I periodically have these moments where I suddenly have a moment of “oldness.” I really can’t use the arthritis as a sign of age since I’ve had it since I was eighteen. Sometimes I feel like the fact that the 80s are coming back is kind of a sign of getting old, but not really because for some of us, the 80s and early 90s never really left. When I was teaching, I’d find a new white hair about once a week, and that started to make me feel old, but I haven’t found one since, so I figure those white hairs were from stress, not from age. Today, the “old” moment comes from the view of the couch.

I’m crocheting eyeballs. Crocheting is something I’ll always associate with Grandma Ringwald, no matter how many pillowcases or eyeballs I make, and so I’ll always consider it an older craft. While working, I’ve had a couple beers, something I definitely associate with middle age regardless of how many classmates of mine in high school drank. I didn’t drink in high school; I associated drinking (especially a few beers while on the couch) with older people. And it’s not the kind of beer high schoolers would buy anyway; Heineken Light is way out of the budget of a high schooler paying a college student for booze.

So I’m on the couch with a beer and a bunch of yarn, an ice pack on my swollen toe, and to top off this sudden feeling of advanced age, I switched my TV channels from Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe to the Democratic National Convention. I’m actually paying attention to politics, even if it’s with the understanding of a novice and idiot. I think this is the first convention I’ve ever watched. I think that this is the first election I’ve ever payed attention to. Paid. Payed refers to road surfaces. Uh, never mind. Well, I guess for as much attention as I’m paying the show and for as much as I’m feeling kind of old, I’m still the same old linguistic nerd with a crochet hook and bottle of beer. But for being that same old nerd, I feel different from the nerd of last year, of five years ago, of ten years ago when I was able to take part in my first election. Maybe what I’m feeling isn’t necessarily that I’m old; I’m just realizing how much I’ve changed over the years. Hell, I didn’t know how to crochet two years ago. I didn’t start drinking beer until half a dozen years ago. Adding politics to the mix is just another step, I guess.

So now that I’m out of beer, out of white yarn, I’m left with the elections. Clinton is about to take the stage, and while I’ve never been a Hillary supporter (I may be a feminist, but I’m not about to use my gender as a reason to vote for someone), it’ll be interesting to see what she has to say. And the fact that I’m curious about what’s going to happen is proof enough that I’ve changed a lot. I’ve never cared about politics before. Hell, I still don’t even understand it or half of what’s going on, but I’m willing to learn a little. It’s scary. It’s an “oldness” moment, and it’s something that gave me pause and made me want to write about it a little. Now I’m thinking about margeritas. Is that how that’s spelled? Who knows. I’m more curious as to whether or not I can coach Ian into making me a marguerita from the couch so I don’t have to get up on my foot. 🙂