My brain inhabits a weird and dangerous head space on the Monday after Thanksgiving.
Even more so today because our Thanksgiving weekend was jam packed with wholesome goodness.
The day itself was superlative. Friday sucked because I had to go to that job that to me is nothing more than a hallucination. Saturday we rolled into Keene, bopped into the L'n L for a quick drink and caught Craig behind the bar. Which was cool because we were beginning to wonder if he actually worked there. Had a beer on Craig, then Scottie showed up and I ended up having a shot with him. A very cool twenty minute visit.
We proceeded from there to Waxy's, an Irish bar and hooked up with friends of Carol's. Cold beer, live band, conversation and laughter.
Yesterday we went to the Monarchs game with Keith and Emily. Great game although the Monarchs ended up losing in OT. Afterwards K&E took us out to dinner to celebrate Carol's birthday. An exquisitely laid back, enjoyable dinner graced with easy flowing conversation and laughter. Keith and Emily really topped off our weekend with chocolate icing yesterday; it was an awesome day.
If this past weekend was a sausage casing, it would have exploded with all the coolness we packed into it.
Then..............the alarm clock this morning. On Carol's birthday. It hurt me to hear her drag herself out of bed on a morning when she should be sleeping late with a contented "It's my birthday, goddamn it" smile on her face. I know she hated getting up this morning. I know she hates getting up every morning. I am her shining knight. I am supposed to be able to rescue her. I haven't been able to do it. Not yet.
It hurt me that I did not have a 2013 Volkswagen Beetle sitting at the foot of the bed. Or a 23 carrot emerald ring. Or two tickets to paradise.
I was really punked out this morning and kept fading in and out of hallucinations, didn't crawl out of bed until after Carol tortured her way to work.
And here I sit.
Thanksgiving is dead and I am supposed to be exuding Christmas spirit, but I can't afford Christmas spirit. Don't have to worry about the material side of Christmas this year because we got nothing to be material with. Hopefully I can conjure up some sort of wonder. I like wonder.
The end of the year approaches. Contemplation time. And my birthday on January 1.
I will be fifty nine. Eleven birthdays after that I will be seventy. SEVENTY. I see seventy as the line of demarcation. I'm hoping for eleven more years of relative health, mobility and brain activity. Deterioration will probably increase exponentially after that. I hope not, I hope to remain relatively robust well into my second century, but you can't count on that, can you?
My brain is aswirl and agog today with all these thoughts. It's the Monday after Thanksgiving, baby and the jolt back to "reality" is that much more painful.
In a few hours I have to head out to that dead end, soul sucking job armed with nothing but hope.
What concerns me is that the hope is not solid. I have spent two hard years trying to build rock solid hope, but what I ended up with is the typical wispy variety. Solidity has eluded me.
That tiny doubting voice in the back of my head continues to try to undermine my efforts. It gains strength as each year passes.
The rest of the year will be consumed with contemplation and a continuation of trying.
Nobody told me there'd be days like this.