The World Isn’t A Ghetto

But it can at times, seem like massive section 8 housing.

My mother moved into a lovely brand new assisted living mid-rise apartment two weeks ago.    It was a hellish experience.   The move confused my 85-year-old mother even more so..    She was both prepared  and completely unprepared  at the same time.     It was sad to move her.  Her home was five houses down from mine .   Her old home  is now owned by a family with an 18 year old son who drives one of those huge wheeled trucks  with glass packs, headers and a carbon footprint of 19.5.  The gated enclave in which I lived is chocked full of oldsters.    I was the youngest until the guy from Anerican Graffitti moved in.       And they thought I was a hippie.

As for the move , it reminded me of my parents taking me to college,  everything was different, there were already cliques.   I felt very small and alone.    I think my mother did too.      I mean, imagine it—-you’re standing there in a new environment that while elegant was still scary.   New things for fo an old person is tough.  Changes are gard.  , but she’s meeting new people -and slowly acclimating.     Still, I worry about her.

That’s in part wy I’ve started taking yoga.  Twice a week now starting this week. I don’t love it, though I adore my yogi who’s an absolute doll.      But As iI’ve I’ve been  very stressed lately with family issues, the very distinct possibility of going back on the air with a sshow that’ll  have a global audience.  There was my niece’s  lovely wedding which I officiated.  There’s my mother’ move, my father’s health and an impending move out of state for him    The stock market look like a roller coaster, politics are embarrassing, I thought, “Yoga?   Why not?”

It’s helping my very injured body, but it’s not quite affecting my mind in the ways so many  talk about.       I have a rigidity that concerns me.   It’s the lack of tranquility and peace of mind.   I have it during sessions but the minute I leave, whoop there it is.

I hear about all this groovy  Zen stuff.    I want zen.     Does he take checks?  I’m trying meditation, but quieting my mind seems impossible.  Everything in it sounds like Alvin and the chipmunks and they’re very agitated and fighting with Cindy Lauper and Fran Drescher  for  some reason.     And what’s  worse, their handler, Dave is no where to be found to deal with the nonsense.

Yakety  yak and screeching and banshee-like wailing.   No rest for the weary.

I want to be more relaxed, mindful, selfless, kinder, I want to move at a slower pace, smell flowers   and all that shit, but it’s gonna take some  doing.    I’m tightly wound on my best days.

In closing, I’m trying to convince Pfizer to make a Xanax the width of a Frisbee and as thick as a dictionary that sits in a stand.       I want it placed by the water cooler at work or your favorite chair at home or by your bed.    So, whenever the world tries your last nerve, just go have a couple licks or  chisel off enough to suck on like a Lifesaver or just deep throat the damn thing and swallow as much as you can.

Ah…..just thought of this kind of access calms me down somewhat.

Thet call me mellow yellow…..quite rightly.

Later anxiety.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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