I walked out of my office for the last time late Friday afternoon. I wanted to be the last one out of the building, but my boss waited me out. Maybe he was required to, I don't know, but it took away some of the contemplative profundity of the moment. Probably for the better.
I won't bother you with the details of the last day. I'm just sick of breaking down, of weeping suddenly and ferociously. My face looks like a Star-Pei's.
So let the healing begin.
First things first. I have to quit taking Xanax. I have been walking around in bubble gum for a week. I have taken more each day trying to quell my emotions. I haven't been to the gym. I fall asleep on the couch as soon as I sit. The house is a littered mess that needs attention. I am like a dissolute movie housewife from the '50s full of alcohol and pills. I am sure to go through some serious withdrawals, but I have to get on with things.
And what things might that be? I still have to figure that out.
I'll have to get used to people talking to me like I'm retarded. I've been dealing with Social Security, Medicare, and supplemental insurances over the phone. The sing-song voice in which they speak to me is straight out of Romper Room. Simple words delivered in a musical tone. My mailbox is full of ads for cemetery plots, hearing aids, insurance plans, retirement communities. . . .
I want love letters.
When I got home last night, I decided to open one of the retirement presents I was given.
It is my new favorite. I'll need to cancel my cable and some other subscriptions to help me stay supplied with this. It will be very difficult to go back to "table scotch."
After a glass of this neat, I passed out.
At four in the morning, I woke to a tremendous, violent banging on the wall. WTF? It went on too long. It sounded like animals fighting behind the house, but there were no animal cries. And then it stopped. I couldn't go back to sleep. Had a coyote gotten my cat? It seems like she would have screamed.
The entire event remains a mystery.
So my first day of retirement begins. I stayed in bed until five, then the usual. It is raining and will continue to rain for the rest of the day. I don't think I will go to the gym today, either. It seems a good day to sit inside, eat junk, and contemplate the void.
ReplyDeleteI swear I remember reading you way back when whining about having to go to the factory - and wanting free time to go around and photograph things.
Is that true?
What do you expect from me, some middle-class consistency?
DeleteI am standing on a platform as big as my feet. All around me is the void. I am naked and cold, and I have no food or water. What should I do?
Remember me saying that back when, too?
It doesn't seem as metaphorical to me right now.
ReplyDeleteMaybe a therapist or drama class. Peapod will deliver groceries. *heart*
I LOOK into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say, “Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!”
For then, I, undistrest 5
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity.
But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.
The End
analysis hmmmm.
".......The implication, of course, is that the speaker’s romantic leanings are those of a young man, even though the speaker himself is now old. The heart that beats in his aged chest is that of a young man still capable of feeling love, romantic longing, and infatuation (Hardy himself was known for his infatuations with younger women, well into late middle age; he was in his later fifties when he wrote ‘I Look into my Glass’).
I dunno dude. I've been visiting here for ages. I'm a faraway friend - trying daily to nudge you away from some despair. Help you see the Light, even just a little.
Get a job. I'm sure you can find something part time that would be great fodder for photos and writing.