
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
A Little Anxiety Goes A Long Way
I spent Sunday evening fretting over the events of the day that lay ahead. I had been over everything I needed to do before presenting myself at the dock in order to take the 2:00 PM to Provincetown, an entirely new event in my eighty three years. Yesterday I rose early at 5:30 am, sure that I had not enough time, but then there it was despite the hysteria of efficiently going through my exercises, making breakfast, washing and shaving, treating lovingly the remaining hairs on my head which I can arrange into a back combed feeble man's simulation of those disguising helmets old ladies get their hairdressers to lacqer on to their heads. And, wow, in all the frenzy, I was ahead of schedule. And yet my heart pounded: 8:30 and I've to to get a move on for the commuter train coming at 9:05. It's only a few miles away, observed my husband. But what if there is heavy traffic? With a sigh of understanding he got out the car and off we went. The train was on time, but sometimes there were almost intolerable pauses at that place between Weymouth and Quincy where they had built but one track and we had to wait for the outbound to pass us. Predictably the train came to a halt, and I tried to ignore the passing minutes by examining the trees leafing out in the backyards of the houses we passed. And, lo and behold. despite my fears, there we were in South Station only two minutes late. I drew my breath. Now was the crunch: T to Cambridge, walk to the cobblers for my repaired sandals, get to Mt Auburn Hospital for an 11:30 appointment, get back to the Square, get to the dock. This prospect meant: should I take the bus to Mt. Auburn or a taxi? the age old anxieties arose--the unpredictable slow progress of the bus versus the unacceptable cost of a taxi (As a depression child, but reared in very comfortable circumstances, I had never lost the era's moral objection to "taking taxis.") Taxi won out, and I was 45 minutes early at the doctor's office. He is fond of me, and prone to gather all the extra minutes from other patients' appointments into a longish visit with me so we can discuss literature and everything else. We started early but then I began to grow anguished even if we were talking about my latest book which he had on his Kindle to show me; time was passing! I have to dash, said I. Off to Provincetown. But of course, he gave me a knowing look. No, no, it's not that I am gay; I am visiting friends in Wellfleet. Dash, dash to the harbor. But once outside the hospital door, the depression mentality took over, gulping with fear and daring, I took the bus. At the Square I got the T, downtown I made the numerous changes that only Boston's loony transit system could require to go a distance I could have walked in happier days. And there I was, panting in the humidity and heat at the dock--two hours early!
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