The Aisle of 6

Let me tell you a story, dear readers. Elizabeth and I had coffee yesterday, and over coffee we were talking about changing, becoming happy, getting therapy. Elizabeth says it's about feeling secure in our identity, and that becoming secure only comes from WITHIN. She's big on the within. Nobody else can make us secure, she says. You accept who you are, take responsibility for who you are, and then you can release all the anger of the past. She told me I could go out back into the farm and release my anger if I wasn't busy later in the day. She told me the only thing I have to do is write my book.

That was yesterday right around lunch time. Re-invigorated , inspired, I decided to turn over a new leaf, put my nose to the grindstone right after watching 5 hours of season three of The Wire. I'm a junkie. I'm a blackhole of productivity and negativity. This is my identity. A graveyard for lost dreams. Is that sour way of looking at life? Right now I look like fucking Farmer John the Junkie sitting in the basement with this laptop, unshaven, unshowered, and hopelessly indecisive as a person.

Which reminds me of a story. Once, about ten years ago I was in the check-out line at a busy grocery store in Madison with my friend Praveen and he forgot to buy a bottle of salad dressing so he sent me to pick one out, my choice, and I got all proud at being given the important task by an important man, and I happily obliged, but once I got to aisle 6 my good feeling evaporated only to be replaced by sheer dread as the thought occurred to me that Praveen would form conclusions about my character based on my selection of dressing-did I value quality or price or a skillful balance of both?- and for 10 minutes I stared hopelessly at the endless variety of Hidden Valley's, Newman's Owns, and the array of vinaigrette's, french's, and russian's, and soon became totally daunted by having to decide what dressing would be the "correct" choice. So I opted to lie down the aisle and rest until Praveen found me and cursed me out.

And now I'm supposed to make decisions about career, marriage, and family? I mean the weight of the reality of my situation is really coming home to me. Really sinking into my skull. I'm living on borrowed time AND money.

Then I realize I've taking a nap since the day I finished school. Elizabeth says it's easy for us as people to examine our lives, to ask what we need; she says the hard part is the answer. It can take years to deal with the answer.

Until Then,

The Traveling Wombury