NO POETRY YET,
JUST SOME GUT WRENCHING HONESTY

When do I round the corner and start finding that I have fewer things to do...or is death what happens when your body just can't keep up with the continually increasing number of tasks at hand? My body is ready for the tasks to lighten up, but my ego isn't. I am home after a whirlwind 3 day business trip to Carmel, Indiana which included, at the hotel where I was staying, the arrest last Friday morning of someone for allegedly being a pimp for an Indianapolis woman. Amazing.

Anyway, on Saturday morning I had lunch with Rick, one of the fellas from the Male Spirit group I belong to that is led by Brother Joe. Rick isn't going to this weekend's retreat but he is thinking of going to the Cleveland retreat in January (as I am). It was a good time being with Rick. We formed a very quick bond about 6 years ago at the first retreat I attended. Even though months can go by without contact with one another, when we DO hook up, it is as if we'd just seen each other the day before. Rick is a really sweet gentle guy who is a wonderful listener. I think I serve the same role for him. It’s good.

Sunday was a strange day. Very overcast and about 15 degrees cooler than Saturday. I think my seasonal affected disorder kicked in and it took me forever to get motivated. I had about 9 loads of laundry to get done and I wanted it done as quickly as possible so I took everything to the Laundromat. Laundromats are always a depressing place for me. After I had all my machines loaded, I began people watching. There was a large young Hispanic mother sitting with her 8 year old son as he was practicing his reading. Apparently he wasn't doing all that well because I saw his mom all up in his face which he refused to lift up as he was crying so hard his shoulders were shaking. This took me back to some painful moments in my childhood and remembering what it felt like to not be able to do something your parents thought you should have been able to do. In a few moments I saw the boy lift his head as he saw a glimmer of hope that there was something he could say or do that would redeem him in his mother's eyes. I remember well grasping at those straws. They just reinforced a sense of hopelessness and futility. Fortunately, I was near the end of my time at the Laundromat and I got to escape fairly quickly, but not without seeing the title of the book that caused the tears. It was "Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets." My God, I couldn't get to my car quickly enough.

So, I got home and started putting the clean laundry away. Then I sat and mindlessly watched some television. I have no idea what shows were on. All I remember is that within a 10 minute period there were 3 IAMS pet food commercials with incredibly cute dogs and cats doing incredibly cute things that brought tears to my eyes once again. A phone call from a not-quite-so-sympathetic friend confirmed by misogynistic sense of being menopausal. And then it hit me. Due to rushing out of the house on Saturday morning for breakfast and a lazy Sunday morning, I had inadvertently forgotten to take my medications (which include an anti-depressant). I quickly reached for the pillbox and went to lie in bed. I woke up an hour later and found that the train to Weepyville had apparently taken off without me. I was feeling much better.

It kind of felt good to be able to cry. I wasn't ashamed by it. I just didn't like the sense of feeling sad. I'm at work now. Sad, but in a different way. That's OK.