Maybe you've noticed. I've been in a dark place lately. Life seems unrelenting by and large. Yesterday, I was a mental case. My entire being just felt like lying down and never getting up. Nothing seems to be going right in the least and the darkness descends.
I have to agree with the anti-birther movement in part. Not a small part, either. Life is suffering. There is no denying that. All religions are based around that premise, then they try explain why and what you need to do to escape it. I'm not saying that there are not great moments of joy. There are. I've had more than my share. More than I deserve, I'm sure. But the higher you soar, the harder the fall. Yes--that's called tragedy, a mainstay of literature. That is why I like the first part of films much more than the second half. I like the soaring. It is also why most people prefer a comedy. They always have a happy ending. People can't get enough of the rom-com. But the old Greek formula of three tragedies to one comedy was a good reflection of life.
But here's the more controversial part, and I'm sure to piss people off with it. But people have babies for selfish reasons. Either that, or by accident.
"Don't worry. . . you'll learn to love it."
I think that's what they tell them.
But happy, loving couples decide to have a baby for their own sake. "We can be just like all our friends. Our kids can play together like Jane and Alex."
Or they watch a movie like "Parenthood" and think that it will be like that.
And maybe they think that the kid will be glad they had it. They will protect it from evil and give it the good life.
But no kid is consulted in the conversation. No child has ever asked to be born and no one has ever regretted not being born. I can't prove that, of course. I take it on faith.
That's not saying I don't like children. I usually prefer them to adults. I'm like Samual Clemens and Charles Dodgson that way. Well, more like Dodgson. He was childless.
But. . . and here is the thing. . . if anti-birthers want to end humanity, they should start with themselves. Let everyone else decide how they wish to proceed. I'm definitely not in favor of murder. And like a good saint, I wish to palliate people's loneliness and suffering. I'm a VERY loving person. I just have strong opinions.
That I should probably keep to myself.
AND YET, there are moments when the misery gets some relief. And there are other times when the pressure increases. I had a bit of both yesterday.
I was lost yesterday, really, buried in trouble and worries, and I barely knew how to proceed. But a sliver of an idea came to me, so I put on my gym clothes and drove to the auto repair place that never called me back about fixing my power steering. I just wanted to see why, I guess.
"Hey. . . I tried to call you, but I must have had the wrong number. It kept going to voicemail in Spanish."
"Definitely not me," I said.
He took me inside and got on his computer. "Let me see what the schedule is. What's your last name."
I told him, then told him again. . . and again. He either can't hear or can't spell. Then he asked for my phone number. Same thing. Watching him on the keyboards of his ancient computer was something. Finally, he had it all right.
"Can you leave it today?"
I hadn't planned on that.
"I need my car tomorrow. I have an appointment I can't miss."
I told him about the a.c.
"Let's go take a look."
The problem was a weird one. There are four fan settings. On the first three, the compressor kicked in but the fan didn't blow. On the highest setting, however, the fan blew but the compressor shut off.
"Yea," he said. "I can take a look at it."
I made a quick decision.
"O.K. I'll leave it with you. I'll just call an Uber."
I decided to have the Uber take me to the gym. When I got into the car, it smelled like somebody's butt. It was enough to make one gag. Just as we pulled away from the auto shop, my phone rang. It was the house repair guy who hadn't come on Monday as he said he would. Nor Tuesday. But he was at the house now.
"Hey, we have a problem. You know that siding on the back of the house by the kitchen. I can't replace the boards. When I opened it up, the joists were rotten. I don't have anything I can nail the boards to."
Fuck me.
"The floor joists?"
"Yea."
He was silent. I was silent.
"I don't know what to do," I said.
"I'd have to take out half the wall to get to it. It would cost a lot more. I'd have to have Jason make up a new estimate."
"O.K. I guess just do the other repairs and we can talk about this later. I'll be home in a couple hours."
"O.K." he said.
I was feeling pretty sick then.
I did a light, easy workout. The dj gymroid who told me about the car repair place was there. I told him my car was in the shop. Then I told him about the floor joists. Then I did an exercise and split my cheap Chinese pants in two.
"Ain't my day," I said.
After that, I Ubered home. When I got out of the car, my bad knee popped and gave out. Perfect. The workman was there and called out.
"How's it going?"
"Bad," I said and walked to the house.
And that was the last I saw of the repairman. He was redoing some of the work he had already done on the apartment. Weird, I thought. I heated some soup then lay down on the couch waiting for him. I felt like I never wanted to get up. I thought abut Xanax.
When I got up a bit later, I looked out the window, but the workmen were all gone. WTF? I was flummoxed. O.K. Whatever. I undressed and took a shower. My surgical wound had been stinging a bit more than it had like I was pulling at the many, many stitches, but it looked fine. I didn't really want to look too closely, though, for there was nothing I could do.
It was three-thirty. I decided to call the garage.
"We have it up on the lift. I got the air conditioner working. Now we're' trying to find the leak in the steering. We can't see anyplace where it is leaking out quickly. The air conditioner is blocking part of it, so it is hard to see, but we are looking at the hoses and tightening them. Man. . . hold on. . . my phone has been blowing up all day."
It took awhile before he came back on.
"O.K.," I said. "I'll wait for you to call."
Fuck. I wasn't going to drink at home anymore. That went out the window. I fixed a Campari cocktail and took it to the deck. I called my mother.
"I don't think I'm going to make it over today. My car is still in the shop. I hope it will be ready before they close at six, but I don't know. All I can do is wait for him to call."
"O.K. Don't worry about it. I'm fine."
I asked her what she had eaten that day, but she couldn't remember. "I'm really not hungry," she said. It worries me of course.
It was 92 degrees in the shade. That is where I sat as I drank my Campari. But the air was fairly dry and there was just the hint of a breeze, so I thought it felt fine. And when my cocktail was gone, I decided to make another.
Just then, the tenant came by. I told her about my car and the repair mess. She was going to a film event in a little while at the art house film theater. The auto repair shop was on the way there, I said. She had to be at the theater by six, so she said she could give me a ride.
I waited for the repair shop call, but it never came. The tenant would be leaving in a few minutes, so I decided to call them again. He mumbled a bit but said I could pick the car up.
"I think the power steering is good, but if the fluid leaks out again, you will have to bring it back in and we'll have to take off the a.c. unit and look at the pump."
"O.K. I'll be there in a few minutes."
My car was sitting in the lot when the tenant dropped me off. The mechanic is a bit squirrely, it seems. He talks in an uncertain manner almost to himself. He is probably sixty or a bit older and had been doing this all his life. He is a very nice man, but following his conversation is a little odd. Finally, he gave me the bill. My knees went weak.
$375!
I couldn't believe it. I was rather embarrassed. Anywhere else, this would have been closer to a thousand dollars, I was sure. I gave him my card and we talked some more.
"I'll tell my friends," I said, but from the look of it, he didn't really need the business.
I was a little anxious when I started the car. The a.c. came on and blew cold air better than it had before. I put the car in reverse and backed out. Holy shit! I oversteered. I'd been fighting the steering wheel for so long, I'd forgotten what power steering felt like. I could turn the car with one finger. I barely remembered that. It was, for a moment, a little scary. I felt like I was floating on a cloud as I drove to the grocers. This was a moment of reprieve.
When I got home, though, the house thing was on my mind.
"Honey, what do you think we should do?"
But there was no Honey. Maybe I should call up one of the kids. They could surely help me out.
No kids. .
That's o.k. From what I've seen, kids don't pay back.
"We just gave our son, Bobby, and his wife a down payment on a house they wanted to buy."
They'll never get the money back, and statistically, Bobby and his wife will get divorced and the kids will bounce back and forth between the two households like schizophrenics until they are old enough to move out, get a job or go to college or go to jail. And cycle continues.
At the grocery store, I ran into the fellow who was my boss at Country Club College when I was teaching there. He didn't get tenure, however, after seven years and, at that point, applied for a job with me at the factory. The hiring committee didn't like him, though, thought him too prep school, etc. He didn't even get a second interview and I always felt bad about that.
He called out my name and I looked down the aisle toward him.
"Sean," he said. "We used to be colleagues."
"Of course, How are you doing?"
He is working as an Educational Designer now for one of the big companies. I won't go into how I feel about that. He had been married to one of the English department's profs daughter, so there was always a feeling of nepotism in his working there. I asked about his wife and kids.
"Well. . . we're not together anymore," he said with a touch of sadness," but we are good and we share the children."
I felt I shouldn't have asked. "Modern family," I said.
"Yes," he nodded, "modern family."
We wished one another the best and went our separate ways.
I include this here only as an illustration.
There is a flip side, too. Me, sitting alone in my ramshackle house living inside my skull thinking about the dire consequences that were surely facing me, should illustrate the consequences of the other thing, too. All to my point, however. Life is suffering.
I should try religion. I think I like the Catholics best, so full of modern and historical corruption.
I go to see the surgeon in a bit, and I'll get the update on my condition. I'm a little nervous, of course.
"Honey, I'll go with you. I want to hear what he has to say."
Uh-uh. It's on me.
Listen, moms and dads, husbands and wives, divorced couples with kids, and whomever. I'm not saying my life is better than yours, that I made the better decisions in life, that I am happier or freer. That certainly isn't true. We all have to decide how we are going to cope with this life. Will I exercise moderately, drink only pure water and be a vegan? Will I be a rowdy, intellectual adventurer?
It doesn't matter. In the end, it just won't. When you hear them say, "Next," and you are at the head of the line. . . well, we'll see, won't we.
Yes, yes, I've confessed I'm in a really dark place. I did take that Xanax last night and it brought me a little peace so that I slept without moving through the night. I woke with no nightmares. Now in a bit, I will get into my car and see if the a.c. is still working and if I still have power steering. I spent yesterday looking up car ratings and prices online. I can't afford what I would like. I can barely afford what I could possibly stomach. So I'm hoping to get some more mileage out of the old Xterra. I guess, for the first time in my life, I'll start playing the lotto.
But don't cry for me (I know you aren't). There are many who have it worse. Not many. A majority. I won't be sleeping under a bridge anytime soon. But I won't be making any expensive vacations or buying anymore cameras soon, either. Not unless I start selling photos for thousands of dollars.
Those boys in the photo were serenading Ili with Morro Castle in the background at sunset. Fuck me--I've had a really good time.
But life and love, as the song goes, is only gonna break your heart.
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