That’s today. No clever title, because I am doing sort of a “randoms” post. To wit:
I’m super worried. I know worry is fruitless, but there’s just a part of my brain that is so conditioned to “figure it out (DAMNIT).” It works for logic puzzles and sudoku and crosswords and other stuff. But, much like those, sometimes I put them down and when I come back, the answer is very clear. I also asked the Universe (1) to just take these things and deal with them. It’s hard, though. Really fucking hard. I’m scared and nervous and …. ahhh!
Meanwhile, on my bike ride down to work tonight, I saw/heard a fairly big dude in a Bears jersey ask another dude in a Bears jersey, “Did you go see Madonna?” Love it. It just was a strange dichotomy I wasn’t expecting. I’ll say it … I’d expect a guy Madonna lover to be gay, and I normally don’t expect a Bears fan to be gay … which is stupid, really, because I know lots of bears who are football fans, if not Bears fans. So, lame on me. I still enjoyed it.
Sometimes, when I’m doing something where my mind can go, and I see something and start doing a riff on it my mind — my future stand-up career in the making. Unfortunately, like most good stand-ups, I never manage to write them down, BECAUSE I’m taking a shower or riding my bike or what-the-hell-ever. However, I’ll throw this observation at you : Beware of the Temporary License Plate. For reals. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen a car do something stupid — but like monumentally stupid — and they pass by and I see they have a temporary license plate. The thing is, there’s no way these can all be brand new drivers with their first brand new car. There’s no way these can all be people who have absolutely no clue how to drive. So it came to me — there’s some spell or magick about the temporary license plate.(2)
I always say that I’m an excellent driver (even though it makes me sound like an autistic Dustin Hoffman), and I believe that to be the case. It could be a little bit of a control issue; I only trust myself to be the one steering the vehicle — or it could be because I’ve ridden with an inordinate number of bad drivers: terrible, terrible tailgating; the surge/lurch gas pedal; intense road rage; completely being oblivious to all manner of disaster. Then there’s the pet peeves: not getting all the way over into the right lane to make a right hand turn; failing to signal; texting while driving. I guess that’s not as much of a pet peeve than a “I don’t want to die” philosophy. I’m not going to hypocritically pretend I’ve never texted while behind the wheel of a car, but it’s called a RED LIGHT, people. Not the shit I’ve seen, texting while going 60 m.p.h., swerving and weaving as one desperately tries to pay attention … to their iPhone.
But it occurred to me as I was thinking about how terrible the Temporary License Platers are, that there’ve been a few times when *I’ve* had a temporary license plate — new car (once or twice). Did I act like a jag bag? Does the temporary license plate weave it’s terrible spell no matter who/m is behind the wheel? Is there something that inexorably grabs hold of the car, regardless of the driver. Well, that would suck. Meanwhile, I continually see people with those license plates driving terribly.
I was sick Thursday and Friday and stayed home from work and just slept and laid around a lot. I thought I was going to make it through the year without picking up the “thing that’s going around.” Luckily for me, I have my awesome Chinese herbs (gan mao ling) and drank lots of water and took it easy. But even on Saturday, when I went back to work at Second City, I took the train. I was doing a 12-14 hour shift, I had to be there in the morning and I just wasn’t 100% up to par. But getting on my bike today was good. Really good. I’ve never been one for exercise, going to the gym or working out. I was skinny for a long time, then I drank and smoked and ate too much and gained weight, then I got depressed and diagnosed with the manic-depression, and then the most terrible, horrible, mixed-up summer came and the depression plus one of the meds got me decent again. But over the last 2-3 years, I’ve gained weight back again. I guess you could say it’s because I’m older or whatever, but I know that even though I wasn’t exercising, I also wasn’t binge eating, either. I suspect some hormonal/thyroid shit. I FINALLY will get to see a real-live endocrinologist on 10/12. Wish me a good visit.
Point being, though, I’ve always heard that exercise is just good … for depression, especially. Getting back on the bike let me know that’s true (I often need my personal experience, can’t trust others, you know). It just feels good, feels right. But I’m doing something, I’m going somewhere. I’ve always been able to exercise or at least get moving when it has a purpose — a game or swimming or riding bikes. It was good to just know that — that the reason I’m riding isn’t just to save money (although it is) — it’s because it’s a purposeful activity that I feel better doing. I really need to work on my ability to ride during the winter … you know, the cold and all, and the fact that you’re actually moving and creating your own wind. Mild winter, will you come back again?
So, I have a long-standing history of ending visits, conversations, phone calls with people I love with “Love you, bye!” Obviously, that makes sense for family, but coffee club has given me a *huge* family, and I’ve grown to be familiar with a lot of them and it just feels right to say “love you, bye” when I’m departing them. Out of cars, leaving apartments, walking away from a crowd. It’s just in there, somewhere. I had to refrain from saying it to some of the ladies when I worked at the midwife — you get to know someone for ten months, seeing them on the reg (and then on the bi-weekly/weekly reg later on) and talking and sharing and conversing, and you become familiar. And there were a couple of times I just fell in love with couples, and they’d be leaving and the “love you, bye!” would catch in my throat as I realized that they *probably* wouldn’t understand (although, the ones I fell in love with probably would have, it’s still not real professional, you know?).
I know I’ve only written about my job here at Second City a few times, but I can’t really express how much I love it and the people here. I wish there were a way for me to become more integrated in their creative endeavors, but I don’t blame them for not seeing me that way. I need to make my own shit happen. Okay, tangent. However, I really have a very big fondness for my co-workers — today, about five of us were sitting and eating before our shifts, or before we were leaving. It was a fun conversation and I genuinely like them. As I walked away, two of them were left (a couple who are awesome), and I had to get downstairs to work, making a hasty exit and I called out behind me, “Love you, bye!” And I realized two things: 1. I have definitely come to really like my co-workers and consider them friends. I can only hope they feel the same about me (to some extent, at least) because 2. They very well may have been, “WHAT?” I hope they get it.
(1) I prayed. I am always so afraid to say something that brands me a Christian or a holy roller or lame. I need to quit that. If someone thinks I’m a fundamentalist Christian because I talk about praying, so be it. If they get to know me *even a little,* they’ll quickly find out I’m a swearing, dancing, loving, weirdo. And I also think that Jesus may or may not have been married, I think he may or may not have had “special feelings” for John” and most of all, whether or not any of that is true (but I think it’s pretty rad if it is), the fact that the Jesus written down in the Bible (yes, the one that the fundies want to take *literally*), is a freaky, radical liberal who gets killed because … well, people just couldn’t handle his scene. He was about loving your enemies, taking care of the poor and downtrodden, making friends with criminals, prostitutes and tax collectors. Dude was love, love, love — and then love some more.
(2) I almost ALWAYS spell license (liscence) and San Francisco (San Fransico) wrong the first time I give it a whirl. GRRR.