only position to take when it comes to meeting quality women? And how many countless visits have we had with our longtime-married friends that, instead of inspiring envy and admiration with the life they display, leave us cold and pessimistic in the face of the abject boredom, and thinly disguised disdain that now so often defines their lives. Then there’s the “random encounter” – that interaction, however brief between two people that almost slows down time. Remember the French girl I told you about from the gym? She gave me her number yesterday. I didn’t ask for it.
So what about all of this? This all sounds pretty good to me (especially the French girl). So as much as I’m aware of the increasing possibility that I could remain alone through my fifties and beyond, I still think it’s too early to think that far ahead. There’s simply too much left to do right now. (More so for you than me.) You’ve seen those old couples at the grocery store engaging in in-depth comparison and analysis of every ingredient in every package, snarling at each other the whole time? They’re old and they have each other, but it’s a life no sane person would sign up for if given the option. Is that better than being alone? Is that better than the other older couples we encounter time and time again, the couple eating a long dinner in a nice restaurant and not a word passes between them. Is that better than eating alone? Not from where I’m sitting – but every year, I’ll be sitting that much closer to the age of lonely. Maybe I’ll have a different view of things once I get a close enough look.
Sick and alone is a whole different animal (except I stand by my earlier comment about wiping my own ass). I imagine being old, sick and alone sucks as royally as your mom explained to you – over, and over, and over. Is it attitude? Genes? The luck of the draw? There is no consistency and no guarantee to a life as it gets older… That’s why smart people are more inclined to live for the moment and appreciate the present.
We’re smart people, let’s be those smart people.
Leave a Reply
Don’t Let Me Be Lonely Tonight
Tis the season. A time for friends, family, celebration, reflection… Normally this is a time of year where I get sucked into the joys of giving, the joys of drinking, the joys of eating, and sometimes, the joys of a New Year’s one-night stand. Sigh. Not this year.
My family isn’t big on spending holidays together anymore. My siblings are married with kids, so they tend to spend the holidays with their in-laws. My father is newly remarried (again), so he’s off gallivanting with my latest stepmother. (Yes, that was sarcasm that just dripped off this page.)
Which leaves my mother – who is sick. I think we know where this is going.
My mom just had surgery. Semi-serious surgery, enough to be concerned about, and enough to require a family member to be present at all times to care for her. So I, being the only single child in the family, was chosen (okay, I volunteered – I’m weak) to spend the holidays taking care of my mother.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, except for one thing. On a good day, my mother is, to put it nicely, difficult. In excruciating pain and doped up on pain meds? My mother is, to put it nicely, a fucking pain in the ass. But she’s my mother, and I love her, so I sucked it up and came to take care of her – FOR TWO WEEKS.
Here’s how it’s going so far:
Mom (yelling): “What are you doing?”
Me: “I’m getting dressed.”
Mom: “Oh.”
2 minutes later…
Mom: “What are you doing?”
Me: “I’m brushing my hair.”
Mom: “Oh.”
2 minutes later…
Mom: “Are you bringing my breakfast soon?”
Me: “Yep, going to do that right now.”
1 minute later…
Mom yells, “What are you doing?”
I know, I know, you’re saying that’s not bad and I’m being a whiner. Well, that conversation goes on about 67 times a day. The rest of the time, she’s moaning and crying in pain, which does make me feel sorry for her. For about 5 minutes. Then my head becomes a Lifetime movie where I daydream about smothering her with a pillow. Then I feel sorry for her again – and ashamed of myself – for about 2 minutes.
And then there’s what I call the “So You Knows”:
“So you know, I only like the small forks. Don’t bring me a big one anymore.”
“So you know, I like exactly 2 pieces of turkey on my sandwich, and the cheese on the mustard side of the bread, not the mayonnaise side.”
“So you know, I like my bottles of water to be cold. If they warm up, I need you to put them back in the fridge.”
“So you know, I only like the blue flowered pillowcases.”
So YOU know, Mom, I’m not your SLAVE. Oh wait. I am.
Here’s the thing: I could complain about my mother until the end of time, but this little holiday vacation has taught me something very important: I need to start being a bitch and saying no. Okay, kidding. (Although – starting to say “no” a little more often should be on my to-do list in every area.) But what I learned is I need someone in my life. Okay, not I need someone, but I’m ready to admit I’d like someone around. I’m not saying I have to be married, but it wouldn’t suck to have a warm body next to me on a semi-regular basis.
Sure, my mom is a pain in the ass and I’m tired of the “So You Knows,” but she’s sick and in pain. And she’s alone. And as much as I like to say I’m fine being alone, what I really don’t want is to end up alone.
I guess I just made my first New Year’s resolution.
