The Woes of Growing Old...

I think I'm getting old. This is a redundant statement really because even as I started typing this, I'm already older than I was when I typed the first word.

I don't necessarily mean in age. I mean that I'm getting old as in just being. I know you're really only as old as you think you are but that's not really what I mean, either.

What I mean is hard to describe. It's not an age thing, measurable in years. It's more just a state of existence, more who you are, what you do and what you like.

For example, we all go through phases. In my childhood, I went through phases such as wanting a pony more than anything else in life, wanting to be in a pantomime because the one I saw on my seventh birthday was the most exciting thing I'd ever seen and wanting to be a gymnast even though physics, heridity and lack of balance were all against me.

In my teens, I went through a heavy metal stage, an Andrew Lloyd Webber stage, a Stephen King stage.

In my twenties, I went through a theatre stage, a passionate love of the movies that led to my attempts at being a screenwriter and an Anne Rice stage.

You get the idea. Each decade of my life meant I was older. My interests naturally evolved to help define who I was at that moment in time. They grew a little more mature as the days went by though most likely by someone else's standards, my interests were always (and probably still are) slightly immature in some ways. I mean, I did go through a passionate devotion to Green Day in my late 20's/early thirties. I still like Green Day.

Yet I no longer have that burning desire to have Green Day help define who I am. It's strange. One day it was there, one day it wasn't. I don't know why it went away or even what made it go away, it just did. It was suddenly replaced by a weird and inexplicable desire to listen to Top 40 music and discover that Lady GaGa is quite an artist, Katy Perry is horribly catchy and that I wouldn't mind if Jason Mraz followed me around and sang to me all day long.

The only constant in my life that has been there since my 20's is Harry Potter. Since I first read the books, I've been a captive fan. I love the movies. I collect Harry Potter stuff, specifically featuring the illustrations from the books rather than movie themed stuff but I'm not horribly picky.

I can't wait to see the movie that opens tonight at midnight. I've been counting down for months. I know it's going to be good. I know I'm going to be frustrated that I have to wait another six months to see Part 2 of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." I don't care. I can't wait to see the movie.

I just don't want to see it at midnight. Hence the fact...I'm getting old.

A few years ago, I would have been there at midnight if I had friends who wanted to see it. I mean, I was at Borders for the midnight release of the last book in the series. Nowadays...I just don't want to and that, I fear, makes me old.

No longer do I have that happy-go-lucky, "I don't care if I have to work tomorrow!" attitude that I used to have. Instead, I know that even if I did drag my 35-year-old bones to the movies, it'd be a waste of my $12. You see, I could wait in line. I'd get in and sit down. Then I'd get tired. I might force myself to stay awake but I know that if I did, I'd be so focused on not falling asleep, I wouldn't take in the movie. I might manage to watch it but, at best, I reckon I'd probably catch maybe 85% of it and miss 15% by a) trying not to doze off, b) getting distracted by the fact that I had to be at work in a few short hours or c) being worried that I left the puppies home alone and hoping they'd be ok.

I know, I know....so what? There's only a midnight opening once, right? I can always go see it again if I did miss some or fall asleep.

The thing is, I don't want to do that. For one thing, even matinees these days are almost $9. For another thing, Harry Potter is very important to me. I love to see the movies and get lost in them. I love the thrill of knowing even as I sit in my seat at the theatre, I'm about to have over two hours of pure enjoyment that is all mine. As a child, I felt that way any time I was lucky enough to go to the cinema. It was this almost breathless thrill of excitement that arose in me as soon as the lights went down. I was going to escape from my seat and get lost in the screen in front of me.

Nowadays, I rarely have that feeling. I do, however, always have it with Harry Potter movies.

I don't want to not have that. You only have it once and that's the first time you get to see the movie in the theatre. You can try to recapture that the second time or even the third time but the magic is just not the same. It's like having a chocolate chip or shortbread cookie that's still warm from the oven. The gooey warmth is only there when they come out of the oven. Afterwards, they're still good but that comfy, homey warmth of that sweet disc of goodness is gone. Even if you put it in the microwave, it's not quite the same.

I know I'm being slightly dramatic about Harry Potter. It's just something special and important to me. When you're a thirty-something singleton who lives alone with two adorable puppies, you cling on to things like Harry Potter. It makes like that little more special.

So, I won't be seeing it at midnight tonight. That makes me feel old.

I know people who do still go to midnight showings- several friends who are scattered around the U.S. will be waiting in line at midnight in their various time zones, waiting for that Warner Brothers logo to appear on the screen and for the Harry Potter experience to begin.

I admire them because they can still do it. They can overcome that old person mentality and not care about being tired tomorrow.

Whereas me...I know I wouldn't make it through the movie without falling asleep.

So, instead, I'm going to wait until Saturday. I'll make it into a Harry Potter day and I'll enjoy the movie while the sun is still shining outside. I won't be in a theatre with devotees of the movie like I would be if I went at midnight.

But at least I'll be awake and I'll enjoy every minute.

Oh, I'm getting old.

Happy Friday! (and enjoy Harry Potter if you're seeing it tonight/this weekend!)

Growing Older, Growing up

I’m trying to figure out if I’m getting old or I’m just growing up. In my opinion, there is a difference.

Up until fairly recently, I’ve embraced the fact that I’m an adult but I’ve also enjoyed some ‘younger’ activities. I loved going to concerts, particularly Green Day. I loved dropping everything and going on a weekend trip to visit a friend. I loved going out and about, spending days at Disneyland and forgetting the realities of life.

It’s not to say I don’t still enjoy some of that stuff, if not all of it. It’s just…not the same.

For example, it used to be when I found out Green Day were on tour, I’d research where would be the easiest, most convenient place to see them and I’d find a way to go. Now, while I still enjoy their music, I’ve seen them six times in concert already. If they came to Cincinnati or somewhere else rather convenient, I’d want to go. It’s just that I don’t want to go that extra mile, to fly to Vegas or L.A. to see them. I don’t need to go that extra mile.

There was a part of me, a passion that Green Day used to fill. It sounds a little lame when I say that but it’s true. I got excited to see them. I wanted to know what they were doing, who they were, what drove them, why they wrote songs. Through my entire life, that’s been the case with one band or another, one movie or book or TV show. There’s always been something that I’m passionate about.

I’m not saying I don’t have that passion anymore. It’s just…changed.

I find now that I’m happiest hanging out with my family and the puppies, just…hanging out. I love sitting outside on a cool evening, watching the puppies play, drinking a glass of wine and enjoying the fact that I don’t have to be doing anything else.

I’m horribly afraid this means I’ve become boring. Or, worse, old.

Although, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy going out and doing stuff. I just don’t feel like I have to do something in order to enjoy myself. Sometimes doing nothing is far nicer.

This worries me. What worries me more is I have friends who are older than me who enjoy being busy almost every moment of their life and while what they’re doing is fun, the idea of me having that kind of timeframe makes me feel slightly panicky inside.

What does this mean? In all honesty, I don’t know. I suppose it’s a natural human reaction to compare yourself to others, to say, why aren’t I doing that? Why don’t I want to do that? Is it ok that I don’t do that?

I suppose when I look at it, in a way, I’ve always been a bit…well…boring. As a child, I liked to be read to by whoever would read. When I learned to read, I spent about 10 years in books without really coming up for air and only then because I realized it was probably time to do something other than just read. I always preferred board games to sports though I can appreciate some sports, just not playing competitively. I tried to act but realized watching shows and managing them was far more fun. I find it more fun to stay home and watch a really great TV show than paying too much money to see a crappy film at the theatre. This is not something I ever thought I’d say since I used to think going to the movies was the best pastime ever. I still enjoy it but I now think before I shell out my $11.50 to see a movie rather than just seeing anything that looks entertaining.

Eek gads, I sound like a boring old Monkeypants. Before you know it, I’ll be shouting, “Get off my lawn, varmints!” to the neighbourhood kids.

Although, I honestly have no idea what a varmint is. I think I saw it in a Crankshaft cartoon once. In which case, the fact that I don’t find Crankshaft funny means I can’t be that old, right?

I digress. What I’m saying is that I’ve always been a bit of a homebody. It’s just become magnified by age. This doesn’t mean I’m likely to become a hermit. No, if I spend too much time at home, I get the itch to go out, to do something. I just don’t have to do that as often as I used to. I don’t need to do it, I want to do it. I think there’s a difference.

I suppose what it comes down to is that I’m actually happy with my life and pretty content. Naturally, I think it’d be rather nice to have a Mr. Captain Monkeypants in my life but given my online dating duds, that’s not too easy to come by. Yet, I have a house, two amazingly fabulous puppies who make me laugh and smile every day and the ability to sit down and write whenever I feel like it. I no longer have to struggle with the easy procrastinations of a fairly new writer, the days when it was easier to clean out the fridge than it was to just buckle down and write. No, these days, if I have an hour, I’ll go write- no thinking needed, I just do it and it comes out pretty easily and pretty well.

I have a family fairly nearby and a job that pays the bills. It also gives me plenty of blog fodder/writing ideas.

I have a published book that’s getting some great feedback from readers.

It all seems rather nice when I type it out but the thing that I think is scaring me is the eternal question, is it enough? It’s not glamourous. It’s not exciting.

But it’s fun. It’s relaxing and it’s fulfilling.

Perhaps that’s the key from moving from youth to true adulthood- you realize that it’s ok to be fulfilled even when the fulfillment comes in the form of everyday comforts.

Or, maybe I’m just really boring.

Either way I’ll take it. (Although if you hear me say “varmints”, I’ll rethink that).

Happy Wednesday!

I Don't Want to Grow Up! Can I be a Toys R Us Kid Forever?

It's almost Friday. I, for one, am rather glad about this. I'm sure I've written that before and I will again but it's a sentiment worth repeating, I think.

It hasn't been a bad week. It's been a short week, something that always helps. It's been a cold week, too. Last night, lying in bed, I listened to the scariest creaks and moans from my house. Given that I've just 'published' a book about a demon who haunts a woman who isn't, um, terribly unlike me, my imagination started to go wild.

I shortly curtailed that thought process in favour of reality. Unfortunately, reality was scarier. I started to think that the icicles on my house were rather large and, therefore, heavy. I have some that are, seriously, five feet long. Until yesterday, I was quite proud of this. I mean, honestly, that's some icicle!

And then I went to bed and my house was creaking and moaning. After I cast aside the idea that there was a demon in my attic, I started to think of the reality: There is, at least, five inches of snow on my roof. There are, in places, five feet of icicles hanging from my gutter. Which is worse, a paranormal creature haunting me or the idea of my roof caving in?

I'll have you know, at 11:30 p.m. at night, lying in a dark bedroom, trying to sleep, the idea of a roof caving in is scarier than a demon.

I know! Crazy, isn't it? You'd think I'd be more alarmed about the sound of footsteps in my attic. But as I started to let reality creep in, the footstep sounds transformed into the sound of the boughs of my house starting to sag under the weight of all that snow and ice.

Until now, I'd been proud that my roof was always covered with snow longer than anyone else's. I thought that meant I had better insulation. It probably did. Then I started to wonder how bad it was that my poor roof was so weighed down that it was starting to protest with gentle groans. Thus...I began to panic.

I think I've officially become a grown-up. Once upon a time, my imagination would have pictured a demon in my attic, a ghost floating above me...everything that Stephen King could inspire and then some. These days, the idea of a collapsed roof presents far more nightmares than a genuine ghost.

I want to know when this happened. I like to pinpoint significant moments in my life and I have a feeling that when I made the real, actual, genuine transition to being a full-blown adult occured, it was significant.

I can't figure it out. I currently am listening to an iTunes playlist I made a week ago and it contains everything from Green Day to Muse to Miley Cyrus to Sacha Baron Cohen singing "I like to Move it, Move it" from Madagascar. Even now, it gives me the urge to call my good friend in Pasadena, CA and say, "hey, know what I like to do?" and when she says, "No," I say "I like to move it, move it."

So when did I really grow up? I'm not sure I really have.

Except there's that teeny-tiny, miniscule fact that I'm more concerned about the expense and inconvenience of my roof caving in than having some evil creature haunt me.

I think it's safe to say that, darn it all, I've become an adult.

I'm groaning as I type this.

I may still hide behind my age by going to Green Day concerts. After all, they're older than me, therefore, it's still cool when I go and watch them play. I still like TV shows like Gossip Girl (don't judge me, please. It's Saz's fault...she got me hooked). But I can, at least, see the differences between their generation and mine. I may still read young adult novels for the story and plot. But I do see the reality, even if it makes me cringe.

For example, I do tend to want to clomp the 'heroine' in the head when she turns out to be Bella Swann from Twilight. I'm not even a mother but I still have the urge to slap her when you find out when she's not stopping a 'guy' from watching her while she sleeps. Ok, so he's immortal and he's a vampire. Yet it's still creepy. I don't care if he doesn't need to sleep. I don't care that Bella loves him. It's still creepy. If Edward Cullen can get into your room while you sleep, that means other non-vampire men can do so. Therefore...creepy. Also, really, Edward? You want to watch a girl while she sleeps? Sorry to break it to you but we females aren't so different from males: We snore, drool and move in our sleep...just like you. I'd think that was awfully boring to watch, even if you love us.

To put this in a more realistic context: I love Iron Chef America on the Food Network. It was the show that got me hooked on wanting to cook. I love all of the Iron Chefs and I root for them, regardless of the competitor. Yet there are times when they make me have to consider eating, say, a fish heart or pig's brain that I say: "No, Iron Chef....that's just not pleasant!"

It's not about the taste, it's about the actuality. It's disgusting in theory. In reality, I'm sure it's delicious but I stop before I get that far.

Hence the comparison to teenage vampire lovin'. Ok, so the idea of Edward Cullen staring at you while you sleep may seem romantic...yet, in actuality, it's twisted. He doesn't need to sleep but instead of doing something useful like composing a symphony, writing a novel or even creating a new recipe, he puts aside all that to just...stare at you...while you sleep.

It's creepy. It's wrong. It's just....such a teenage idea.

Hence the fact that I recognize the fact that I'm now a curmudgeonly grown-up. I don't like to think I've lost the idea of romance but I do think I've shed the illusion that romance can be completely silly, completely separate from reality. I've just started reading the novel Outlander and already I sort of want to slap the heroine for being so obtuse. I haven't even got that far but I can see that the hero is going to be 'James', the hero who was wounded when he met his love but grew to be a brave saviour.

Reality isn't so easy. I wish it could be. Sometimes, I wish men and women could walk around with coloured stickers on them so that all we had to do was find the person with the same coloured sticker as the one we were wearing and, voila!, that was our mate. Alas, it does not work that way. Instead, we have to go for awkward coffee/dinner dates with men that an online dating site thinks is right for us because a number of variables on our profiles matches.

I sound bitter. I'm not. I just feel like sometimes I'm too much of an adult and that I should figure out how to cast reality aside in favour of the fictional perfection that I covet in life. I think, in truth, it's up to us. Online dating sites can apply their logical computerized formula to match us but it's the actuality that matters: Do I like him? Is he man enough to call me? Is he actually going to ask me questions about me or talk about Ultimate Frisbee for two hours? Is he really looking for a relationship or just a quickie?

The thing is, I don't think it really matters. While I may have become an adult, ready to worry about the reality of scary matters, I'm still able to step back and realize that sometimes it's nice to be immature, to regress back to the days where idealisation overruled practicality.

Of course, when it comes down to the fact that idealisation costs money, I become exceedingly practical....which I suppose means I've become a fully-fledged grown up.

*sigh*

I suppose you have to grow up sometime. I just don't want to. Say, is that footsteps in my attic, I hear. Perhaps it's a demon! Maybe I should investigate....who cares is my gutter is falling!

Nope, can't do it. Damn it all....I'm a grown up. No matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise.

Happy Friday...and have a great weekend!