I'm coming to think that caring about things (people, places, things in general) is a weakness. Maybe something like chocolate and the longing for something soothing, smooth and lush. I think that's too poetical. But, its the idea. Somehow we/ I think caring for things will bring me something good back. A feeling of having done well, or right, or good. Making the world a better place - but for who?

Caring for anything seems to be a trap. The things you care for will betray you in some way. Not always deliberately in a straight and easy to see line. But, along the way, your care will trap you and you will be abandoned. The things you care about will be thought useless baggage by others and eventually you will begin to feel let down by all of them. Not their fault, they are just things: books, art, collections, all of those things. The people will stop finding value in your caring and in yourself. You're old and should be invisible. Your care was useful at one time but now you're just in the way, lagging along like a weight, or a duty. The places you care about will go on without you. They will change, grow, die, without anything from you. Caring is costly, you lose power, energy and space.

Does any of this make sense? I don't think it matters because I'm an old woman now and my great super power is invisibility. I care you not.

Halloween night was pretty here. Lots of leaves fell from the trees so the ground was coated with orange, yellow, and red. I loved the rainy Halloween nights like that when I was a kid. You could hear the leaves smooshing as you walked through them.

Yesterday was a stressy day. My coffee slipped off my desk and all over myself and everything else. It was a particularly GOOD coffee day and the mug was full. I was looking forward to coffee and writing. For whatever reason losing the coffee just flipped my day. I even cried a bit. I'm a bit worried I'm just getting old and upset about little stuff too easily. I wouldn't mind getting old so much if I could keep the parts of me that I actually like, as they are.

Sometimes when I'm upset and feeling kind of lost and hopeless the song, Mona With the Children, by Douglas Cameron, comes into my head and gets stuck there.

On social media I wrote:

OK. So you hate Israel, hate Palestine, hate Iran, HATE HATE HATE. They are all just people. Who are you really hating? Mona with the Children - Never forget Doug Cameron's song and the real young woman who was murdered for the hatred of others.

I don't know what it says about me that this is where my mind goes. Is my brain just telling me to stop hating myself? Only my brain knows. Do you remember the song? Hard to believe (for me) that its already 40 years ago since that song came out.

I feel that people these days are on constant Witch hunts. As if there is some great prize for rooting out anyone who does not strictly and completely adhere to the public's expectations/ demands. Its like walking/ talking around in a big trap with a hair trigger. Why do they want to live this way?

Part of getting old seems to be seeing the things you love become extinct. Tea cups and saucers, clocks, books, hand sewing and embroidery, hand written letters, postcards, birthday cards, silver sets, so many things disappearing or becoming unwanted by the younger generations as they come along with new technology.

But, I notice the old things I love still last longer than the new things coming along. Maybe not in purpose but in strength and durability. New technology is made to break and be replaced. Can it be loved like the old things when it isn't made to last? I don't think there is enough time before a new one is needed and the old hits the landfill.

As a baby and a child you begin to demand your dignity, to find and expect to feel like a person. But, as you grow older, farther from childhood, you begin to lose your dignity. You become dependent, your body and mind forget and have to give in to necessity over dignity. Against your will.

It takes bravery to get old. Young people won't know, or may scoff at the idea, until they get here too. If they get here, not everyone is fortunate enough to get old.

Getting old means dealing with your health in new and innovative ways. You take pills and don't really know what to expect from them. You go for tests and don't know what they're going to do to you. You trust people, professionals, who were in diapers and learning how to drink from a cup just a short time ago.

Getting old itself. Knowing things aren't what they used to be. Knowing other people, younger people, look at you and see an old woman. They don't see the person you are. Every old face is a resting bitch face.

You measure things differently, especially time. More of your decisions are about time than quality or quantity.

It takes bravery to look at yourself in a mirror and see yourself, still there. To find yourself, as they said long, long ago.