Where is the Cheese?

So the big concert on Saturday (OK Go) was a wash, thanks to a dead car battery the day of the concert. Thankfully, it didn’t happen in Orlando. Had I got out of the show at 11′ish Saturday night, and my car wouldn’t start, I would have been fucked royally. Instead, it happened in the short span of time it took me to get cigarettes from the smoke shop Saturday afternoon.

I was counting on the show to break me out of my funk, even if only for a few hours. But no. The universe had other ideas for me, apparently. After not being able to jump-start the car the first time, I left it in the parking lot and came back a few hours later with a friend. It started up fine the next time, with help of Mom’s car battery.

Got the car back to the house and I stayed home Saturday night, feeling especially melancholy when 8 o’clock rolled around (show time). Sunday I went to the auto parts store to get the battery tested. Surprisingly, when you hook up your battery to a charger – and acid starts frothing out of the top of said battery – it’s not a good thing.

Far better that it was the battery than something more expensive, like a starter or alternator. Still, my weekend was fucked, as was my mood.

I totally forgot about Kevin coming to Orlando this week, too, so when he reminded me Monday via Twitter that he’d be at Downtown Disney Tuesday night, I was like, fuck. Suddenly, not only was I miserable for missing OK Go, but I had to message Kevin and let him know I’d have to bow out. A 90-minute drive, mixed with overpriced dinner (no matter how enjoyable the company), was out of the question.

Sorry I couldn’t hang, Kev. Hope you and Katie are having a smashing time in Florida.

Yesterday, I met with the Matrix Therapist. Didn’t feel like going, much like I haven’t felt like doing most anything lately.

As she ushered me toward her office, she uttered the words “Temple of Tryptophan.” (NOTE: the new design has been up for just over a week now.)

Me: Oh my God, you’ve been to my blog.

Matrix Therapist: It’s not the first time.

Me: Oh my God, you’ve been to my blog…again.

(NOTE TO SELF: Don’t ever write any dirty dreams about the Matrix Therapist here.)

I explained to the Matrix Therapist just how bad the anhedonia is.

Me: Every time I use the word “anhedonia,” I inevitably have to explain to people what it means.

MT: So stop explaining. Tell them to look it up.

Me: I linked to the Wikipedia definition the last couple of times. Doesn’t seem all that difficult to figure out. I mean there’s hedonism – people seem to know what THAT means. Put “an” in front of it…hello, prefixes, ever heard of ‘em?

MT: So what’s going on?

Me: I can’t enjoy anything. TV, music, books, computer. I tried making that list of shit to get out of the house.

MT: And how did that go?

Me: Much like throwing bricks in the Grand Canyon. I went to the movies…

MT: What did you see?

Me: Iron Man 2.

MT: You went by yourself?

Me: I have nobody else to go with.

MT: How was it?

Me: It was okay^*. But I found myself wanting it to be over long before it was. Like I’m itchy to move onto something else, though nothing else is satisfying, either. I was just going through the motions.

MT: What else did you try?

Me: Bookstore…more motions. Gym, karaoke…motions, motions. Then, I drove in the pouring rain yesterday to go to the library. Got there and they’re fucking CLOSED Sundays and Mondays.

MT: Were you mad?

Me: Frustrated, but it seems par for the course. In my opinion, the library should be open on all days we have mail delivery, but then, no one ever consults me. So I just said ‘fuck it’ and went home.

It’s this isolation I feel that is part of my paralysis. Once again, I’ve put too many of my eggs into one basket. I lost my best friend recently – one of the only local friends I have. I have other close friends, but they’re all living in my computer, so to speak. And though I do answer my phone most of the time, I rarely reach out by calling them first.

Hate dragging people down into my muck.

In the first of these mugshots above, I was optimistic. Everything was great. I loved 2010, a far better year than 2009 had been. I had a girlfriend, a best friend, the Year of Resolutions, my life was back on track. Or so I thought. Within weeks, no girlfriend, lost my best bud, Mom broke her kneecap, I went manic, fainted twice from low blood sugar, lost my job.

Me: I’ve been ready to write this fucking year off for months. And it’s only getting worse.

MT: Have you thought about going back to school?

Sure, I’ve thought about it. But here’s the problem: go back to school for what, exactly? I’ve often said that the next time I go back to school, it’ll be only classes I WANT to take, as opposed to taking courses toward a degree.

Then there’s all the headache associated with getting a hold of all my previous transcripts. I’ve been to more than a handful of schools (Air Force traveling).

MT: You don’t need that stuff just to take a class.

Me: Oh? Hmm.

But this is how I approach everything, really. I think of something that might be even remotely interesting, then I flashforward and talk myself out of it because whatever it is is insurmountable.

MT: Let me ask you this…what do you feel is lacking from your life?

Me: Local friends, companionship…

MT: OK…

Me: But what do I have to offer a woman? I’m 43, unemployed, living with my mother, and I’m about as much fun lately as The Meat Thawing Network.

And again, we come to this impasse. So the MT starts talking employment, and that’s a whole other kettle of fish. Working. I haven’t worked in a “real” job for 10 years now. That was a 4-month stint as a technical writer in the corporate world, where I started having another breakdown toward the end of that gig. Two years before that, the Great Nervous Meltdown of ‘98. All I imagine when I think about working a “real” job again is freaking the fuck out and having another breakdown. I lack confidence in my ability to work a normal job.

So the MT suggests a few non-traditional things, such as research studies and mock juries. Oddly, she never even brought up gigoloism. She also suggested working in the local bookstore. And while the bookstore might seem a natural fit (I’ve worked in one before, albeit decades ago), the thought of “normal” working hours, having to get dressed and presentable and leave the damn house, gives me the heebie jeebies. Research studies may be the way to go. Put me in a giant maze and make me chase for cheese or some such shit.

I’m simply lost. Overwhelmed and mired in shit. And nothing I do feels right, let alone fun. A total lack of engagement.

Where's the Cheese?

Hmm. Perhaps there’s no pressure being a lab rat. After all, I already feel like one.

^* Iron Man 2. SPOILER ALERT. Decent flick, not as good as the first one. Robert Downey, Jr. is great, natch. But I felt it was too slow in many places, lacked a lot of the charm from the original. The action sequences were too few and far between, and the last half hour was just spastic with too MUCH happening. Watching multiple Iron Men duking it out sort of takes the “special” out of Iron Man. And seeing Mickey Rourke – some muscle-bound semi-dreadlocked tattooed gold-toofed Russian – as a nuclear physicist was stretching my disbelief beyond normal limits…even for a comic book movie. Overall grade: B-