So, today is my birthday. I’m 48. Two years from 50! That just doesn’t seem like reality. I never planned on living this long. I always figured I would die young and leave a pretty corpse. At the very least, I though I would still be playing music, if I managed to make it this far. Well, facts show my predictive abilities are not up to standards. I am still alive. I’m not playing music. I can not accurately predict the future. Damn
I always dug the song from The Cure, 10:15 Saturday Night. Naturally, I was attracted to it due to it’s title. Once I listened to it, I learned two things. The first was that it was a damn good song. Jaunty broodiness. (Yeah. I don’t know if that’s a thing, either. It is now. I say so, and it’s my birthday!) The second thing I learned after pressing that play button was that it had nothing to do with my birthday. Sad face.
Now, I knew it wouldn’t be a song about MY birthday, in particular. I’m not quite that narcissistic. By no means did I think Robert Smith had me in mind when writing a song. What I mean is that it had nothing to do with the date at all. It was referring to, and I quote, “10:15 on a Saturday night.” Damn! A time stamp. Not my birthday. I was almost as disappointed as when I found out that the parade that proceeded down Main Street on my 5th birthday was actually for our high school’s homecoming, rather than celebrating my day of naked, first exposure to the world.
Now here’s proof that I’ve never really grown up, as if you needed any. I simply did what I did back on October 15th, 1975. I simply figured, fuck it. I’m still going to consider it as a celebration of me! (Okay. A: I know for a fact I didn’t think “Fuck it.” when I was 5. I was a good boy. B: Okay. Maybe I am that narcissistic. Sue me.)
The point that I am poorly attempting to shape here, is the fact that optimism was my natural response for most of my life. It didn’t matter how bad things were, my mind’s natural response was that of optimism and hope. Fully and totally an attitude of “Things can only get better!” Thank you very much, Howard Jones.
You may have noticed that I put all of that in past tense. Was, not is. I can no longer say that my thoughts work that way. Not automatically, at least. I have to remind myself that things can get better, no matter how bleak, frightening, or dire the horizon looks. Pretty much what keeps me here is a life long case of FOMO.
You see, another example of the fact that I’ve never grown up (Wow! I’m being generous with those today!) is that I don’t want to go to bed right before something cool happens. FOMO on a life or death scale.
Example of what I mean; The classic story tells it like this. September 16th, 1932. Millicent Lilian “Peg” Entwistle, a struggling stage and film actress, wasn’t getting the big break her heart and soul craved. She climbed to the top of the ‘H’ of the famous Hollywood sign and proceeded to leap to her death above the city she felt betrayed her. The next day, a letter arrived in her daily mail, informing her she had been cast in the lead role of a feature film.
See? She went to bed right before something cool happened.
The part of the story about the letter has never been confirmed. It very well could have been added simply to enhance the tale with a dramatic twist to her tragic end. It doesn’t matter to me if it’s true or not. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of happening. Honestly, that would be my luck. I’d check out right before something fricking awesome happened. There I would be, floating over my body, watching the last light fade from my own eyes, the sirens blaring up the street while the numbers printed on the lottery ticket in my lifeless body’s pants pocket are announced on the television, right after the announcement that a surefire cure for MS has been discovered. I’m suddenly a curable millionaire. A cold, dead, curable millionaire. Insert spectral face plant here. Seriously. I went to bed too early. I missed the cool part.
So……..I’ve got that going for me. I’m so afraid of missing out on something that may not even happen, that I don’t want to check out yet. I guess one could consider that hope. I’m not sure if I do, but whatever works, works. Right? These days, I simply look at it as life. It’s random. It’s awesome. It’s horrible. It’s life. Sometimes, it’s arms up while shouting, ‘Woo Hoo!’, and other times, it’s just hold on for dear life and hope you don’t get thrown from the ride. What can you do?
“10:15 on a Saturday night,
and the tap drips under the strip lights.
And I’m sitting at the kitchen sink.
And the tap drips, drip, drip, drip, drip……….”
Life. Thank you, Robert Smith!
So, this day, 10/15/2018, I am 48. Who would have thunk it!? I’m still kickin’! Hope you are, too!
That’s all I’ve got for today. See you next time!