Nobody Gonna Break Our Stride.
I'm here, kicking and screaming.
And so here I am. A 30something. 31 to be exact. Granted, I'm a baby in this business, but it's already hitting me pretty hard. I don't feel 30something. On a good day I feel 25 or even 23, others I feel far, far older. Either way, one thing is for sure, I am not enjoying "growing" up.
I have no life insurance, medical aid, pension fund, I don't own a car or a home. I do however own a very pretty cat which has been with me for six years. I have a head full of a lifetimes' memories and far too much street savvy. I shouldn't be 30something. It just doesn't fit.
I'm engaged to an older 30something. Now he has it all. Own business, car, house, teenage daughter, policies, investments, he opens his mail and pays his bills - he even pays his bills. He's not much of a traveller. He likes being at home in his comfort zone with his things. I spent most of my life living out of backpacks travelling Europe and Africa. I'm a runner. A nomad. If the shit hits the fan in the particular town where I may find myself, I run and go somewhere where noone knows my name. A bit like Cheers in reverse.
I'm a freelancer, which can either sound very mysterious and interesting (for example: I'm at a party, someone says, "So, what do you do?" and I say "Well, I own my own business. I am a freelance ." In reality, I generally scrouch around for work and when I get I get paid in peanuts. Hubby to be supports me because he earns the big bucks. It intimidates me. I don't want stuff on my name. I hate admin and forms with little boxes you have to tick or dotted lines. I have a serious issue with opening mail. I hate banks and would like to keep whatever small earnings I get under my bed rather than in some bank account. I noticed in recent years that I've started to develop a conscious. How horrid. I can't do stuff and just walk away from it anymore. Even small, white... okay, maybe off-white lies. All of a sudden I have this voice, something similar to James Earl Jones in my head saying "Now, Cha, that was not cool. Go sort it out". And that's when I want to stomp my feet and shake my fist at the sky.
I'm not a mother and never wanted to be or want to be in the future. I have a stepdaughter, 12. She's cool. We wear each others' clothes and talk about boys. I wanted to have my tubes tied as a birthday present for my 21st birthday, but medically they were not allowed to do it. So I still have them. Babymaking material and no desire whatsoever to have children. I can hardly take care of myself, let alone someone else.
I don't have female friends because they all have children. I'd rather swallow razorblades than sit around drinking spritzers and talk about little Johnny's transition from formula to solids. My eyes glaze over when women talk about cleaning products or cooking. That's another thing. I don't cook. Ever. I have no desire to. There is no built-in something in me that says "provide for your family". I opt for peanutbutter sandwiches and crisps. Hubby to be can sort himself out. If I really really have to throw something together, like piercing the film on those instant micro dinners, I do so with much resentment and grumbling.
I'm 31 and I buy shirts in the kiddies section because they fit me. Other people think I'm being a bitch. I call it budgeting. I have no idea what's on the music charts these days because I'm stuck on Led Zep, The Who, Beatles, Cure, Iron Maiden, Dave Coverdale and Billie Squire. What the hell is wrong with me?
I have no life insurance, medical aid, pension fund, I don't own a car or a home. I do however own a very pretty cat which has been with me for six years. I have a head full of a lifetimes' memories and far too much street savvy. I shouldn't be 30something. It just doesn't fit.
I'm engaged to an older 30something. Now he has it all. Own business, car, house, teenage daughter, policies, investments, he opens his mail and pays his bills - he even pays his bills. He's not much of a traveller. He likes being at home in his comfort zone with his things. I spent most of my life living out of backpacks travelling Europe and Africa. I'm a runner. A nomad. If the shit hits the fan in the particular town where I may find myself, I run and go somewhere where noone knows my name. A bit like Cheers in reverse.
I'm a freelancer, which can either sound very mysterious and interesting (for example: I'm at a party, someone says, "So, what do you do?" and I say "Well, I own my own business. I am a freelance ." In reality, I generally scrouch around for work and when I get I get paid in peanuts. Hubby to be supports me because he earns the big bucks. It intimidates me. I don't want stuff on my name. I hate admin and forms with little boxes you have to tick or dotted lines. I have a serious issue with opening mail. I hate banks and would like to keep whatever small earnings I get under my bed rather than in some bank account. I noticed in recent years that I've started to develop a conscious. How horrid. I can't do stuff and just walk away from it anymore. Even small, white... okay, maybe off-white lies. All of a sudden I have this voice, something similar to James Earl Jones in my head saying "Now, Cha, that was not cool. Go sort it out". And that's when I want to stomp my feet and shake my fist at the sky.
I'm not a mother and never wanted to be or want to be in the future. I have a stepdaughter, 12. She's cool. We wear each others' clothes and talk about boys. I wanted to have my tubes tied as a birthday present for my 21st birthday, but medically they were not allowed to do it. So I still have them. Babymaking material and no desire whatsoever to have children. I can hardly take care of myself, let alone someone else.
I don't have female friends because they all have children. I'd rather swallow razorblades than sit around drinking spritzers and talk about little Johnny's transition from formula to solids. My eyes glaze over when women talk about cleaning products or cooking. That's another thing. I don't cook. Ever. I have no desire to. There is no built-in something in me that says "provide for your family". I opt for peanutbutter sandwiches and crisps. Hubby to be can sort himself out. If I really really have to throw something together, like piercing the film on those instant micro dinners, I do so with much resentment and grumbling.
I'm 31 and I buy shirts in the kiddies section because they fit me. Other people think I'm being a bitch. I call it budgeting. I have no idea what's on the music charts these days because I'm stuck on Led Zep, The Who, Beatles, Cure, Iron Maiden, Dave Coverdale and Billie Squire. What the hell is wrong with me?
Comment
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Comment by Cha on November 8, 2009 at 6:28pm - Thanks for the comment. I'm so tired of people looking at me like I'm abnormal just because I dont want children. I spoke to my mom about it before she passed in Feb this year and her answer was "Hey, if I really had a choice, I wouldn't have had kids either!". So I guess I take after her. Have a fab evening.
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Comment by Sid the Gnome on November 8, 2009 at 6:13pm
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There are female friends out there for you, hun! Not all women want to have kids; me, I have one and I never EVER wanted to talk about little Tommy's transition from formula to solids. I put my kid in daycare and took off back to university for decent conversation.
There's nothing wrong with you - you just have to find your place!
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