June 19: The Only Reason, Worries, and Hits

"You know something?" I said.  "You're probably the only reason I'm in New York right now, or anywhere.  If you weren't around, I'd probably be someplace way the hell off.  In the woods or some goddam place.  You're the only reason I'm around, practically."

Holden pins all of his happiness on Sally with this statement.  Sally is a girl he's dated, off and on, for a while.  Obviously, Holden doesn't love Sally.  Only a few pages later, Holden tells her that she gives him a pain in the ass.  Their date doesn't end well, to say the least.

Holden is trying to find happiness in The Catcher in the Rye.  He's been sad for a while and spends most of his days fantasizing about people who will make him happy.  Jane is one of those fantasies--a troubled girl from his past who represents, in some way, a person Holden wants to save, like the children in the rye field.  Above all, Holden wants to preserve innocence.  He doesn't want his world wrecked by the worries and cares of the adult world.

I'm with Holden.  Since last Friday, I've had one piece of bad news after another from the adult world.  Today isn't any different.  As a good friend of mine says, life has been totally sucking socks for me.  I'm not a person who deals well with change.  Especially change that catches me by surprise.  The only kind of surprises I like go something like this:  "Congratulations!  You just won the Great Poem Poetry Prize.  Here's a check for $1,000."  Unfortunately, I've been getting these kinds of surprises:  "I'm sorry to inform you that, as of 12 p.m. yesterday, you owe the Internal Revenue Service $10,000 in back taxes and penalties."

I know that pinning my hopes and dreams on a person (like Holden does) isn't going to make my situation any better.  The English Department Head is not going to call and offer me a full-time professorship at the university this afternoon.  I know that pinning my hopes and dreams on a thing (like a poetry contest or new job) isn't any better.  I've tried medicating myself with Milky Ways and handfuls of M&Ms.  That worked until I realized I'd polished off a one-pound bag of candy and still had not solved any of my dilemmas.

I'm weary.  I'm weary of worrying.  I need to let go of all of these issues.  I'm not going to be able to do a damn thing about them, anyway.  All I'm succeeding in doing is losing sleep and eating badly.  Meanwhile, the hits of misfortune just keep on rolling in.

Saint Marty needs a vacation.  A long one.

These don't solve your problems, but they taste great with gin and tonic