Man. It's a good thing I started not-blogging when I did. Because the day after that last post was not good.
On the whole, however, things are good. I even got a fair amount of sleep one night last week. (I think it was Thursday) And yes, I am blogging in the middle of my work day, but the Production Stage Manager already did it today, so it's okay. 'Sides, I'm working phone shift this afternoon, so I have to sit by this phone and there's not much else to do. I'd have brought my library book down with me, but I didn't expect to have this long of a phone shift, and anyway I was getting a bit sleepy (think I may have fallen asleep in the chair once already) and was afraid I wouldn't be able to focus on the little words printed on the page. That said, my afternoon cup of joe was pretty darn good and effective, so I'm back up to firing on several cylinders. (I won't say all, but it's better than one)
Looked into the bathroom mirror last night before brushing my teeth and discovered a much older man that I'd expected to see staring back through the glass. I don't mean to say "Oh my gosh I'm so OLD my life is HALF OVER what have I DONE with my EXISTENCE" or anything along those lines that generally hit when you're speeding toward another birthday near the bit 3-0. It wasn't a demoralizing realization. Just a somewhat-alarming observation. I searched my own face--and I know a lot of the features are a bit exaggerated just now due to fatigue--and I found absolutely zero trace of anything I'd consider "youth." I saw none of the spark from High School Will, none of the zip of Undergrad Will, none of the energy of Newlywed or Intern Will. Just the eyes, cheeks, forehead, and chin (et cetera) of a man who used to be those things and has now left them all behind him. From a physical standpoint (at least), I'm not young anymore. I'm not old, I know that, and I haven't reached that mythical "middle aged" yet, so I'm not certain exactly where I fit, but I'm definitely not "young." My body is past its natural peak. It now requires effort to remain healthy. And, while I don't anticipate leaving this globe for another thirty years at least, the end of each year now signifies a season I'll never get back.
None of this is bad, by the way. It's part of life, and life is a good process. Still, it was a bit of a shock. The man in the mirror was not the same man who's been residing in my mind's eye these past few years. It'll probably take some getting used to, placing this guy in the space of my self-image previously inhabited by a younger guy in a bright orange T-shirt. Especially since this guy owes so much to that guy. I will miss that guy when a big rock show comes to town, or when my single or not-with-children friends want to do something a 7 p.m. some evening, or even when an assignment involves a lot of vigorous physical activity (whether it be a show, a strike, moving, or crawling around on the floor with trucks and trains). But there is no way that guy could shoulder the blessings and burdens that he laid the foundations for.
I may expound on this line of thinking further at some point.
