Po-Boy Views

By Phil LaMancusa

Disambiguation or Unfulfilled Closure

This is not about that 1993 film that starred Bill Murray entitled Groundhog Day, in which he relived the same day over and over and over again. It is about platitudes and the Kleine-Levin Syndrome.

“Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick and pull yourself together,” Elizabeth Taylor once advised.

Is it telling that we cremate loved ones and put them up on shelves instead of burying them? “So there’s good ol’ whatshisname (in the box/jar/urn), up there next to the San Marzano canned tomatoes.” Or maybe the ashes are “over by the window (the better for them to enjoy the sunrise/ set) atop their copy of Kahil Gibran’s The Prophet,” or perhaps they have their own shelf—an altar, if you will. Possibly, it has a battery-operated, perpetual candle, a bell, a book, maybe some plastic flowers, seashells—a chance for us to grieve in little increments as we get on with our busy life. A chance for us to look back and then a chance to back away and say, “What’s done is done.”

The alternative, of course, would have been a hole in the ground or an upper berth in a corner mausoleum where we could’ve wailed, tore our hair, wrent at our clothing, and maybe thrown ourselves despondently on top of the casket before it was lowered (or raised). A visit now and then would be in order. A chat, perhaps some freshening of the site, throw pillows, more flowers, saying, “Boohoo, I miss you,” as time marches on.

Face it, nobody’s perfect. We’re somnambulating through most of our lives and are roused by reminders of what we missed, times we had, and situations we have left unresolved. There are also some that we have buried (or left unburied). And then hellishly, we try to catch up. We wake to find that time has passed, years maybe. The kids have grown, we’re no longer young, it was just there the other day, and suddenly, “it ain’t dere no more.” Who knows where the time goes?

As Harry Chapin once lamented, “The cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon / little boy blue and the man in the moon.” We can only do what we can do.

Gurus tell you to “be here now,” an alcoholic says, “One day at a time,” yogis recommend “meditation and repetition of your mantra,” your bartender will tell you to “have another one,” your shrink asks, “How you feel about it?” and your family will pose, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Grandma offers cookies. Your BFF takes you to lunch. Meher Baba says, “Don’t worry, be happy."

We are so ahead of ourselves that ourselves are the ones left behind. We sometimes meet ourselves coming back from where we were going and may become momentarily discombobulated, flummoxed, and impulse in full power—boomeranged and deranged. I’m so confused that “[t]here’s someone in my head but it’s not me” makes too much sense (Brain Damage 1973).

Are we asleep at the wheel as life passes us by? Not quite. It’s more like we’re paying so much attention to the bumps, potholes, road debris, reckless drivers, stop signs, and school zones that it’s all detours on our life’s highways. So much to do, so little of it getting done and there it all is in the rear view mirror. I’m coming up on things that I need to do now. I’m overloaded, and I need a nap.

Okay, so now let’s examine the KleineLevin Syndrome, sometimes called the Sleeping Beauty Sickness. It’s not common enough to be in our faces, except that it can appear in varying functional degrees. Sleeping 20-22 hours a day—sometimes for weeks, months, and, in some cases, up to a year—getting up to gorge, exercise bodily functions (such as bowel movements and/ or increased sexual impulses), while suffering from confusion, befuddlement, anxiousness, sometimes exhibiting violent behavior, and then going back to sleep. At times having to be told what went on in the world and life while unconscious. I posit that there is a distinct possibility that we all have it in some measure.

You close your eyes for a moment. Perhaps you feel like napping in the afternoon. You fall asleep on a bus, in a car, at a movie, and time marches on. Where did you go when the world went on without you? Away? Where is “away,” anyway?

When one door closes…

I often think that if I wasn’t reminded by the environment and familiarity of people present when I wake in the morning that I wouldn’t know who I am, where I am, and what the hell I was doing in this place. Then I rouse, recognize some stuff, and I’m back to being who I am in this reality.

“If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow why can’t I?” Dorothy once asked.

Where do I go in my daydreams, in my nightmares? And there I am remembering that I’m late with a bill or birthday card. As Alice once noted, it’s “[c]uriouser and curiouser.”

The fact that you don’t get to use the limitless potential of your brain and intelligence doesn’t mean that it doesn’t strive to be used; that goes for your emotions, feelings, and spiritual development. Your brain goes into overdrive and for no apparent reason, you’re drained of energy. It’s a call to digress, digest, regroup, recharge, relax, but you say, “There’s so much more that needs to get done.”

I say to go easy on yourself. Sometimes you have to “[d]rink some coffee, put on some gangster rap, and handle it,” as Martina Simonova observed. Other times, though, just sit back and let things work themselves out. Remember, this ain’t no contest; you’re doing better than you think, literally.

“Long you live and high you fly / Smiles you’ll give and tears you’ll cry / And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be” was put forth in the Pink Floyd song “Breathe (in the Air).”

Keep doin’ whatcha doin’. You got this.