Pretty much everything bothers me lately. Every damn thing. Big. Small. In between. 

The music he chose for the two hour ride to the dentist appointment in La Paz bothered me. No sweetness of tune or beat or lyrics. Ugh. Turn it off paleeze. But I sat there the whole time (not saying a word) till we were almost to our destination. That’s when I pushed STOP. 

Whew. I tasted the silence on my tongue. Relief was a button push away. As a way to explain I said, “I’d just like to enjoy some quiet right now. I hope you don’t mind.” He didn’t mind, and he didn’t know his music bothered me. For some reason it was worse than bothering me. It really pissed me off. What’s the matter with me?

The days of summer are going so fast. That bothers me. One thing that doesn’t bother me is the high temperature. It’s bothering our little pup though. She’s a shade seeker and her tongue hangs out. Panting is her pastime, along with that shade seeking. Poor little girl. 

Something else is bothering me about summer. It’s no longer lazy and quiet around here like it once was.  Traffic and thousands of tourists begone. Go home. Can we just go back to the way it was, please? Back to when we moved here 13 years ago? What if I ask real nice? I’ll pay for it. How much would it cost to have my quiet, sweet, time back and all the tourists and part timers gone, gone, gone? They don’t even have to go away for good. Just for summer and part of October. 

Aging wouldn’t be so bothersome if it wasn’t accompanied by arthritis and gravity. I’ll say no more on the subject, except to say that the physical part of aging bothers me. Don’t worry, you’ll be old someday and then you’ll understand. You’ll be bothered too. I’ll put money on it.

I used to be 5’4” tall. It was a pretty nice to be 64” tall. It is not fun being 5’ and almost 2” tall. Most things are out of reach. Thank goodness someone invented step stools and ladders. My mother used to say, “You can just stretch for things. Stretching is good for you.” I used to hate it when she’d say things were good for me. Now it bothers me that she isn’t here to remind me of things like that. 

“Who took my pencils? I had four new ones in my can and now there’s only two.”

My husband pointed to one of them lying on my table. “There’s one. Right there on your art table.”

“Oh. That’s three accounted for. Where’s the other one?” 

“Maybe it’s in the kitchen. You’re sure grumpy lately, Susie.” 

“I know. Everything’s bothering me.” I should probably say I’m sorry, but I don’t want to say I’m sorry like que es mi culpa (It’s my fault) that everything’s bothering me nowadays.

In October I’ll be 77 years old. And guess what? That bothers me. 

I’m going to get back into meditation I guess. Nothing bothers me when I practice meditation faithfully. But to tell you the truth, I feel better already for having had this little rant.

Thanks for listening.