In The Zone
I'm beginning to realize that I've been in a manic state ever since the men's retreat. Nothing goes terribly wrong; People seem to like me: I seem to catch "lucky" breaks all along the way. The feeling of "lucky to be alive" seems to adhere to me from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep in front of the television set at night. It's a nice feeling, but, I know from experience that it won't last. It's the fun side of being a narcissist.
I have not spent a lot of time outdoors these last few days. The weather in New York has turned gray and cold all of a sudden. The time will come when I will no longer be able to admire my skinny waist and flat stomach every time I pass a storefront window; or, the way my new haircut changes with one fluff of the hand to the next. Soon, I will have on enough sweaters and hats to smuggle Matt Damon onto The Jimmy Kimmel Show. But, for a brief moment I did entertain the possibility of going clubbing last night - that is, until I realized how absurd that was. I'm a sixty-five year-old man living on a pension. Who would do that? A manic-depressive narcissist, that's who!
I finally talked my way down from that by convincing myself that clubbing is no fun without drinking and drinking is a complete waste of money when you are manic. Instead, I committed myself to spending some time in the laundry room of my building and just hanging out, meeting people. I've decided I haven't done that enough since Mom passed away and even she would probably want me have another big, sloppy, messy, crush before sweater season takes my waistline away.
So, I stayed in. I searched the house until I found Season Three of "Heroes" and binged until I couldn't keep my eyes open. At some point I had a "transportation" dream, perhaps brought on by all that musing about clubs and drinking.
The dream started with a whole cross-over gang consisting of Mom, Sis, Big Bro' and a couple of The Nephews going shopping in what appeared to be Herald Square. Then, something happened. There was a 9/11 disaster of some sort. The streets became mobbed. We decided it was time to find our way back home, but, I became separated from the rest of the family. The dream ended with me frantically searching a gigantic train station that rose several stories above ground with an alphabet soup of different subway and commuter lines going in different directions. I finally jumped on an "F" train that appeared fortuitously out of nowhere.
I have not spent a lot of time outdoors these last few days. The weather in New York has turned gray and cold all of a sudden. The time will come when I will no longer be able to admire my skinny waist and flat stomach every time I pass a storefront window; or, the way my new haircut changes with one fluff of the hand to the next. Soon, I will have on enough sweaters and hats to smuggle Matt Damon onto The Jimmy Kimmel Show. But, for a brief moment I did entertain the possibility of going clubbing last night - that is, until I realized how absurd that was. I'm a sixty-five year-old man living on a pension. Who would do that? A manic-depressive narcissist, that's who!
I finally talked my way down from that by convincing myself that clubbing is no fun without drinking and drinking is a complete waste of money when you are manic. Instead, I committed myself to spending some time in the laundry room of my building and just hanging out, meeting people. I've decided I haven't done that enough since Mom passed away and even she would probably want me have another big, sloppy, messy, crush before sweater season takes my waistline away.
So, I stayed in. I searched the house until I found Season Three of "Heroes" and binged until I couldn't keep my eyes open. At some point I had a "transportation" dream, perhaps brought on by all that musing about clubs and drinking.
The dream started with a whole cross-over gang consisting of Mom, Sis, Big Bro' and a couple of The Nephews going shopping in what appeared to be Herald Square. Then, something happened. There was a 9/11 disaster of some sort. The streets became mobbed. We decided it was time to find our way back home, but, I became separated from the rest of the family. The dream ended with me frantically searching a gigantic train station that rose several stories above ground with an alphabet soup of different subway and commuter lines going in different directions. I finally jumped on an "F" train that appeared fortuitously out of nowhere.