I can see myself becoming a hermit. I’m off work for three weeks in the winter and most of the summer, and I’m fine just staying home, not seeing anyone except my husband.
My son and his wife visited this month from Seattle. When I first heard they were coming (I haven’t seen them in four years), my first thought was my routine would be disrupted. I enjoyed their visit, but I would have been okay if they’d cancelled. That’s not healthy. I should probably force myself to get out more.
I wish I could have gone the Thomas Pynchon/J.D. Salenger route–Write a phenominal best seller while very young and spend the rest of your life asa recluse. In this Internet age, I’d be perfectly happy staying inside on-line.
I fear becoming an addict. I have chronic back pain from a huge fusion and take all non-narcotic medications for it. The few times I’ve taken something like Lortab that someone gave me, I’ve had utter, blissful release along with side effects like sleeping like a zombie all day long. The relief is so welcome and wonderful, though, that I absolutely refuse to take narcotics because if I could have that numb feeling all the time, I’d stay home stoned to the bejeezus 24/7 and never do any work or recreational stuff again as long as I lived. I realized this the first time I took a Lortab and as it wore off later in the day I felt desperate and panicked wanting more immediately.
So I settle for moderate relief with continued discomfort, because I think that the solution is far worse than the problem itself.
I could easily see myself becoming one of those people who hoard things. I have to force myself to throw out old mail, shoes that have started falling apart, ink pens that have stopped working, etc. My head keeps screaming, “Don’t throw that out! You might need it again someday!” but I really can’t see needing birthday cards I received when I was 15 or junk mail from my bank from 4 years ago.
One man band
Guy who walks around with a snake out in public
Spray painted pretend statue guy
Muttering old man in bar
Sneering record store clerk
Mold-O-Rama repair man
Religious nut with Pamphlets
Not so much the hoarding, but the squalor. If left to my own devices I’m afraid I’ll turn into one of those people with the paths through the house, but instead of Hummel figurines it’ll be torn envelopes and boxes and crap.
Well on my way to Cat Lady status. According to my mother, I’m already there (gee thanks mom). I’m saved by my husband, which spreads out the human to cat ratio a little bit. But if he dies before me . . . well, it won’t be pretty although it will be furry.
I’m mildly shy, and I’m always afraid that one day it will grow into a huge phobia where I can’t talk to people at all.
I’m endanger of hermitism too, and I married a man with similar tendencies. In most ways it’s nice, because we’re content to stay quietly at home together, but it would probably be healthier for one of us to be more outgoing.
My four kids are ages 37 to 43, and only one of them is in a long-term relationship, and none of them have children. I’m their only relative. I worry about them growing old alone. They have friends, but that’s not the same as family.
I can see myself becoming that creepy old person - the one that everybody knows at least one of, who knows a LOT about some esoteric subject that no one else gives a damn about. Like, for instance, pop culture fifty years ago, or what it was like in Pearl Harbor the day it was bombed, or the branchings of a particular family tree back umpteen generations. Obviously, there are plenty of people interested in all those subjects - but I think everyone knows at least one person who is old and would really like someone to listen to their stories and knowledge and feelings, but can’t find anyone interested enough. I can see myself (childfree, youngest in my generation in my blood family, second-youngest member of my chosen family) hoarding knowledge like gold, hoping to find someone who really wants to know what I know, and never finding that person. That view of bitter desperation sliding into dementia and death is about the scariest path I have ever envisioned for myself.