Did You Notice We Are the Only Ones Rockin’ Out to “Hard Habit To Break”?

I could begin with the standard I haven’t written in _____ amount of days. I feel _____ about that. Life is really _____ right now. So sorry. Blah blah blah.

But enough with the blanket mea culpas. You know? Every person, every moment, every thing, always in flux. Life gets bananas. Insert whatever you like, wherever you want. That came out sort of wrong. As in dirty. Ha.

Anyway, I could also proceed with the laundry list of shit that’s ensued since I last blogged. How I’ve been wronged. Cheated. Lied to. Only I am bored by the negative. Sincerely. BORED. And I don’t even believe in boredom as anything other than a human-made, self-sustained construct.

Bored and tired. You see, I’ve come to realize that actively maintaining anger and/or sadness is exhausting. And like everyone, particularly as we age a tad, the energy is finite. I am trying to redirect. Which also requires effort. Yet it seems to pay off twentyfold and provide some kind of rebound vivacity.

I suppose it’s also significant, and important to mention, that I am no longer depressed. Or anxious. Certainly there are moments. Hours. Yet in general, my mood has leveled at a place I find pleasing. Not numb. Not high. Please repeat after me: SSRIs and SNRIs are not happy pills. I am steady.

Before I really get into the point of this post, allow me to illustrate the above with a little tale. Let’s call it, “Sometimes I don’t pay attention to the red flags smacking me in the face and then I get all surly and weepy about it… only tonight not so much.” It’s not a good title. It’s not a grammatically correct title. It’s stream of consciousness because that’s all this particular narrative deserves.

There once was a very sad woman, with a sad, sad heart and super sad eyes. She was sad because she had endured a great deal of loss. Heartache. Death. It all seemed so unfair. Alas, after a time, she set her super sad eyes on a new guy. It didn’t go so well. Then it appeared to pick up momentum, only there were these giant yellow triangles positioned like yield signs, stating, in no uncertain terms, “I don’t want a relationship.” The sad woman, with the sad, sad heart and super sad eyes, knew these signs well. Because her entire romantic life had been one constant rotary. Around and around and around she drove. Plenty of opportunities to exit the perpetual, fruitless, stupid roundabout. Many a traffic cop, waiving her over in rabid fervor. Ignorance. Yes. Bliss? No.

Only things started to shift. And with hard work helped by the crawling of time, the sad woman, with the sad, sad heart and super sad eyes, wasn’t so, well, sad. And then, one day, she hit the curb of the rotary in her new car (with sweet alloy wheels). And although not necessarily voluntarily, that momentum forced her toward some semblance of reality. Holy shit, she thought. What have I been doing? Why have I been driving around and around and around? I don’t want to drive around and around and around. I love my car, but I do not want to drive around and around and around. What is the matter with me? And with that, she exited the traffic circle, closed the door, deleted the number.

THE END.

You see, boys and girls, there is such a thing as happily ever after. Even in such fraught times. It just requires a little self awareness… and getting off the fucking rotary before you get maimed.

And then there’s a thing called an Earth, Wind & Fire/Chicago concert. Now I don’t just mean an Earth, Wind & Fire performance immediately followed by that of Chicago. Hells no. I am talking about twenty dudes on stage, some in bellbottoms and sequins, others in dark suits and white shirts with silly popped-up collars, singing, dancing, pounding the drums, and playing the horns. Then over an hour of solo Earth, Wind & Fire. Then over an hour of solo Chicago. Then all together again for six songs. Epic.

The highlights of the night were threefold for me. 1) I realized my sister has me beat on the lyrics to most Chicago songs. 2) When Chicago played “Hard Habit To Break,” my sister and I loudly belted it out, holding nothing back, cheesy arm gestures and all. Identical cheesy arm gestures and all. Unplanned. Unrehearsed. To boot, she then turned to me and asked, Did you notice we are the only ones rockin’ out to “Hard Habit To Break”? Does no one else love it like we do? 3) We were part of a small handful of people in our section who stood up and danced to the Earth, Wind & Fire/Chicago combo versions of “September” and “25 or 6 to 4.” I don’t dance. Ever. EVER. But it didn’t matter. ‘Cause it had to be done.

And so tonight, a massive shout out, and all the love I got, to my sister. My big sister who still knows how to get down and holler out a tune, and who rocks velour pants and shoes like no one else. Also, and equally, epic.

Peace.

 

 

 

 

 

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