I’m in the thrust of another psychological-emotional episode. I call it that for lack of any better term that might come to mind. I majored in psychology but still no term arises which might the more aptly convey the feeling that I now have. Why I majored in psychology is fodder for a separate post at perhaps some future date.
The reason for this psychological-emotional state? My mother is turning 80. Eighty years! What on earth is my mother doing turning 80?
This is she who breast fed me, I think. Who carted me off to school and fixed dinner when no one else would.
This is the one who bandaged my knee when I banged it up. I don’t recall such a thing happening, but surely something of such nature happened. I do recall running into the monkey bars and blackening my eye. This happened at school and she wasn’t there, of course. But if she had been, I’m sure she would have done something.
Do they still use the term monkey bars? Its probably now called a jungle gym or playscape or something. They may not even have such a thing anymore, for all I know.
If my mom is the one who had me when she was still at a tender young age and she is now turning 80, what does that make me? None of this is quite right. Where did the time go? Where, in fact, did the last couple of hours go?
This business of time passing is just too confusing, especially for someone who spends most of his time living in the past. Maybe that helps explain my procrastination issues. Then again maybe not.
Is there a psychiatrist out there?
February 29, 2008 at 6:13 am
Yes, where did it go? We’re suiting up for the fourth quarter now and I’m not sure which position I’m supposed to be playing. What happened to that mother of mine who looked like Doris Day with the white blonde hair and freckles? How did she become 80 and gray? Did I do that to her? She tried so hard to make everything right and here I am now, almost 60, and not knowing what I want to do when I grow up. Do I get another chance or is this it?