Caring

We all know the time comes when we find it hard to get excited about stuff like we used to as children. We find it hard to get as stoked about Halloween, and Christmas and Santa as we did when  we were three, or seven or even eleven years old. We might no longer count down to the days, hours and minutes. In fact, we might forget we even have a count down. I did, in fact, my Christmas countdown still says "4 days until Christmas!" in fake-cheery script. And it's almost New Year's. These things no longer evoke the whimsical feelings they once did. This year, for example, I had to force myself to listen to Christmas music from November in order to get myself through the holiday weirdness that seems to take over. I didn't quite succeed, but I got an amazing album out of it.

Part of it is growing old, as I discovered after reading this and getting through most of this*. It'd be kind of weird if after however many years have passed you didn't think any differently of things like Gumby and Disney Princesses and Hannah Montana. We all have to evolve and mature, so it totally makes sense that we suddenly see things in a different light. For example, the other day I was listening to some of that weird Disney music: all that High School Musical, Hannah Montana and Jonas Brothers stuff, while lying in a pool of self-loathing wondering how on earth my mom put up with that rubbish. It's no wonder she's skeptical before listening to She & Him or Joni Mitchell and Carole King. My bad, childish taste in music has left her forever scarred.

 But the other part is not caring anymore. Like Honestly Not Caring Anymore. As in: "I no longer care enough about this commercialized holiday that has no actual religious roots, therefore I will not be excited about it." or "Next Year will be just as awful/boring as this one. I no longer care enough to make life interesting. I will just allow Fox and ABC to take care of that for me. Also the lovely people over at Rookie Mag and the YA librarians can keep me from going insane, if they'd like.". I think that just admitting that I don't care for a lot of things is depressing. AND I DON'T FRIGGING CARE. I DON'T GIVE A DAMN.

I will read this in the morning an die of self-loathing. This is/will probably be one of many posts that will scare people off and possibly make them wonder what the hell my problem is. And they will know the answe. I Don't Care enough to actually figure anything out. And that is just one of the many things that are wrong with me.

 *The second link is an interview by (the amazing) Tavi Gevinson for her online zine, Rookie, with Dan Clowes. Although I have no idea of who he is, I found I could relate to/understand what he was saying.