Flashes from the Mid-Life Crisis
"Hi, what's your name, cutie?"
She looks suspicious. "Christine. Can I help you?"
"I think I love you."
She sighs inaudibly. "How about a pair of headphones."
"What are you doing Saturday night?"
Her eyes roll. "Committing suicide."
He pauses. "What about Friday night?"
Christine walks away.
"Okay! I'll take the headphones."
But his credit card's already maxed.
(Yeah, ok. So I lifted the best part from Woody. At least I'm giving him credit. )
-------------------------------------------------
But really.
This is how it goes.
One. Two. Three.
Down for the count.
Out go the lights.
In one ear and out the other.
Should I buy a new car?
Go to a therapist? Not that kind-- a massage therapist. Wait a minute...
Get lipo?
Dump my wife? Wait...I'm not married.
Hook up with a woman 16 years my junior (sounds vaguely familiar)?
Do more pushups?
Crunches?
Go for an extremely long walk?
Cash in my chips and call it even?
Get down on my knees?
Get a new job (this one don't pay too good nohow)?
Swallow the prescription?
Move to Ibiza?
Live on the government tit?
Let a bottle suck out my life?
Pull out my hair (what's left of it)?
Join the hair club for men?
Join the hari krishna's?
Become a satanist?
Dance in the nude?
Spit at the stars?
Cry like a baby?
Stand up?
Sit down?
Toil endlessly on a fruitless search for meaning?
Slice up my arms (just to pick off the scabs)?
Play my guitar?
Write a new song?
Finish my book?
Walk on my hands?
Forget I ever existed?
Turn my back on myself?
Tail a cop?
Call him a pig?
Clean my guns?
Take a long bath?
Smell the divine wind?
Search for a virgin?
Pound my head on the wall?
De-gravitate?
Learn to imitate?
Sublimate?
Sigh.
-------------------------------
If, for some reason, the world should stop spinning
Maybe then I'll feel like I'm winning.
If my soul is excreted and hangs from a rusty old door hinge
Maybe then, at last, I'll feel like peeeling an orange.
(didn't think it could be done, did you? Take that.)
----------------------------
Symbolism shmibolism.
I need a new outlook.
Not a new car.
Not a new body.
Not some more hair (it's coming out my ears).
Not a wife or girlfriend.
Not a way to boost my self-image.
Just a new outlook.
A new way to see.
Another in a long line of seekers
--unseen.
She looks suspicious. "Christine. Can I help you?"
"I think I love you."
She sighs inaudibly. "How about a pair of headphones."
"What are you doing Saturday night?"
Her eyes roll. "Committing suicide."
He pauses. "What about Friday night?"
Christine walks away.
"Okay! I'll take the headphones."
But his credit card's already maxed.
(Yeah, ok. So I lifted the best part from Woody. At least I'm giving him credit. )
-------------------------------------------------
But really.
This is how it goes.
One. Two. Three.
Down for the count.
Out go the lights.
In one ear and out the other.
Should I buy a new car?
Go to a therapist? Not that kind-- a massage therapist. Wait a minute...
Get lipo?
Dump my wife? Wait...I'm not married.
Hook up with a woman 16 years my junior (sounds vaguely familiar)?
Do more pushups?
Crunches?
Go for an extremely long walk?
Cash in my chips and call it even?
Get down on my knees?
Get a new job (this one don't pay too good nohow)?
Swallow the prescription?
Move to Ibiza?
Live on the government tit?
Let a bottle suck out my life?
Pull out my hair (what's left of it)?
Join the hair club for men?
Join the hari krishna's?
Become a satanist?
Dance in the nude?
Spit at the stars?
Cry like a baby?
Stand up?
Sit down?
Toil endlessly on a fruitless search for meaning?
Slice up my arms (just to pick off the scabs)?
Play my guitar?
Write a new song?
Finish my book?
Walk on my hands?
Forget I ever existed?
Turn my back on myself?
Tail a cop?
Call him a pig?
Clean my guns?
Take a long bath?
Smell the divine wind?
Search for a virgin?
Pound my head on the wall?
De-gravitate?
Learn to imitate?
Sublimate?
Sigh.
-------------------------------
If, for some reason, the world should stop spinning
Maybe then I'll feel like I'm winning.
If my soul is excreted and hangs from a rusty old door hinge
Maybe then, at last, I'll feel like peeeling an orange.
(didn't think it could be done, did you? Take that.)
----------------------------
Symbolism shmibolism.
I need a new outlook.
Not a new car.
Not a new body.
Not some more hair (it's coming out my ears).
Not a wife or girlfriend.
Not a way to boost my self-image.
Just a new outlook.
A new way to see.
Another in a long line of seekers
--unseen.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home