Two lines intersecting. The old man could feel himself, his actual body, slowly, not slowly enough, headed downhill. Headed to rock bottom. That was one line. He could feel his mind slowly, not slowly enough, his brain struggling to reach the top of Crazy Mountain. The sense of falling and climbing congealed into a dread which could only make mind matters worse.
Stepped into the best bicycle store if not in the world, then certainly the best in town. Had to walk past a two-seater, long blue tandem bicycle built for two. Hey, honey, what do you think? The young redhead looked at him, partly like he’s so crazy, partly like he’s so loopy. Oh, great, this way we can crash together.
Amor fati, he told her. Latin. The love of fate, the acceptance of necessity. If you take the ride, you might just crash. And don’t you just love that. “Did you ever say yes to a pleasure? Oh my friends, then you have also said yes to all pain. All things are linked, entwined, in love with one another.” Nietzsche.
The old man hadn’t felt like this, not like this, didn’t know when it had happened last. He always pulled out of the dive, if he saw it coming soon enough. The gravity of bad choices or negative self-talk, like you are feeding your bad self a downward delusion, wasting precious energy, what little you have left, when you should be nurturing your good self. Simple.
Took the six-year-old grandtwins to the Chinese Buffet close by. Only place in town serving banana creme pudding, sushi, imitation crab, BBQ ribs, green seaweed and ice cream. The old man was disappointed not to find any pickled squid. Everybody’s happy. Just my luck, I am given the elusive legendary Double Fortune Cookie. Today, you are wiser than usual, and also less anxious. Second one read – Take a vacation, you will have unexpected gains. Can’t I just stay home instead.
The old man didn’t know when it had happened last – Saturday, I think – but he could remember the first time. Bastards kept demanding attendance and attention and competence. He just wasn’t willing to make the sacrifice. He couldn’t conform.
Sixth grade was worse. Roller-coaster ever since.
The old man had almost broken himself of the habit of reading aloud amazingly gruesome shit right after the young redhead dragged home from work where she had all day been cleaning up crap with a whip and chair while spinning plates.
Did you see where a guy comes into the nature park, reaches over the fence, grabs Pinky, the Dancing Flamingo, and smashes the big pink bird to the concrete? Gentle Pinky shrieking in pain. Children horrified. The asshole yells something like “I got him! I got him!” Pinky was so severely injured, he had to be euthanized. You got him alright.
Contents may have settled. He knew that. Acceptance is just so damn hard sometimes.