THE MIDDLE AGE OF QUARREL

Maturity has always been difficult for me – especially as I grow older. In the past few years, I’ve fought myself not to uncork on both supposed loved ones and the world around me as life dealt me hand after hand of shittiness. I suppose it’s a normal knee-jerk reaction to take stock of your life in times like this and try to pinpoint what caused this flood of bad luck. Was it that time I worked at a record store and laughed at a kid for buying a Snapcase record in 1995? Or how about the many times I changed friends and acquaintances to maintain a sense of relevance inside my dimwitted brain?

I clog my mind with the what-ifs in an effort to not deal with the matter at hand or as an excuse to stand in my own way mentally. Sitting in the stillness of an unfamiliar home with plenty of recliners to choose from and the tick of a clock going incessantly in the background shifts things into perspective for brief periods in time. All you have is the time in front of you. You can either sit and dwell on past mistakes or do your best to hatch plans while in this environmental limbo.

Right now, it’s safe to say I flit between the two modes listed above. The possibilities of a drama-free future fills me with anticipation some days while a phone call or text crammed with said drama can send me down a useless, ‘whoa is me’ spiral. The mistakes of the past creep up unexpectedly no matter how much I shield myself. It just makes me want to rip this psychological band-aid off and dive head first into these final 20 or so years of life. But much like Cappo and crew on their final full-length, I am not “in this” alone.

So I guess all I can do is write these sad posts for a public who probably just want short record reviews and off-color remarks. I am fully aware that some of these past newsletters are pretty wince-worthy – especially coming from a grown person who should know better. Call it my midlife emo crisis or even better, the middle age of quarrel. It’s an attempt to connect with an audience of a certain age who hide their mental distress due to how it might be perceived. I for one thought I’d have my shit together by this time in my life, but the universe has proven me wrong once again. Maybe there’s other fogies who feel the same?

That’s enough whinging for today. Feel free to send me cyber wedgies or commiserations below.