It’s cold and rainy in Brooklyn today, but it’s bright and sunny in Colorado. Or so I’m told.
I’m supposed to be in Denver right now—along with my sister and auntie—visiting my brother and his family. But we never left town because I got sick just days before we were scheduled to take off.
And for the record, I still feel like five cents’ worth of God-Help-Us.
My nose is bruised from all the honking and sneezing. I have no energy, no drive, no desire to do anything beyond picking up the remote and staring at whatever bilge floats across the TV screen.
What would Bob Beamon say?
In my New Year’s Day post I cited a 2013 horoscope that advised me to emulate the track and field athlete who shattered the world long jump record in the 1968 Olympics so decisively that it led to the coining of the word “Beamonesque.”
I made a single resolution that day: to be more mindful. Now, with the New Year nearly half over, I’m sorry to say I’ve fallen abysmally short of that goal. My mind still easily slips into the ugly past or the dire future with barely a wink at the pressing present.
And I’m so hostile. I don’t like admitting this, but after watching myself over the last few weeks I can’t help but come to the conclusion that I’m one angry little bugger. I'm impatient, short-tempered, and, at times, quite bitter.
I'm turning into Grumpy Cat.
I went to Park Slope one recent evening to check out a vintage poster display. The event wrapped up early—there wasn’t much to see—and I decided to go home even though it was early on a Friday night.
As I waited on the subway platform for the train to show up, I could feel the anger rising up in me and I’m not sure why. I had no place to go, I wasn't in a hurry, and I didn't have to get up early the next morning. But I really wanted to get on the goddamn train.
I have a tendency to unload all of my accumulated frustration into one event or incident, thus making them far worse than they really are.
All I know is that while the train was somewhere down the track, I had gone completely off the rails.
Beamonesque, it wasn’t.
When the train finally did show up, I got on board and realized too late that I was heading in the wrong direction and that I’d have to get off at the next stop and grab a train going in the opposite way. By then I was pretty much out of rage and I sat quietly in the station. A short time later I got sick.
I’m not saying that I automatically caught a cold because I blew my stack on a train platform. If that were true, half the city would be in the ER. But this kind of self-abuse is most definitely bad for my health. And it’s just no way to live.
I’m happiest when I reign in my temper and resist the urge to rage. I just don’t do it often enough.
My most recent horoscope says its time for a deep cleansing, washing not
just my brain, but my “wild heart and funky soul as well.”
It’s time for me to hit the spiritual showers and come clean.