While I'm stuck here

Thirteen years. That's how long I've been away from home. I was in my twenties when I left. I am now in my forties. Time passes. New friends are found, new relationships formed, old ones ended. Family drifting further away. I'm drifting further away. From myself. From myself? I think it's what they call progress. Development. I'm not sure what I want to call it if I'm honest. 


All I know is that time has started to fly. And I still don't know what will become of me when I get older. What I do know is this: my photography is getting better, I know more about the retro video game community today than I knew five years ago, I'm falling out of love with cooking, I hate housework, I can't get my claustrophobia under control, I've started to snore, I miss snow in the winter, I'm fatter, my cholesterol (and blood pressure) is up and there are, at least, eight different types of rain.


I'm also getting more and more cynical each month that passes. I used to have hope, now there's only despair. I used to adore politics, now all I see in a bunch of money-grabbing twits wearing over-priced suits lying through their noses. 


Maybe I've just become one of those "Grumpy Old Women" (that you see on TV)? Not at all attractive. I'm not negative by nature; I always wake up in a good mood and I always have the best intentions with the day ahead. The fact that it doesn't always work out accordingly is hardly my fault.


So, while I'm stuck here, I'm going to tell you all about it.