Apparently I pushed myself very hard this weekend in terms of physical activity. I did almost 70 miles on the bike over 4 days this week/weekend. Felt really good while I was doing it. I woke up Sunday morning unable to move without wincing.

I am not 20 anymore; I’m in better baseline physical health at almost 46 than I was back then, but I simply don’t bounce back as fast, and I’d be lying if I didn’t resent it a little bit.

My lovely spouse (who deserves better than a wreck like me for any number of reasons) advises me of the need to rest/recover after exercise, and she’s right (and I do take at least one out of every 4 days off), but as I’ve said in this space before, my time traversing the trails is really the only time I truly get that’s really mine, which is important to me, especially in this time when my house is constantly full of all sorts of other people and pets for whom I am responsible to in various capacities. My mental health, which, frankly, is less solid right now, needs that time to stave off both the interpersonal frustration and the looming existential dread that’s part and parcel to living in 2020 America, which is, unfortunately, not a great place and time to be.

Sunday was not a good day; we’ll say that; details aren’t necessary.

I hate being as irritable as I am, and it’s really hard to let go of frustrations that should be fleeting, but by their nature hit me on a visceral personal level, when, frankly, I’m barely hanging on to that elusive “even keel” on the best of 2020 pandemic days.

That’s kind of what it feels like; that I’m barely hanging on to well-adjusted humanity, while the world around me devolves into chaos and incivility (just going out to the store for something and seeing the sheer volume of irresponsibility, selfishness, and lack of care for the collective general welfare is rage-inducing), especially in this society at this point in time, where from the top down, so few are appealing to better angels.

When I get so angry so quickly at what should be small things of relatively little significance (but nonetheless feel ridiculously significant in the moment), I feel like I’m no better than the rest of those unwashed (sorry, that word’s hitting on particular stress point) teeming masses out there in the community doing their level selfish best to exercise “Mah Freedums” at the expense of their responsibility to their fellow humans.

And that just makes me feel worse, because on some deep, base level, a part of me want to say “screw responsibility” and just do whatever the hell feels good, damn the consequences, and when I acknowledge that, I acknowledge that I’m, deep down, I’m pretty terrible myself, and that’s an idea I really am not comfortable with.

I hope you enjoyed this window into the inner life of the upper-middle class white male in the midst of mid-life crisis. Dammit.