I distinctly remember the point in Self Therapy where I said, "Okay, I quit." It was the heading: "Melanie Reparents and Retrieves the Shame Exile," along with an illustration captioned "Melanie brings her Shame Exile into a forest." That pretty much did it for me. I was already teetering on the edge of pushing the eject button, because of the repeated references to Lisa's dealing with the "Sooty Demon."
Okay, so I'm thinking of your depiction of yourself in seventh grade as a shy, isolated person who just wanted to be left alone. Flash forward to 1981, where you've just had an "adventure summer in Oregon where I worked at the Inn of the 7th Mountain, and practiced drunken debauchery with a lot of like-thinking workers." And then the next thing you know you're heading home to rekindle friendships with all the pretty girls in Crestline, before moving on to the new grand and fun things. So what was the process that took you from the little wallflower seventh grader to the swaggering, successful stud of 1981?
So now that you've decided to live life to the fullest, I expect in your next e-mail you will tell me that you just purchased an online kit -- so you don't have to leave the house and actually buy the thing -- that will allow you to retrofit your house into a 60's style bomb shelter, and that you are vacuum packing two years worth of food, so that you will be able to go at least two years without seeing any humans. That seems to be the way these things go.
You're talking about being old and decrepit now, but what about in twenty years? I went to church on Sunday, and saw some very old men, all bent over and shuffling around with their canes, and I was thinking, gee, that can't be fun. And no doubt they still kind of feel like they have the minds of young people, and they are horrified every time they look in the mirror, thinking, "What happened to me? I remember being nine years old! Damn! Look at my hands! It's embarrassing! Oh if only I was fifty seven again!"
Actually, it doesn't bother me all that much. I mean, it's not like it was some kind of well-kept secret that everyone gets get old, and then they die. The evidence has been out there in our faces every day of our lives. So I just say, fine, bring it on. Seriously. I mean, I'd have a problem with it if only some people get wrinkly and old, and there were some assholes who just go on eternally, fresh and young, but it's a fair, across-the-board thing. It's nice to have something in life be fair. My only problem with getting old is that -- as I've said before -- I think it's not right that they don't let really old people have LSD if they want it. There should be at least a few special treats that are allowed to the elderly, and I think that should be one of them. Sixteen year olds get to look forward to getting their driver license and all sorts of stuff like that, but what do 65 year olds have to look forward to? LSD when I'm sixty-five? Sign me up! The drug should be administered in some beautiful setting, and there would be fresh-faced just-out-of-college girls around as specially trained "trip stewardesses" to provide snacks and conversation, and comfort for any of the old fools who start showing signs of having a "bad trip".... something I certainly never experienced. Plus, I know that the other sixty-five-year olds who'd be signing up for their free LSD retreats (it would be paid for by medicare) would be really unusual, interesting people, so it would be a good way to meet fun, like-minded folks.
--edward
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