Caregiver

Thirty six years of life. That's the recent milestone I've achieved. I'm 36 years old and I'm still above ground. (High Five!) Sure, I'm single. No kids. I have a job instead of a career and all those dreams and goals I had in my youth have all but faded away. That may seem like a clever play on words but some of them truly are a blur. Furthermore, all of that may sound dreary but I am surprisingly content. I've seen many people my age, and in my current financial and emotional predicament, panic and commence losing their fucking minds in a Hail Mary, desperation attempt to get a better paying job, get married, and have kids. (Preferably, in that order.) Me? Shit! I never planned to live past 40.

I'm not kidding about that either. For a long time, that was almost my target number. Like "40 and no matter what, I'm out!" When asked what my goals were, that was one of them. I used to get the strangest looks and I still do sometimes when ever someone is foolish enough to engage me in that line of questioning. That's ok with me though. I've grown accustomed to those glares long ago. Moreover, I just don't care. 

Actually, that's part of my problem though. Caring. I'm not saying I'm not sympathetic or emotionally dead. I give a shit about certain things. It's that I don't get as excited about it as others do. Is that apathy? I don't know. I'm just saying that I'm in my mid 30's and…well, I thought this problem of me not giving a fuck would have corrected itself by now. The sad part is, I can't generate enough "give-a-fuck," for lack of a better term, to start exploring more options for a brighter future. 

(Sigh)

Oh well. At least I have 40 to look forward to.