JsJh; on the flop: 9cJcJd

At the concert the other night, I was listening to the song "Casimir Pulaski Day." The reputedly macho guy from our group who was standing to my left rubs his eyes with thumb and middle finger when we get to the line "I thought I saw you breathing." A minute later, near the last lines of the song--"and he takes and he takes and he takes"--the guy to my right wipes his face with his sleeve. Me, I'm doing my regular lumpy throat thing and listening to the girl behind me who's been singing every word to herself.

I'm not sure if it's exactly how she meant to say it, but the other night someone told me that happiness and sadness are really almost the same. In a roundabout, otherworldly way that makes sense to me. Why else would it be so . . great to hear a sad song and let yourself get all choked up by it? It's better to hear someone just say "It's not alright" in a beautiful way than to hear someone say "It's alright" in any other way. There's a kind of momentary revelling in the pain that's not necessarily masochistic--though people can definitely become addicted to it. It's sweet to be reminded that Oh yeah, that still hurts. I still feel that. And even if it's not love or ecstasy or excitement, it's . . . I dunno, Pure? If the shittiness of life never came to a head every now and then, there would just be this vague, dull sense that something's wrong but no idea of what it really feels or tastes like.

Like shivering, right? Our body shivers because it's cold and it's trying to warm up. Likewise, we cry . . . And crying is physiologically almost the same as laughing anyway.

***

My dad quit his job today. For a long, long time he'd been in the advertising business for the newspaper, and awhile back they were bought out by a big ol' corporation. Accordingly, the people started getting treated like figures in a ledger. Enough was enough, and after almost 35 years it was time to move on. But a few weeks ago, he and a few employees were e-mailing back and forth during the day. They got to joking about cutting out of work, and for the first time in my father's life, freed up by the sensation of his impending retirement, he just left work and went to the park.

Remind me to just leave work and go to the park sometime before I die.

I think the worst thing about turning 40 will be having so many people around me think that they're old, they've paid their dues, and their moving and shaking days are over. Come on, now! Every single day is a day you can reinvent yourself! Hooyah!