See Yetzirah’s entry of today, You look old to me for part one.
AARP invited me to join today. The invitation came in the mail, along with assorted flyers for sales on yogurt and peanut butter and an announcement to a convention that I will not be attending.
I’m only ~. I don’t think you can join AARP before you’re fifty. Maybe even fifty-five. Who’s got me on the “fifty and older” mailing list, and why? They’re so sure that I’m eligible they don’t even tell me the cut-off age and warn me that if I’m younger I may not qualify for their magnificent group savings and benefits.
I have a pressing need to get myself off their mailing list. I need them to know that I’m not ready yet. They’ve made a huge, 716-day mistake. That’s almost two years you know. I won’t be eligible for two entire years.
Then again, those travel discounts look pretty good….
The days The Socialist and I are ships that pass in the night. Technically, we’re ships that pass in the late afternoon/early evening. I see him just before he leaves to teach his night classes. I’m frequently in bed by the time he returns home. If I’m not in bed, I suffer from sleep deprivation the next day. I know he likes teaching this schedule, so I feel guilty for being anxious for this first eight-week summer semester to end. But I am looking forward to seeing a little more of him.
Tonight, before he left for class, he told me that he’d read my cat short story. And he liked it. A lot. It wasn’t the general “hey that was pretty good” schtick that you tell someone who’s worked hard on something and deserves a compliment. He genuinely liked it. He liked the style of my writing, and the tone, and the story itself.
I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel.