Member-only story
HUMOR | ESSAY
Is This a Midlife Crisis
Or just the way things are now?
I have developed a compulsion to create things, as if I am in desperate search of a missing piece to unlock a puzzle and the clock is ticking.
I have come-to, seeming mid-fugue, at a dining room table covered with paints and coffee pods, while my child belts Wish in the next room. I have a vague memory of participating in a craft fair.
I awake soaked in sweat. How did I get these penguin pajamas? My dreams are so vivid they could be premonitions. Did I accidentally drop acid before I fell asleep? It feels like there is always a full moon. I have an urge to howl.
In the morning, it hurts to have slept. In fact, everything hurts all the time, but the maladies seem uncategorizable. Is there a flesh doctor? Someone who works with air or the lack of it? Which doctor treats existential malaise?
I purchase things with non-FDA approved medicinal properties, ancient remedies for some ailment I inherited by osmosis but cannot identify. I consider hosting a cacao ceremony. I consider building a greenhouse. I consider moving to the middle of nowhere and living off the grid.
Is this mid-life? I wonder. It seems too soon, but I suppose it’s…