I’m Still Recovering From Friday


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!


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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