Saturday night and I ain't got nobody. I don't like it cause I got paid. All I need is someone to talk to. I'm in a awful way. I wonder who will know the tune as they read that.
     Time to get back to this. I'm home on a Saturday night. I'm drinking gin and tonic, half-heartedly. Many things come to mind as to what I could be doing tonight, like: going to the Lupus General Store concert where a relatively local guitarist (Kansas), who clearly is an "eye candy" sort, is playing his own tunes. I would have had to go by myself, however, and that's not a bad thing. I just couldn't get the emotional kick I need to think I'm doing something different and fun, so I didn't go to that. Besides, I don't know how to tell men of my crushes, and I have a crush on the owner of the Lupus General Store. In fact, I wonder how women actually let men know whatever it is women want men to know.  Some women are Men Magnets. I watch them without seeing anything noticeable. What are they doing exactly? What are they thinking? Are they thinking? Or are they just reacting according to  . . . well, according to what? I believe I answered my own question. A Man Magnet is not self conscious. They just are.
     Another thing I could be doing is having a friend over for dinner. There must be someone who is available tonight. But I wouldn't know because I didn't ask anyone.
     Another thing I could be doing is going to the local, public, inexpensive gym and working out and walking and swimming. I just don't seem to DO that. I think about it everyday, so when I just don't DO it I can get into a real, consistent downer, due to a growing lack of good self image. I'm a failure as a person because I didn't do something I thought I SHOULD do. So, I conjure up my own picture of my own lack.
     The only thing to do about this self-conjured picture is to not think of all things possible, all things I am not doing. If I really wanted to do one of them, perhaps I would have.  . . . to not say to self, "well, you should be going to the gym. You should be strengthening your growing-old muscles. You should be exercising for weight loss. You should be doing ab strengthening. You should be walking for aerobic health. You should be swimming because you say you love it, and it's one of the best ways to feel good. You should be going out to any place you think you would enjoy instead of staying at home. etc. etc,. etc,
     If I stopped saying those things, I probably would be perfectly fine just doing whatever I'm doing, like sitting at home on a Saturday night painting, or watching TV, or reading, or finishing laundry, or cleaning the kitchen . . . WAIT, I've gone too far! The kitchen will not be cleaned on a Saturday night, nor will my student's grades be set in order, nor will their revisions be read. I don't think so anyway.

So, I’m 68 today. Imagine, 68. My sister died three years ago at 68. Seems like less than yesterday. I so miss her being the first one to call me on my birthday, so early in the morning, always worried that she’d not be the first—like who else would beat her to it! And she’d yell into the phone, raspy and off tune, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YUOOOOOO, HAP py BIRTH day TO YAWOUUUUUU, and so on. I can hear her now. We laughed to tears, every year for over 20.

Last night in contemplation for this day, I woke up before 5 AM and my cat, Byrdy was spooning with me on the bed. We had a long talk. I told her about being 68, alone, and fat, and she listened intently, quietly for a change—Byrdy talks in sentences I’m sure, constantly. Neither one of us knew what the other was thinking since she only understands Cat, and I wouldn’t even try to read the depths of those green—often black, always beautiful—eyes. She cared that I knew where to scratch and pet her—on her cheeks under the ears. I cared that someone listened without condition.  I’m not sure what all I said, and Byrdy doesn’t remember, but it was a good talk. Both of us got what we needed.