I Want to Read John's Book

 

Old Man Reading, Van Gogh, 1882

Started my vacation with a workout, a nap, and a visit with the shrink. These were all excellent choices. At the gym, I swung the kettlebell, which I love, and then I walked up to the heavy bag, put on the stinky loaner gloves, (oh my gawd!) and tried to punch through a beginners workout i had memorized from YouTube. After, I had a soak in the whirlpool and sat staring at my feet in the locker room until my head stopped spinning. That was Monday morning. It's Wednesday night, and I'm still a little bit high from the sound of fist on bag, and the 35 pound thud of the kettlebell as if fell from my hands to the dewy earth after each set. 

The nap was part of my plan. I knew i had not worked out for a long time, and I knew I had not gotten up and out into the 7:00 AM air for even longer, so I expected to be bushed and I was. But it was a different kind of nap. Not one of those, "Christ, just make it all go away for a few minutes," kind of naps, but a luxurious, post-shower indulgence of a soul with nobody expecting a damn thing from it. Not a running from the harsh light, but a gentle slipping into the warm dark behind eyelids that had earned a nice rest.

And then, the shrink. 

"Your last vacation did not go so well for you."

Understatement of the year. I slipped into a fun. Skipped eating. Stopped bathing. worked on a physical activity regime of rolling over in bed and occasionally standing up to stagger to the toilet or the glider-rocker in the living room where the birds and Sophie the cat would stare at me with confused, concerned eyes. No. Had not gone so well Doc.

"What are you going to do differently?" Right over the plate.

Oh, man. I had seen this coming. I swung for the fences. I had a plan. I would get out of the house every day. I was going to get 5 workouts in and had decided to start preparing for a marathon. I had mapped out a plan to put the house in order so it wouldn't make me so disgusted and might even be a place where I wouldn't be ashamed to have someone visit. I was going to prepare meals instead of running to the drive-throughs on New Circle Road. I was not going to spend another damn week brewing in my own stink and sorrow.

"That's quite a list. But it seems like a lot of chores. What to you WANT to do this week?"

See, this is why I wanted a wise old therapist. He isn't trying to impress me with stuff he learned in school. He asks stupid questions that a kid would ask, and makes me think about things I'm used to ignoring. A few weeks ago, after a long monologue about how much it sucked to be me, he gave a long pause, as if checking to make sure I had run out of steam, and he asked, "You do all these things for all these people. But who is Bob?" I've been gnawing on that ever since. Stupid questions that change everything. This is why it's worth taking the time to find the right head-shrinker.

"You've told me a lot of things that you have planned to do. What to you WANT to do?"

I had no idea. I wasn't raised to ask such questions. My father raised me to do what was right. My mom raised me to do what was nice. Grandma just wanted me to be a preacher. Nobody ever taught me to care about what I wanted to do. No, I had to pay somebody to do that. 

I'm not going to share the details of our session. To be honest, I mostly just remember the pearls from our long visits. Stuff like, "Sometimes you just have to show up," and "It's not a play, Bob. You don't get to know the ending when the scene starts." I carry these things around like pink bazooka bubble gum that gets softer and more familiar the longer you chew on it.

Spent Monday following the plan. Felt great. Sitting in my chair in the dark, watching the headlights traveling up and down Broadway. Hmmm... what do I want? 

Dammit, I'd kind of like some company.  But that would require reaching out. Risk being rejected. Or worse, risk being accepted. Expectations to live up to. Disappointments to live with. Balance and proportion and what if I get all carried away or we don't feel the same vibe or... I recognized the rabbit hole. Step back. Breath. What do I WANT? Don't want to get married. Don't even want to get laid. Just want to sit at a nice table with a pretty girl and tell the truth to one another for a while.

What did I do? None of your beeswax. Steps were taken. The results were not scary. 

Tuesday, I woke up, made breakfast, tapped on the computer for a while, and checked the plan. Lunch date with a patient Markey had referred to me because of our similar diagnoses and treatment course, and because they know I don't mind being with people who need to talk about it.  Fat Class at night. I call it that, which is rude, because, well fuck it, I'm rude sometimes. But also as an acknowledgement of my commitment to change the behaviors that have swung my body back from swole to blubbery. Again. I know coach has a plan to do some intense work, and I also know that last week's class kicked my ass. I want to be strong this week, not gasping in my chair with my head between my knees so they can't see how close I am to tears of self-pity. Not again. I'm gonna be fresh and rested. I'm gonna kick ass. 

But, dammit. It is such a great morning. A great morning for a walk. I should rest. I should clean up the kitchen and mop the bathroom. I should have some carbs and do some laundry and be ready to hit the gym like a 20-year-old tonight. 

But, dammit. I WANT to take a walk, What did I do? I took a walk. I saw the neighborhood wake up and start the day. I watched a little old man walking with a little old beagle who looked like she was 100 years old, and rolled on her back in the grass like a pup. I saw a young woman with a big ol shepherd who looked worriedly over her shoulder at me until I crossed the street and continued on my way, smiling at her beautiful companion, and getting a friendly smile in return, one from each of them. I saw people opening businesses and hustlers hustling and the gritty, glorious cacophony of uptown in the morning. I took a walk. Not because I didn't want to do all the other stuff on my list. But because i wanted to. Than I came home, took a shower, and got a whole bunch of stuff accomplished. And last night, even without a day of rest and psyching myself up, I kicked ass.

Today is Wednesday. I wanted to be in the gym by 7:00 this morning. Just didn't have the juice for it. Started to feel bad about that. Here I go again. Making promises to myself, then breaking them. Why do I even...? Then, that crazy shrink's voice in my head again... 

"What do you WANT to do?"

Well, invisible doctor who lives in my head, I want to go to the gym. I want to lose weight. I want to run. I want to keep my commitments. I want.

Dammit. I want to read John's book.

My friend John wrote a book. He's a great writer, and an even better man. He has no idea how much he has helped me over the years, and when he published a novel a few months ago, I ordered it before it was even finished being printed. And then I put it on the counter next to my chair and ignored it. "I should read  that. He's going to expect me to publish a review. He's going to think I read it and hated it because I haven't said anything." Whatever. Just one more promise broken. Just one more project started and never finished. So, it's 7:30 in the morning. I should be swinging a kettlebell in the grass. But I kind of want to sit in a chair on the porch and read John's book.

So I read. On breaks, I cleaned the kitchen counter. Did the laundry. Got a new drivers license. And am about two thirds through a marvelous novel full of wisdom and humor and death and baseball and I'll be reviewing it one of these days, as soon as I want to do that.

Holy shit. Am I having a vacation?

Just might be. Tomorrow, after my run, I'm gonna finish John's book.

Who knows. I may even want to mop that bathroom.