The day I got the bad news, I wasn't in the mood to do anything. You ever feel like that? Doing anything sounds awful and doing nothing sounds worse, so you just sit there trying to figure out what to do with yourself. TV sucks, all songs suck, work sucks, writing sucks, obviously, right?
Still, my sister was able to convince me to make good on going to see Rodrigo Y Gabriella at Ravinia with her and her three boys as planned. Last time I was this miserable, somehow being around the kids made it worse. I was so irritable that I couldn't take it, and they never annoy me. This time, they were just so great, and they helped me without even knowing they were helping. I envisioned them getting bored and being loud, but all three of them were perfect gentlemen.
Here are some highlights:
- The littlest one says some words funny, but some of them are too cute to correct, such as jumpoline (trampoline) and Scooby Diver (SCUBA diver).
- The middle one said that one of the policies there was "crud," and I fell out laughing because nobody says that word. People always default to crap, but crud is hilarious. You certainly never hear anyone say, "Excuse me. Where can a guy take a crud around here?" Tremendous word.
- The band was incredible. It's just two people, a guy and a girl, and they play incredibly intricate instrumentals, banging on the guitars for all the percussion, and it sounds like there is a 5 piece band up there - at least. I was thrilled that they played Orion by Metallica, which is always awesome to hear.
- I convinced the littlest one that the music was being played by Diego from "Dora the Explorer," and the older ones got on board with messing with him too. I just thought it so cute that he's still little enough to think a cartoon character could be playing flamenco guitar for us.
- After the show, Heterosexual Life Partner (HLP) and I met up at a karaoke party, and the two of us ripped through song after song and beer after beer until I was good and shnockered and not thinking about how miserable I was every other second, just around every five minutes or so, which was great.
- Now I'm back to the every other second variety.
Showing posts with label getting dumped. Show all posts
Showing posts with label getting dumped. Show all posts
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Have You Ever Seen Someone Jogging and Crying At the Same Time?
Well, you would have if you were near North Avenue Beach along Lake Michigan in Chicago at around 2:00 PM today. Usually running is when I do my best thinking, and it's the time where I'm most confident; Not so confident this time.*
I found it kind of odd that hundreds of people saw me running around crying, sitting in the fetal position trying to distract myself by watching volleyball, again, crying, and no one asked me what was wrong. Is that a big city thing, an American thing, and/or a detached modern society thing? I feel that in Sweden, for instance, someone would have stopped and asked how I was - preferably the concerned pedestrian would be a buxom blond-type Swede. Still, when one is going through a horribly depressing episode, as I am, one can tend to get a little self-absorbed, so I guess it's possible I'm apt to jump to the conclusion that no one cares about poor, poor Ken.
Still, I said to myself that if I ever saw someone in a similar position, I would make sure that person was okay. Oddly enough, as I was on the home stretch of the run, I saw a young woman sitting outside of her apartment building, talking on the phone, and she was either crying or had been before. Since I made a pledge only moments ago, I just had to honor it, so I turned around and asked if she was all right. She assured me that she was fine, and to me it was evident that although she didn't want any of my "counseling" at that time, she smiled in a way that suggested that she was touched that I took the time to see if my fellow Chicagoan was okay.
So, what do you think? Given similar circumstances, would you stop and ask someone if he/she was all right? Oh, and you don't have to ask how I'm doing. Old Gancey is going to be just fine. I promise.
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*The day before was during the anger stage, so it was, of course, a very angry run complete with swearing, punching street signs, and ripping leaves off of most every tree I passed. Very tough-guy, right?
I found it kind of odd that hundreds of people saw me running around crying, sitting in the fetal position trying to distract myself by watching volleyball, again, crying, and no one asked me what was wrong. Is that a big city thing, an American thing, and/or a detached modern society thing? I feel that in Sweden, for instance, someone would have stopped and asked how I was - preferably the concerned pedestrian would be a buxom blond-type Swede. Still, when one is going through a horribly depressing episode, as I am, one can tend to get a little self-absorbed, so I guess it's possible I'm apt to jump to the conclusion that no one cares about poor, poor Ken.
Still, I said to myself that if I ever saw someone in a similar position, I would make sure that person was okay. Oddly enough, as I was on the home stretch of the run, I saw a young woman sitting outside of her apartment building, talking on the phone, and she was either crying or had been before. Since I made a pledge only moments ago, I just had to honor it, so I turned around and asked if she was all right. She assured me that she was fine, and to me it was evident that although she didn't want any of my "counseling" at that time, she smiled in a way that suggested that she was touched that I took the time to see if my fellow Chicagoan was okay. So, what do you think? Given similar circumstances, would you stop and ask someone if he/she was all right? Oh, and you don't have to ask how I'm doing. Old Gancey is going to be just fine. I promise.
------------------------------
*The day before was during the anger stage, so it was, of course, a very angry run complete with swearing, punching street signs, and ripping leaves off of most every tree I passed. Very tough-guy, right?
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