California Dreaming

Don't ask me why the song "California Dreaming" has been playing inside of my head on and off all day. Possibly because of the weather, which has been beautiful. Some days in Northern California are so perfect that they almost defy description; the light is so clear and seems to pour down, and the air is like a second skin. (Consider me now disowned by my Midwestern relatives-;)) It's taken over 16 years of living here to recognize a day like today as a spring day--not winter and not summer.

And days like today exacerbate my symptoms. The Risperdal still seems to be helping, but I got hit with the occasional voice. Perhaps that's the best we can do during the spring and summer months. (I have a fear that my doctor will insist on increasing the dose of Risperdal and upsetting the delicate balance I have. I feel good otherwise.) I'm still reveling in the ability to think clearly; talk about something that we take for granted!

However, I got more empirical proof that my longer hair has got to go, which saddens me because I love it. I was cleaning the interior of my car tonight, when a youngish guy asks me for the time. I tell him the time, and continue cleaning my car. He then asks how to get to the San Jose Fairgrounds, and I give him directions, and continue cleaning.

Then somehow the subject became going to nightclubs. He asked me if I went to clubs, and I said no. He asked why not. I said that I didn't really enjoy them, although I did occasionally go to them anyway when I was younger. So then he asked me if I was married (apparently the only excuse for not partying-;)). For some reason, I was honest enough to say that I used to be. He asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I said no. He told me that I was wasting my life. I told him that I knew that I was boring, but that I liked my life. (Absolutely true.) I also told him that I was older than he thought I was. He said that no, I was young. I said that I wasn't. (I wish that I had told him that I was going to turn 40 this year, just to see the look on his face.) He said that I looked young. (Bingo.)

I had been cleaning my car throughout the entire conversation. Apparently he didn't pick up on that fact because he asked me if I wanted to go to a nightclub. I said, "No, not really," got into the car, waved goodbye, and left.

So...it's either got to be the hair, or something's in the water in San Jose.

The sad part is that I know there are some people who would give their eyeteeth to be in the same position. However, I want to look 40.

Addendum

I hope that it was clear that I wasn't being sarcastic about the guy in the last entry. (More to the point, I hope that he didn't think that I was being sarcastic.) My issue wasn't with him asking me out; it was an age issue. But the fact that he asked me out when I suspect that he wouldn't if he knew my age, and the fact that Smile Guy was picking on me when I suspect he wouldn't pick on peers, begs the question.

Maybe Erik is the only one who gets it; we've had a discussion about earning gray hairs and wearing them proudly. (One of my great fears is that Erik is the only person who will ever really understand what I'm thinking, but that's a topic for another time. Or possibly not because he might read the topic and probably will read this one.) And also with everything that's going on, the two guys seemed like they were from outer space. Or I was.