Happily Depressed

I woke up today without any sort of impetus to do the things I had planned. For one, I planned to go running in the morning, but I did everything but throw my alarm against the wall and stayed in bed. Then I was even tempted to skip the mandatory pre-licensing course I had finally decided to take. But what else was I going to do today? So I actually did that by calling on my new playing hurt philosophy.


And the course is done and I had a somewhat entertaining teacher to guide me through the tedium. But then I went for my usual jaunt through the city and the pavement did not exactly provide the lift that it usually does. I ambled in and out of stores at SoHo barely impressed and hardly looking. I wasn't even interested in people watching like usual.


I could easily blame the ugliness that the rain brought, but I think the discontent has been brewing for a while. I'm actually starting to tire of my job. I don't like where I am in life period. But I'm also starting to realize that I am just different. My fascination with sociology and the trends and categories slowly bled into my thinking. For some reason, I keep trying to find the archetype to which I fit and each time I come up empty, I get discouraged.

Forget all that though. I'm just me. I have to start operating like that. I have Ivy-league educated peers doing things with their life. Fine. Others are perpetually in school and accumulating wealth. Fine. That's just not me. I am closing in on 26 and have no idea who I am though. And it's time I finally started to define that. It's time to honestly acknowledge my strengths and deficiencies. It's time I figure out what it is I want. The nonchalance that has been my trademark needs to disappear. I want to be fiery. I want to be passionate.

It's time to act on all that bloody potential I have been too scared to mine.

I'm going running.

Old School

Today, I dragged myself out of bed and walked the three blocks to the driving school that has always been there. I had finally decided to get tthe 5 hour course that all of us New Yorkers have to take out the way so I could take the road test and drive out of Neverland. For some reason I still wasn't all that motivated to go. Dreary day. Five hours listening to mostly common sense stuff.

It was made bearable by the instructor. A silver haired man who spouted New Yorker as soon as he opened his mouth. Almost immediately, he revealed that he had grown up in the Bronx. Just the rhythm and cadence of his speech, and even the content, had me convinced that we had an old school cat on our hands. The way he dressed conFrom the nehru blazer to the sensible shoes, I wondered how New York stopped producing this specimen. In his time, it was obvious that people placed a premium on being informed. I find that people with the most basic of educations from that time have a thirst for knowledge that surpasses those who get graduate degrees today. Throughout his lessons and admonitions against drunk driving, he pepered in tales of his own excursions.

I must say at times I was a little spelbound by his presentation. Though he worked with one of the most mundane subjects, he was active and colorful. A diverse group of license offenders and bright eyed kids, he had us all tuned in when the recipe said we should have tuned out. But people from that time all seem to possess a at least a modicum of that charm. Honestly, things seemed simpler then. The attitude seemed simpler. Just the approach to life was simpler.

I am displaced.

Good Grief

For the past three days, Mira has been texting me pretty consistently about work matters. I think its her own way of dealing with grief. On Sunday, she learned her father passed away. I am a sensitive boy. Church made funerals seem very important. Even when people passed away that I was totally unconscious of, I always held a special reverence for their lives.

Of course, I naturally want to comfort, but it is very apparent that Mira does not want to delve into a touchy feely conversation. And that's how she deals with it. I realize I am privileged to even receive text messages, since her best friend informed me that Mira was only communicating to her. And in her own way she deals with it.

On the other end, the matriarch of our family friends passed away last week. Her granddaughter had repeated breakdowns over the weekend and found sleep at aberrant hours. At the burial site, she broke down to the point she was on the floor asking to be buried with her grandmother.

Two different types of responses to stressful times, both appropriate in their own way. I wonder how I'll react when it happens to me.

Playing Hurt

Last week, my right cheek doubled in size due to an unexpected left hook. I almost mangled my face trying to bring a 170 pound bruiser to the floor. In that hold, I definitely did something to my right knee. But I was out playing Ultimate frisbee the next day, where I am sure I aggravated a heel spur that was disippating. And to drown the sorrows of week, I went out and danced heavily, making my Jamaican ancenstry proud by gettting as low as possible.

By Sunday, my body completely reacted. But instead of taking advantage of a lazy Sunday at work, I ended up playing football with the adolescents. The next day was an hour of full court basketball. The following day, the same bruiser challenged me to stop him during kick returns. And the next morning, I punished myself by resuming my dormant running regimen. Yesterday, I did the same thing, though I had much smaller goals.

So now my body aches. At one point, it was painful to sit since my butt was as sore as any other point on my body. Reaching to stop the alarm on my phone was an exercise in pain management. But even though I had reason to relax all this week, I still went at it. Somehow I need to translate that lesson to the rest of my life.

Mira made the comment that I had met her during the most stressful period of her life. I'm not sure I'm at my most stressed, but it is definitely the most important. I have committed to taking three graduate level exams in the next two months. I have finally decided on an educational path I want to take. But all that past baggage is kind of slowing me down. I played hurt at work though. I need to play hurt at life.

A couple months ago, a preacher did a sermon based on Paul's escape from prison. The angel said "Arise quickly" and as soon as he did it, his chains fell off. I'm very tempted to be stagnant right now. I'm not sure if it is because New England is in full cold, rainy, autumn mode or maybe that I am just too comfortable in the routine I have cultivated these last couple of months.

These chains gotta move though

Highs & Lows of Black Culture

After my spiritually depressing week, tonight was finally the Common concert. The trip down to DC wasn't too problematic. Actually it was almost what the doctor ordered. Solitude and space. And Posh made it even better by actually showing up on time. Go Posh.

Since I usually pay for the tickets, Posh usually takes me out. This time we headed to an event called First Fridays, which unbeknownst to me is a well orchestrated social networking event for Black professionals that has chapters in a multitude of cities. They change locations every month and this time around it was at a spot called UltraBar. It was a cool place and the DJ was playing songs that I thought I only listened to. Plus the libations were flowing, so the cares were melting away just as I'd hoped.

Of course I was in observant mode for the initial part of the night. Of course there were more women than men since we are talking about black professionals. But I found it funny that the patronage was exclusively black, but all the bartenders were white. I wished Malcolm was around to view it. I know some of us were on our ways to getting totally trashed and maybe ending up in beds we would regret later, but Plymouth Rock was lifted for those couple of hours. So loads and loads of well dressed and affluent black professionals dancing and drinking and being all responsible, making connections and shit. Man I loved it.


Then we went to the Common concert. Absolute opposite. It was held at a club called Love, which is questionable in and of itself. Posh has always abstained from taking me to this minor DC nightcub landmark, and after visitation I understand why. Its four levels of fun, or so its advertised. All I saw was a meat market of chickenheads and the sorry brothers who are jocking to take them home. Even though our tickets said doors open at 6, we arrived at 9:45 and the floor for Common wasn't even open yet. By the time it was, we learned that only VIP's would be close to the stage. Luckily we were already drunk enough so we headed up to another floor to dance. We had a good time, but so were all the hos around us. I started to think that booty shorts and stilettos were a uniform. And when the concert finally began, you had the whole mess of people who didn't buy tickets try to get on the floor. Plus it seemed like there were packs of questionable hoodlums who held up the wall and did nothing and looked like trouble brewing.

Oh my people my people, what can you do? Just love 'em I guess.

Aaaaah

It was a lovely autumn day today. The sun was out enough and the air was refreshingly crisp, even when it was a bit too cold. The house at full capacity was actually more manageable and enjoyable than yesterday. I had a playful conversation with a boy who'd had a hangover over the weekend and the boys actually responded to directions without temper tantrums. By 8:30 p.m., it was quiet. And though I got a bit of good natured ribbing about the state of my face the swelling has subsided a bit. The Patriots performed a clinic and so all of New England is happy. And my prescription of my grandfather's elixir (read: cognac) to nurse the tender pains in my jaw and elbow is only helping to accentuate my content mood. Plus I get to go back to my boys tomorrow. Life's not that bad.

(The Mets issued an apology note to all their fans which brought me a bit of comfort and hopefully closure. It's still bittersweet though which is why I didn't include it with the rest of the positive posting. I really don't feel like watching any baseball unless the Red Sox make the Series.)

This Sucks

The title encapsulates it all.

I arrived at the older boys' program only to have it confirmed that I was just a regular staff and really wasn't doing anything too special. Then I found out that the meeting I was set to have with their program director wouldn't happen cause he called out for tomorrow.

For most of the day that was fine though, since we only had three boys. I figured I could save my dread for the next day, when I would return, but only with a full house and more chances for firecrackers. I got to watch football uninterrupted and read New York Times articles I printed. There was a point I was in the house alone just watching football.

Lo and behold, at dinner time, I actually start to do my job. And a mild mannered Muslim, who happens to be Caucasian and loves Magic cards and collecting currency, started flipping out cause he couldn't get an extra piece of chicken. He actually called me "boy" and then as he flipped out more, clubbed me in the right cheek. Then when I tried to hold him, he grabbed my shirt and told he wasn't letting go cause I was touching him and yelling. Of course I had stopped speaking and had my hands up which should be indicative of this kid's mental illness. He finally let go and I closed the door on him in the solution room. Of course he wished for my death and threatened to press charges, over what, I don't know. Luckily he was a blubbering mess when he came out.

But my face still stung. And my elbow was even worse since I banged it on a wall in the ensuing struggle. And I can't even type this now without grimacing. To add salt to my wounds, the Mets completed one of the worst chokes in all of sports history today by not even making the playoffs after leading their division since May. They blew a 7 game lead in little over two weeks.

And I have to go back to those guys tomorrow. And I'm not going to a Mets playoff game this week. Common better have the sickest show this Friday and please believe there will be a plethora of libations imbibed.

Update - Monday, October 1st, 2007, 11:26 a.m.

The mirror told me my right cheek was swollen. I hate the mirror.

Better Work

Today I did some more training for my new part time gig. And I felt good. A large part was my state of appearance.

Something about looking good adds a bit of a boost to one's self esteem. As I walked the streets, even a shoe shine artisan noted, "Perfectly fine." I was wearing new shoes as well.

And all that boosting made me feel totally confident in that training, even though I had nothing to really do. I just felt like I belonged. I even think one of the agency attorneys might have been feeling me. I hate to sound cheesy, but its pretty cool hanging with the big boys and girls. I think I've been ready for it, but just didn't want to do it. Now I'm itching.

A Burberry tie proves to be the spur to depart Neverland.

Ego Stroked But Now There's Chafing

Today, I was very prepared at work. I knew the therapy group I was headed to and even made sure I checked in with the group leaders about the transition plan. Of course I took my one boy to the scheduled room and no one informed me they changed it. So when I brought him in about 20 minutes late, I thought when my program director wanted to check in with me, I might have been in some slight trouble.

Lo and behold, he was actually telling me about how the program with the oldest boys is a mess. Wolf Fighter, who was given the supervisor spot over there, had allegedly been in their program director's office in tears and feeling overwhelmed. And in the ensuing tete-a-tete between these program directors, they decided to ship me out to that program for a month.

Of course, I could hardly contain the smile in my heart. He basically told me that I was well regarded enough to go quell some fire on the opposite side of campus. Little old me was going into the trenches to reset the order.

But then wait. If I'm going back to my original set of boys, won't a month of absence damage my authority with them? How many routines and incidents could occur that I wouldn't be aware of? How would I get my requisite play time since the older boys love Magic, video games, and computers? And if they're shipping me around like some mercenary to help brring about piece, will I have some authority to actually change things instead of just being an actual strong staff?

It started to bug me as I thought about it. It's like I'm a piece of meat. And Mira, fresh from her reshuffling, commisserated with me as well. But an e-mail will go out to those same program directors tomorrow and hopefully clarity will reign again.

It still sucks though

Update - Thursday, September 27, 2007, 2:26 p.m.

So I sent my well crafted e-mail this morning. First I thanked them for thinking of me, then I went into the original problems I had viewed in my earlier visits to the program when they had no one to do their meds, and then I asked for clarity. I got a reply from their program director to call him. Now I'm thinking that maybe I was too big for my britches and came off as arrogant.

It doesn't help that the guy speaks in a monotone and that upset sounds just like excited. As soon as we get past the pleasantries, he's saying he was "out of his chair." In anger? In joy? Luckily it was the latter. So now I'm feeling joyful again cause he promised to meet with me on Monday after he boosted me up by bigging up my character. "It's like you read my notebook"

I still don't like it, but I'm somewhat excited about the opportunity.

Update - Friday, September 28, 2007, 8:58 p.m.

Yeah so my program director, who also received the e-mail, replied to it today. He also gave me compliments on character, but he also said I would split my week between my program and theirs. So now I'm thinking I'm just a staff. No authority. I am not a happy camper. He squashed whatever optimism I have. I now go plan to eat a lovely meal and forget that this is happening.

Chalupa

Today, after an extended battle between two aging bureaucracies, which are both responding hastily and often illogically to outside prescriptions, we lost Chalupa. Chalupa is a seven year old cognitively limited boy we had on our campus for two years. During his time there, he gained campus wide recognition. The kid was cute. The face was totally innocent. Whatever horrendous or disturbing behaviors he exhibited, you could never hold it against him. None of it was his fault.

When he originally came, they didn't know if he spoke Spanish or English. His mom was homeless and voluntarily gave he and his sister up to Social Services. She never reclaimed them. We have no idea where the sister might be. But I hope she didn't suffer the same plight as Chalupa. It's obvious he was sexually and physically abused in addition to the obvious neglect. He seems the size of 5 year olds and acts even younger than that. Accidents are the norm and at least one chase through the house a day. He could get into your nerves at time.

But he had a consistency of joy that could always win you over. It never really dissipated. Even after he was crying for a while, within seconds he was smiling. Even time he swore it broke your heart. Each action against you made your blood boil not because of how sad the behavior was, but just the mere fact that this small child was the perpetrator.

Now he's gone/ He had actually been making some serious strides i the recent months. More individualized attention lead to better verbal expression. He actually participated in activities for longer than 15 minute clips. He had stopped being the shift nuisance that was his biggest negative. But DSS is tired of our school, at least one office. They've moved most of the kids that we had in the past couple of months. And Chalupa is one of them. So he won't be going anywhere particularly better suited for him, like consistent individualized attention that we could never provide. It's basically the same deal. Just not us. That's a very sad thing. We started to be the only family he had. He actually started to make connections and build relationships. They all get stripped away because two agencies can't get along.

It's tragic. It's the system. But what's done is done. When Banana said her goodbyes on Monday, he came and hugged her and said "I'll miss you." He knew her yellow car and remembered the sign language she taught him. But no more constant requests for gum or silly dives into bed. The dancing to Gnarls Barkley "Crazy" never again to be viewed. Other boys' behaviors kept me away from him for most of the day, but I remembered to say my goodbyes just as he was about to fall asleep. I was about to leave when he asked me to tuck him in. And I wrapped him up like I used to.


I'm glad I'll remember him happy. I hope he stays that way.

Found A Spot

Romanticizing the barbershop is something I'm quite fond of. In my childhood, I think I made it the place where I interacted with "real" people. I think I was just jealous of all the ghetto latchkey children who came and went as they pleased. And I kind of admired all the teens and older kids in flashy fake gold with elaborate handshakes to match their precisely cut Gumbys and fades.

But I always felt like an outsider. In adulthood, I still have searched for that mix of camaraderie, familiarity, and just straight comfort. The closest I got was when I had dreads. I saw the same stylist for the duration of their existence, and we developed quite the rapport. Even followed him to his new digs and paid for a $25 cut and shave just cause of the familiarity factor. But I realized it wasn't smart to keep paying and my sojourns have taken me back to those places where I enjoyed it, but still an outsider.

I think the search is over though. I went to this place a couple months ago because my usual spot had a longer line than I would have liked. But the barbers there are mostly West Indian and hearing their patois, sometimes decipherable, makes me feel quite comfortable. And today when I walked in after someone, my usual barber actually said I was next. They're comfortable enough to watch "Ellen" and British comedy on the flatscreen as well. Most importantly, the cuts are precise and he doesn't ask if I want a razor for my shaves. He just does it. The fact that I can laugh along with their conversation, even as they diss potential customers under the disguise of their funny foriegn colloquialisms just adds to the allure.

It's nice to have a home.

The Morning After

The first jolt I got was when I reached for my cell phone so that I could shut off the alarm. There was soreness in my hand. Then I felt it in my tricep. I really couldn't fathom why I was in pain. There was a point where the shower water worked doubly. As it scalded, it also soothed pains I was yet to have. It slowly came back to me that yesterday I had a mini-sumo match with one of my clients and he landed a slight jab to my left cheek. He's also 270 lbs. Doodlebug tells me thats 140 kilos or something.

Yes. Wow indeed.

After these stressful incidents, which included spitting on me and trying to emasculate me through kicking, my brain just put them away, which is pretty typical of people in my field. If these incidents don't get filed away appropriately, it's bad for everyone. Yeah I was pissed off. Maybe a bit embarrassed. But the kid is mentally ill. And there is still paperwork to be done and garbage to dispose of. And in one hour you will be home in your bed. Just move on.

But then mornings after like these, you wonder why you do it. Why this type of beating? Why not hit books, sell out, and cash in? Get that prestige that Dad craves so much? As I put the lotion on my hands just minutes ago, the exercise was just a syllabus in learning exactly where things hurt the most. And what hurts now will only be exacerbated and added on to if my scheduled date with ultimate frisbee comes to fruition.

There's some grander purpose to this I think. I can honestly say that I am a bit lazy but I enjoy what I do. I am getting tired of it. Sometimes I find myself not giving it my total devotion and that disappoints me. But still the pros drastically outweigh the cons. And I do love to play.

It's Actually 10 Months

About 20 minutes ago, my post Sports Center siesta was broken up by my cell phone ring. Seeing that it was my good friend Testimony and knowing I wasn't that unconscious, I actually answered the call eschewing my recent no-morning phone call rule. We had talked extensively at work yesterday as I updated her on the changes to the whole organization. I thought maybe she had a follow up question of some sort.

Instead, she greeted me as Uncle Adam and proceeded to tell me that she is expecting. Already she is eight or nine weeks. Which is exactly around the time of her wedding, that I happened to pseudo-coordinate. In the midst of the success of "Knocked Up", has my generation taken the message to heart? Or am I just freaking out because I am getting to the age where people actually settle down and start having babies?

It seemed an anomaly to me when my former college roommate got married and had a child two years ago. When Principessa Bella had her son this year, almost a year to date from her marriage vows, it seemed like everyone in my age group was having babies. On my two trips to my aunt's church, I've been greeted with the sights of college friends who followed through with their sweethearts and have happy mini families or at least expecting them. And seeing my godsister's three babes was incredible when seven years ago, her wedding was the first time I felt like a grown-up.

Now Banana is becoming more open about her own pregnancy now that she is visibly showing. In October, she actually learns what sex the child will be. It just seems crazy to me that my peer circle is having children. These aren't family friends or random older children of church folk. People I had class with, sang in choir with, went to bars with, are reproducing! Have I really been denying that life has been going on around me this badly? Am I really this old? Should I be sad that I am in no position to have one now?

In a way I am sad. Or maybe disappointed. It would be nice to be settled and know that I was that secure in a relationship to actually bring life in this world. But lately I've come to realize that I am not that secure in myself so it is all for the best. Eventually I hope to ohave my own, but for now I'll practice honing my eye for baby clothes.
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Now playing: Black Star - Astronomy (8th Light)

Encore

After a two hour conversation with Mira that largely revolved around work matters, I'm inspired to share more examples of goodness my boys exhibited today.

- The seven year old I mentioned before wanted to play Sorry! again with imaginative dice. He actually found me to play it. And earlier when he ran in to our meeting, he immediately stopped, looked around at all the adults with serious expressions and said "Smells like a meeting in here." He then proceeded to run to his room and dive on the bed. He also advised a client to go sleep in their room so he wouldn't be disrupting. That's our 7 year old mentally retarded resident.

- I did play an intense game of Ultimate Frisbee. It was probably the best organized sport activity during my tenure. It helps that it was four overgrown male staff getting ultra competitive and luckily the kids bought into it enough to avoid most issues. Mocha was showing off his grass stains as badges of honor.

And now I get to sleep till whenever and recover from such a festive week.

Lazy Morning

Mira made the comment about how great the potential was for the laziness of this morning, so I decided to act upon it. After I wrote an e-mail to a clinician about one of my boys, I sorted my laundry and then put in a load. After that burst of productivity, it was sheer slothyness (term borrowed from Friends of Mira. All Rights Reserved) from then on.

When I threw on the TV, I was disappointed to see that my usual dose of Sports Center was delayed for live action from the Women's World Cup. Now I can say that I love sports, even women's soccer, not exactly a popular choice amongst the heterosexual male. But I wanted football highlights and baseball. Women's World Cup can wait till the round of 16. Or at least if the Americans were on. Instead the matchups were Japan : England and Nigeria : Sweden. Yeah. But I got over myself and actually the soccer was pretty exciting at points. That British girl Katie Smith is a beast. I'd like to say it was th e training she got at the American university that is the cause.

My patience was rewarded with a 90-minute Sports Center featuring two of the network's more dry, random humorists. Is it wrong that I not only watch the show for the sports highlights but actually for the entertainment in it? Those guys are funny sometimes. Actually most of the time. And yeah I do have favorites. But it was just what the doctor ordered.

And now the music finally joins the proceedings and I immediately think of a new blog for my media site, because Ma$e was a star that burned out too quick. He was a much better version of Fabolous, before Fabolous. And I like Fabolous.
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Now playing: Ma$e - Lookin' At Me (feat. Puff Daddy)
via FoxyTunes

The Child Whisperer

Today there were three interactions with my boys that are indicative of why I go to work.

The first was as I picked up one boy from our version of after school detention. He was in a chipper mood because he had done his consequence without an issue and was leaving on time. When I came he was trying to meditate with his fingers crossed. As we were walking back, I took a look at his homework and commented on how well his penmanship has progressed. He graciously said thank you and he also just commented on how bad it used to be but that he kept working on it. And then to add the cherry on top, he complimented one of his peers on how good his handwriting had become. Seeing humanity in a child is sometimes the only thing that saves humanity.

That same peer he commented is the subject of my second interaction. This boy is 7 going on 8, but really he is more like 3 or 4 tops. He was having a very erratic day and eventually I had to take him away from everyone just so he could truly settle. When he came out of it, we didn't immediately rejoin the community but we played the game of Sorry he pulled out. Of course there were no dice and all the pieces were not there, but he still went about the task of setting up the board and telling me what colors I was assigned. We played for 30 minutes with imaginative dice. We cupped our hands, shook them, and let them roll out on the board, calling out the number that only we saw in our heads. And that lasted for 30 minutes. Amazing.

The final interaction is the most moving one for me. One of our boys is 14 and smart. He is close to leaving but he keeps making silly little decisions that set him back. This night, he had a blowout because we wouldn't print a specific picture of Jessica Alba for him to sketch. This is the same one who I bought artwork from. After he almost got his friend in trouble and we almost escalated into a jawing match, we had a talk. I knew the window hitting wasn't about that silly picture. It was about the boy who keeps getting in his grill at school. The girlfriend he feels betrayed him. The home life that is not only below his expectations, but now is uncertain. Sometimes dysfunction is valuable just because of the perverse stability it can offer. But now that divorce seems imminent, the uncertainty makes him even more crazy. And there was school and other things, but just see the flood come out. Just to hear the worries. It felt good to hear him just admit it to himself. I was probably extra sentimental cause I had recently had the same venting experience with my mom around the same time last week. It was nice to know that he felt comfortable enough to have the rare explosion of emotion with me. And it just speaks to why I do what I do. It's really all about those kids. I live to see that progression in all its forms.

I Think I Like Chelsea

That would be the neighborhood in New York City, not some girl I magically came up with. Yesterday, it was where I was playing golf and found those shops that piqued my interest. Today, after I checked the test print of my grandfather's photo, I happened to meander the 20 blocks away and found myself there again. Its filled with the young, eccentric, and sometimes affluent that I would like to think are the closest kindred spirits I have.

And there is where television personalities feel comfortable enough to be normal people. In July, I found myself in line behind Mo Rocca, former Daily Show correspondent and now pop culture guy. Today in Starbucks I was lucky enough to give a compliment to Kelly Coffield, whose primary claim to fame was the lone white woman on In Living Color during the hey day of Jim Carrey and Damon Wayans.

The streets are relatively clean. There's a nice mix of mainstream and eccentric shopping. The people range from early 20s to middle age, but the common thread is that they all seem to be fresh, young and current, no matter the age. It seems like the closest one can get to an environmental fountain of youth. Now the trick is getting to the place where I can afford $2,000 in rent for a tiny 1 bedroom. Such is life

Inertia

From the physcis course I took, I believe the idea of inertia is that pretty much everything is going to stay in the state its in unless an outside force does something to it. If you're moving one way, you'll keep going that way until something stops you or alters your course. And if you're not moving then you'll be as immobile as a rock, unless something pushes you along.

Today for some reason, I woke up at 9, even though I had gone to sleep at 4. I thought waking up at 10 was a stretch, but that's what I had set my alarm to since I had things I wanted to accomplish today. But I woke up and had boundless energy. I transcribed the RLS blog which I had written long hand while I stayed in the hotel and was without internet. I then bounced around and showered, continued to sing and dance as I completed my grooming rituals, and even had enough time to be vain in the mirror for a second.

As I soaked up my usual fix from my chemical dependency on the pavement, I felt a charge I haven't felt in a while. I felt good. I felt confident. And confidence is a drug that liberates oneself from inhibition. I was less subversive about my enjoyment of music and visibly mouthed words and bobbed my head. When I was walking, the observant would have seen that I was really dancing as much as possible. All this while I dropped off a photo of my grandfather to be reproduced and stopped off at four stores to shop. I was charming to the attendant in the department store. You could not stop me.

But then I went to drive golf balls because I finally felt inspired enough. And the confidence was still there. I asked for the clubs I wanted without hesitation and found my way to a slot. But then the confidence drained out of me. First my ball machine wasn't working. The nice elderly lady next to me helped me out and actually gave me her slot with free balls since she was a member. But then I just sucked. Its been a while since I picked up clubs. And I got all cerebral and upset at myself. Furthermore, I was starting to get tired as I walked to the golf club and I forgot to eat in my mania.

I left sad. I even discovered a bunch of shops I probably would love after i passed by the meat market, but I couldn't even get excited. My music didn't even bring me joy. And there is inertia. You couldn't stop me before in terms of confidence. But my disappointing play combined with my sleepiness changed all that. Confidence gone.

It got to the point where I was figuring out how I could afford private lessons so I could dominate the sport, which I've always thought was perfect for me. It's solitary and useful in climbing the social ladder. You get to spend loads of cash on equipment and everybody is always striving for perfection.

And it all quickly came back when I got on the train and a girl gave me the look over as we passed and actually turned her head to check me out as she walked away. Smirk returned. Head bobbing, though the sleepiness still kept me somewhat sedate.

How Do You Solve A Problem Like Restless Legs?

Due to my recent spike in television consumption, combined with my digestion and acute attention to advertisements, I've learned that I may suffer from Restless Legs Syndrome. According to the commercials, people that suffer from the affliction have symptoms like weird fidgeting in their legs and the incessant urge to move around. Thank God I saw these messages cause I was actually considering cutting back on the SoBe Energy Coolattas from Dunkin Donuts.

Now though, since I have identified the real problem, how exactly do I combat this RLS (as the cool kids refer to is)? Well I never would have known about it, if not for an ad for Mirapex, a medication aimed at calming the symptoms of the syndrome. But the lovely people at Boehringer Ingelheim, which make it, were nice enough to tell me that I might feel the urge to fall asleep during normal everyday activities like driving. And after I did more research, I found that it might initiate hallucinations and compulsive gambling. This all makes me somewhat wary. I just want to calm down my legs. Though the increased sex drive may be a bonus.

Just when I thought I was at my wit's end, I saw another commercial for Requip, aimed at trying to quell the same problem. Not only did this give me hope but it also offered comfort since if there were two medications for this diagnosis, it must mean there are enough people suffering just like me to motivate the pharmaceutical companies to make a profit. Sometimes you have to thank God for those lovely executives diligently working to help me live my best life possible. Like any other drug, Requip has side effects, but they only reported drowsiness, nausea, and vomiting. That is much better than spontaneous narcolepsy. Imagine if my kids took advantage of my sporadic comas. Plus the increasing reports of organ thieves frightens me and I do love to take the subway.

Now my plan was to go to Costco and get bulk supplies of toothpaste and mints so I could hide the possible effects from my future prescription. Sadly, after I did more research, I found that Requip had the same problems that Mirapex has. Compulsive gambling, dizziness when I stand up, hallucinations. It was all there. Now how can I terminate the constant motivation to actually do things and move around.

Maybe I'll just walk it off.