My Latest and Greatest Fear

There is an older man a block or so up the road that I see nearly every morning.  I’m usually on the opposite side of the street from him as he walks back and forth to the corner, only covering about a 15 foot span of sidewalk.  This morning I saw him when Charlie and I hobbled out on our morning walk and he was still walking back and forth about 10-15 minutes later when Charlie and I turned back for home and breakfast. It seems strange that he just walks back and forth rather than walking the length of the street or down a different path to get a change of view.  Then again, maybe it is no stranger than spending hours on a treadmill. I’ve never talked to him – the way he turns his head when we near makes me think he’s not the biggest fan of dogs – and I’ve never seen him talk to people that pass him.

So my latest and greatest fear is this man.  Not the man himself but the idea of becoming like him.  What I fear is becoming some cantankerous spinster who mutters to herself and her dog about “kids these days” and becomes the resident neighborhood crazy lady/busybody.  Every neighborhood has them.  Mine has one already –you know the type, she knows what everyone is up to, she hardly ever leaves the house, and she has an opinion on everything. 

I feel like I could be shaping up to be her apprentice or mentee.  I find myself talking to my dog more and more frequently.  I feel that somehow this is normal in the house, but I became a little alarmed at my willingness to talk to him openly in public.  If I start using a cutesy voice or imagining he is talking back, I hope that someone – my sister probably – will have the nice men in white coats come get me.  I have also taken to falling asleep on the couch fairly early in the evenings – definitely not a good sign.  And sometimes, when I’m supposed to be meeting up with friends to hang out and its rainy or gross or I’m just a little cranky or tired, I end up looking longingly at my yoga pants, sofa, and glass of wine and/or ice cream carton and wishing I was staying home.

This fear of cranky spinsterhood and notoriety as neighborhood nut has replaced, or at least bumped down, my other formerly heightened singleton fear of choking on something in my house and not having anyone to give me the Heimlich.   For while I love my dog perhaps a little too dearly, and know that he would save me if he could, he is somewhat lacking in the opposable thumbs and height departments that would be required to save me from choking on an improperly chewed chip.  I used to have an agreement with a similarly single friend that we would call each other every other day or so to make sure that neither of us had perished in our homes without anyone realizing, but we gave up our macabre mission after a few months.

On the questionably bright side, my fear of becoming a curmudgeonly singleton has not replaced my fear of falling down the steps and having to wait until my dog walker came to get Charlie the once or twice a week she stops by or until the sounds of my yelling and Charlie’s whines and barks to get outside, alert the neighbors to my demise.  That fear has intensified since my multiple foot and ankle injuries that have taken me out of the running – literally – for my half-marathon plans (see numerous posts, including This Boot Ain’t Made for Runnin’ and I Hate To Run, for more information).  Thankfully I will be heading back to the sports orthopedist on Monday for a check-up, hopeful (fingers crossed) removal of this lovely fixed ankle walker/ginormous boot thingy, and starting of physical therapy soon so I can get back to actual activities instead of staring wistfully at runners, walkers, and toddlers who can totally smoke me as I hobble along.

Naming my singleton fears like this has added yet another fear, that maybe I’m starting to sound more abnormal than the guy I dated that was afraid of electricity (see There Is Nothing to Fear…but Electricity Itself?).  Or the one that hated seat belts and the disabled (see At Least I Got To Hit Some Balls).  Nah, he is still way weirder.  And on that note, I will haul my weird singleton self to the gym for some bumpy and awkward recumbent bike riding and then off for a few errands.  Tonight I have plans for Moroccan food and some much needed time with my DC ladies who will hopefully take the pity out of this party and add some funk to my dysfunctional state.  This time I will remain strong and no matter how bad the rain and how comfy my yoga pants lounging would be, I will brave the elements and socialize.  Who knows, I may even attempt to chat up some single guy who possibly has his own fears of persishing alone in his apartment until he is eventually eaten by wild dogs.  Do single guys even think like that?  There are so few left in this area to ask.  And I probably shouldn't use that as a pickup line, right?

But before I sign off, thanks to those that have contacted me about my post earlier this week, For Better or Worse. It has been a hard road for my family and the past few months have been especially difficult, but it helps so much to know that we're not alone.  Whether it is Alzheimer's or another disease or trauma facing your families, sharing your stories and your time with me means so much. My thoughts and prayers are with you even when I am not physically there.  When it gets rough, remember to laugh whenever you can. The old adage is corny but true nonetheless, laughter is the best medicine.