Things have been getting a little crazy around here… and you can call me “things”.
I guess that’s my way of saying that I’m afraid the rubber room is closing in every day and it is freaking me the fuck out. Case in point, last week. One night, Vicky and I were at Costco. I was pushing the cart along, looked down, and saw that my hand had been sliced clean down to the bone. I could feel cool blood (I’m guessing it cooled when it hit the air) dripping down my fingers. Vicky didn’t seem to notice. And that’s about when I realized that my hand was perfectly okay. I looked again and, though it felt sliced open, it was fine. I’d insert a witty remark here except that what happened yesterday was worse. We were driving in Vicky’s car and I had my legs stretched out. I was wearing sandals. Suddenly, I felt a hot knife or acid cut through four of my toes. This time, it hurt like it was real. I yelled and pulled back my foot to see – my foot was fine. I had to explain to Vicky not to worry – that I was only losing my mind.
Last week, I said, “I never thought that hallucinating Rosa would be ‘the good old days’.” How true.
I’m existing in a state of very high paranoia, very much at odds with myself. I don’t know what I’m going to pull next. I’d say it’s driving me crazy but that would sound redundant.
So, let’s change the subject.
Did you know that some people are blaming global warming on the sun? They’re saying that the sun’s getting warmer. Well, I hate to throw cold water on that but, it turns out the sun has actually been cooler, not warmer. Since the 1980’s, the sun’s energy has been lower, not higher, as the earth gets hotter. And thus, goes another excuse as we continue to poison our planet.
Speaking of poison, did you hear about the big, Japanese earthquake? Did you hear about the nuclear reactor that was caught in the middle of it?
It dumped radiation into the sea and lots of other things they’re surely not going to disclose. Keep in mind, no one ever got blamed for Chernobyl and that pattern has applied to man-made disasters across the board in Prince William Sound, Bhopal, and on and on – that’s the way it works. So, when the next nuclear disaster happens, if it hasn’t just occurred, be sure that they’ll keep it all a secret from us and no one will be held responsible.
My favorite quote from this article, by the way, is "About 315 gallons of slightly radioactive water apparently spilled from a tank". I love that they have an exact figure but refer to it as "slightly radioactive" (just a little lethal). But adding "apparently" is what makes it art.
Vicky and I were at a party Saturday afternoon and there was a little boy there. His name was Jack. He was just about a year or two old and I couldn’t help wonder what kind of planet we were giving him. Nuclear waste leaking out to sea, excuses being made about global warming, people not doing their part… can’t we agree that kids deserve better from us than that?
Anyway, we went to another party on Saturday night. It was the Bastille Day celebration at La Vie En Rose. When Vicky sends me all the pictures we took from her camera, I’ll try to post them. (Maybe she’ll post them???) We had a wonderful time and were there for dinner and entertainment for about four hours, if you can believe that. We had a wonderful pinot (2005 Sensation Fournier) and a terrific meal. All was good.
And it got better. On Sunday, Vicky took me to Burke Williams for my first facial. (Get your minds out of the gutter!) It started with me completely out of my element. If there’s one thing I’m no good at, it’s being pampered. I was raised for suffering; it’s how I excel. But this thing… I was brought into this small locker room with ornate benches and provided a robe and slippers. Now, with it being a facial, I figured I should at least take my shirt off, lest anything get on it… and I swapped my sandals for theirs. But I left my shorts on. Vicky asked me why I didn’t take them off and I said, “Because I’m getting a facial… for my face… up here… they shouldn’t need anything down there.”
As I said, out of my element.
Vicky and I talked in BW’s quiet, darkened lounge. Actually, the whole place is quiet and darkened. Kind of weird, to tell you the truth. We were both sitting there, in our robes, but soon Vicky was taken away for her treatment and I was left alone. After feeling my toes being cut of shortly before, I figured it was a good opportunity to relax.
Relax, I told myself. Relax. Relax. Relax, goddammit!
Fortunately, Jill came out, who would be giving me my facial. She led me to the back of the building – and this place is pretty damned big – and into the room where I’d have the treatment. The room was filled with this huge, comfy looking bed. She said, “I’ll leave you in here and go outside. Just take off your robe and slippers and get into the bed and pull the blankets to your chest. I’ll knock in a minute before I return.”
Why was she going outside, I wondered – and it was about then that it hit me. She thinks I’m naked! For a facial! What is with these people?
So, I climbed in, got comfy, and started to doze.
Knock knock – Jill returned. She started by reclining the bed further and, at this point, I would have been happy to take a nap. No such luck. We started talking as she inspected my face (which is fine, thank you). Then, she washed it and massaged it. She dipped my hands in paraffin wax to make them softer, something I’m not a huge fan of. When I was a kid, you judged a man’s “manliness” by the roughness of his hands. She massaged my arms and neck and shoulders and, again, I was ready to drift off. Then, she started to massage my feet. I warned her about the ticklishness but she didn’t believe me – until she touched my feet. “Oh my god,” she said as I giggled at the first touch.
So, she had fun.
Then, she put a mask on my face and massaged me some more. It’s only when another person is touching you, a strange person, that you begin to really focus on your faults. Loose skin, for instance. When I’m suspended slightly upside-down, I have some loose skin around my neck. (It's not as disgusting as it sounds... really...) How do I get rid of that, I wondered. I focused on if my arms were muscular enough and if my shoulders were broad enough… which made me immensely glad to be with Vicky, since she doesn’t seem to mind my high fat, low muscle mass physique. Finally, she washed away the mask, removed the paraffin, cleaned me up, massaged a bit more, and said, “That concludes our service.”
I thought, No nap?
So, Vicky and I treated ourselves a bit this weekend but I try not to feel too guilty about it. Vicky’s being great about being as green as possible, buying organic, not purchasing from manufacturers or retailers that don’t support human rights and sustainability. For all that, she deserves some pampering. And I had a bad week so I needed some relaxation.
Not that it helped all that much.
This morning, shortly after midnight, I was up, removing anything hanging from our door so I could close it off and… and then I woke up. I looked at the door for several minutes. What was I trying to keep out? Was it important? I don’t know.
But you take the good when you can get it. You try to keep things in perspective. So, I went downstairs and try to relax until I was ready to sleep again.
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