Feeling my age

It is Sunday afternoon and all is quiet in the household. My daughter is taking a late nap, my husband is sprawled out on the couch, and the fish are doing their fish thing in the tank. Tonight we'll have a nice Sunday night dinner. It's one of the few days of the week when the three of us can sit down together and eat at the same time. Is this what it will always be like? Whatever happened to that Brady Bunch type of family where everyone sits down at the same time and eats together. As it is, my husband's out until 10 or 11 at night and Catherine's in bed by the time he gets home. I'm having a moan.
I went to the night market last night with one of my friends. It's sort of surreal going around there because it's such an assault on the senses. I need one of those deprivation chambers or something afterwards. It's so noisy, stinky, and crowded. I loved it!!! It is the total opposite of what I would have gotten into years ago, but now I almost crave it. Taipei does this really bizarre thing to what you will and won't accept anymore. I remember when I first got here how I'd freak out at some of the things I saw. Chickens clucking at the side of the road moments before they met their chicken maker (wow, in more ways than one) were one of them. The other day I bought a whole chicken at Wellcome. This was one of those major, major deals for me. All of my life, chicken only came in breast form, no skin, no feathers, and perfectly wrapped on its bed of Styrofoam. Picking out this chicken was a step toward something, but it was a big one. I came home and let me tell you, I'm never buying a whole chicken as long as I live. Catherine was standing in the doorway as I was trying to cut off the chicken's claw with this cheap IKEA knife. As I was sawing into the joints and tendons and stuff, the claws moved and retracted!!!! Yuck!! Double yuck! I'm going back to the breasts perfectly presented on Styrofoam. I tried. I did. I just can't look at heads and claws anymore. So, I can't accept this part of life in Taiwan, but that's why they cut them up and sell them the way I need them.
But, I have come to accept that it's OK to buy a fake LV bag or a tacky T-shirt with the words spelled wrong on it. How did this happen? I have no idea, but it's all right.
I have work to do. I'm taking a class online and I'm getting overwhelmed a wee bit. My balls are all up in the air, but I'm learning a lot that I didn't know before. And I thought I knew everything.