Confessions of a One-Track Mind

Actor Christopher Plummer is 88 years old and just won his first Oscar, but I think after a certain point, some dreams are past their sell-by date. It's not a question of having a bucket list, it's a question of how attainable the goals on that list are.

Traveling west of the Mississippi? Do-able. Winning an Olympic medal in gymnastics, definitely not. I've missed the window of opportunity to become a prima ballerina or a grand opera singer or a rock goddess. On the other hand, look at Grandma Moses---I might still make it as an artist.

I'm questioning what I want, what I think I can do, where the fulcrum is between reality and wishful thinking. I have no desire to run a marathon or participate in a triathlon, but I'd like to be in better shape. But thinking about walking isn't productive; getting my fat ass in gear and actually going for a stroll does. Being a fabulous ballroom dancer requires lessons and a partner. I could always get instructional DVDs from the library, but without a partner, I'm shit out of luck. Meanwhile, I can still get DVDs for bellydance, which I don't need a partner for. (And which has always sounded like fun.)

I've spent thirty years dreaming of restoring an old car. I'm not completely clueless about automotive things, but all my hands-on experience dates to 1983, aside from things like replacing the battery and checking the fluids. I've driven enough crappy cars that I can usually make a guess about what's going on, but guessing wrong could be awfully expensive when we're talking about something vintage. I don't have tools, or a shop or---oh yeah, a project car. I have a feeling that unless I win the lottery PDQ, the sun is setting on this one, and that makes me sad.

What's left? Travel? Not with my current car---I won't even risk a trip to Miami, and that's only 200 miles each way. And the cost in general...when I have money, there are always More Important Things to do with it.

Now, I'm drawing a blank. What else do I want to do? And of those things, what are within my means? And if I say "I don't know", or "Nothing.", then what? If I feel that all my hopes and dreams are unattainable, then I'm just going through the motions, waiting to die. That's not a good place to be.

I need to contemplate this some more.

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Cleaning house has been a recurring topic of conversation lately. J, who sometimes makes me think they do things differently on her planet, advocates completely emptying each room and cleaning it from top to bottom before putting back whatever is going back. I think she's insane, and you can tell her I said so. Of course, the fact that she hasn't been inside my house in about 15 years means she has NO FRACKIN' CLUE what she's talking about. Because where am I supposed to put it all? That might work for someone with a huge house and not much stuff, but I have a modest-sized house and A LOT of stuff.

BigRed, who came by last year, or was it the year before? Fairly recently, anyway. She thinks lots of boxes are the answer. Boxes labeled for various rooms, and donations, and a great many trash bags. I think that many boxes would decimate whole rainforests. I've tried boxes; they pile up, you look for things, can't find them, things get shuffled around---no.

A little help, THAT would help. I'm always astonished when I watch Hoarders and the subjects have a bunch of friends and relatives comes out of the woodwork to help liberate them from their crap. I'm nowhere near that bad, but my friends stay away in droves. I *almost* wish I was bad enough to be on one of those shows. Almost. Because I'd be notorious forever after, and I'd really rather not be. A crew of a half-dozen people and a pro for three days, fine. Camera crew, not so much...I'm paranoid enough to worry about future employers seeing it, or worse yet, that lot next door. They don't need to know the layout of my place, or what I've got in here. And never does anybody else I haven't invited in.

Start small, counsels BigRed. The master bathroom is the smallest room in the house; I've been working in there. It feels frustratingly miniscule and futile. I have so many things I want to do, so many ideas, but there's SO MUCH to do before I can begin to implement any of it. And then what? I'll have a decent place to live, that's something. I just feel like it's all a million miles away.

Don't mind me. I'm just tired and discouraged.

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