The Roles We Play (Blog #215)

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Today is Halloween, the day children and adults alike dress up and pretend to be something they’re not. So when I woke up this morning still sick and feeling like crap, I decided I’d pretend to feel good. A healthy person–that’s what I’ll be today! Now I just have to put one foot in front of the other. I really do think my sinus infection is getting better–I have less “junk”–but lately my energy level has been shit. I’m hoping this is because my body is pooling its resources in an effort to heal, maybe make me rest so it can get busy performing a miracle. I like these ideas better than thinking my body is simply throwing in the towel, something I truthfully feel like doing. As the saying goes, I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

With this in mind, I’m considering starting a restrictive diet tomorrow in order to give my body a reset. I messaged my friend April today, and she said sometimes she cleans up her sinuses by basically eating chicken, a few fruits, and certain cooked vegetables. She said it takes two weeks for your body to “start over” and four weeks to get the best results. Honestly, this sounds like hell–but I’ve done something similar before, so surely I can do it again. Plus, I really think my body could use some help–help that doesn’t look like chocolate cake and Taco Bell, as I’m pretty sure those aren’t immune system boosters.

This evening I drove to Fayetteville and had dinner with my friend CJ. She told me my hair looked good–different–gayer. Ten years ago a statement like this would have horrified me, like, My hair looks gay? What if someone thinks I am? But tonight I said, “That’s fantastic–I am gay. Better if my hair is too.”

For dinner I had a reuben sandwich on rye, french fries, and a pickle. None of that, of course, will be on the diet I’m starting tomorrow, so tonight I kept thinking, This is my last piece of bread, this is my last french fry, this is my last supper. Oh my god, y’all, I ate my last supper on Halloween–just like Jesus!

Oh wait. His last supper was on Easter–er–Passover. (Holidays are so confusing.)

When we finished eating, CJ and I attended The Rocky Horror Picture Show (my mom called it Rocky Mountain Horror) at Walton Arts Center. I saw a live stage performance of Rocky Horror recently, but tonight was the traditional deal–the movie playing on a big screen, people dressed up as the characters and using props, everyone calling Brad an asshole and Janet a slut. Granted, CJ and I didn’t dress up or use props, but we at least got out of our seats and danced the entire Time Warp, which the couple next to us did not.

Losers.

Here’s a picture of the costume contest that went on before the show. The couple that dressed as Eddie (the guy with the saxophone) and Columbia (the girl in gold sequins and a top hat) won the contest, but if anyone knows Rocky (the naked guy with all the muscles), I’d like to give him a consolation prize. God, Marcus, you don’t have to share every thought that pops into your brain. Your mother reads this, for crying out loud.

If you’re familiar with Rocky Horror, you know audience members throw a lot of shit–toilet paper when they say, “Dr. Scott,” toast when they say, “A toast!” Well, as all that toast was flying through the air tonight, I just assumed it was plain old bread. I didn’t figure people would go through the trouble of actually–well–toasting it. I mean, entire loaves were being thrown–that’s a lot of work. But when the lights came on, sure enough, every piece I saw was burned on both sides. Talk about dedication. Well, shit. Now all I can think about is eating toast. I guess I could get up and make some. I mean, the diet doesn’t technically start until tomorrow.

Far be it from me to overachieve.

This morning I read an article by Joseph Campbell about the history and meaning of Halloween. (It’s long, but you can find it here.) In it he says that Halloween represents dying and is the mythological opposite of May Day, which represents being born. He also says that costumes remind us of the everyday masks we wear. (Can you believe some people pretend to be straight when they’re actually gay?) It’s okay to have roles, of course–dance teacher, writer, whatever. But problems arise when we pretend to be something we’re not or–even worse–mistake the roles we play for our true selves, since ultimately our souls are beyond identification.

All things are part of life.

I’ve said it before, but I don’t like this time of year. It’s cold, everything is dead, and I spend the entire fall and winter shivering. I honestly can’t believe I’m about to start a diet and probably lose the only natural insulation I have. That being said, I’m reminded tonight that to everything there is a season. I have a preference for spring and summer, but the universe clearly doesn’t. Rather, all things–coldness and warmth, fall and spring, death and rebirth–are part of life. Likewise, getting sick and running low on energy are part of life, and just like any season, these things will change.

As for the roles we play, I’ve personally decided to keep pretending that I feel well. Since I pretended to be straight for so long, this should be a cinch. I don’t mean I’m going to ignore my body or not let it rest, but I am going to start asking myself, “What would a healthy person do–what would a healthy person eat?” and then do that. I usually get overwhelmed by dietary changes, so I figure this will be an easy way to simplify things, support my body, and start turning things around. I’ll let you know how it goes.

After toast tonight, of course.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes life can really kick you in the balls and make you drop to your knees.

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If at First You Don’t Succeed, Lower Your Standards (Blog #214)

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This morning while preparing breakfast I mistook my middle finger for a sweet potato and cut it with a serrated knife. This is the kind of shit that happens when you eat vegetables for breakfast. I mean, I didn’t expose any bones or sever anything important, and I can still give people the bird. (So don’t cut me off in traffic.) But I did leave a mark toward the top, not deep enough to hurt, but deep enough to bleed. Now I have two Bandaids wrapped around it, and I’m having trouble typing the letters E, D, and C, and the number 3. But don’t you worry–somehow I’ll survive.

Recently I did an exercise in a self-help book that involved circling statements that seemed true for me, things that held a charge like “I’m shameful” or “I’m not worthy of love.” Personally, the one that stood out the most was “I’m not good enough,” I guess because it always feels like life would be better or Zac Efron would propose if I were smarter, taller, or more-er than I currently am. Anyway, I had therapy this afternoon, so I told my therapist pretty much word-for-word what I just told you.

“Okay, I want evidence. Give me empirical data. How are you not good enough?”

“Uh–well–uh–hum–yeah.”

“That’s right. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

As we continued to talk, my therapist said that “not good enough” really wasn’t a feeling, so we agreed the word “inadequate” was a better description. I often feel–inadequate. But still, she shut down the pity party pretty promptly (tongue-twister!), simply by reminding me that sure, I’ll always have more to learn because I’m an eternal student–but that doesn’t mean I’m not up to whatever the task is in this moment. “You were fine the day you walked in here. You’d had some experiences that lead you to certain circumstances, and you wanted something different. You’ve come a long way. But you were fine then, and you’re fine now.”

Phew. That’s a relief.

After therapy I spent the entire day at the library. I went with intentions of cozying up to one of the several books I’d already started, but I ended up spending time with two new ones instead. For this reason, it felt as if I was having an affair. As I turned the pages of the new books, I hoped the old ones wouldn’t find out. But stories travel fast, especially in a library, so I imagined myself going home to my Kindle and having to apologize. Baby, that cheap library book didn’t mean a thing. It was an accident–I was drunk. You’re the one really love!

Anyway, I didn’t even check out (get it–check out?) the first book, The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. Rather, I just pulled it off the shelf, sat down in a chair, and read it straight through. Only stopped to go to the bathroom three times. I love it when this happens with a book–total immersion. It feels so decadent. And yes–I just used the word “decadent” to describe reading. And no–no, I’m not a virgin.

The second book I loved on today was Healing Words: The Power of Prayer and the Practice of Medicine by Larry Dossey, MD. (I didn’t actually finish it at the library, which means I had to bring “the mistress” home.) Toward the beginning of the book, the author tells a story about a back pain he once had that left him bedridden. Involved in both western medicine and alternative healing practices, he had several friends who came to his side, laid their hands on him, and treated him with crystals and god knows what else. Well, he said he loved it, but it didn’t solve his problem. Eventually he had surgery, reasoning, I’ve given this a good shot, but I’m tired of the pain.

What I loved about this story is that I completely related to it. For twenty years I struggled with chronic sinus infections, and I tried every “natural” remedy under the sun. Because there’s a lot of new age and spiritual material that touts the power of the mind over the body, I not only felt sick, but I also felt bad for being sick. If I knew more, I wouldn’t have a fever. If I were more spiritual, I wouldn’t be hacking up a lung right now. It was like each infection was another reason to beat up on myself–to not feel good enough.

This, of course, sucked. (I finally had surgery earlier this year.)

But the book said sickness happens to plants and animals as well as humans–it’s just part of life, not something we can avoid if we eat enough wheatgrass. We can and should try to be healthy, of course, but at some point, enough is enough. This reminds me of a cartoon bookmark I used to have in elementary school. It said, “If at first you don’t succeed, lower your standards.” Clearly, my standards have been too high for too long–I’ve been asking too much of myself then feeling “not good enough” every time I get sick, get dumped, or don’t get asked to the prom. But as my therapist pointed out, “not good enough” is simply not reality.

In the story of Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin spins straw into gold in exchange for the queen’s firstborn child. When the child is born, Rumpelstiltskin comes to collect his wages, but says that if the queen can guess his name (which she does), she can keep her child. I heard once that one of the takeaways of this story is learning to speak your fears out loud, to name them. If you can do this, they’ll go running. Well, between what I learned from my therapist and the book today, I think an appropriate name for my fear of not being good enough would be–Bullshit. Regardless, I do think there’s power in stating your insecurities and realizing not only that you don’t have any proof to back them up, but also that you’re not the only one who has them. We all feel inadequate from time to time. But the truth is we’re fine right here, right now, and we always have been.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.

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Forced Down a Rabbit Hole (Blog #213)

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It’s midnight-thirty, Mom and Dad are watching the world series, and I really have no idea what to talk about. Personally, I think we could all use a break from discussing The Daily Snot Report and What Time Marcus Woke Up This Afternoon (2:30). But what else is there? This evening I went to Walmart to look for a magnesium supplement in the pharmacy section, but there were so many options that I got overwhelmed, threw up my hands, and walked to the dairy section instead. (I can usually find answers in the dairy section.) That being said, I’m still having muscle spasms in my leg, so if anyone would like to suggest a miracle magnesium product, go ahead.

I’d prefer one that goes well with cheese.

Lately I’ve had just a skosh of writer’s block, usually toward the end of each blog. I think it’s because I haven’t been feeling well and my body and mind are tired. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve been blogging after midnight. I’m a night owl, but even I’ll grant that four in the morning is not my finest hour for putting a sentence together. Anyway, several times this last week I’ve said–out loud–to the muse, “Come on, I could use a little help here.” So maybe tonight the muse is on vacation, pissed off, or sleeping with someone else. Ugh–another cheater–that’s just what I need.

This afternoon I had coffee with a friend who was recently dumped. Being dumped is never fun, of course, but it sounded like it needed to happen. I won’t go into details, but I’m sure you can imagine a situation in which you hang on to someone who’s a total shit-show because you keep hoping that person will change. When things finally come to an end, part of you knows it’s for the best, but most of you is devastated. At least that’s been my experience. People say things like, “You’re better off,” “Time heals all wounds,” and “There are plenty of fish in the sea,” but none of that helps put your heart back together. After all, what good is a sea full of fish when you’re drowning?

A fucking mess, those were the exact words my therapist used to describe me.

As my friend told their story, I completely related–not to the specifics, but to the heartache that comes after a breakup. That’s what I was going through four years ago when I started therapy. It felt like there was a hole in the middle of my chest. On the surface I was going through the motions, but inside I was lost in the woods. A fucking mess, those were the exact words my therapist used to describe me. As if the sorrow weren’t enough, I also had to find a place to live. My friend is in a similar situation–everything familiar is being dismantled at once. God–sometimes life can really turn up the heat.

“It sounds like the universe has you by the balls,” I said.

What I meant by that statement is that I no longer believe the major events in our lives are accidental. Caroline Myss says, “God stops your life in order to step in it,” and that’s been my experience. Looking back, I absolutely needed to be cheated on and heartbroken. I don’t hope it will happen again, and I don’t recommend it, but that’s what it took to get me to therapy and raise my damn standards. Having come through the last four years, I can see that all my fears were unfounded. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t been provided for. It took time, of course, but I eventually found a place to live, and it ended up being the perfect place to heal my heart. There I also learned about boundaries, being authentic, and speaking my truth. In short, it was the place I learned to take care of myself.

The way I see it now, dramatic upsets in our lives are like being forced down a rabbit hole. Suddenly you’re falling, tumbling into a new world, searching for solid ground. But there isn’t any–nothing is ever solid. Even if it were, we wouldn’t realize it after a trauma because the territory is not familiar. Familiar is where we came from–our old world, the place we want to go back to and often do. Maybe it’ll be different this time. But if that world had been working, we wouldn’t have been so rudely invited into a new one.

Healing is never a straight line.

Rude invitations, like the tornado that swept Dorothy off to Oz–that’s how I’ve come to think of the curve balls life throws my way–chances to explore new worlds, new ways of being. More often than not, this is three parts frightening and one part exciting and feels like writer’s block. Come on, I don’t know where I’m going. I could use a little help here. (Silence.) Fine, I’ll just eat some cheese until you decide to show up. And yet, somehow you progress down the yellow brick road–the words come and the answers arrive. It’s never a straight line like you want it to be–healing is never a straight line–but you get there. One day you look back and see how far you’ve come. Maybe your outside looks the same, but your inside looks like a whole new world, and that’s your new familiar. Naturally, there will be other rabbit holes and tornados, other invitations to travel deeper into yourself and the divine mystery. But at least you’ll know something better is waiting for you should you choose to accept the invitation, pack your bags or (even better) leave them behind, and learn to swim in the sea again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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Coming Home Again (Blog #212)

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Ugh. It’s almost four in the morning, and I really meant to be in bed by now. Instead I just got home, brushed my teeth and such, and sat down to blog. With any luck, I’ll fly through this in no time. That being said, I really have no idea what I’m going to talk about and forgot how to form a sentence two hours ago, so I could be here a while. The good news is the house is quiet, which means it’s easy to concentrate. The bad news is the house is quiet, which means my body wants to fall asleep. Maybe I should bang some pots and pans to wake myself up.

Raise your hand if you think my mom and dad would appreciate that.

I spent the afternoon with my friend Bonnie. We have a mutual friend who’s moving into a new home, so we volunteered to run around and look for a few decorations. Y’all, I don’t know if you’ve ever shopped for curtains, but I don’t recommend it. Like, if someone invites you to peruse for window treatments, just stay home and pull your fingernails out with a pair of wire pliers instead–you’ll have more fun. After spending all day going from store to store and looking at solids and patterns of every color, Bonnie and I still couldn’t come up with anything to match an already-purchased comforter. Apparently, finding the right pair of drapes is harder than finding a husband.

All that being said, the day had its highlights. Bonnie and I actually started this project last night, and since I’ve been sick, I walked around all evening with a washcloth in my pocket incase I needed to blow my nose. (If you’re judging me, stop. A washcloth is easier to keep up with than a bunch of little tissues.) Anyway, today Bonnie gave me an unexpected gift–an honest-to-god, one-of-a-kind handkerchief because “friends don’t let friends blow their noses with washrags.” So take a look. The hanky is western-themed, which Bonnie said was in honor of my “cowboy fetish.” The only thing I have to say to that is, “Giddy up.”

For dinner I met my friends and former roommates, Justin and Ashley, at Olive Garden. We started a little before seven, stayed for a couple hours, then went back to their house. This, of course, is where I used to live, the place where feeling welcome and comfortable is a given. After a while, Ashley retired to bed, and Justin and I stayed up talking until almost three. Conversation topics included working for the man, exes we hope to never see again, and how everyone in America is so easily offended these days. (If that statement offends you, well, you just proved the point.) Anyway, we also discussed some of the reasons it’s harder to form solid friendships as you get older. When Justin and I met over fifteen years ago, we put a lot of time into each other, confessed a lot of secrets, and pretty much bonded for life. Now that we’re older and busier, however, not only is it difficult to find new people we get along with, but we simply don’t have the amount of time to invest that we did in our twenties.

Currently the house is sixty-seven degrees (Dad likes it like that), and I’m wearing a sweatshirt and sock cap and still freezing. It’s not even winter yet, but my skin is dry, my toes are cold, and my body is already wanting to pack on extra pounds and hibernate until spring. (The whole situation is not cute, and I’m not impressed.) Honestly, I’m not sure which one is dropping faster–the temperature or my generally cheery disposition.

If it’s not obvious–I don’t like this time of year. Quick–someone send a cowboy over to warm me up.

I realize some of “you people” like the winter. You get to “bundle up.” You get to drink hot chocolate. You get to wear your cute little scarves and hats and whatever else because “you can always put more clothes on but you can’t take more clothes off.” That’s okay. This isn’t a moral issue; it’s just a matter of seasonal preference. My favorite season is summer, but if yours is winter, we can still be friends. Still, I’d like to be clear–I’m personally really looking forward to June.

It’s never too late to be your own friend.

Recently someone told me their head wasn’t a good place to live, so lately I’ve been thinking about all the ways in which we’re uncomfortable in our own bodies, always wanting to change something about our physical appearance, always looking for distractions because we can’t sit still with our own thoughts. And I think it’s ironic that we can spend hours looking for curtains or over a decade working on a friendship, but many of us are hesitant to spend that time working on ourselves–you know–the one we live with. I know I felt that way when I first started therapy. Sometimes I still do. After all, personal growth takes time and hard work–a lot of it. I don’t think therapy is the only way to get to know, like, and accept yourself, but it is one way, and tonight I’m reminded that however it happens, it’s never too late to give to yourself the way you give to projects and everyone else around you. It’s never too late to be your own friend. To me this feels like the sun’s warm rays in summer, although I imagine to someone else it’d feel like a cool breeze in autumn or the snow falling in winter, whatever that thing is you’ve been longing for and haven’t experienced in a while, that thing that feels like coming home again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We were made to love without conditions. That's the packaging we were sent with."

Adventures in Skin and Self-Care (Blog #211)

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Praise the lord. I’ve actually felt better today–not perfect, but better. Maybe it’s the new sinus irrigation technique I started last night, or maybe it’s the fact that I used my dad voice with my immune system in yesterday’s blog. It’s time you start pulling your weight around here, young man. Either way, I’ve had less crud today, haven’t been coughing as much, and have had more energy. Maybe I’m not going to die after all and am headed in the right direction–toward recovery. I’ll let you know how it goes.

This morning I went to Johnson Dermatology in Fort Smith for my somewhat-annual checkup. A few years ago I had a case of warts (on my pretty face!) that wouldn’t go away, so I went once a month for over a year to have them burned off. (Ouch.) Anyway, the warts finally cleared up, and by the time they did, I felt like part of the furniture. I was friendly with the staff, knew where all the restrooms were, and basically had my own parking space–it was like an episode of Cheers, except with skin problems instead of nachos and beer. Anyway, going to the doctor usually makes me nervous, but today felt like going home again. Well, other than the fact that Mom and Dad don’t ask for my insurance information as soon as I walk through the front door.

My skin care wizard today was Nina, and she was super patient. When I asked about my body odor problem (which is pretty much over now) and told her all the things I tried from the internet in order to get rid of it, I think she only rolled her eyes once. Anyway, she said the problem was most likely due to the high number of antibiotics I’ve been on this year. She also said that was probably the reason I got folliculitis (inflammation of the hair follicles) around my nipples a couple of weeks ago. I mean, my being in a hot tub obviously had something to do with it, but she said my immune system and good bacteria were probably “compromised.” (Alert, there’s been a breach in security.) She also said that although my folliculitis is better, the reason it isn’t completely gone is because it’s fungal and not bacterial.

Strike one for the emergency room doctor.

So I guess for the next week or two I’ll continue rubbing cream on my nipples. Not that I’m complaining. There are certainly less enjoyable things to do in life.

I don’t know if you realized this about me, but I have a lot of moles. I know, I know–I wear them well, so this information may come as a shock. But it’s true. The doctors say I have “over fifty,” which I’m assuming qualifies as a plethora. Anyway, for as long as I can remember, the only bumpy or raised moles I’ve had have been on my head, where I and only I would notice or give a shit. Still, catching my comb on a mole drives me crazy, so I asked Nina if we could remove some today. She said yes, so now I literally have not one, but three new holes in my head.

Incidentally, they take off moles with a razor blade–uh–like the kind you buy at the hardware store to cut through carpet or a cardboard box. Granted, they numb you first, but then they just scrape your skin directly off–whoosh–slice right through it as if it were a block of hard cheese. Next thing you know either you or your insurance is considerably poorer, and something you carried around on your body for over a decade is in an envelope on its way to be analyzed at a lab in Poughkeepsie.

Like, there goes a part of me, via FedEx.

The cream Nina prescribed for my folliculitis is being mailed to me, so it won’t arrive until next week. Being the hypochondriac I am, I’m hoping my nipples won’t fall off before then. I mean, I’ve grown rather attached to them. (Or is it the other way around?) Anyway, tonight I took a shower with special soap, applied what cream I have to my nipples, then had Mom put Vaseline on the mole-holes in my head to encourage healing. I’ve had moles removed before, so this will be our routine for the next couple weeks. At first it will seem like a nuisance, then it will simply be part of our routine, and then it will be over. Perhaps one day we’ll sit and recollect about it–those two weeks I sat on the floor while Mom sat in her chair battling cancer and helping me take care of my skin.

Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

Tonight I’m reminded that things get worse and things get better. One day you wake up sick, spend two weeks feeling like crap, then at some point know you’ve turned a corner. Something about your body bothers you for years on end, then just like that it’s gone with a razor blade and the flick of a wrist. Other problems hang around–maybe they’ll be gone next week and maybe they won’t. Caroline Myss says we’re always healing something. This, of course, means that problems come and go because nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same. This also means we always have room to grow. For surely even the smallest irritations bring us into the present moment, prompt us to ask for help and connect with others, and encourage us to be more caring for ourselves.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my nipples are calling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When the universe speaks—listen.

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Wait a Damn Minute (Blog #210)

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Twelve days into the crud, I’m convinced I’m never going to feel like a human again. I’m exaggerating, but every time I cough, I assume, This is it–I’m going to die. Oh well, it’s been a good run. It’s times like these that I particularly hate Facebook, the place where every boy has a six-pack, every girl has a boy who has a six-pack, and everyone’s at an outdoor concert doing jumping jacks and drinking a pumpkin-spice something-or-other. I know this isn’t reality, but whenever you’re sick, it feels as if everyone else’s life is better than yours. I always hate feeling this way because it reminds me just how little control I have over my circumstances. A few bacteria invite themselves over to my sinuses for a party, bring along some of their friends, and I’m toast.

I keep assuming that at some point my immune system will recognize there’s a problem and do something about it. A little over seven years ago, I had a stomach virus of Biblical proportions. Everything that went in went out, and I spent a solid ten days either in bed or in the bathroom. I was convinced I was dying, but then one day things settled down. It wasn’t a miracle–in fact, it took months before I felt like myself again–but there was definitely a shift. I still remember the pair of pants I wore the first time I was able to leave the house–it was that big of a deal. Anyway, I don’t know why it took so long for my body to say, “Wait a damn minute” and mobilize my white blood cells, but it did.

Whenever I’m sick like this, I feel totally vulnerable. By that, I mean I feel like a sucker, like any cape-wearing charlatan with a bottle of snake oil could roll into town and take all my savings. Tonight I’ve looked at websites for probiotics, prebiotics, liquid collagen, and yoga. The assumption, of course, is that any or all of these things would make me healthier, but the truth is I’d probably be disappointed, since I’ve tried most of them before. I remind myself of this, then my mind says, But you haven’t tried THAT product, THAT yoga class.

Quick, someone give me two Tylenol and tell me to go to bed before I end up broke.

The upside to feeling like the junk on the bottom of my shoes is that I don’t have much of an appetite and have apparently lost five pounds. And not that I want this crap to hang on for another twelve days, but if it does, I should reach my ideal weight. As the guru I met recently said, “For every downside, there’s an upside.” So the silver lining is this incident has given me a renewed interest in taking better care of myself. You know–less whiskey, more Wheaties.

This evening I went to improv class, and one of the girls called me “basic” when my ideas apparently weren’t meeting her superior standards. (Basic means lame, boring, and not cool, Mom.) I laughed about the comment at the time, but later thought, Bitch, you don’t know me. I’m doing the best I can over here. Seriously, I wish I could tell you that I was so spiritually evolved that an incident (or even possible misunderstanding) like this didn’t hit a nerve, but I can’t. Granted, on the scale of things that are going to eff me up for the rest of my life, this one comment from a teenager ranks pretty low, but we’re obviously still talking about it. Mostly I’d just like to say I now have two thousand AND ONE reasons to be glad I’m no longer in high school.

One of the games we played tonight involved two characters who could only say two lines each and one character who could say anything. In one sketch I was an employee at a Halloween costume store, and I could only say, “I quit,” or, “Just kidding.” I didn’t pick these lines out myself, but they’re a pretty good representation of how I feel about life on days like today. I quit, I quit, I quit.

Just kidding.

Everything you’re going through is normal.

I guess we all have days when life (or death) feels like it’s going to get the better of us. We compare ourselves to others, even to how we used to feel, and we think we need to be different than we are in this moment. In an effort to transform immediately, we’ll try anything, buy anything. Just a few moments ago I stopped writing to do another sinus irrigation, this time with Betadine, since I hadn’t tried THAT yet. (If you’re wondering, it felt better than hydrogen peroxide, baby shampoo, and honey.) Sometimes I give myself a hard time for using home remedies like these. I feel gullible when they don’t work, and I start beating myself up for being sick in the first place, for not having all the answers, for being “basic.” But the truth is everything I’m going through is normal–that’s what basic really means, and what’s wrong with that? After all–health and feelings that come and go–this is what life looks like–wanting to quit, but then saying, “Wait a damn minute,” and finding a reason to hope again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

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Some Days You Feel Like a Nut (Blog #209)

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Dear Friends, I’ve been awake for twelve hours and haven’t done a damn thing, but it feels like I’ve been awake for three days. I’m not exactly sure that I feel worse than I’ve felt for the last week, but I certainly don’t feel better. I guess you know you’re sick when you see a donut on Facebook and all you can think is, That looks like it would take a lot of energy to pick up. I don’t know where all this snot and blood in my nose is coming from. When I woke up this morning, it was like my sinuses had “ordered-in” more junk, had some extra mucus delivered for the upcoming holidays. Surely the stuff I’ve been sniffing, hacking, and coughing hasn’t been coming from inside me.

Obviously the miracle I requested before I went to bed last night got stuck in the mail. Perhaps I should have specified that I needed it delivered Express. Maybe it’ll show up tomorrow.

I wish I had something exciting to report, but I haven’t left the house all day. Since I spent the day reading, I’ve barely left the bed. Granted, it’s just one day horizontal, but I’m starting to feel like one of Charlie’s grandparents in Willy Wonka and Chocolate Factory–completely bedridden, thinking, Will I ever be vertical again? Where is my golden ticket? Speaking of golden, I did pee a lot today. This, I suppose, was the natural consequence of drinking enough fluid to water a California Redwood during the month of August. I don’t remember the last time I ingested so much water, black tea, green tea, and dandelion tea.

I’m sure my kidneys don’t either.

I don’t think I watched a lick of television while I was on vacation. Well, I did watch part of a Disney cartoon with my nephews. But when I woke up today, Dad was watching “his soap,” Days of Our Lives, so I watched it while I ate breakfast. This is often the case when I’m at home, so I’m starting to recognize characters and plot lines. Today I even asked Dad about a specific character, wanting to know what went on while I was out-of-town. Personally–and I’m not judging if you’re addicted to a soap opera, but–I consider this a low point in my life. I really thought I’d at least have an AARP card before this happened. Really, isn’t watching a soap opera a gateway drug to becoming a senior citizen? What’s next, eating dinner at The Golden Coral at three in the afternoon?

Today I read so much that my eyes now feel like sandpaper, and I imagine that if I read even forty-three more words my brain would liquefy and run out of my ears and onto the kitchen tile. Our dog, Ella, would probably lap it up, and my last thought would be, There goes my brain–it’s been real. It’s been real–that’s what a guy told me a couple years ago after we went on two or three dates. I said, “It’s been wonderful getting to know you,” and he flashed me the peace sign and said, “It’s been real.” This person had been given a driver’s license–he was in college. Of all the words in the English language, those are the only three he could string together?

Seriously, straight ladies, how do you put up with my gender?

Most of my reading today consisted of David Sedaris, David Sedaris, and David Sedaris. But I also finished a book about writing, read a chapter in a self-help book, and started a book about the world’s religions. Considering I’ve had the religions book for longer than I can remember, I don’t know why I just started reading it today. Who can say why anything happens? Anyway, all the information was a lot to process for this tired brain and body, so I had to take a nap in between David Sedaris and Hinduism.

During the nap I dreamed I was in an open field, climbing on some oil barrels. Flying in the air was a giant spacecraft shaped like an acorn. Considering whiskey has never given me a dream like this, I’m blaming the green tea. Regardless of where the dream came from, I’ve been chewing on the meaning of it for a few hours. The first thing that came to mind when I thought about the flying acorn was “stored energy,” which I guess would apply to the oil barrels too. When I looked up acorns on an online dream dictionary, it said they represent potential–something small that can grow into something big. So despite the fact that I currently don’t feel very energetic, I’m taking this dream as a positive sign (auspicious, as my therapist would say) that I have a lot of energetic reserves and plenty of potential for growth.

As for the part about the acorn flying? Well, I guess the sky’s the limit.

In the book about religions, it said that because one moment is constantly dying to the next, our days are filled with funerals and rebirths. Seen in this light, I suppose the person who crawled out of bed this morning is no longer alive, and a different one is typing at the table now. Likewise, I hope this one will pass away and a healthier one will wake up tomorrow. Surely if our bodies can fill our sinuses with snot and our heads with dreams, anything is possible. We spend our days worrying about how we feel, what other (stupid) people say to us, and all of our soap operas. But every bit of that stuff is outside of us, and what matters is inside. This is where our true potential lies, the place where anything can happen, the place where acorns become oak trees.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Anything and everything is possible.

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One Letter at a Time (Blog #208)

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Today is my sister’s birthday. She’s in Albuquerque, and I’m in Arkansas, so we couldn’t do anything to celebrate. Still, I only have one sister, and she only has one birthday, so in lieu of handing her a card or buying her a drink this evening, I’d like to dedicate this blog to her. I’m not sure this is an acceptable present or any great honor, but it is something within my limited power to give. If it makes a difference, if you can picture your dog excitedly bringing you a dead squirrel, that’s how much enthusiasm I have about this small gesture. (Look! I got you an entire paragraph!) Anyway, Happy Birthday, Sis. This dead squirrel is for you.

You know how when you’ve been sick for at least a week and it seems as if you’ll never get better, and then one day you wake up and all that snot and crud that was there the day before is suddenly gone, and you miraculously feel like yourself again?

Well, today was not that day for me.

Last night I read on the internet that you can help heal a sinus infection by doing a nasal rinse with Johnson’s Baby Shampoo in it. (I’m serious. Look it up. It’s a thing.) Anyway, I tried it. Actually, within the last twenty-four hours, I’ve tried it four times. I’m assuming it’s going to take a few days to see if it’s a panacea, but I will say this–things are definitely not worse and may actually be better, there’s a lot of junk being washed out of my head, and it’s kind of fun to see bubbles coming from my nostrils.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Because I’m an overachiever, I also went to the health food store today in search of another weird remedy. Apparently honey is a natural antibiotic, and my friend Marla told me about a particular honey called Manuka that’s supposed to be the shit. Technically, I guess it would be “the spit,” since that’s what honey is–bee spit. Anyway, I’ve been disappointed by “all-natural” remedies more times than I’ve been delighted, but occasionally something works, so I keep trying. In that spirit, I picked up some Manuka nose spray today, so every few hours I’ve been squirting that stuff up my nostrils as well.

So all day the inside of my head has smelled like a freshly cleaned baby slathered in honey. (Imagine that.)

This evening my friend Marla and I went to Fayetteville to see the author David Sedaris, but we first went to Chuy’s Mexican Restaurant to see our cholesterol go up. Y’all, it was ridiculous. I ate a fried avocado, which I’m now convinced was the forbidden fruit Adam and Eve sampled in the garden. I mean, seriously, think about it–who would give up immortality for a plain old apple? But give up immortality for a fried avocado–with rice and beans? Now we’re talkin’.

Since Marla and I saw David this summer in Tulsa (he told me to come back to bed and I wrote about it here), I guess we’re becoming groupies. I also guess we’re in good company, as it was a packed house tonight. One lady I talked to said it was her fourth time to see him. Personally, I find this encouraging. David started off working in restaurants, cleaning houses, and dressing up as an elf during the holidays, and now he’s packing out theater halls. People actually pay money to hear him read! Clearly, anything is possible.

After the show, Marla and I hopped into the autograph line and were relatively near the front. Still, since David spends a lot of time chatting with his fans, we waited about an hour before it was our turn. As has always been the case before, it was worth the wait. I asked him about all the random jobs he used to have and if he always wanted to be a writer. He said he had all those jobs because he didn’t have many skills and that he still types with one finger. Then we started talking about me, and–of course–I mentioned my therapist. So when David autographed the book I brought he wrote, “To Marcus, my friend in therapy.” How perfect is that?

Also, in case you missed it, David Sedaris said we were friends.

Now it’s thee-thirty in the morning, both my body and brain are tired, and despite the fact that my sinuses smell like a freshly cleaned baby’s bottom, I still don’t feel so hot. On one hand I’m looking forward to sleeping and hopefully not not leaving the house tomorrow. On the other hand, sleeping means lying horizontal, and that means more snot in my head. But I’ve got to sleep, and I will as soon as I can figure out how to end this blog.

For the longest time, I assumed certain people had it “figured out.” It’s been easy for me to look at a pretty face or successful author and think they had something I didn’t, something fundamentally necessary for making it in life, whatever “making it” means. Mostly, I blame the internet for this because everyone looks perfect on the internet, but I am starting to see through it. Recently I briefly met a guy, naturally creeped his Facebook page, and every one of his profile pictures looked like it belonged in a magazine. Used to I would have thought this made him special. This time I thought, Are you kidding me! Nobody looks that good in every photo without A LOT of help.

All of us bump along.

Joseph Campbell says, “Life is a guy trying to play a violin solo in public, while learning the music and his instrument at the same time.” To me this means that you can put on a pretty good show, but no one really knows what they’re doing down here. We get sick and try all sorts of crazy things to get better–sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. We spend years jumping from job to job. These things are normal. All of us bump along, often feeling like a lone finger trying to find its way across a vast keyboard. Even when something clicks and clicks big, we still have our questions and mysteries. So we continue–one moment, one letter at a time. In this way, our story is perfectly written.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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Nowhere Else to Be (Blog #207)

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This morning my alarm went off at six, and I woke up feeling worse than I’ve felt in days. When I coughed up some junk in my sister’s sink, it became clear that whatever moved into my sinuses last week had not only made itself comfortable, but had also put its snotty little shoes up on an ottoman and confiscated the TV remote. Needless to say, I was not impressed, and I seriously considered screwing my plans in Arkansas this week and going back to bed. But I cleaned up, got myself and my things together, and prepared to hit the road.

Some days you simply have to power through.

After a quick breakfast and goodbyes with my sister and nephews, I grabbed a cup of coffee and walked out the backdoor. Just as I did, I caught a final glimpse of my sister talking to one of my nephews, and part of me wanted to stay, to listen, to hold on a little longer. But it was already after seven, so just like that, I closed the door, jumped in my car, and headed east. Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m back in Van Buren at my parents’ kitchen table. I can still see my sister there in her kitchen, and it’s kind of hard to believe we’re only separated by a day’s drive and don’t see each other more often.

To be fair to both of us, it makes for a pretty long day in the car. Especially if you happen to feel about as good as a warm turd.

Because I had dinner plans, I plowed through the drive in record time, and only stopped twice. This made the trip just over ten hours, including two stops. Normally my bladder would have needed more breaks, but I purposefully deprived the little sucker of fluids, which is probably not the smartest thing to do when you’re sick. It’s also probably not a good idea to drive with the windows down so all the dust and air pollution can irritate your already irritated sinuses, but I did that too. I kept hoping the decline in elevation would help everything, but so far I haven’t experienced a miracle, even though I’m almost a mile lower than I was this morning.

That being said, it is easier to breathe, and I’ve heard breathing is important.

The drive itself was great. I’ve really been so grateful for Tom Collins (my car) this trip. He’s been a true-blue trooper and infinitely better to travel in than the car I had before. (Sorry, Polly.) At the beginning of today’s journey, I listened to a lecture on trauma and transformation, then one on boundaries. Well, I can only handle so much “growth” in one day, so for the rest of the trip I listened to a travel playlist my friend Bonnie sent me. Y’all, it was the coolest thing–every song was handpicked and had something to do with getting away, being on the road (again), or coming home. Short of a hot toddy, it was just what I needed to prop me up.

After dinner, Tom Collins and I finally pulled into my parents’ driveway. Safe and sound and only a little worse for the wear after nearly two weeks on the road, both of us heaved a collective sigh. Ever anal-retentive, I immediately began unpacking and putting everything back in its place. Then I went to Walmart for supplies for yet-another sinusitis home remedy and bananas. I’ll say more about the sinus thing after I try it out, but no (in case you were wondering), the bananas were not part of it. I’m up for just about anything, but come on, bananas go in your mouth, not your nose.

For a while before I started blogging, Mom and Dad and I talked about my trip–our family (of course), all the friends I got to see, all the things I got to do. (If you’d like to know more, uh, read this blog.) In turn, they filled me in on the latest in Van Buren, then went to bed. So for the last thirty minutes, I’ve been sitting alone, blogging. Also, in an effort to undo some of the damage from earlier today, I’ve been double-fisting liquids–water in one hand, hot tea in the other–and (I’m pretty confident) have already ingested enough fluid to float a battleship.

Or at least a bladder-ship. (Yuk, yuk, yuk.)

Anyway, we’ll see if hydrating, having air to breathe, and sleeping makes a difference. Tomorrow promises to be a long day also, so fingers crossed. At the moment, all I can really think about is going to bed. Daddy is WTFO (That’s Worn the Fuck Out, Mom.) Still, part of me wants to wrap this day up somehow, put it away in its proper place as if it were a t-shirt. It seems as life changes in an instant. One moment you’re seeing your sister in a doorway, then you’re not. One moment you’re powering through, then you finally hit a wall. You wake up in one state and pass out in another. Personally, I’m starting to believe that “coming home” really has very little to do with where you unpack your bags. Rather, “coming home” is about seeing yourself through all of life’s moment-to-moment changes and realizing there’s nowhere else you can ever be (or ever have been) except right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a lot of magic around you.

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This Show Is Far from Over (Blog #206)

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Last night I decided to stay one more day in Albuquerque. Now it’s nine at night, everyone else is in bed, and I’m planning on leaving bright and early in order to be back tomorrow evening. I have dinner plans, so that means hitting the road at a rather ungodly hour and spending the entire day trying to figure out how much coffee I can drink without having to stop to use the restroom. When I worked at summer camp and drove a school bus, the teenage boys used to drink two liters of soda then pee in the bottle. So far I haven’t succumbed to this wisdom, but I’ve thought about it more than once. It certainly would make the trip go faster.

I’ve spent most the day with my nose in a book. Well, four books, two of which I finished. Currently my eyeballs feel as if they’re going to fall out of my head, roll across this countertop, and bump into my whiskey-and-coke. Considering the fact that reading has seriously been my entire day, my sister said, “I’m really curious as to what you’re going to blog about tonight.” Even now I’m thinking, Me too, sis, me too. I guess I could tell you that Ander dressed up as a pirate again today. At three years of age, the boy talks nonstop, and he kept trying to say, “Ahoy,” but saying, “A whore” instead.

Aren’t kids great? (I guess “a whore” does give a completely different meaning to the phrase, a pirate’s “booty.”)

Yesterday I attended the musical An American in Paris. Not that I need a reason to see a bunch of men in tight pants dancing under spotlights, but my friend Brian is in the show, and that’s why I went last night. Y’all, it was fabulous. If you get a chance to see it, don’t hesitate. All that being said, I’ve been nursing a small amount of melancholy today, since I said goodbye to Brian when the show was over. On one hand, I’m so glad I met a wonderful guy this week. On the other hand, it may be a while before I enjoy his company again. Plus, this entire trip has been fabulous–my dance mentor Maggie, the guru, my sister and her family, my dance partner Kaleb. All of it feels like a big Show’s Over, and I guess I’m just sad to see everything end.

One of the books I started and finished today was called The Revolutionary Trauma Release Process by David Berceli, PhD. As I’ve mentioned before, a number of books about trauma state that the body can store stress, anxiety, and tension in the muscles, but the body can heal itself and return to a state of balance by shaking or “tremoring.” (I wrote about one experience I’ve had with this sort of thing, here.) Many animals and children do this naturally, quiver or tremble when they’re angry or afraid. The problem with adults, however, is that our brains usually stop our bodies’ natural instincts because we think it’s weird or embarrassing to vibrate like a heart-shaped bed at a cheap motel.

But the book I read today said it’s not weird or embarrassing. Actually, it’s normal. The idea is that muscles naturally contract when under stress or trauma to pull us into the fetal position and protect our “soft parts”–genitals, vital organs, face. If the body doesn’t realize a threat is over, we can end up permanently contracted. And whereas massage or yoga works to relax tight muscles from the outside in, shaking helps to release them from the inside out. So the book includes exercises that encourage the body to shake (gently, not like a Pentecostal) and therefore heal itself. Of course, I had to try them.

Believe it or not, I’m a skeptic. At the very least, I’m a cynic. I’m always hoping “something that works” will be at the end of the next book, the next weekend workshop, but I’m usually disappointed. So as I went through the exercises, I thought, This is bullshit–it just feels like stretching. But then midway through everything, my diaphragm started to quiver, and by the time I got to the last instruction, my hips started vibrating and sending mild to somewhat violent pulses down both my legs. This went on for a good twenty to thirty minutes.

I’m guessing for some people, this would be a strange experience, but for me it was a welcome one. Since I’ve had similar experiences before and read a lot about this, it didn’t freak me out. I even called my sister into my room and said, “Put your hands on my knees.” (As they bounced about, she said, “That’s crazy!”) Plus, although the book said sometimes people experience a rush of emotions when shaking, the experience tonight was strictly a physical one. Well, I did laugh a little.

That felt good.

When the shaking was finished, I’m sad to say that I didn’t see Jesus descend from heaven. But I did try a couple yoga poses that are usually a real bitch for me, and both of them were considerably easier, so something relaxed. Clearly the exercises tonight weren’t a “one and done,” but I do think they were a good start, and I noticed when I stood up that I felt considerably lighter. Specifically, I felt less sorry for myself and simply grateful for the last two weeks and all the people I’ve had the privilege to spend time with.

Before he went to bed tonight, Christopher gave me a hug and said goodbye. At first he was totally sweet, but then said, “We would’ve had more time to play together, but you were too busy talking to Mom to spend time with me.”

I said, “I appreciate your getting your feelings out in the open. Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

He said, “I love you,” and went to his room.

Nothing lasts forever.

On the counter next to me is a toy called a Buddha Board. It’s a canvas for painting–with water. Of course, the water evaporates, so it’s about the concept of letting go. Perhaps it could teach both my nephew and me a thing or two. I guess we all have our disappointments, things we want to happen or last longer that don’t. Fabulous experiences come into our lives the way wonderful people do. Maybe they stay for a night or fifty years, but they eventually leave, all of them gone like water into thin air. Sooner or later it’s just you and your feelings, and that’s gotta be okay. The good news is that uncomfortable feelings leave too. Nothing lasts forever. Even if your body spends thirty years tensed up because it’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, one day it can begin to let go. Then you can look around at all the shoes on the floor, be thankful you’re still alive and have loved ones beside you, and think, This show is far from over. In fact, it’s only just beginning.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations--perhaps only difficult situations--can turn you into something magnificent.

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