Yesterday another mysterious visitor came to my room. A tall, slim, bespeckled lady with short butch hair.
A social worker? Psychiatrist? Agent of the FBI?
She had a notebook on a clipboard. Wanted to ask me questions.
Okay. I'm easy. I like questions. Most of them.
The questions seemed benign. What kind of food do I like, what kind of hobbies....do I like animals.....
...do I vote? Uhoh. Hell, no. I never vote. I keep my political opinions safely to myself. I'm a secret patriot. Ssssshhh....
I was waiting for the sexual questions - - hoping I wouldn't shock the jeeters out of her - - but she strayed to more appealing realms.
What were the happiest times in my life?
Actually that's a tough one. As a devout pessimist and a life full of absolute stress and chaos, it's rather difficult to find the rainbows.
I fluffed my way through that one. After she (finally) left, I started thinking about my happy times.
All of my happy times were generated by modes of escape....escape from ugly reality.
When I was young, I escaped from my violent father by reading. I'd hide in my room, escaping through literature. I read books, one after another. My world was deep in the realms of imagination.
And then there was music. The piano, of course. And opera, ballet, symphonies, the deliciously limitless world of classical music. To this day, the greatest balm that soothes my soul is music. I always calm my nerves listening to opera.
Later, I derived some pleasure/satisfaction being a professional pianist and freelance writer. But I'm my own worst critic. I'm never satisfied with myself.
And I was always immensely happy when I was in love. Love can lift the soul to heaven (or occasionally bring you down to hell).....but my love affairs were epic.
Do you know when I was truly absolutely happy?
In October, 2014, when I sold my house in Texas and moved to Tennessee. A monumental milestone.
I packed up everything, put my belongings in storage. I put my three cats in my tiny Toyota...and we were off!
I had two cages in the back seat. Kitzee (nine years old) was in one cage, Bosco and Scruffy (both six months old) in the other cage.
As I drove out of Texas it was exhilarating, a feeling of absolute freedom. No home, no job, no worries, no ties.....I was FREE!!
This must be the Hungarian gypsy singing in my soul. Cigany lelke.
I knew my destination would be Tennessee, but I didn't want to arrive. I just wanted to keep driving forever....like the Flying Dutchman....
In retrospect, I never regretted moving to Tennessee. I love it here. The only thing that ruined it was when I got seriously ill (see previous post).
This next revelation will be somewhat of a shocker...maybe. Maybe not.
I was happy in my young, wild, reckless years - - when I haunted the midnight streets of Hollywood and L.A. Youth was my weapon.
I was never tough or wild - - but I assumed a completely new identity. I played tough and faked my way into the hardcore world of darkness and danger....endless one night stands, booze, drugs, encounters with lowlife criminals, pimps and hustlers and (later) hobnobbing with the famous....and infamous.
I was never into drugs, but tried them. Often with negative results. Alcohol was my weakness. To be blunt - - how could I have existed in such a hedonistic lifestyle if I wasn't completely soused?
Destructive? Absolutely. But at that time, it was a great escape from reality. I savored the danger. And despite self-destruction, I still retained my romantic soul. I told myself "Someday in the distant future I'll write about my unholy adventures....."
Was that really happiness? In my quest for freedom, it was. A pathetic facsimile of happiness.
Surprisingly, I have no regrets. I had a unique lifestyle that few people could ever dream of.....or understand.
Why am I writing this?
Perhaps to purge my soul.
Jon 💙 a complete enigma
