People who know me know that I am a morbid reader of the Obituaries. Yes, that’s right, after perusing the headlines for the latest bad news, I skip the cartoons and head directly for the Obituaries. Honestly, I don’t know WHERE that habit came from – neither of my parents read the Obits for ‘entertainment’…. Actually, I work with a gal who is even MORE morbid than me (she can actually give ME the creeps!), but I digress.
Of late, I have been fixating on the Obits of those persons who are in my immediate age group. (Before, I focused mainly on “interesting” people). I suspect that my shift in focus is due to the fact, on the doorstep of 40, I am finding myself wondering what I’ve done with my life and how it compares to others my age. At this point, I’m afraid to admit that my obituary would be quite simple: no significant other, no children, no great contributions to society. Just blah.
Ironically, I thought that I went through a midlife crisis about 10 years ago. However, I think that I’m currently in the throes of another…. I despise my job. I despise my life. I feel like I am suffocating a slow, painful death. A death that steals my soul a minute at a time, dragged out for 9+ awful hours a day, 5 days a week, week after week. And it’s only getting worse. Quite honestly, even the weekends don’t bring a much-anticipated, much-needed reprieve. It just brings more quiet time for my mind to revisit my disappointments, my fears, my anxieties. Sunday evenings find me both anxious to return to work (that sick knot in my stomach reminds me of the thrill of anticipation that I experienced as a child on the eve of a new school year) and hesitant to see another weekend slip by without any significant contributions.
I am thoroughly adrift in what barely resembles a life.
I know that I should be thankful that I have a job. God knows that I have enough debt and bills to pay….
I’m suddenly feeling very trapped. Trapped by my age, trapped by my level of education (maybe I should have pursued a Masters – but in what?), trapped by my lack of motivation or drive – have I really ever had a dream? If I did, it died years ago.
Alas, I’m apparently having a pity party for myself – I just forgot to send out the invitations.
. . .
After enough self-pity, I find it almost cathartic to read the Obituaries to remind myself that I am still alive. Perspective is everything.
. . .
I stumbled on this obituary for what sounds like a remarkable woman.
Lucy Grealy, a poet and essayist who wrote her memoir, “Autobiography of a Face” about her experience growing up with extreme facial disfigurement due to the removal of most of her jaw due to a virulent form of cancer. She was 39.
I will have to find a copy of her book – if only to serve as a swift kick in the butt to remind me that I really don’t have it THAT bad.
I was struck by the fact that her Obituary mentions her twin sister – and I wonder if Lucy would look at her sister, Sarah Louise, and see the person that she physically could have been. I imagine that it must have been difficult – for both twins (even if they weren’t identical).
. . .
Sure, I might be stuck in a dead-end job, but…