Living the Dream

What a disaster!  "Relax," my friend C.C. tells me. "Give yourself a break.  Have fun."  Why would I listen to him?

I haven't slept five hours a night in weeks.  I can't keep up with what is expected of me at home, at my job.  Of course, that is when a social life is offered me.  "Come out and play," it calls to me in a siren's voice.  And I think, yes, of course, I should go out.  I stay home and grow old and alone. Here is the opportunity for nice meals, drinks with people in interesting places, places you would not like to go to alone. There can be sweetness. . . and maybe romance, too.

I blame it on my brain fatigue, of course.  I know better than to think such things when I'm rational.  I'm no kid.  But with weariness and exhaustion comes hallucinations of something grander and more wonderful.

And so. . . .

Too many drinks too early, I guess, sitting comfortably in the living room on a Friday as the sun begins to go down.  Drinks and talk and then. . . "We'd better get something to eat."  And thinking of fun and sweetness and romance, you go to a nice restaurant, perhaps a bit too stuffy, but a place with good food on the Avenue.  And you realize that one of you is louder than the other and moving in dramatic ways, big sweeping motions of the arms, crazy jerking of the body.  And one of you is not following the conversation well.  Or having a conversation of one's own that the other cannot seem to join.  And the food arrives, a platter and two plates, and one of you dishes some out and the other begins to eat off the platter in big bites, huge, glaring bites that makes for choking and giggling at one and the same time.  People at other tables begin to look and snort, but one of you is oblivious.  The other decides to suffer through.  A fork hits the floor.

"Was that yours?"

"What?  What?"

A bit later, a glass.  And then the unused plate with a shatter and a crash.  And the restaurant, as they will, grows quiet and one of you looks around with blurry eyes and says, "Oh, my. . . was that me?"  The waiter comes and begins cleaning up, and one of you goes to the bathroom while the other says to the waiter, "You'd better bring the check before this becomes chaos."  The waiter smiles and says of course.

You do not want to go anywhere else now, so you go back to your place.  Safe drinking there, you think, but when you see the good scotch being mixed with Coca-Cola, you have your doubts.  That shrill cackling laugh that is meant to excuse everything combines with a phrase to be repeated over and over for the rest of the evening: "You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"  How does one answer that?  Yes, I know?  No, I didn't know?  And one of you watches the drama unfold as the other becomes by turns violent and sweet.  Perhaps one of you has had enough of it, but there is no pulling your hand out of the cage now.  Holy shit.

In the morning, you have not had enough sleep, but you get up to make coffee.  There is none.  You forgot to get it the night before.  Shit.  You have instant Starbucks, and so that will have to do.  Fill the kettle, turn on the gas burner, but there is only the "click, click, click" of the automatic starter.  You keep trying thinking you are wrong, but it is of no use.  Once again, the gas has been turned off.  Shit, goddamn, motherfucker, piss, shit, moooootherfuuuucker.  The house feels ruined somehow.  But there must be coffee.  You put on your pants and make the announcement to the sleeping body, "They've shut off the gas, there is no coffee, I have to go get some. . . . "

The sun is coming up over the lake.  Normally you would revel in the sight.  The early morning joggers are out, older, arthritic runners with short, slow strides and water bottle belts and black knee braces and bodies that are not those of runners.  And there are the older walkers.  There are dozens and dozens of them.  And then, suddenly, there are the girls from Country Club College in matching shirts, some athletic team made to run early for practice.

And then you are at Starbucks.  The Avenue is full of ill-parked cars that take up too much space, and so you pull around the block to find a spot.  Starbucks is full.  People stand in line to get caramel half-caf lattes or pumpkin coffee drinks.  You pick up a pound of Kenyan and ask the girl if they sell coffee filters.  No, she says.  Shit, goddamn, motherfucker, piss, shit, moooootherfuuuucker.

O.K.

You hand her your American Express card.  She swipes it and begins to hand it back to you, then hesitates and swipes it again.  Then she wraps it in paper and tries again.  Irritated now, she begins entering your numbers by hand.

"I'm sorry, but it says your card has been declined."

"Really?"  You think.  You are sure you just paid the bill.  But not that sure.  You hand her another card and look around.  You do not like this crowd.

Home again, you scrummage around in the cabinets trying to find one last coffee filter.  You find one, but it is not for the coffeemaker you are using.  Fuck it.  You retrofit it as best you can.

Coffee done, there is at least that.  You will deal with the gas later.  It will not be turned on until Monday, you know.  A weekend without a stove, without hot water.  You know you probably owe forty or fifty dollars.  Why would the pricks. . . . O.K.  There is much to be taken care of.  You will sit down and go through the pile of bills that are scattered under the mail slot today.  You remember that someone is in your bed.  O.K. you think.  You will sit down at the computer, will read the news, will write your blog.  You step on the carpet and it is cold and wet.  You look down to the wetness that is spread out there and the pool of what you guess is scotch and coke puddled beside it on the floor.  Shit, goddamn, motherfucker, piss, shit, moooootherfuuuucker.  You turn on the computer.  Something is wrong.  What?  You see that one of you was on the computer while the other of you was sleeping.  It was not you.  What the fuck?  Then you remember hearing a crash and waking up alone in the bed, getting up, walking in the near-dark and finding the other sitting on the floor.  You think perhaps something bad is wrong.  Perhaps a stroke?  You approach and hear the voice talking on the phone.

There is much to deal with today that you do not wish to deal with.  You have decided to be decisive.  There is the first decision.  The sun is higher.  More joggers and walkers come by.  Paradise.