Summer of Sad

I just plugged in the floor lamp next to the recliner in the living room. That's the only way to turn it on. If I could only give you one piece of advice, it would be this: Don't buy the cheapest floor lamp at Target. It might look cool with its sleek, metallic design and its touch-sensitive pole, but it will only let you down.

I considered titling this post "The Summer of My Discontent," but I thought it was too cliche. Hopefully my backup choice will be adequate. This evening I finally accepted the fact that I'm sad. I'm really sad and lonely and it doesn't look like things are gonna change anytime soon. Just accepting it makes it easier to handle. I'm still waiting to really cry and break my 18-year dry spell. It's hard to overcome sadness when you won't let yourself feel it. I keep trying to convince myself that I can let go, that there is a safety net to catch me. (I'm the safety net.)

On the bus today it occurred to me that joy and pain can't be separated. I tried to keep them apart, and doing so tore me apart. But now I know I can hold them at the same time, one in each hand, without dropping either. They're connected by a string. If I drop one, eventually the other will drop too. The trick is to hold onto the pain as tightly as I cling to the joy, but no more.

Well, enough of that New Age nonsense. The Celtics won the NBA title last night in a ridiculous Game 6 rout, 131-92. I'm glad they waited 'til they were back in Boston. Clinching the championship at home is much more gratifying. The game was over by halftime. I was disappointed in the Lakers' lackluster effort. The Celtics' defense was almost impenetrable, but L.A. didn't show much heart. KG's postgame interview was insane. He went crazy. They bleeped him at one point, but I don't know if it was necessary. It made me happy to see that. His hug with Bill Russell was esp. touching. I wish I'd felt more jubilant about it. Oh well. It is just a game after all.

Yesterday I watched the "video" (back in 1975 they used film) for Cheech & Chong's "Basketball Jones" on YouTube. I love that song, but good lord is that film racist! All the black folks had huge lips and most of 'em didn't have eyes. You could see the black cheerleaders' panties under their skirts, and each pair had a day of the week printed on them. I'll leave it to your imaginations to interpret that sight gag. It seems kinda misogynistic to me. Maybe I'm overreacting, but I think they ruined an endearing, surprisingly good comic song with a raunchy, racist promotional film.

(For my fellow "Basketball Jones" trivia lovers, you might be interested to know that the song features such musical luminaries as George Harrison on lead guitar, Billy Preston on organ, Carole King on electric piano, and Michelle Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas on backing vocals. I don't know about you, but that information blew my mind. No wonder it's such a sweet song!)

The main factor behind my emotional opening-up has probly been the recurring insomnia I've had in the past week. Even though I slept a lot last night and this morning, I didn't feel quite rested. I hope it doesn't persist. That would make the whole process of getting back on my feet a lot harder. But if I keep opening up, I should be alright.