Middle-Aged Child

It might appear from the disgraceful lack of posts on this blog that I’ve lost my appetite for blogging. Well, partly true, but I’m mostly flummoxed by what direction this blog should take. Lately, blogs have become extremely niche (e.g. blogs about food, investing, or Parisian apartments). Even the personal narrative blogs have become quite thematic, e.g. adventures of “quirky expat”, or “bitter divorced dad”, or “educated call girl”.

(Actually, blogs seem to be on the wane, since our ever-shortening attention span has fostered the rise of Tumblr and Twitter. We can’t be bothered to read more than 144 characters now, it seems. Pity. I so miss 1999-era blogs.)

Anyways, I don’t know if there’s any kind of theme to my life, or if I have a persona. Sad singleton? Cat lady without a cat? Probably. Judging from today’s string of disasters, I would say it’s something like “middle-aged child”.

It’s not funny. I can’t seem to take care of myself. Not in a Courtney Love kind of way, but in a “lacking age-appropriate skills” kind of way. I think if you’re almost 40, you should be able to:

• cook a dish with more than two ingredients

• invest your money in a responsible fashion

• rustle up some kind of social life

• go to bed when you’re tired

• buy insurance before catastrophe strikes

I’m negative on all accounts. Some of my friends have children – it boggles my mind.