That I'm still doing what my mom always said I was growing up: Wishing my life away. And now that I'm in my 40s, that's really kind of scary. I play mind games with myself to psych myself through the week to the weekend -- even though as I say, it's not my job that's depressing me, it's still hard to keep going through endless days and long weeks. And there's always some mythical time in the future when I will be content, not just in the small "isn't JD cute?" tv-watching way, or the "I finished something!" knitting way, or the "ah, it's 11:30 on a Saturday and I'm just waking up!" way, but in a meaningful way.
If I were deeply religious I might be more content -- likely, I think. Some people probably think I am, just because I actually go to Mass, but I'm not an emotionally religious person. I've talked to people who cry at Mass or in prayer. I only cry when I'm praying if I'm praying about something that would make me cry anyway, and I cried once at Mass -- a 10 PM Newman Hall Mass I went to with a boyfriend on our way home from an emotional camping trip. Not exactly spiritual fervor.
But I digress.
The point is that I'm middle-aged and still wishing my life away. I'm going to be 70, in the home, and still waiting for something.
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