The Middle-Aged Neurotic

The midlife crisis is something that catches everyone but neurotics by suprise. Neurotics expect a crisis at midlife because they have had one at every other age and by now there is reason to believe that only death can stop them. Because they are so practiced at facing crises, neurotics have ready answers for all the deep and desperate questions that arise at this stage of the game. They may not be the correct answers, but with questions like these, what difference does it make?

Who am I? I am the same person as always, only now with greying hair and a hear that could give out at any moment.

Where am I? In the living room, sitting in front of the television but holding the afternoon newspaper up in front of my face so that it looks like I'm not just wasting time.

What am I doing here? I am listening to the television. The guest host is just now revealing the exact date of his fourthcoming appearance in Las Vegas.

No, I mean what am I doing here on Earth? Frankly, I wish I knew. I had a pretty good grasp on it just the other night in a dream, but I couldn't remember the dream when I woke up this morning. I just remembered the feeling of having a grasp and it was surprisingly uncomplicated. One thing I can do exceptionally well is drive a car in reverse just by looking through the rear-view mirror, although I wouldn't claim that as a calling or a reason for living or anything like that.

What are these things? These are what is known as possessions. The chair here allows me to sit up or to lounge, according to my whim. The couch unfolds into a bed that is more comfortable than any other in the house. On the wall are framed scenes of idealezed family life. The ball is for the dog. There are many other things, all paid for, all insured.

What is this in my hand? A martini.

Who are these people? They are my family, three children and one mate. They give me a feeling of substance and meaning, I suppose. The children are old enough to be developing distinct neurotic personalities of their own now. Their cuteness has completly disappeared and they have rejected every bit of advice that I have ever tried to give them.

What is important? The martini. The extra olive. The feel of the cold glass against my fingers.

What else? Flowers, puppies, balloons, walks in the park, things like that.

What is unimportant? Promotions at work, what other people think of me, our daughter's arrest record, the neighbour's dog that shits all over the front lawn.

What lies beyond life, beyond death? Hey, that is this, some kind of inquisition? "What lies beyond life, beyond death?" What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why don't you go ask Carl Sagan? Leave me out of it. Leave me alone.

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