Born To Be Alive

It's a classic. It has all the greatest hits from my symbol discography. The unhappy wife leaving emotionless, being lost in the bad part of Ft. Pierce, driving my old V.W. bus, jumping through hoops at an old high school, my Dad standing in the corner always there, but not talking. Yes folks, it was like main stage at a Freudian Lollapalooza. In this last part (the Dickensian finale) I am left out of gas, stuck in Ft. Pierce asking if I might "have some more". Oh yeah, it was a doozie. All my favorites in one dream.

"Happy Birthday.....you're forty five." She says, as I wake up.

Yeah whatever, you weren't so supportive when you were leaving me for "The Rock" (who she sweetly called Dwayne) in my dream. It's funny how you can wake from a dream, knowing it was all insecure, mental calisthenics, and totally be mad at someone, for how they acted in the fifth dimension.

Sure SURE! It's a classic scenario. Birthday causes life concern, and the inevitable questions that come with it, decide to put on a neurotic little play for you while you sleep. This has been brewing long before the birthday appeared on my mental horizon. I am not managing musicians anymore, which is a good thing, but it leaves me with a big empty hole (and nothing cool to say at party's or to my ever entertained In-Laws). J.D Salinger once said: "I am sick of not having the guts to be an absolute nobody!" Sure it carries more weight if you write a world changing novel, but I am wondering if I was ever anybody to begin with. {Are you waiting for the cycling tie in? It's in the next Paragraph}

I have learned (in times of doubt, cycling) the best thing you can do, when faced with a goal dilemma is: keep putting in miles. That way when a goal comes along, at least you will have legs for it! So that's my plan, till a new plan comes a long.

That, and I am not going to eat Publix sushi before I go to bed, the night before my birthday.

W.B.Z.N.