April 15, 2018

lodge ii

You know that urban legend where a guy goes to a party in a hotel room where he doesn't really know the people, and gets drunk and somebody drugs him and he passes out, and then he wakes up in a bathtub full of ice cubes and there's a note that says those people harvested his kidneys and he needs to call 911 immediately?

Yeah, it was like that.


I need to start treating hypomanic episodes exactly like being drunk.  It would be like going to a party and just before going inside, I'd turn to P.J. and say, "No matter how much I drink, do not let me tell the story about what happened that time at the midnight pig-calling contest in Virginia."  But then we'd get pulled apart and would be mingling and then she'd get a horrified look as she heard me across the room, loudly and artlessly telling a cluster of people all about that one pig and the rubber mats from the car and the barbed wire and how funny the whole thing was, as they stood transfixed with shocked smiles and glasses that suddenly needed filling elsewhere.

Yesterday, we attended the annual property owners' association meeting for The Lodge's neighborhood.  It sounds all stuffy and official, doesn't it?  This place is great, though ... the dues are low and are all used for the roads, and people pitch in and help each other out with problems that crop up, big and small.  There's a community gazebo with a broom left there, so whoever comes along and feels moved by the Holy Spirit of Community Pride to do so can sweep off the pine needles.  I did that one day.  People walk their dogs and wave at each other.  A man once took a picture of our cabin in the snow and e-mailed it to us so we could see what it was like, because we couldn't get up the mountain due to ice.  There isn't an obscenely expensive and unnecessary clubhouse or an invasive political undercurrent.  It's laid-back, humble, the people and the place together as a gestalt.

Anyway, I'm mildly hypomanic right now, and we went to this meeting, and listened, and asked thoughtful questions.  Then they asked for volunteers for next year's board, and I leaned over and whispered to P.J., "Do not let me stand up and volunteer.  Seriously.  Don't let me."  Because I suddenly cared, a lot, and felt moved by the Holy Spirit of Committees to volunteer.  It's probably because I love this place and what it stands for, all that humble-ness and laid-back-ness, but that does not excuse my ignoring P.J. and standing up and volunteering, tossing my name into the hat as though there is the least bit I can contribute, short of a willingness to stuff lots of envelopes when needed.  And there wasn't even a vote because they had just enough people to volunteer, so now I'm on the board of a POA and I don't know how to be on the board of a thing and I never volunteer for committees because I'm not one of those totally with-it people who instinctively know how to do things, and now I've gone and put my foot in it and probably have to talk in front of some people at some point.

Lille is just staring at me with a blank look because she doesn't know who I am or what the fuck to think.

This is something grown-ups do.

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