My Midlife Crisis: Part 3 (And, The End, For Now)

So, I haven’t needed a convertible Porsche to have a midlife crisis.  I’m too much of a nerd for that.  Now, maybe a convertible Fiat, or Mini Cooper…  maybe.

But, really, I’m not a convertible kind of guy.  I don’t enjoy bugs splatting onto my head.

Or sunburn.

I’ll stick with the sensible car.

I don’t need a 20-something boy toy, because, they’re really only good for looking at.

I’m too practical, and boring, because instead of asking myself the questions one would think to ask a boy toy, like “Will you sign a pre-nup so you can’t take anything of value from me?”, I, instead, think of questions like “What could we possibly have in common? What could we talk about?”

So, no. No boy toy.

I’m quite happy with Julian, and, well, since he is 3 years older than me, technically that makes me the boy toy, so….

I jest.

I’m happy, content, and really not having a midlife crisis.

It’s more just coming to terms with the fact that my HIV didn’t kill me, like we assumed it would, twenty-four years ago when I was diadnosed, because, that’s just what people did back then, when they had HIV: they got sick and died.  Now, that looks like it’s not going to happen, and I’m trying to figure out things like “What do I want to be when I grow-up?” and, “How the fuck am I going to survive when I’m in my 60s and 70s, because I have no savings, because I wasn’t supposed to be here?”  I’ve been unemployed now for five years, in order to stay home and be with my mom, who’s 89.  She won’t be here forever, and I’ll have lost all that time in the job market, and I’ll be even that much older, and, we all know that it’s tough finding a job as a college grad in your 20s, so what are my chances as a high-school drop-out in my 40s, or 50s (or whatever age I am when mom’s number is up.).

It’s not really a midlife crisis.  It’s more of a midlife WTF!?

Anytime I’m having a WTF moment, I find that shopping helps.  Yesterday I was sort of having a WTF-day, because I’m still frustrated about the whole mental healthcare provider thing.  The counseling center that I was referred to, that worked on a sliding scale in order to help people who lack funds, still, at the lowest end of the scale, charges $70 a session. My thoughts aren’t worth that kind of money.  Not until I’m famous, at any rate, then people can pay me to hear my thoughts.  So, I’m still exploring options.

However, the $150 shopping spree at Barnes & Noble, while it would have paid for two therapy sessions was, as a matter of fact, much more emotionally satisfying and helpful.  I mean, one of the books I got was the 1100+ page “Collected Poems of Allen Ginsburg, 1947-1997.”  How can you not feel better after Ginsburg?  Then, fittingly enough, among the stack of new books, is “Demons” by Dostoevsky.  Reading Russian literature one cannot feel depressed about one’s own life when things were so much more depressing for those poor Russians back in the day.

I’ve been trying to pretend to be younger by now owning Converse (a.k.a. Chuck Taylor All Stars) for the first time in my life.  The rubber smell always bothered me, and I had a friend, years ago, who wore them, and always had the funkiest, stinky feet, so I had no real interest in owning shoes that made my feet stink.  I have since discovered that wearing socks with Chucks is the solution to the funky feet smell issue, so, I had to own some.

My first pair, as I mentioned in the first post of this trilogy of posts, are Navy.  The second pair are high tops, an almost khaki, dark-army-olive green, with hunting vest orange accents.

The third, fourth and fifth pairs arrived today (yes, I had said there were a total of four pairs, but, I was a bit spacey when I wrote that).  There are a total of five pair.

Pair three, like pair one, are just the basic shoe, in a nice green color:

By the way, I spent all of about 90 seconds taking snapshots of the shoes, so they’re not creative, or up to my usual photographic standards.  I just wanted some quick snaps).

Pairs four and five are where the issue of a midlife crisis comes into play.  I’m not entirely certain that they aren’t a cry for help;

I’ll leave it up to you to decide.

Pair four:

And, finally, and, I think, my most favorite pair: