I threw a party yesterday. And this morning, I am recovering.
There’s an expression about ‘feeling all of (add your own number) years. And I get that. But even at 54, for the amount of physical labor I performed preparing for this get together, it doesn’t make sense to feel this wasted.
Spoons? I spent a lot of ‘em apparently. But it still doesn’t make sense.
I am slowly coming about this morning. I started writing this at 10 a.m. Before that it was the usual coffee drip that no longer does much for me.
I think about my exhaustion a lot because I get exhausted a lot.
This was the first party of this scale I had thrown since. . . wait for it – 1994. Two marriages ago. I used to be quite a party-thrower. Ask anyone who might remember me from back then if you can find them.
This was a party for members of the cast of Listen to Your Mother Pittsburgh. In the beginning, I was planning on 20+ people so my wife and I prepared a party for that number. Circumstances cut the number to about half that size. I was prepared for kids and we hoped we had enough to provide diversion.
Maybe I was worried I hadn’t planned anything like this in so long. Maybe I was worried about keeping the kids happy. Maybe I didn’t have the supreme confidence I had as a social director nearing the end of my salad days of 1994. Maybe, unlike 1994, I wanted to make friends so much that I was worried about making a good impression.
Maybe it was all of the above. And I’ve come to believe that just because I can’t feel the worry, my body isn’t registering it somewhere deep inside.
Life used to go so fast – not time wise – it goes extremely fast that way now. What I mean is that I was constantly pinging from one event to another. I was moving, experiencing – life – for better or worse. Now it takes me forever to get anything done. I must set gobs of time aside to accomplish things that used to take no time at all.
I know part of this is age. I can admit that, although it’s tough. In my mind, I will forever be 35.
But I also know all the things that have happened to me in the last 10 years have taken their toll as well. I forget that I do have liver disease, which was diagnosed right after I noticed that I had slowed down and was constantly out of gas.
Then there are the meds I take for depression, bipolar, anxiety, etc. They slow your brain and body down on purpose.
And then there is the PTSD stretching back from taking care of my dying mother through the trials at work including the SWAT team episode. I have never looked at, nor experienced, life the same way since. The best I can describe it is that the color has drained out of my existence.
I have been trying to get it back.
A part of me wants to stay home. But I keep fighting it all the time. That’s part of the reason I had this party – I need to try my best to maintain human connection and try to make friends.
I don’t want to stop working unless I absolutely must. But with each day that goes by I feel less and less sure I can make it to retirement.
And even if I do, what can I do with myself then?
I don’t believe you reach a stage of your life where you should just wait to die. It seems unnatural to me.
As unnatural as wanting to sleep all day.