Gusto

The transportation dreams continue. Lack of transportation, actually. Cars I can’t find, unfamiliar highways, vehicles too large or too strange for me to drive.

I suppose the dreams are me telling myself to go somewhere, maybe in the literal sense or maybe in the figurative, but the message is vague. I wake up feeling discontented and that feeling follows me through the day.

Maybe the problem, if there is a problem, is that my life lacks gusto. I’ve never been particularly big in that department.

Every day, I rub elbows with people who’ve moved and shaken, some who still do. One who used to hurl himself through the air with high explosives strapped between his legs. Scholar athletes. Leaders of men.

Me, I like to read and walk and make things pretty. I’ve even developed a fondness for cats. My dietitian tells me that my testosterone is too low. Maybe I should punch her out.