How does one turn into a hermit? Is being a homebody the same or does the name itself sound nicer?
I could be a hermit. If I never had to leave my home again, it would suit me just fine. Is there a psychological reason behind this or am I just crazy? Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. At my age, I should be entitled to do whatever I want, whenever I want.
A friend told me the other day that we all needed to go out and make better lives for ourselves. Make more friends. She thought getting out amongst the masses was the way to go.
Sorry, but the masses are just going to have to make do without me. I have plenty of friends. Don’t feel like going out and pushing myself on others. I do that enough with my own family.
I keep a calendar on my wall with all my appointments, friends and family birthdays and all the “must do” things. I make a list every week of where I need to go, what I need to buy and who I need to see. When I look at that list and my calendar and there’s more than two things to do in a week, I get depressed. How am I going to get the things done that need doing at home if I’m never there?
The one thing I hate most is putting on make-up. Can’t use mascara any more. Doesn’t go on right and most of it winds up either in my eyes or on the top of my cheeks. I have not had eyebrows for several years now. They just disappeared from my face. Putting on eyebrow makeup is a hoot. First of all, I can’t see the original base line and then I can’t draw a straight line to save my life.
I remember working eight hours a day and then going out with friends until the wee hours of the morning, getting maybe two or three hours sleep and doing it all over again.
I also remember shopping all day with family, staying on my feet for hours, trying on clothes at store after store, hauling bags of junk all around the mall and then going somewhere different to buy more junk.
Is it age? Don’t know. Is it because my house is so beautiful I never want to leave it? Don’t know. I do like my home but it’s not any nicer than the next person’s. Am I afraid of driving? Well, according to all my family members and a lot of my friends, I should be. They’re always critiquing my driving. Now I make everybody else drive. If there’s another body in my car, they either have to drive or agree to having their mouth taped.
Well, this has been a happy column. Now you know my deep, dark secret. If you don’t mind, keep it to yourself. Okay?