late last Thursday night, i awoke with a start. it had dawned on me that my film school movie report was due in the morning. not the next week. tomorrow!
i have a strong super-ego. too strong. i may write like a mad man [no. not a madam!], but i live like a regular person. my shame-filter has a hair trigger. My goose was cooked. Wake Up, Little Taxi, Wake Up Little Taxi. Its Time To Go….where?!
i joke, of course, you know me by now. but i was crying. inside. doing my little wheelchair dance inside. that’s what shame does. my insides were in turmoil. i had to defecate twice in a hour. my stomach was leaden.
it was very late at night. my blogging has been all consuming. responding to comments, learning rss feeds, social network log-ins, widgets, twitter, del.icio.us, … … …and i’m all aflutter with my hypo-hyper-mania at the best of times. and… … …its Friday!
Friday.
Does a grown man cry?
there was nowhere to go! what could i do? i’m 67 years old. say “the dog ate my homework”?
i want to tell you that i acted like a man. i want to tell you that i courageous and took my medicine. that i improvised well and got applause. but that that did not happen.
by 3:30 AM, i had exhausted myself worrying. i take the public service bus to the university at 8:00. still pacing, awaiting the bus, i took a detour to a nearby shop for coffee. coffee??? “get on the f@@king bus” i commanded, out loud.
on the bus, stone-faced. i live in an urban area, but there are little patches of wilderness along the way. i tried to meditate.
whatever there was to rescue from this situation, i was going to rescue it. but i was crying, sweating, holding my innards.
the bus reached its destination. i was still thinking, “you don’t need to do this”. it was the last session of the class. and i would never be able to walk the campus again. “Hey, aren’t you the guy who missed the last class. Whatever happened to you?”
a last look at the seminar’s office, and… … …
… … …
oh, i can’t tell you how many tumultuous emotions were in play! An astonishment of fluttering vultures. an BDSM nightmare, with whips, chains, masks, and gags. Butt [sic] all the gags were on me!!!
one last timid opening of the door.
i was 1/2 hour late. from all the worry, the sleeplessness, the ‘virgina-reeling’, wheelchair dizzying nightmare i had produced for myself.
And someone else was leading the class!!
My Report Was Next Week.
Ahh!!! Ahh!!
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Continued….
Got The Broke-Down Dreary Taxi Dog Blues 