when I think about the future
My mom extended her unemployment recently. It’s been a little more than a year since she was let go (forced onto temporary disability and then laid off) because she couldn’t stand for 8-hour shifts. When I think about things that I want, things that I would spend on if I somehow made or came into money, the first thing on my list is to get my mom new hips. The second thing on my list (after paying off student loans, of course), would be to support my mom so that she doesn’t have to deal with the kind of lawless jackholes who would lay off a good worker rather than give her a fucking chair to sit in.
Huh – I just wrote “jackholes” instead of “assholes”, and then I went and dropped an f-bomb in the same sentence. I am nothing if not wildly inconsistent in my swearing patterns.
Other than how I’d like to help my mom out, I rarely think about the future. I am not one to set goals for myself, a list of things to be done by the time I’m 35 or 40. I tend to go with the flow, unless I’m unhappy somehow. Then I might start imagining that I’ve escaped the money troubles, the evil boss, the bad friend. I imagine myself older, in a small house (country or city, depending on the day), wearing flowing, non-constricting but fashionable clothes, writing in a light-filled room.
The other day it occurred to me that when I do imagine this future, perfect life, I never really see a man around. I see myself hanging out with friends and family, and I see the perfect bags, the perfect boots, the perfect accessories, the perfect laptop, car, cat, clothing and furniture to go with my perfect life. I never see children around, because I don’t plan on having any, but the man thing did give me pause.
I often say that I’m alright being alone romantically, but there have been times when I wonder if I’m lying to myself, if I do have some subconscious yearning to be giddily in love. Well, it’s obvious now that I shouldn’t worry too much about that. If my fantasies of the perfect life don’t involve the perfect man making me happy every day, then perhaps I really AM alright with being alone into my dotage.
I’m not saying that I really, really want to be alone forever (although that might be my actual subconscious yearning, which I will examine at a later date), but I will certainly not be depressed about not having a man now. Some people might worry that they’re not normal if they think like this – I’ve certainly wondered about myself – but I’m kind of elated. Especially since I have no desire to go out and meet somebody.