Was that really me?

Well that was the weekend that was (bonus points if you get the TV reference).

Seriously, I don't even remember this

My 35^th high school reunion has come and gone and there is much to reflect upon.

First, I had a great time – far better than I thought I would have had.

Seriously, that's me having fun. It can be done.

Why? Because people like me always prepare for the worst. It’s a classic trait of folks with depression, anxiety and bipolar issues. We’re mostly concerned that we may do or say something that will offend someone – and we won’t realize it.

And add to that concern, the fact that I had not seen most of these people for at least 25 years, some 35 years. And, of course, there are the memories of high school, many good, but many awkward and cringe-worthy.

The difference between me and others is that I ruminate over those embarrassments all these years later. Sometimes, it seems like only yesterday and hope people will forget because I remember almost everything.

What happened to me was shocking. In fact, I’m having a hard time relating this any other way but to do it in bulleted points:

• People were glad to see me and I felt included in everything. It took a while to get over the shock.
• I was told some people actually showed up because I was there. I find that unbelievable.
• My wife (who was the official photographer for the event) and I were thanked profusely for everything we did. I am not used to being thanked for anything. And we did not do much of anything to really deserve it. She was the photographer and I was the PR man. Neither of us did the grunt work of reserving and preparing the venues, getting the hotel, DJ and invite list.
• I had a genuinely good time.
• I’m left with a feeling of wanting more.
• And perhaps I’m not such a schlub.

schlub

SHləb/

Noun NORTH AMERICAN informal

a talentless, unattractive, or boorish person.

Of course, once I got home, I burrowed back into the living room couch waiting for another reason to extract myself from the house or, perhaps, the third full moon of the calendar year.

 

Seriously. . . I'm alright, don't nobody worry 'bout me

Once In A Lifetime. . .

Sid holds the Cup aloft during the Victory Parade in downtown Pittsburgh 6/15/16 photo by Mary Gottschalk

I think I may have mentioned growing up in Cleveland.

Where nothing like this has happened in my lifetime and probably never will.

So I was there today - at 8 a.m. for an 11:30 a.m. parade.  I was nervous - I don't like going downtown and I don't like mingling with 350,000 people.

But if I never did this, I knew, or think I knew, I might not ever get another chance.

Why is this important? Is it important?

I guess because a big part of me always wanted to be part of a winner. And growing up in Cleveland the whole idea of losing teams, and the ignominy that goes with it is part of it, made it painful. We identify with the city we live in and, rightly or wrongly, with the sports teams it represents.

I still don't think Cleveland got over when the Browns left for Baltimore in 1995. Now they're desperately pulling for the basketball Cavaliers to pull off a miracle in the NBA finals.

I know it's pro sports and it's a business.

But there is really something about this city that's different and I can feel it. I've been living here 5 1/2 years and today felt like I belonged here, that I became a 'burgh person. Not a 'Yinzer' per se, but a naturalized Pittsburgher.

I'm proud of my high school and what they did. Cleveland State I couldn't give a hang about.

To be a part of this community, to be a full part of it, you become a part of the black and gold legacy, even if you don't realize it. Just tell someone in another part of the country and the first thing they think of is not the Carnegie Museum or the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Rightly or wrongly - it's the teams.

I realize that to many, this is a sad admission of self-identification with something that will not love you back (like falling in love with a car). But I would put it that there is a part of all of us that needs to celebrate vicariously through things we love but can't be a part of - except as a fan in a city.

Does it feel good - you bet. Is that wrong? No.

I don't live and die with teams anymore. If the Pens had lost, I would have been disappointed but not hung over the next day in the depths of depression. That would be - immature.

But if they're going to win it all, and I'm living here, I'm gonna celebrate.

And if that raises my mood for a little while, I think that's a good thing.

And I will never forget standing 20 feet away from Sid Crosby holding aloft the Stanley Cup in the city I live in. Ever.

Up on the Roof

Just don't sniff the sewer vent

On the roof it's peaceful as can be
And there the world below can't bother me

I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I did it. And I don't regret it.

One fine summer day, I decided to escape my bedroom fortress and sit on the roof. I didn’t know what it would be like and I didn’t know how my parents would think, but for once I decided to engage in, what was for me, risky behavior.

I left the window open and turned up the radio. I had WHK-AM tuned in back in the day when it was Cleveland’s only country music station. Now, I wasn’t a big country fan – I was listening because Gary Dee (a local redneck talk legend) was followed by this new guy named Don Imus.

And Imus was making me double over laughing. I didn’t know it then but later he described his time in Cleveland as being spent in a cocaine haze. But the interaction between Imus and the callers was golden. It was then I thought – ‘I’d like to do that someday.’ And someday, I would.

I carefully crawled out my bedroom window and edged myself slowly out a little further, where I took this photo. It was summer 1978. I figured, this was my fire escape anyway and I might as well do a dry run. If there was a fire on the second floor, I had nowhere else to run. I could jump from the other window and fall 20 feet or so and probably break my back or worse. 

This way, I could go out on the roof and make the 10-foot jump into the pool. And, if you’re on fire, jumping into a pool is not a bad thing.

But on this fine summer day, I wasn’t thinking about a fire. I was thinking – why hadn’t I done this before? Short answer – I’ve always been afraid of heights, my parents wouldn’t want me up here, and, I thought I might damage the roof.

I had climbed a tree once when I was much younger. You can see the trunk over the fence to the middle-left. I got up but when I looked down, I froze. It caused a neighborhood spectacle. Eventually it drew my father and a crowd giving me step-by-step advice on how to get down. It was humiliating as hell. I don’t recall how I got down. But I never went up again. 

But the roof? That was different. No climbing involved. 

I had a moment up there I’ll never forget. Laughing to the radio, soaking in the sunshine, enjoying the bucolic view of the neighborhood. A cold drink, a mat, and a pair of shades and a fella could get used to this. I had a huge maple tree behind me providing shade.

My bedroom was my fortress of solitude but this was something different. In a way, it was analogous to stepping out of my comfort zone and what could be gained by doing so.

Now I can go sit in the backyard and take in nature. But there’s something about being up there – up on the roof – looking out, above it all, feeling the breeze. You can think, relax, dream. It’s kind of a special place. Most of us can’t get up on the roofs of our homes. I can’t do it where I live now because – well, it’s one level and it would look silly and I’d roast in the heat. 

If I wasn’t hammering on the roof, neighbors would probably call the cops. People just don’t go on top of their roofs for no reason.

But that afternoon, I did. I always wish I had come out at night, but I never did. 

I think about it today and wonder where my ‘roof’ might be? Where can I go to get both up and away – where the world below won’t bother me? Perhaps we all need to find a ‘roof.’ No TV, no radio, no cell phone. Just you, the sky and your own thoughts. 

Carol King had it just about right.

One of those days. . .

To all of you, dear readers, who deal with depression and any of the myriad of mental illnesses that make you wish (sometimes) that you hadn’t woke up some morning?

By the way, don’t say that (‘I wish I hadn’t woke up today’) around people you work with. The results could be disastrous -- later on that.

So, back to the question – ever wake up and.  .  . actually feel good? Energized? Optimistic? Glad to be alive?

Irony

Crazy, I know, but sometimes it happens. It happened to me today. I’m still trying to figure out why. 

Checklist:

Sleep – normal. I got to bed at 9, watched you tube on my smart phone and finally fell asleep around 10:15. Woke up. . . early for me at 4:50 a.m. 

Dreams – from what I remember they were. . .pretty good for once. I’m going to pass here on the specifics. 

Change in medication – took a gabapentin before bed. I had tried this medication before and have recently been prescribed it again. Although I have noted a mood lift (it’s also great as an adjunct with Advil for back pain), it’s hard for me to believe that one extra pill could cause this near euphoria. 

Mania? Too soon to tell. Haven’t had a mania episode since last year. And, generally, they aren’t happy episodes. 

Change in diet – nope, still bad. Had a big bowl of moose tracks ice cream before bed. Bad, bad, bad. Steak and potatoes for dinner.

But you can try

Work – still waiting on the results of a star chamber proceeding from last week in which I testified for 2-1/2 hours. Did have a meeting last night where I started planning my first PR campaign since last October. Could that have done it? I wasn’t that thrilled but it was nice to feel relevant again.

Home – my wife and I are considering adopting a kitten to add to our cat collection. Well, it’s just one other cat who is seven-years-old (female) and we have the usual concerns about compatibility and I have the concern about more litter box cleaning. 

Not making this an easy decision

Our last comet goldfish is hanging on for dear life in our pond despite my continuously frustrating efforts to raise fish.

Nothing stands out. 

Of course, I am over-analyzing things, which is what we do. Only the depressed and anxiety-ridden actually obsess over why we are un-expectantly feeling good. 

The easy answer is: KNOCK IT OFF AND JUST ENJOY THE MOMENT. Because, as we all know too well, it probably will not last the day. 

Ah, but there’s the rub: I’ve spent the better part of 35 years trying to figure out where these moods swings, anxiety attacks and general malaise come from and how to stop them. So whence comes the day I say ‘good morning’ to co-workers and actually mean it, I can’t help but analyze. 

So I will spend the rest of the day trying to enjoy the ‘moments.’ What else can I do? 

Oh right – look out for the other shoe to drop. 

 Gimme that shoe! (inside Cleveland reference)

Psychologist-in-my-head: but what if the shoe doesn’t drop? What will you do then?

Me: I will find a shoe, any shoe, and drop it myself. Hell, I’ll go to Kohls and buy new shoes and drop them in the pond if I have to. The shoe must drop!

Psychologist (IMH): why? 

Me: Because otherwise, I’ll feel that the world must surely be coming to an end.

Psychologist (IMH): you know, you’re really a piece of work.

Me: I know. My dad told me that long ago. 

Ain't it the truth