Fish and I are always ‘alive’ when we talk. We’ve been friends since 1972, since we were starting to practice psychotherapy. We take our profession seriously. We don’t, however, take ourselves seriously at all. Sometimes we laugh til we cry. This was one of those times. After we parted, I was writing all evening. I emailed Fish at 3:13 A.M.
I thought we could write a blog together, each one contributing input; commenting on each others’ thoughts, interests, findings, ‘meanings of life’ stuff, etc. Finding a mate [Fish is single]; keeping a relationship alive; one man with his sons, one man with his daughters; Jungian therapy, Gestalt therapy; geriatric sex, getting old, death and illness, pathos, ethos, logos, and [God help me, drum roll please…] even d’Artagnan; all the stuff we talk about… “My Dinner With Andre” stuff. With tzitzit. (fringes)
Even politics, if we keep respecting each other; just stating our case, and not trying to kill each other. [Fish is Liberal; I’m Conservative] We started to do something like this with humor months ago. Maybe we should go for it seriously now.
Or, I thought, is this only a bad dream and I’ll awake in the hospital on a 3 day hold?
I said to Fish, “You can be Jobs if I can be Wozniak”.
Later that night, it was already dawn, I thought; “Am I biting off something I can’t chew?” That’s the kind of thought that gives a self-aware hypo-manic pause. But I’m loathe to be medicated…again. If this were a novel, not a blog, I’d take my time developing my character. But, in fact, I’ve been developing my character for these many, many years. If I were really manic, I’d write for days on end, take gin and tonics daily, seduce young women with my charming demeanor, produce Blakeian psychedelic poetry, mix cocaine with my coumadin, and on, and on, and on. … and not stop.
So I’ll stop.