Just plain wrong.
I have officially become a boring old fart.
I have suspected this for a while. Some of the clues: being asked what I've been up to, and wanting to talk about my latest knitting. Not so much because it's interesting, as because other than that it's all just work. Also, realising that sitting reading Harry Potter and (again) knitting makes me feel naughty and rebellious. (That might be because of flashbacks to how I spent study time in boarding school. Yeah, I've always been a rebel. Hardcore.) Also, wishing I had some spare time so that I could ... sit at home and knit.
But the clincher came just now, as I realised that my looming holiday fills me with more dread than anticipation - because it forms an immoveable deadline, before which I *have* to do various worky type things. (And knitting.)
So, seriously. When did I become such a worker? I'm too lazy for this shit. This is not how I expected things to turn out.
4 comments:
I think I've always been an "old fart". I used to go out a lot before I met Philip, now we don't go out much. And when I am out, I'm thinking "I'd rather be at home on the couch knitting and watching tv/movies with my cats". My life is pretty much work and needlework. Knitting and SCA stuff take up most of my spare time.
Oh, dear. I felt strangly rebellious reading Harry Potter, too. Does that mean I'm officially a boring old fart, too? Or perhaps that we are neither of us old or boring, just comfortable in our middling still young age?
How about "in touch with our inner children AND grannies AND workaholics"? Because I really don't think any one of those is sufficient to explain it.
Neither Scroobs, nor - I bet - any one else commenting here is anything but quite fabulous!
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