Old Soul

My energy is slowly diminishing. It's like I'm getting ready to be locked up. I went to see what might be my last weekday matinée in a while, "Brideshead Revisited." It was a good choice, yet another addition to my favorite genre of English period dramas. Tomorrow it all starts again. Part of me is still in denial. It's like I still don't know if I'm actually going to start back at work because we've been delayed so many times. I can't even allow my mind to go into the place where days are filled with being somewhere other than home and waiting for the weekend. Ugh. I'm having trouble even writing about it because I just don't want it to be. I want the last hours of this day to stretch out into eternity. The rational part of my head keeps saying it's not that bad and I know it's true. It's just something different--something I would prefer not to do but know I have to.
Today at the movies I was thinking about being an "old soul." The surprising size of the audience brought the term to mind because I was probably the only person under 50 of the other 20 people at the theater. I remember a trip I took to Lourdes, France when I was in 8th grade. Some of the women on the bus called me an "old soul" and were surprised by my "mature taste in music." I wonder if "old soul" means I just want to act like I'm retired, watch movies in the daytime, leave the house as little as possible, listen to adult-contemporary music, and spend more time with my cats than other human beings as the days sail by. I guess I just want the good parts of being an old soul without having to do the things it takes to get there.