I Long For Simpler Times

I long for simpler times. As a society, we have become so caught up in technology, social media. No longer do people touch one another. No longer do we look each other in the eye and really communicate. Everyone is moving so fast. Why can’t we slow down? Why can’t we walk at the pace of my 75 year old grandmother? Why are we in such a rush? Our jobs will be there when we get there. The traffic is beautiful. Smell the roses. See the sights.

In a simpler time, nobody would be uncomfortable with Uncle Rudy’s sustained eye contact. Nobody would say anything when Aunt Susan gently caresses your inner thigh to show her unwavering affection. Those were the days. Where is humanity heading? I worry.

All we do is text and go on the fandangled internet. You will not find what you are looking for online. You will not find it there. You will find it in the liquor trolley in your industrial-spaced office where you nap occasionally. There is no love to be found online. Love exists only in the interactions between you and other people; that broad with the breasts, the man on the street who you sometimes give money to, who throws it back and says, “I work here, you asshole.”

I yearn for the days when a man could be a man, when he could eat his super-sized turkey leg in peace at his ten mile-wide table. When there weren’t gadgets at the dinner table, only men with hard-hats that inexplicably have horns on the top, that talk with their mouths full of the aforementioned turkey leg and smash their metal mugs of brew together in self-congratulations.

A time when men ruled the house, and adultery was expected and nurtured; a beautiful secret amongst lovers, a whisper in the night air. When women darned socks and occasionally petted the baby, depending on her bridge obligations. Why are we moving forward? The world is such a cruel, ugly place nowadays. Nobody beats their wives anymore. Nothing is sacred, not even the vows of wedlock.

We don’t stop to greet each other on the street. I don’t even know my neighbour’s name, only that he has a small business selling unlicensed narcotics out the side door. We never get to know each other anymore. Gone are the days where I could rifle through my neighbour’s bins on the pavement and nobody disturbed me. No longer can I live out of my car when my alleged alcoholism begins to cause me financial strain.

Those days were blissful; when kids were seen and not heard. When they were wheeled in by the nanny twice a day so that we could acknowledge them from afar, their sweet little button noses, or is that a smudge? no nanny this simply will not do pass me that lighter I am exhausted.

I miss those days.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s