mbarrassing to think about. My youth wasn’t bright, university was dull, and work felt like a never-ending routine. I never even went on dates. So it’s no surprise that I don’t have a husband.
It might sound silly, but I even started keeping a journal — writing letters to myself. Today is February 5th, and nothing special happened. I just bought milk at the store. And that’s how I record every day — boredom, loneliness, pure monotony. I realized I haven’t been on a date in over 15 years. What was I thinking in my younger years? It seems like I wasn’t thinking about anything, especially not the future. All my friends got married long ago and spend their weekends with their families.
We meet up at a café only once a month because everyone is busy — one has to take their child to kindergarten, another to school, someone else to university… and so I started thinking about children. Honestly, it hurts a lot. I know now that I will never become a mother, let alone a grandmother. At first, I thought maybe I could adopt a little one from an orphanage. But then fear crept in — I don’t know how to care for children, and I have no husband to rely on. I’d probably make the child unhappy. I’m boring, and soon I’ll be old. Who would want someone like me?
Then the thoughts turned to old age. I imagine myself as a cranky old woman. Everyone will hate me, I’ll be the unpleasant person in lines at the doctor’s office or the post office. On the bus, I’ll complain about everyone, ashamed of the younger generation’s bad manners… But it’s not the youth’s fault — it’s because I’m lonely and unhappy. I never built a career to justify myself in any way. So what have I been doing for 40 years?
I worked low-level jobs. Money was tight, but enough. I don’t complain, though there’s nothing to spend it on — I don’t buy new clothes. Why would I? There’s no one to impress. I don’t give gifts because there’s no one to give them to. I don’t take vacations because it feels pointless. What would I do by the sea? I can wash myself in the bathtub just fine.
So here I live — alone and unhappy. I can’t even get a dog or a cat because I’m allergic to fur. And I don’t know what to do with myself.