As I get older, I have made the conscious decision to limit myself regarding what I will, or will not do. Because the 52 days a year that are free choice are getting fewer and fewer in number, so I am very miserly with them and don’t waste them just to be polite. In the past this meant that I would not go anywhere unless it was something I really wanted to do. In the now it means I don’t want to go anywhere at all.
For this I am considered rude and selfish and that’s okay. Also, if you take into account the days I am too ill to do much beyond the confines of my bed or treacherous chair, it gets whittled down to around half that many. This leaves 26 days, less than a month, but for ease let’s say a month. Multiply this by the fifteen years or so I have left if I am extremely lucky, and I have a little over a year left to do all the things I have put off until someday, and I gotta tell ya, I am not going to let my someday never come.
Still, I suppose I am going to shunned by my extended family as soon as the reality of my continuing absence truly sinks in, which all things considered might be an unintentional kindness. Since I am finding it difficult to come up with the myriad of polite excuses necessary to save them from the embarrassment of rejection. Consequently I am faced with the necessity of becoming more blunt in my refusal of association. I can live with selfish, even rude and impolite, but I so do not wish to be mean…sigh.
When truly it has nothing to with them personally, I just want to be left alone, so that perhaps I could possibly accomplish some of my own desires and dreams, rather than spending what remains of the days of my chosing, celebrating the cumulation of others; whether it be during their life or their death.
So, am I selfish and rude? Yep absolutely without a doubt. But I can live with that, and will, to infinity and beyond!
Well actually I am just hoping for those fifteen months, please.