Why does the whole business of living have to be so difficult?  I don’t want to end up one of those bitter, wrinkly dried up old bitties who have nothing better to do than give me the stink-eye in the locker room because I’m not an old bitty wanting to shoot the shit, but I am in the pool at 5:30, and therefore invading “her” space.  I find myself getting close to that stink-eye to the world mindset sometimes though, and it scares me.  I get pissed at myself because I’m not much of a risk taker, and because I usually don’t have the courage to be anything more than a tired old door mat.  Always cordial, always concessionary, always blending into the scenery.  Stealth and avoiding confrontations are survival skills I’ve cultivated since childhood.  Most of the time avoiding conflict and/or scrutiny are exactly what I’m aiming to do in the first place.

The past should remain in the past- and I’m usually pretty good at not letting those vexing whirlwinds of emotions get to me- but there’s one person who can conjure a tempest in my heart every time.  Being insanely in love with anyone, regardless of how compelling he is (or was it lust, or simply the novelty and the sweetness of forbidden fruit, who knows,) is completely out of my character.  After 20 years (and then some) it’s time to let sleeping dogs lie and get back to reality, but memory is a hard taskmaster.  Every time I hear from him- and I do still consider him a friend- I end up going down the path of what once was and what could have been and all that noise- even though I can wish in one hand and shit in the other and know which hand is going to fill up first.  There is a plethora of technicalities that I would rather not rehash yet again- all the reasons why and everything that has remained unsaid-they are still the obstacles they have always been, but when all is said and done memory is just that.   Nothing more.

Even knowing what an exercise in futility such revelries are, it seems as if the further back I go, the more vivid the imagery of memory becomes.  Oh, to have one of those days where I could just sit and watch the wheels go round, (to quote John Lennon) but I have to keep at least one foot grounded here on earth.

As usual, I’ve been too busy, too preoccupied with the business of making it through one day to the next, so when I do get a reminder that there is more to life than getting up, going to work and going to bed, it’s startling.  I’m reminded that I’m still alive, still taking up valuable oxygen, and still haven’t really accomplished jack shit.

Busy is probably better for me than I realize.  At least it’s keeping me out of trouble.

The illustrious POMC is busy with his latest acquisition- a crotch rocket.  Although I enjoy motorsports, for me it’s pretty much a given that a vehicle involved in motorsports should have four wheels.   I don’t share his enthusiasm for this purchase, and I don’t see myself attempting to ride this beast either.

I know it’s better that old ghosts stay in the past where they belong, though nothing would do me better than an evening and a drink with a friend.  I miss the conversation, strangely enough.  There are precious few people who I really want to converse with alone, one on one.

Maybe I should find some courage and make that a point.  NOT riding the crotch rocket- that’s not happening, but the conversation with an old friend that is long overdue.