Refusing to age and die...yet aging and dying.

I had this brilliant idea to start a blog so I can share my feelings with my husband and adult children. I'm so unheard in this house but I thought this way, they can listen at their own leisure.

Yet, here I sit...most days refusing to write anything. Just sulking or trying to live and getting so frustrated with myself and my inability to do the simplest of things.

I'm at a stage in my life where I'm realizing just how much I hate everything. Not my kids and definitely not my husband or dog. But things. I hate doing things!

As long as I can remember, I've loved reading. So over the past few years I've purchased books, planning to crack them open. I haven't yet, despite it being about four years since. I have 12 brand new, unread books. They're just sitting there, silently judging me for neglecting them.

I just keep telling myself I'll read them.

Some day.

Eventually.

I think.

Anyhow. Same with knitting. Now granted, I have such a difficult time with it due to my horrible hand dexterity. Yet, I have so much yarn in different colors and weights and brands. Because I'll get to it. Eventually. I think.

I have so much clothes and makeup, yet I hardly wear it. I might start selling on Poshmark or I might donate a bunch of my items. I can't decide, yet.

I hate that I am this way. But I hate dealing with people even more now. When did this happen? I used to love everything and everyone. That's no longer the case and it makes me sad. Is that a part of aging? Inevitably a part of dying?