Impotent self-loathing on a stick. And rhinos.
The older I get, the less I care.
I mean, the less I care about important things. I should qualify. I care passionately, as I grow older, about things like my overdraft, and whether Tesco will have any hummous in next time, and other people's children annoying me in pubs, and whether I've gained a pound since yesterday, and why does my hair keep doing that thing, and how can we stop next door's cat yowling in our garden at four o'clock in the morning, and, you know, deeply unimportant stuff.
This bothers me slightly.
I used to care. I used to be passionate. I cared about politics, and the rights of people to live in freedom as long as they weren't compromising other people's freedoms and rights. I protested about the Criminal Justice Bill. I listened to impassioned speeches by the Gipsy Council of Great Britain and, because the laws that subjugated them affected me (in my right-on, dreadlocked living-in-a-lorry stage), I supported them. I was vegetarian. I cared deeply about animal rights. I recycled, and composted, and shopped responsibly, and thought about the planet we live on and how it's not our right but our privilege to be the dominant species - making it our responsibility to care for and nurture the earth.
It's not that I don't care about any of that any more - I still rail against racism, and homophobia, and slavery and imprisonment and famine and war. I just don't do anything about it any more. I know that this should make me feel bad, and it does. If everyone was apathetic the world would be in a much worse state than it is now, and I don't think anyone needs me to tell them how catastrophic that would be. The thing is, I don't know where to find the time or the energy any more. I justifiy it by telling myself that I'm just one of those people who has been subsumed into working hard -that I have so little time to myself it's only natural I resent the intrusion of my conscience into my desire to have a good time.
See - it's easy, isn't it? It's easy to acknowledge my failings, to blithely blog and put it out there that I don't do the things I should. It's crap though, isn't it? I've found the time to write about it. Later, I'm going for a drink with friends. Excuses. I know I should do more, I just can't be arsed.
Christ. Shoot me now.
In other news: never go to the zoo in the Spring. Rest assured that, if you do, the rhinocerouses will shag and shag and shag for hours and you will have a very puzzled almost-seven-year-old on your hands. Yes darling, they were playing leapfrog and one got stuck. I think we may need to have That Talk soon.
Help.
I mean, the less I care about important things. I should qualify. I care passionately, as I grow older, about things like my overdraft, and whether Tesco will have any hummous in next time, and other people's children annoying me in pubs, and whether I've gained a pound since yesterday, and why does my hair keep doing that thing, and how can we stop next door's cat yowling in our garden at four o'clock in the morning, and, you know, deeply unimportant stuff.
This bothers me slightly.
I used to care. I used to be passionate. I cared about politics, and the rights of people to live in freedom as long as they weren't compromising other people's freedoms and rights. I protested about the Criminal Justice Bill. I listened to impassioned speeches by the Gipsy Council of Great Britain and, because the laws that subjugated them affected me (in my right-on, dreadlocked living-in-a-lorry stage), I supported them. I was vegetarian. I cared deeply about animal rights. I recycled, and composted, and shopped responsibly, and thought about the planet we live on and how it's not our right but our privilege to be the dominant species - making it our responsibility to care for and nurture the earth.
It's not that I don't care about any of that any more - I still rail against racism, and homophobia, and slavery and imprisonment and famine and war. I just don't do anything about it any more. I know that this should make me feel bad, and it does. If everyone was apathetic the world would be in a much worse state than it is now, and I don't think anyone needs me to tell them how catastrophic that would be. The thing is, I don't know where to find the time or the energy any more. I justifiy it by telling myself that I'm just one of those people who has been subsumed into working hard -that I have so little time to myself it's only natural I resent the intrusion of my conscience into my desire to have a good time.
See - it's easy, isn't it? It's easy to acknowledge my failings, to blithely blog and put it out there that I don't do the things I should. It's crap though, isn't it? I've found the time to write about it. Later, I'm going for a drink with friends. Excuses. I know I should do more, I just can't be arsed.
Christ. Shoot me now.
In other news: never go to the zoo in the Spring. Rest assured that, if you do, the rhinocerouses will shag and shag and shag for hours and you will have a very puzzled almost-seven-year-old on your hands. Yes darling, they were playing leapfrog and one got stuck. I think we may need to have That Talk soon.
Help.
posted by surly girl at 6:42 pm
13 Comments:
That Rhino Neal is a randy little sod!
Rhinos, eh?
Till you've seen a giraffe's willy you ain't seen nuffin'. Don't go during the giraffe mating season- Boxing day through to Christmas.
AHEM.
Sorry, dear heart, but you cannot be passionate ~and~ shop at Tesco.
It's a conspiracy - the apathy thing, not rhinos shagging.
You get blasted all day and night with shite about how important stuff like Ceramide-R is, and how you're worth it, goddammit, and whammo!
Before you know it, you've got the RIP Act, and Guantanamo Bay to deal with.
It's so hard to keep your eye on the ball when you're being fed the platitudes that we get from every angle.
It's a bugger.
We live very near two farms in the Highlands of Scotland, so there's a lot of lazy cows (no, not fat people in wheelchairs because walking is too hard, the sort that eat grass, say moo and are generally quite terrifying) who give each other piggy backs.
Sponsor a Child each Christmas. It makes you feel better. I am being crap and trite of course. Don't do that(well, at least don't do that in place of anything useful). Quit your job and take small person to go volunteer in Tansania. It will be fun.
Also, THAT talk is not nearly as painful as you think it will be...the talk in the supermarket at high volume about Condoms and at what age "the seeds in the testicles will start working" is a bit of a chore though.
At least it's taken your mind off the leek situation.
*I meant Tanzania of course...sorry, it's been bugging me that I spelt it wrong all day. I feel better now. Thanks. Hmmmn, spelt? spelled? Ah shit, gotta get a life.
I donate monthly with a direct debit thingy- i know most of it probably doesn't do what they say it will, but these charities and organisations wouldn't still be up and running if they weren't doing what they say they do would they?....go on piss on my bonfire and tell me it's a waste of my money... go on. ho hum.
I used to be angry and politically active all the time and then I discovered trepanning.
Well, no..just got older and realized sausages are too good in a sandwich for me to vegan etc etc. On the whole, ageing is a great way to relax.
I feel the same way sometimes but I remind myself that we are not the dominant species but just the froth on the surface and that reminds me to go to the pub.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/history/inourtime/inourtime_20070308.shtml
You need to be more like Siegfried and just let all the important stuff wash over you, while you concentrate on shoes, hair and clothes instead.
You need to find your inner superficiality...
I think we all had grand ideas about how we would change the world when we were younger. Age, apathy, materialism all overtake you and before you know it you feel like you've sold out.
The only thing to do is take comfort from the contented and happy life we lead, the way we are trying to raise SP and the future we have together.
ahhh - it's just like looking in the mirror. even down to the fine detail - my hair does that thing too.
(my sister, btw, has managed to remain outraged and vehement and stuff, and she's bloody tiring. maybe we're better off as we are.)
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