I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

How Are These Mid-Life Crisis Thingies Supposed To Work?

I am feeling the pressure of decades of unrelenting responsibility and the crush of daily minutiae. (Minutiae always crushes, right?) I think I am going to have a mid-life crisis. I'm just not sure how it goes, I've never done this before. What do other people do?

   OK, first I need to buy a little red sports car. Hmmh. I can't really get all my crap into a sports car, there just isn't enough room in those things. Where are the kids and the coolers and the toys and the luggage and all my miscellany, supposed to go? And the guys driving those cars always look slightly desperate, like people that laugh a little too long and maniacally at a moderately funny joke. I'll just stick with my good old dependable mini-van.

   I'm supposed to get a twenty-something girlfriend. Seriously? I have nothing in common with those girls. I loathe all things LOL an OMG. (Gag me with a spoon.) I love my wife, and she loves me. What's more, I LIKE my wife. She puts up with my foibles, neurosis and outright character flaws. Our relationship has never been better. (Wink, wink, nudge nudge.) Besides, I've got almost teen kids, I have a feeling I'll get my fill of teen culture in the coming years. I'm not leaving my wife for some vacant young thing.

   Get stylish clothes, haircut and/or combover/toupee. I look ridiculous in baggy jeans. I look terrible in skinny jeans. Laughable in skinny jeans worn under my buttcheeks. Don't get me started on how heinous I look in expensive jeans with appliques on 'em. Or dragons. Plus I'm a good decade or so past getting frosted tips in my hair. (Hair. I remember hair.) And nobody really looks good in toupees or comb overs. To tell you the truth I kinda dig my Rasputin, channeling Don Quixote look. Nah, I'm not gonna try and be stylish.

   Quit my job and pursue my lifelong passion, that I just recently discovered I've always had. I kinda like my stuff. I like my house. And my car. And computers, TV's, books Nooks and Kindles, I like my big comfy bed, and my garage full of tools. I like being warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I like my microwave oven and my big maintenance intensive backyard. The time to be a starving artist has passed by a good two decades. When I retire maybe I'll start "doing" art fulltime, but for now I'll just show up to work.

   In order to fight off feelings of my impending mortality, I'll become a gym rat. Hmmmh. Nah. I'm in decent enough shape. I can keep up with my kids, and I am reasonably active. I weigh the same as I did 15 years ago; isn't that why people work out in the first place? I quit smoking years ago, but I like my beer.  I think I'll just watch some sports, I'll be athlete through osmosis.

   So, in conclusion: I'm keeping my wife, car, job, and appearance. If I have to change something, I'll change the amount of beer I drink. Phew, crisis averted. My life is much better already. Although that could just be my four beer buzz talking.