Why is loneliness not the pitiful whimper of a poor soul abandoned by all, but a warrior's furious battle cry echoing inside the four walls of an empty home? Ooooh, you've picked a good one, my silent marionettes. I like this topic.
First, kids play happily in sandboxes. Then they chat in school, college, university, yada yada yada...
But you — you've grown up. Why the hell are you still reminiscing about those fun times getting drunk at a friend's apartment? It was great then, but not anymore — and that's totally normal, because the further you go, the worse it gets.
And so, after a couple glasses of wine and a surge of nostalgia, you log into a social network.
Now, you might not be the freshest face on the block and may resemble a recursive rendering of that damn Dorian Gray portrait, meaning you look, to put it gently...
"Valeria, I love this segment, but make sure we've got solid legal counsel in place to defend me against any accusations of lookism and ageism. You know even I, the Great Teacher, have to fend off attacks from the butt-hurt press and that shitpile called the Internet."
The voice of the original Maiji Kuiper buzzed through the earpiece, and his niece obediently confirmed she'd take care of it (or was that an order?).
And the Worker-Man continued broadcasting after the brief pause:
Still, deep down you're sure the subtle forces of the universe blessed you with eternal youth. You look (and feel) fantastic. You might not know the exact age of your coworkers, and even if you do — you never saw them back in the day, so you've got nothing to compare it to.
And then — foolishly — you dive into that wretched social network, and boom! You're hit with updated profile pics and random life posts from your old friends.
Oh, Mamma Mia!
That's when you realize: the Baywatch heroes you remember now look like they'd be better off with a walker instead of a surfboard.
And it dawns on you that you too are basically a grapefruit — forgotten in the back of a fridge, or worse — left out under the Nevada sun.
Self-esteem: gone. Motivation: gone. Whatever tiny plans you had: now feel like garbage.
In a spiral of despair, you slam the laptop shut and frantically begin searching for something — anything — to wash away what you just saw. Naturally, your sad little brain suggests: find some young people to talk to, maybe it'll refresh your soul.
And so, with desperate dedication, you go on a hunt — in clubs, themed cafés, concerts, online games — and maybe, just maybe, you manage to bond with some of them.
So what's the problem?
The problem is your rattling bones will fall under the spell of those teenage warlocks, and you'll lose your grip on reality. Escapism — sometimes not a bad thing — but while you're off building a fresh balustrade in your imaginary sky-palace, those very same youngsters will start dropping hints, making jokes, or just outright tell you to your face:
You're a Freakin' Boomer!
And even you understand, that's not exactly a compliment. It's not just hurtful — it's inevitable.
No matter how thick-skinned you are, no matter how much irony you wield or how well you can deflect jabs with witty comebacks — your subconscious doesn't give a crap.
Just like during that doomed social media scroll, those jabs will leave little bruises deep in your inner data.
So what should you do?
How the hell should I know?
I'm a Worm Whisperer, not some lab rat living in fertile loam. All I can say is this:
You already know those sad stories about lower back pain, endless mortgages, and all the other crap. No point hearing them again from your fellow aging copywriters of painfully obvious content.
You can also learn all the latest trends, memes, and happenings from the internet, without having to debase yourself before junior orators.
So go play your ukulele, lay out a solitaire deck, or whatever it is you do — and stop stressing over pointless communication.
Anyway, I'm bored with this topic now… I wanna talk about something else.