Still Crazy After All These Years

It's 1 am on April 16. I silently issue myself a greeting into my 60th year on this earth. Fuck, I am old. I wonder how all that time managed to fly right past me with a mere whisper; I marvel at its relentless march toward that time when time will continue on without me. Heady stuff for a moonlit morning. I also think of birthdays past; all involving alcohol, several with a smattering of other more potent drugs, mostly in tolerable amounts, but all occasions celebrated knowing the day would be bright and beautiful and the night would be clear and laced with mischief.

It has never rained on my birthday my entire life, other than my 50th; that bitch slammed on to the scene with a tornado that destroyed part of downtown Raleigh, NC. I reckoned it was nature saving it all up for my half century mark, or perhaps it was all those past crazy days of mine exploding before me like fireworks gone rogue. I hate to say that I loved the pure raw power of that day; the sky twisting in a macabre painting of vicious color, the wind and rain whipping against me as I stood outside, arms open wide in the midst of its violent dance- but I did love it. And I knew then, as I have always known-I am a bit crazy.

I love the unexpected, the chaos, the edginess, the insanely colorful, the darkness with a steak of lightning splitting the sky, the feel of the wind on my face as it flies past me while I’m doing something inherently dangerous, music that pierces my soul with it's wild beauty, the anticipation of something thrilling- these are things that have filled my life with meaning, but sadly, are mostly relegated to the shelf at this juncture in my life career.

I'm late to the table of caregiving. I never had children, for very good reason as I believe I have pretty well summed up previously, but now I find myself in just such a role, with a reverse twist. My poor mom has to deal with me, a total novice at all this. I still feel like I'm barely responsible enough to keep myself alive and now I have two lives on my plate, and my plate is vegan so that's a whole other story. Sorry I keep making you eat so many veggies, mom. She does love the cherry tomatoes though.

I'm okay putting some of my craziness on the shelf for the time being, knowing that when I am able to remove it, it will be a supremely bittersweet moment, as it will be due to a life coming to an end and another beginning again. I am perfectly content to wait for that, for as long as it takes.

Today, like (almost) all the other April 16ths in my life, is going to be a beautiful sunny day. With alcohol. Champagne, to be precise. I may be on a shelf, but I can still sit there with a nice little buzz.

Take a listen to the brilliant Paul Simon who, like me, is still crazy after all these years.