Midlife Beginning

I have been realizing that I am not comfortable in my own skin. Not only am I not comfortable being me during normally awkward moments like meeting a new person, going for a job interview or having a big-assed Brazilian stripper grind those two tanned hams right into your meat and two veggies, but I am even uncomfortable when I am alone. I noticed this phenomenon just the other day. Both of my classes had been cancelled at GSU and I decided to stop at a certain Atlanta entertainment broker to wash away another fruitless day programming. As I sat there adjusting my allergy reddened eyes to the darkness, I managed to flag down a particularly non-attentive waitress and order one of America’s favorite watered down beers.

“I wonder if that Brazilian girl with the overstuffed collagen lips is here tonight”
“I don’t see RButlers Connie, either”
“Maybe that blonde girl with the harsh bangs and thick Eastern European accent will stop by and mooch a drink off of me”

All of these thoughts and more trickled over my work weary brain as I waited on that five dollar beer. Then the wiggling commenced. Not like a worm but a movement more akin to nervous agitation. I rubbed my eyes. I let out long deep breaths. I massaged the back of my neck. I bobbed my knee up and down like there was some invisible kid riding it playing horsey. When my six dollar beer (well I have to tip) finally arrived I drank it like it was the antidote and I was snake bit. It did not help. Five more beers and thirty dollars later, I could feel the tension in my back start to ease up, just a little. It was then that I realized that I was in bad shape. At my best estimation, I guessed that it would take over a month of drinking and big booty watching to come down to what most folks call normal. Life has a way of knocking folks out of kilter.

I am tired. I feel like the needle on my fuel gauge has been stuck in the red for years and my body has been sucking up all kinds of trash into my engine just to keep me running. I feel all puffed up like Lon Chaney Jr. after a few drinks. At least I am heading for my mid life crisis at the correct time. Although I could have swore I had a previous one at twenty-five. You know to call it a midlife crisis, is not really accurate. It should be called a midlife moment of clarity. A brief period to let the smoke of work and domestic life settle down and allow you to look at the picture you have painted yourself in. Maybe you need a little more red or a little less green. Or maybe you need a new canvas and a set of watercolors. Like I said, midlife crisis does not really capture the sentiment that I am looking for…How about a midlife beginning?