I Do Not Care About…

I care a lot about a lot of things. Global warming, oil spills, natural disasters, and the terrifying thought of Trump as president of the United States. These things make me wake up sweating in the middle of the night. My insomnia might also be caused by menopause but I prefer to think that it is related to my intellectual depth. I also fret about the health of my children, the success of my business activities, and whether or not I will ever have enough money to replace the vinyl siding on my house with wood shingles.  

Despite these worries, it seems that I am positively carefree when compared to many of my contemporaries. For example, I glide through my days with nary a thought about who might be eliminated from America’s Got Talent or The Amazing Race or Taylor Swift’s posse of gal pals. I have not lost a wink of sleep pondering the fate of John Snow’s character from Game of Thrones. And while I wish the best to whoever are currently The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, I am decidedly apathetic when it comes to their selection of mates.

I worry about wrinkles… except in July and August when I might just lay on my back deck like a turtle on a rock and let those toxic UV rays soak right into my epidermis.

I worry about my diet… except when I am hungry. When I am hungry I care only about ease of access. So if there is cut up watermelon in the fridge I will snack on it but if it’s still a giant orb of uncut fruit I will close the refrigerator door and eat nachos instead.

I have also discovered that I don’t care about anything enough to “track” it. The Fitbit seemed like fun for about an hour but now lives at the bottom of my underwear drawer beneath a pile of un-used thongs. The DietTracker app on my cell phone held my attention for less than a week because I got sick of recording every cup of coffee (30 calories). And I turned off the twitter-feed for everything related to weather because I just don’t care enough about the statistical probability of a storm currently tracking off the coast of Florida making its way up the coast to Nova Scotia. Just give me an hour’s warning so I have time to get to the liquor store.

I think I cared more when I was younger. I recall using a sick day to stay home and watch General Hospital because Luke and Laura were on the cusp of finally getting together and I needed to be in front of my television when it happened. And I remember several years when I put real thought into my Halloween costumes. Slutty nurse… slutty Grecian goddess… slutty firefighter… so many choices!

A million cliff-hangers and costume parties later, I have reached a different place in life. Note: Halloween costuming has been reduced to popping on a headband with devil horns and putting my wine in a plastic goblet that looks like it is filled with blood. It’s not that I don’t care about such things, it’s just that I don’t care enough.

That’s why I don’t buy anything that has to be drycleaned. Because I know myself. Once that sweater or dress or whatever it is becomes dirty, it’s going to lay on my closet floor for a loooong time. And if I manage to muster enough enthusiasm to take it to a drycleaner, it’s going to live there for a loooong time because out of sight is out of mind.

The list of things I don’t care enough about is endless. And I am blessed with a mother-in-law who cares enough to remind me of each item on this list. On a typical visit to my home, she will graciously point out that I should, among other things:

• Re-organize my kitchen cupboards (and perhaps clean them up a bit as well),
• Throw out the tattered jeans my husband keeps wearing,
• Do something about my youngest child’s table manners,
• Stop the cat from walking on my countertops,
• Program the universal remote so that we don’t need three ‘clickers’ in order to watch television,
• Deal with the fruit fly situation,
• Start pre-washing the plates before putting them in the dishwasher,
• Stop putting carving knives, pots, pans, plastic ware, and spatulas in the dishwasher, and
• Make everyone hang up their coats

I totally agree with her. And I care about making her happy. I just don’t care enough. Although, on a positive note, my cat has developed an avid interest in fruit flies and spends hours sitting on the countertop, swatting them off the fruit bowl… so that’s something!