(Not) In the Mood

Dearest Rachel –

I woke up this morning to a bedroom as dark as it ever gets, given that it has three walls with windows on them, and the outside light (such as it is) can always seep in. It was earlier than I needed to be awake, that seemed certain; and sure enough, when I checked, it wasn’t even a quarter after five. Now I could have put myself together and headed off to the gym, but I have to tell you, I was decidedly not it the mood for it.

Even my superego, which normally might be demanding that the rest of me ‘take advantage’ of the ‘opportunity’ presented to me, seemed… indifferent about the situation, or at least sympathetic to what the rest of my body was feeling. I could picture it looking at the IOU it had received from my lower half, and calling down dubiously, “I don’t know, man… are you sure you’re gonna be up to this by this afternoon, like you’re saying? I don’t wanna try to cash this in if you ain’t got it in the bank.”

To which my ankles sighed heavily and replied, “Look, you’re gonna remind us that we haven’t officially ‘worked out’ since last week. We can’t promise anything—”

“Dude, this is literally called a promissory note.”

“—but we’ll do what we can to be ready by then, okay? Maybe once it warms up a bit, and you’re done with your stuff at the ‘office’ today – it’s not like you’ve got much on your plate at the moment – we’ll be better up for this. Just bring your shorts and your towel, and we’ll see what happens.”

***

So go the negotiations within me, as I debate internally what I need and want to do in a given day at a given time. I never talked about these with you – despite the fact that it would likely have amused you considerably – because I wasn’t aware of them back when you were still with me. All I have are the voices in my head (and elsewhere) some times. I’m not sure I’m going slightly mad, or if someone might think I was on drugs.

And to be honest, they might not be far wrong. The ache from Sunday’s perambulations (it’s amazing how much harder asphalt and concrete are for walking than the grass and gravel of the forest preserve) has migrated from my calves and shins down to my ankles, which is why they were the ones to answer my superego’s inquiry. They have this heavy feeling about them, not unlike the sensation I got from those chocolates we bought for my last birthday with you (in commemoration of 4/20, and in conjunction with its then new legal status here in the state) that were laced with THC. By the time I made my way to bed, my head felt so heavy that I could barely keep it upright – my tongue especially, for whatever reason. That’s kind of how my ankles and dorsum feel at the moment.

Meanwhile, you actually followed me there that evening (as opposed to hanging around in the family room, watching stuff on the television and playing with your computer), and while it also was due to the effects of the THC, your symptoms were so much different. You were ‘in the mood,’ remember? It was quite the night, and if the effects the stuff had on me weren’t so… bleh… it could have been a night of a lifetime. As it was, we decided to save the rest of the stuff (we didn’t understand dosage levels at the time; I bought way too much for us) for the following Valentine’s Day, and just have you using it.

Of course, that didn’t work out.

I still have most of those chocolates; maybe there’s the forlorn hope that Megumi (if she exists) would be mildly curious about the stuff. And if she reacts like you did, so much the better – although doing something about that would be a little further down the line.

***

To be sure, it’s not like that experience was all bad on my part. I do recall us watching a new YouTube channel that evening, and I was finding it particularly funny – to this day, I don’t know if it really was, or if it was just the THC. I can tell you that the one voice actor left the channel to start his own, and the other frequent reader keeps throwing in political commentary as he goes along – which wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that he’s drifted further and further left with each episode I check. Leftists, to be most charitable, are too earnest to be funny; to be less charitable, they’re too angry and miserable, insistent on calling anyone who disagrees with them stupid and evil. Where’s the humor in that?

I’m convinced that tone wasn’t there when we first discovered that, and I was laughing uproariously at their material. But maybe you’ve just got to alter your state to appreciate it.

***

Speaking of humor, when we arrived as club last night (a little early, as I wanted to keep working on the clubber database; I’ll probably be doing this for the next month or two before I catch up), we ran into Junior, just heading home for the day. He didn’t go into details about either the interview or the meal he had with his girls in Chinatown while waiting for Nicole to run by (although he seemed surprised when I answered his query about where and what I ate on Sunday with “nothing”), but said everything worked out well, and was perfectly enjoyable.

What he did talk about was whether I’d seen the shirt he was wearing while going about cheering on Nicole. And to be honest, there was too much going on for me to have noticed; had I really taken a good look at it, I would have gotten a laugh out of it (which is probably why he was telling me about it): “I Don’t Do Marathons; I Do a Marathon Runner.”

Granted, the real humor is in seeing a pastor wearing a shirt like that (not that anyone meeting him in the street would see him as that; Junior seems to take pride in being mistaken for a homeless guy, in fact). Even surrounded with the evidence of his shirt’s proclamation in the form of his daughters, it’s strange to the point of funny, leaving one to wonder if they get the joke behind the statement… or if they’ve asked their dear daddy what it means. Just imagining that moment, and how he might handle it, amuses me greatly. It’s probably not what he was going for when he told me, expecting me to be amused in a way not everyone might be, but it is what it is.

And now that I think of it – although he definitely wouldn’t have had the time for me to ask, even if I’d thought of it in the moment – I wonder if he or Nicole had considered the fact that testosterone is considered a performance enhancement in the athletic field. I don’t think it’s considered a controlled substance – although synthetic testosterone may well be, and for all I know might be banned from use for competition purposes – but if she wanted a boost before the race, he could supply it for her. Then again, those preparations for such an event can be nerve-wracking; what’s the chance of being in that kind of mood?

***

Well, that was a collection of thoughts for a morning. It’s starting to warm up a bit, and I need to get started on the day; maybe I’ll even get that workout in, after all. For now, all I can ask if that you keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.