Knackered Goes Out with Benzos

   Hey there, Knackered here.  The whole idea of ‘going out’ has come to mean different things depending on what stage of evolution my life was at.  As a grade schooler, the art of ‘playing war’ dominated all of us.  Toy companies sold all manner of weapons and we never ‘went out’ without being fully armed.  From battery operated machine guns to to rubber daggers, we portrayed the soldiers on TV and popular movies of the time. Sunday school provided another menu of barbaric stuff: garbage can lids became shields and I even learned how to make a fully operational sling from the David and Goliath ‘sermon’ one Sunday.  The entire old Testament turned out to be x rated, but what parent was going to make their kid stop reading the Bible?

   In high school, ‘going out’ meant cruising ‘the drag’, proms and occasionally engaging in a short term relationships with romantic partners.  The duration of those liaisons was skeptical; one to two months was an eternity.  Friday nights were always questionable for me.  I was a member of a lousy football team and was usually too tired and beat up after the game to really care about ‘going out’.

   College years were spent in a fraternity house.  All the stuff you’ve heard about those living arrangements, and more, was true to some degree.  Most of the ‘going out’ involved alcohol and Sundays were left to healing up from the ‘brown bottle flu’.

   Married with kids was a true highlight, but devoid of any real ‘going out’.  We did, of course ‘go out’ with the kids and their activities, but my wife and I deferred any personal ‘going out’ to the needs of the family.

   During the empty nest period, we did ‘go out’ on some regional trips, but even then, I hated all the packing up, sleeping in beds others had occupied and the like.  Shortly after, Covid hit and no one ‘went anywhere’, at least for a time.

   My next ‘going out’ experience had unending consequences for my well being.  It was, of course a ‘going out’ experience to  a new psych provider and his insistence that my next Rx should look quite a bit different from the ones of the past few decades. That completely changed my notion of ‘going out’.

   We had to errands to complete yesterday that demanded I ‘go out’.  The morning one entailed grocery shopping; of course it did.  Since putting on socks and shoes means bending over, an action which completely messes with my ability to breathe, and causes pain almost everywhere, I slipped on a pair of Crocs.  My internal temperature changes so frequently that I’m at a loss as to which type of coat to wear (or not).  On ‘window days’ I can walk just fine, but that can change in the twinkling of an eye, so I usually haul my Benzo cane around as a back up.

   Finally, let me state that ‘going out’ is highly overrated.  George Harrison said it best when he said, “Without going out of my door, I can know all things on Earth”.  I agree; I’m heading back to bed.