One Day at a Time (Blog #235)

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As Little Orphan Annie would say, “Yesterday was plain awful.” By yesterday, of course, I mean yesterday, today, and now. The good news is that I slept for over thirteen hours last night and napped this evening for two or three, so my body has gotten some rest. The bad news is that I was sweating all through the night, my body aches, and I’ve been coughing up junk all day. Physically and emotionally, I’m worn out. Even now I’m close to tears because the last thing I want to do is stay up to write an inspirational blog.

Seriously, whose idea was this–to sit down each and every day and find something positive to say about the world, to let life kick you in the nuts repeatedly then turn around and say thank you? I know, it was my idea, but couldn’t I have just started a cooking blog like everybody else? I mean, I could have worn an a cute, little apron and said things like, Look at all the wonderful things you can do with coriander! Surely that would have been easier than this project. At least I would have had a recipe to follow. But now I don’t know what step to take next. On every level–in both life and online–I’m frustrated and don’t know what to do.

Personally, I think it really sucks that I dragged my ass to a doctor last week and am now feeling worse than I have since this whole mess started five weeks ago. And yes–I know my attitude is terrible. Things could be worse–things could always be worse. Just last night my mom (who has freaking cancer) threw up twice because her headache was that painful. Today my dad had to stop midway from his car to Mom’s doctor’s office because his knees hurt so bad. So you don’t have to tell me–I realize I could have it worse and am not looking on the bright side over here. Rather, I’ve spent the day being irritated by the smallest of things, like the young adult fiction novel I’m reading that, like my illness, refuses to get better as it goes along.

That’s how I know I’m really not doing well, when I find myself losing perspective and being hypercritical of the world around me. Everything that was fine the day before is suddenly a major crime. The television’s too loud, my hair is wrong in every way, the book I’m reading is stupid (but I keep reading it). Objectively I can say that my attitude is bad because my resources are low, that eventually I’ll be back on my feet and will see things differently. But it certainly doesn’t feel that way. Rather, it feels as if no matter what I do or try, nothing will ever improve.

I guess that’s a difficult idea for me to get away from, the idea that there’s something I can do about this, that if I just ate better, knew the right doctor, or were my spiritual, I wouldn’t have this chronic problem. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with those things, of course, but if you do everything you know to do believing it will make a difference and the difference doesn’t show up, then you’re left feeling like you’re somehow inadequate or have been weighed in the scales and found wanting. In my case, as if getting sick weren’t enough, getting sick always feels like it’s my fault for not knowing enough.

This is something I’d really like to get away from. Obviously there are a lot of factors that go into health and wellness and there’s plenty more I could learn, but even God told Job it wasn’t for him to understand the mystery he was living. Honestly, this is a tough pill for me to swallow, I guess because it requires me to surrender. I’m so used to go-go-going and do-do-doing, I have a difficult admitting that something as personal as my health and well-being are ultimately beyond my control. I imagine most westerners feel this way–we hate thinking of ourselves as vulnerable. Maybe that’s why we have a hard time showing compassion when people suffer. Someone our age dies in a car accident, and we say, “Well, he wasn’t wearing is seatbelt,” as if seat belts grant immortality. I mean, you can do everything right, and something bad can still happen to you.

As they say, no one gets out of here alive.

I guess when I don’t feel well, it’s really easy to take things personally, to forget that we all have bodies that struggle and don’t do what we want them to. We all try things that don’t work and have days or weeks (or years) we feel like quitting. We all wrestle to find the difference between the things we can change and those that lie beyond our control. Some days, most days, we have more questions than answers. Perhaps days like today weren’t meant to be inspirational, just as bodies weren’t meant to be invincible. Perhaps it’s okay to be sick and vulnerable and not know what to do next–simply because that’s honest. Perhaps the best we can ever do is live our mysteries one day at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

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Trying to Give Myself a Break (Blog #234)

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This afternoon I had the intention of participating in two of Matt’s dance workshops. (He’s teaching the second one now.) However, my body had other plans. When I went to bed last night, I was itchy all over, tired. When I woke up this morning, my cough had gotten worse–dryer, deeper. I’m assuming all of this is due to allergies, perhaps a side effect of the steroid I’m taking. Either way, I’m not impressed and am writing now in hopes of getting home and going to bed as soon as possible. Since I’m teaching a private lesson in an hour, I’ll probably have to finish this later, but a start is a start. I guess some days the best you can do is go through the motions.

Yesterday during our dance lesson, Matt asked me how he could keep his feet under his body when dancing to fast music. I said, “Not to be a shitty dance instructor, but the answer to the question is within the question. In other words, when dancing to fast music, you keep your feet under your body.” Well, today when Matt asked me how I was feeling and I told him, I said, “I’m really not a good sick person. I wish I could stop whining, but I don’t know how to.” So he said, “The answer to the question is within the question–you stop whining.”

Don’t it suck when people use your own wisdom against you?

After the private lesson today, I’m looking at a three-hour drive home. Personally, I hate traveling when I’m sick. That being said, I’ve driven an entire day with a sinus infection before and have flown with a stomach flu of biblical proportions on more than one occasion, so I know that if I can fly with a virus six miles above the earth and not puke on a stranger, I can make it back to Arkansas with a cough. Really, when I start comparing this illness to others I’ve survived, it’s pretty small potatoes. What’s three hours in a car? I don’t have a fever and I’m certainly not throwing up. So even though this feels as if it’s going to last forever, it probably won’t.

Get a grip, Marcus.

Okay, it’s about time to teach.

All right, I’m back. The lesson went well, but I currently feel like death. In fact, here’s my latest selfie.

I remember getting the flu right after my first broken heart. I wasn’t out at the time, so when people asked me what happened to X, I just said our friendship didn’t work out. The downside to a lie like this, of course, is that a broken heart gets suffered alone. So this fever, body aching thing happened, and I was out for ten days. I didn’t leave the house once, just slept on the futon and watched Turner Classic Movies. And whereas I’m sure I had a virus, I don’t think the fact that it happened right after the secret breakup was a coincidence. As I think about it now, my heart was shattered, so how could my body not follow suite?

One of my favorite authors and speakers is a doctor named Gabor Mate, and he talks a lot about the connection between stress or trauma and the physical body, the fact that getting sick is often the body’s way of saying no to something the person (through no fault of their own) is unable to. Anyway, seen in this light, sickness could be seen as the organism’s way of communicating, “We can’t live like this anymore. Acknowledge your broken heart. Come out of the closet. Something’s got to change.”

I often hesitate to launch into theories like this one, since it could sound like people get sick because they are doing something wrong. (That’s what you get for being in the closet!) However, this isn’t what the theories are saying. The idea is that, for example, if a person grows up and doesn’t know about boundaries–say they’re always doing things for other people but never for themselves–then sometimes the body will develop an illness as a way of bringing attention back to the self and establishing proper relationships. It’s like an alarm saying, “Houston, we have a problem.” I realize this is a brief, unscientific explanation, but there’s actually a lot of research behind it. (If you’re interested, look for Gabor Mate’s book, When the Body Says No.)

Anyway, I’m not saying I want to rearrange my life every time I get a common cold, but since I’ve had this infection for five weeks, I am starting to wonder if my body is saying no to something. I know I spend a lot of time getting frustrated with my body–I want it to look or feel differently than it does. But I can only imagine how frustrated my body gets with me, since I’m constantly go-go-going, don’t always eat right, and don’t always sleep much. One of my friends said that once during meditation she got an image of her body wagging its finger at her, like, “You are not twenty anymore–you’ve got to take better care of us.” And maybe it’s that simple, this sickness, just my body’s way of saying, “Please rest–like for more than a weekend.

“And no, this is not our idea of resting.”

Another thing I think about is that perhaps sickness actually gives me permission to whine. Not that I think whining and complaining are good ideas, but sometimes I think they happen because there’s something else underneath them. I know that personally I spend a lot of time trying to be strong. That probably started when Mom got sick and really kicked into high gear when Dad went to prison. You’re the man of the house now. Talk about a shit job for a teenager. Anyway, now I’m thirty-seven, and it still feels like I keep my muscles slightly tensed on a daily basis because I’m waiting for something else to go wrong, something I won’t be prepared to handle. Consequently, I never can fully relax–it’s exhausting. So sometimes I think getting sick is not only a chance to rest, but also an opportunity to let my guard down, ask for help, and stop being so strong for once.

I guess we all want an explanation when we don’t feel well–this happened because of that. As if life were that simple. Obviously a lot more things play into health and wellness than can be explained in a paragraph, and even the experts say we’re just starting to get a glimpse of the mind-body connection. But I personally don’t think it has to be complicated, even if it is complex. For me getting better is starting to simply look like not demanding so much of myself, not pushing myself to heal when my body obviously needs more compassion than that. Right here, right now, it looks like finishing this blog, driving back to Arkansas, going to bed, and giving my body the rest it deserves.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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Mystics Aren’t Picky as Shit (Blog #233)

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After a long day here in Springfield, it’s three in the morning, and one of Anne and Andy’s black cats is staring at me from across the room. I’m guessing she’s wondering what I’m going to blog about tonight, like I know. I swear, sometimes writing is so frustrating. Ninety percent of your time is spent staring at the wall, as if good ideas live in the sheetrock and come out when given “the look.” It honestly feels like waiting on Zac Efron to call. Like, what are the chances? But as a writer, you just keep staring at the wall, trusting that a good idea will eventually present itself, then you can spend the other ten percent of your time actually writing.

Of course, by writing I mean hitting the backspace button.

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I noticed was that god had not left a miracle of healing under my pillow. Rather, I still felt anything but fabulous, and to top it all off, the weather outside had turned cold and wet. I honestly don’t know how our ancestors survived before things like medication, central heat and air, and indoor plumbing. That being said, I used to live in an old house with gas heaters, only one of which I kept on all the time. So for months I’d come home and see my breath in the living room or trek down the hallway in the middle of the night to use the bathroom only to be welcomed by a cold toilet seat.

As if that were any way to treat a loyal customer.

Still, even though this isn’t my favorite time of year, I try to suck it up and do the best I can. This morning I threw on an extra shirt, trudged through the rain to my car, and headed out for a session with my ninja massage therapist, Rod. Well, anytime I’ve seen Rod before, he’s worked pretty deep, but today he didn’t–everything was nice and easy. I mentioned the difference when the massage was over, and he said, “I didn’t have to work deep today. Whatever you’re doing–living at home with your parents, I guess–it’s working. Your body likes it.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said. “I’m always picky as shit when it comes to my body, so maybe I focus too much on what’s wrong.”

“I mean, there’s always stuff to work on,” he said, “but from my perspective you’re doing great.”

For lunch my friend Matt and I went to a tea room across from Anne and Andy’s dance studio. Y’all, everything was flowers, chandeliers, and pink dishes. I’ve never felt so pretty in all my life. If you’re ever on Commercial Street in Springfield, you should look for this place–there’s an actual Mad Hatter’s tea party table that’s been turned upside down and attached to the ceiling! Additionally, the food’s great. Matt had a monte cristo with mushroom soup, and I had a tuna salad stuffed tomato with mushroom soup.

Since I’m on a diet, I was really proud of myself for not eating the bread that came with my meal. You know how it is when you’re on a diet, the way you get all high and mighty. You spend thirty years eating whatever the hell you want, then all of a sudden you find yourself turning your nose up at club cracker, like, I would never. Well, I guess our waitress realized I was exercising my willpower because she brought over a dessert tray that was big enough to park your car on and waved it in front of my nose. Y’all, it was filled with cakes, cookies, and macaroons of every shape and size. I swear, even eating one item would have been enough to turn Jack LaLanne into a diabetic on the spot.

It looked delicious.

Naturally, I thought about ordering half the tray, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “No thank you, I don’t want anything.” I don’t want anything? Y,all, I was just as surprised as you are. I spent the summer eating food truck tacos and drinking better, and now tuna salad without crackers is more than enough to satisfy me? What has happened? I mean, it’s practically winter, I’m freezing over here, and this is no time to be losing valuable body fat, and yet I’m on a diet. Where was all this willpower six months ago during swimsuit season?

After lunch Matt and I worked on Lindy Hop for a couple hours, then I took a long nap. When I woke up I felt like a new man–not perfect, but so much better than this morning. It’s amazing what sleep can do. Tonight the lot of us cleaned up the ballroom downstairs, which was used this evening for a wedding. Now it’s five in the morning, and I’m blogging on the futon, covered up with a blanket and wearing my sock cap to stay warm. My eyes are itchy from the junk or allergies (I guess), and I really, really think we were meant to hibernate at this time of year and not deal with all these irritations.

Seriously, who thought winter sinus infections would be a good addition to life?

Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

For all the time I’ve spent poking around in the spiritual section of bookstores and attending yoga classes, I haven’t had many experiences that you could call mystical, moments of utter bliss and serenity. But I did have one such experience in that old house a couple years ago during the winter–in the middle of the night on a cold toilet seat no less. So there I was, shivering, hating it–then I just stopped. It felt like someone wrapped a thick blanket around my entire body. It’s hard to explain, but my sense was that the cold air itself was alive and holding me, not just in that moment, but in every moment of my entire life. Anyway, it seems now as if I spend a lot of my time waiting–waiting for ideas to show up, waiting on my body to look or feel better, waiting on winter to go away. Like most people, I simply assume life will be better and I’ll be happier when whatever it is happens. But clearly life doesn’t need me to boss it around. Rather, perhaps it’s waiting on me to stop being picky as shit, recognize that more things are going right than are going wrong, and remember that even during my most uncomfortable moments, I’m supported in ways I can’t even imagine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Growth and getting far in life have nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

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The Best Part of the Adventure (Blog #232)

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Currently I’m in Springfield, Missouri, just back from a quick trip to Branson with my dancer friends Anne, Andy, and Matt. I’ve got to get up early in the morning, and the longer tonight’s blog takes to write, the less Daddy gets to sleep. I’d really thought about blogging today before I hit the road, but my body said, “Sleep–sleep or else.” Honestly, when I did get out of bed today, I felt worse than I did before I went to the doctor–my eyes were red, my body was jittery. “That’s the steroid,” my dad said. “It can absolutely do that.” Most the day, I’ve been coughing–that’s new too. Now I’m scared that the medicine won’t help and might actually hurt. Also, I’m imagining that I’ll be chronically ill until I die sometime in my mid-fifties–single and alone–at which point my body will finally be removed from my parents’ house.

Maybe I’m being dramatic.

As the day has gone on, I’ve perked up a little. The three-hour drive to Springfield went well, and I spent most the time listening to Joseph Campbell talk about mythology. He’s dead, of course, but over sixty-five of his talks are available through his foundation’s website, as well as on Google Play. And not that I keep a list of the ones I’ve listened to or anything, but I’ve listened to thirty-seven of them as of today. (I obviously keep a list of the ones I’ve listened to.) Anyway, Joseph Campbell is one of my favorite teachers, and I’ve spent so much time with his voice in my ears, I feel like he’s become a friend too–my man JC.

When I got to town, my friends and I packed up and headed to Branson, straight for Silver Dollar City. Y’all, I went to Silver Dollar City for the first and only time when I turned thirty, so it’s been a minute. But Anne suggested seeing the Christmas lights, and–oh my gosh–what a great idea that turned out to be. There were lights EVERYWHERE–on buildings, in trees, suspended in the air–it was gorgeous. Not only that, but the lights on the buildings were all lined up and turned in the same direction. My little OCD heart just soared. Honestly, I was so busy staring that I didn’t take any decent pictures, but if you Google “Silver Dollar City Christmas Lights,” you’ll get an idea.

Here’s a picture of one of our first stops–it’s the four of us pretending to be gingerbread people. We asked a couple to take our picture, and they quickly turned the task over to their angsty, headphone-wearing teenage son. Well, junior did NOT seem impressed with being volunteered, so I thought about saying, It’s okay for you to say no. That’s called having a boundary. But figuring he could take himself to therapy in his thirties like I did, I just shut my mouth, let him take the damn picture, and said, “Thank you so much.”

Since we were only at the park for a couple of hours, we spent most our time riding roller coasters. Well, Andy, Matt, and I did. Anne said she always–always–pukes on roller coasters, so she graciously stayed behind and watched our things. Having a personal aversion to being vomited on, I think this situation was a win-win for everyone. Y’all, it was awesome tonight–the weather was delightful (67 degrees), and none of the lines were long. In fact, we didn’t have to wait more than five or ten minutes to ride any of the four roller coasters we went on. On top of that, we were always in the front three rows. Talk about Christmas coming early.

I know some people hate them and some people puke on them, but I love roller coasters–the sudden drops, the loops that go upside down, the corkscrews. I always scream, then laugh, then scream some more. I guess what I love more than anything else is the thrill, the surprise of it all, the adventure, all of which were amplified tonight because the rides were in the dark–and everything is better in the dark.

That’s what she said.

During one ride, it did occur to me that an accident could happen. Like, a screw could come loose, and I could connect with a tree the way a bug connects with a windshield. (But then I guess my sinus infection wouldn’t matter.) I’m not trying to be morbid, but I’m just saying–these things do happen. I have a friend on Facebook who was on his way to the emergency room recently because he thought he had the flu, but he ended up being t-boned before he got there. He survived, but he had to be cut out of his truck with the jaws of life. Anyway, I can only assume the flu quickly dropped down on his list of problems. With this in mind, I’d like to publicly state that even though I often complain when I don’t feel well, I AM grateful to be alive and not currently plastered to a tree at a quaint little theme park in Branson, Missouri.

Another thing I thought about on one of the roller coaster rides was the fact that I wasn’t in control of the ride. I mean, I got on the thing, but at the point at which my seatbelt fastened and the guy hit the green button, I wasn’t in control anymore. When we got to the top and were about to be dropped straight down, it was too late for me to do anything except scream or pee my pants. (For the record, I screamed.) Anyway (actually while we were doing corkscrews), I realized I’m also already on the ride of life. Some days I’m at the top, and some days I’m at the bottom. (For a while now it’s felt like I’ve been going around in circles.) Anyway, I can scream and complain all I want, but the one thing I can’t do is get off the ride or control what’s going to happen next.

And I hate that.

You know how sometimes you get so wrapped up in what you’re doing that you lose yourself, maybe when you’re holding a baby in your arms, reading a good book, or dancing with someone you love? Well, this happened to me a few times tonight while I was either staring at all the beautiful lights or being whipped around on the roller coasters. The moments didn’t last very long, but when they did, I forgot about my sinus infection and the fact that I don’t currently have an income. My man JC calls moments like these aesthetic arrest, and they’re moments when we’re fully present, times when we’re not afraid of or wanting something, but are simply in a state of wonder about life as it is right here, right now. Of course, like a roller coaster ride, life is an adventure–right here, right now is constantly changing. But I’m starting to believe the best part the adventure is that state of wonder that never changes and–what’s more–is always available to us, no matter how good or bad we’re feeling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Help is always on the way.

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Normal People Don’t Walk on Water (Blog #231)

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Okay, screw technology. I’m ready to go to bed, and the internet is slow. All I want to do is post tonight’s selfie, get in a thousand words, and call it a day–now. I swear, sometimes patience is more difficult to come by than others. Maybe I should consider becoming one of those people who honk in traffic. (You know who you are.) I never honk in traffic, perhaps because I can still picture my college psychology teacher saying, “Road rage starts at home.” But maybe honking would be a slightly more respectable way to blow off some steam than punching pillows. Either way, I’m taking my upset over one picture’s failure to load quickly as a sign that I need to calm down, perhaps get back to yoga.

It’d probably help if I didn’t drink a pot of coffee every day. At the very least, I could throw some more water down my throat. Earlier tonight in improv class, I was literally shaking from too much caffeine. I’m surprised my eyes didn’t pop out of my head–AH-OOH-GAH! Still, despite the fact that my body was about to vibrate across the room, I couldn’t string two thoughts together. My brain was like, “Nope–try again next time.” Whenever I lose my car keys, I keep looking for them in the same spot I usually put them. I always think they’ll magically appear because they’re supposed to be there! Anyway, my brain was that spot I kept going back to tonight in my search for ideas. But alas, it was empty every time.

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

I’m quite sure the problem with both my mood and my mind is the fact that my body is worn out. I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for a month now, and I didn’t sleep much last night because I went to the doctor early this morning. Thus all the coffee to prop me up. (The nurse at the doctor’s office said, “Your blood pressure is a little high. Have you had an energy drink?”) Anyway, considering the fact that my body has been waving the white flag for a week or two now, seeing my ear, nose, and throat doctor was the right decision. That being said, I really think our bodies should come equipped with computer screens, at least a scrolling marquee to send us messages. I get that our bodies are talking to us all the time, but I for one lost my decoder ring a long time ago and would be thrilled with even a dot-matrix printout of daily instructions like, Hello, anybody home? We could use some help here! Go to the damn doctor already.

Y’all, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a sinus doctor before, but in order to open you up and see what’s going on, they spray jet fuel up your nose. This isn’t so bad, but the jet fuel is also a numbing agent, and when it runs down the back of your throat, you can’t swallow for thirty minutes. Not that they bother to give you cup to spit in or anything. Thank god I’ve been so many times that I felt comfortable enough to take one off the supply table. I mean, what was I gonna do–spit in my hand–asphyxiate?

But I digress.

The doctor listened to all my questions and concerns about taking medication and said, “Thank you for being honest.” When I told him I was embarrassed by all the things I’ve been squirting up my nose in an effort to find an effective home remedy, he said, “Don’t be embarrassed, although there is some evidence that some of those things can be more irritating that helpful.” Afterwards, he shoved a scope up my nostrils, took a look around, and said that post-surgery, things looked fabulous. No polyps, no scar tissue–just an obvious infection that was probably eighty percent over. Still, he suggested I take some drugs to get me over the hump and back to baseline.

“It’s your call,” he said.

“Let’s do it. I’m tired of feeling bad.”

Then he said the best thing ever–and I’ve been waiting all day to put it in writing on the internet. He said, “You just caught something like any other person would. If it keeps happening, come back and we’ll discuss options, but a lot of people get sinus infections in the spring and fall that last six weeks on average. [Here comes the good part.] So don’t worry–you’re normal.”

Phew. I’m normal. My doctor said so.

This afternoon I went to a couple bookstores, picked up my drugs, then came home and took a nap before improv class. Off and on I’ve been considering this idea of being normal. It’s something my therapist has proposed on more than one occasion, to which I typically reply, “I’m not so sure about that.” As I think about it now, I guess for the longest time it’s felt like I needed to fix something because I wasn’t okay the way I was. Maybe it was chronic sinus infections, maybe it was a relationship (even if that relationship was with me). Either way, this idea that something needed to change–specifically, me–is what’s been pushing me toward all the self-help and alternative healing material over the years. And whereas I’m grateful for everything I’ve learned and don’t regret my path, it does–sometimes–occur to me to wonder, How much progress do I really need to make here? Just how perfect do I need to be?

(Just the right amount to walk on water, I suppose.)

Normal people don’t walk on water.

My mom says, “You don’t have to be exceptional every minute of every day.” To me this means that it’s okay to get sick, it’s okay to try to get better on your own, it’s okay to fail, and it’s okay to ask for help. (My mom also says, “We’re all in this together.”) What’s more, not having to be exceptional every minute of every day means I don’t have to try so hard, and I don’t have to take it as a personal shortcoming whenever I get sick. Hell, being sick is hard enough without the “I did something wrong” record on repeat. So going forward, I hope to remind myself that normal people don’t walk on water. Rather, we roll in and out like the tide. Getting sick and getting better, losing our keys (and our minds) and finding them, expecting too much of ourselves and giving ourselves a break–these are things that normal people do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

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The Weight of the World (Blog #230)

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For the last four-and-a-half weeks, I’ve been sick.  Granted, I haven’t been battling a major disease and I haven’t lost a limb. But I have had an infection that’s refused to leave my sinuses, even though I’ve asked it politely to go somewhere else on a number of occasions. I swear, it’s like I’ve had a door-to-door evangelist up my nose, and nothing the internet has suggested for home remedies has made it skedaddle. So far, not only have I changed my diet and added supplements, but I’ve also washed my sinuses out with hydrogen peroxide, baby shampoo, Betadine, garlic water, and apple cider vinegar. Honestly, I don’t think the world-wide web is a safe place for someone with my personality, since I’m obviously willing to put half my kitchen cabinet up any orifice I can find just because a guy named Bob from Ohio said to. I mean, in the last month I’ve put so many things up my nose that I’m beginning to feel like a member of The Rolling Stones.

Going forward, I really don’t think I can be trusted to drive the information super highway without proper supervision.

Anyway, when I woke up this morning, things had gotten worse. I was sweating, kind of shaky, and absolutely devoid of energy. A friend recently suggested buying a powerful blend of herbs, and I considered that for a moment. Maybe I could try one more thing, since God knows I’m a try-er. But then I quickly ran through the mental list of money I’ve spent over the years on vitamins, herbs, and minerals, teas and tinctures–hell, all the colon cleanses–and each thing practically guaranteed to work. No, I thought, I quit. Hands to heart and heart to God, I quit. So before my feet even hit the floor this morning, I dialed the number for my ear, nose, and throat doctor. I thought, I’m tired of doing this alone.

I guess that’s what it’s felt like lately, that I’ve been alone in this struggle. (No offense to Bob from Ohio, of course.) Normally, I’d be okay with that. I’ve gotten used to doing most things by myself over the last twenty-five years. My shoulders are usually up for carrying the weight of the world. But today they rolled over, tapped the floor three times, and cried uncle. Whenever that happens, I know I’m really sick. It’s like there comes a point when nothing in my external world has changed, but the skies are suddenly darker and it feels as if the sun will never shine again. And it’s not that I have to be absolutely miserable or dying in order to feel this way–I just have to be exhausted from trying so hard.

That’s what I’ve felt like today, exhausted. Like, don’t ask me to do a damn thing and certainly don’t ask me to give a fuck, since I’m out of fucks to give. All afternoon I’ve walked around in a stupor, pretty much faking it, the whole time wanting to curl up in bed and have someone else take care of me. I’m not sure that this desire ever really goes away, the desire to return to the best parts of childhood, even to the womb where things were dark and warm and safe. Some psychologists talk about birth trauma, which, simply put, is the trauma we all experience as the result of being suddenly projected into the cold, vulnerable light of day. Of course, nobody gets to go back, and once you’re here, it’s tits up, chest out, and weight of the world on your shoulders.

Life ain’t for sissies.

This afternoon while scrolling Facebook, I noticed a post from a woman I used to work with. She was asking for prayers, since her husband has shingles–again. Later I saw a post from a guy I met in an airport restaurant and haven’t spoken to since. He’s younger than I am, and he’s been having back pain and losing weight without explanation. He said he was finally going to the doctor today and that he just wanted to feel good again. (Right?) I mean, my own mother has breast cancer. These things remind me that even though it often feels like I’m alone with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I’m not alone. Sure, maybe my friends and I aren’t dealing with the exact same challenges, but I’m not the only one who gets sick more than he wants to or the only who looks for answers and can’t find them.

Tonight I had dinner with my friends Bonnie and Todd, and Bonnie said that for the longest time she was into natural remedies. Hell, she had four home births. Anyway, Bonnie’s big thing back then was essential oils, which, as she said, “Will cure amputations.” But now, instead of being “all natural” and “never western” in terms of healing, she takes a more balanced approach. This too reminds me that I’m not alone in my experiences. I’m not the only one to get caught up in the idea that the big, bad bacteria in my sinuses are no match for my kitchen spices. And I’m not saying I’ve always been disappointed with do-it-yourself healing. I told Bonnie that there’s a natural supplement that cures my hemorrhoids every time. Like, in two days things down there go from razor blades to daisies. (Daisies!) That being said, that’s the one miracle cure I’ve come across in the last decade.

So I’m going to the doctor tomorrow–my appointment is in the morning. And it’s not like I suddenly think doctors have all the answers. They’re human too. If I were going to a doc-in-the-box, I’d probably get a steroid and an antibiotic, and those things certainly have side-effects that frustrate me. But I’m seeing my specialist, someone who knows my history and always listens to my concerns with compassion. As much as getting better, that’s what I’m looking forward to, talking to someone who deals with this all the time and can intelligently discuss options.

No offense to Bob from Ohio, of course.

Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

I guess we all have our breaking point. Some days we look at our problems and feel like trying again, going back in the ring, putting a little more weight on our shoulders. We don’t mind being alone. Other days we feel like quitting. We look at whatever it is we’ve been fighting and say, “That’s it. You win. I gave it the old college try, but you’re bigger than me.” Realizing our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world, we finally ask for help. Now we’re not alone, and some of the weight has shifted. With less on our shoulders to carry, we naturally stand taller and see things differently than we did before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I don't think anyone came to this planet in order to get it right the first time. What would be the point?

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Who’s Driving This Flying Umbrella? (Blog #229)

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Okay, it’s 2:30 in the morning, and I’ve put it off long enough. I’m finally blogging. (See, that was two whole sentences, and this is three.) You can’t hear it, but my blogging music is on, and the violin just started. I don’t know why I put writing off the way I do, considering it’s the most comforting part of my day. The clack of the keyboard, the introspection, the violin, finding hope–all of it feels like coming home–at least when the writing part is over. That’s the hard part–the writing–because I never know what I’m going to say. I don’t think any writer worth their salt would tell you otherwise. Writing is like the blind leading the blind–there’s no telling where you’ll end up.

Honestly, the whole creative process reminds me of that scene in the Disney cartoon Robin Hood when a bunch of scared animals run off with a circus tent on top of them. It’s absolute chaos. That’s creativity for you. Then on top of the tent is Little John, who’s been swept up in the madness. Of course, he has no idea how he got there, where he’s going, or how to make the it stop. That’s what it’s like to be a writer. Every time you sit down at the keyboard, you get carried away on this bumpy ride, and the entire time you’re wondering what Little John did–Hey! Who’s driving this flying umbrella?

I’ve spent most the day feeling wiped out. Actually, I’ve been wiped out for a while, ever since I got sick with head junk about four weeks ago. And whereas I’m considerably better than I was, and although I’ve been telling myself maybe it’s just allergies, I’m obviously not over whatever this is. Of course, this makes me want to cry, scream, and give up–anything but go to the doctor. Well, you might think, then you’re getting what you deserve, Marcus. But before you get all judgmental, it’s not that I haven’t thought about going to the doctor. Actually, if things go on much longer, I’ll cave. But this isn’t my first sinus infection rodeo, and doctors almost always give antibiotics for this sort of thing. Well, I’ve been on more antibiotics the last few years than I can count, and, since antibiotics don’t discriminate, I’d like to stop killing all the good bacteria inside me. After all, they’re just doing their job and minding their own business. Surely they don’t deserve to be innocently murdered just because their bad bacteria relatives got a little out of hand.

Seriously, down with bacterial collateral damage.

So, in a last-ditch effort before making an appointment with my sinus doctor, I started using apple cider vinegar today. Y’all, if you believe the internet, apple cider vinegar will not only cure a sinus infection, it will also lower high cholesterol, remove warts, and condition your hair. But wait, there’s more! Order now, and we’ll send you a second bottle that you can put on your salad. Seriously, this stuff is supposed to be loaded with vitamins and have the ability to kill bacteria and fungi of every kind, and there are a lot of people online who’ve had multiple sinus surgeries and tried dozens of antibiotics that swear apple cider vinegar was the thing that helped their sinuses the most. So, picturing the bottle of apple cider vinegar in a red cape, I not only started drinking it tonight, but also started steaming it on the stove so I could inhale it.

Please don’t act as if you’ve never gotten your hopes up over a home remedy.

My sister said, ‘Most of us mortals don’t read all those self-help books.’

This evening I went to TJ Maxx to buy a new skillet, since the one Dad and I use every day was warped from too much heat and food was starting to stick to the inside. Anyway, I called my sister on the drive over, and we started talking about books. And whereas she’s reading mostly fiction lately, I said that fiction is a rarity for me, that I read mostly non-fiction. Then my sister said, “You know, most of us mortals don’t read all those self-help books–we just pretend like we know what we’re doing.” I mean, I guess she has a point–I could probably stand to lighten up.

Surely I could find a book about how to do that.

Things went well at TJ Maxx, and when I got home from The Great Skillet Hunt of 2017, I immediately threw out the old pan and scrambled some eggs in the new one. Y’all, it was like a miracle–even heat, food that slid right across the surface, and easy cleanup. Bam! I felt like I should have my own TV show. Who knew spending eighteen dollars could be so satisfying? My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner.

I guess things happen when they happen.

It’s funny how I sit down every night with almost no idea of what I’m going to write about, but things inevitably come together. One minute I’m bouncing around, lost, thinking Who’s driving this flying umbrella?, then before I know it I’m at the last paragraph, piecing together random things like sinus infections, skillets, and cartoons from my childhood. Writing, like life, is a mystery. All night I’ve been thinking about whether or not to go to the doctor, then thinking about apple cider vinegar, then thinking about whether or not to go to the doctor. I’ve been dealing with sinus issues most my life, and I still don’t know what the the best answer is. I guess something will happen when it happens. More and more I’m convinced my sister is right (there I said it)–we mortals just pretend like we know what we’re doing. And perhaps life often feels like a runaway circus tent–absolute chaos–because from our perspective it is. Yet somehow we manage to hang on for the ride, bumping from one moment to the next as the mystery of life takes us to wherever we’re going and things inevitably come together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

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On Walden Pond (in My Parents’ Spare Bedroom) (Blog #228)

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Believe it or not, I’ve been awake since 9:30 this morning. Is this what normal people do? Now it’s 1:20, also in the morning, and I’ve had so much coffee that my legs are periodically going into twitching fits. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I were having a religious experience, a la big tent revival. I really think I’ve been overdoing it on the caffeine lately, but considering it’s been two weeks since I’ve had a piece of bread and even longer since I’ve heard from Zac Efron, a cup of joe is about the only fun left in my life. Still, I should probably drink some water, maybe say a prayer to help get me off the ceiling and balance things out. But so long as I’m all jittery, I plan to use the extra energy to get me through tonight’s blog.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and during a discussion about personality traits that I might have but not be aware of, my therapist mentioned Johari’s window. Johari’s window is “a therapy thing” that says each of us is divided into four basic sections, which are: 1) the parts we know that others know too, called the arena, 2) the parts we know that others don’t, called the facade, 3) the parts others know that we don’t, called the blind spot, and 4) the parts nobody knows, called the unknown. As I understand it, the arena is where we’re authentic, the facade is where we’re “fake as hell,” and the blind spot and the unknown are where we don’t know our own shit from Shinola. And whereas I guess we all hang out in each quadrant from time to time, I’m assuming the goal is to know and be open about as much as yourself as possible and, therefore, spend most your time in the arena.

After therapy I spent the day at the library. Y’all, I honestly think the library is a sacred space for me. While I was there today, I started and finished a book about forgiveness, but I kept getting up every so often just to roam the aisles and be near the other books. I even explored the children’s section, where I ended up reading two books on the floor with my legs criss-cross, applesauce. Just before I left, I checked out two adult books, so now my pile of “books I’m currently reading” makes me look like a post-graduate student.

One of the books I checked out was called Expect Great Things. Having such clear instructions, I deliberately got my hopes up. Well, the book is about Henry David Thoreau, I’m already fifty pages in, and I honestly think it would have been better to call it Expect Mediocre Things. I mean, it’s well done and I’m enjoying it–don’t get me wrong–I just think the author could have set the bar lower and left more room for being pleasantly surprised. But I guess a book with “mediocre” in the title wouldn’t have exactly flown off the shelf and into my hands.

Honestly, I don’t know that much about Thoreau, so I’m excited to read the rest of the book. I do know that he went to the woods because he wanted to live deliberately and that he said, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer,” and these facts alone make him a hero in my world. I used to have this fantasy that one day I’d do something like going to the woods–pack it all up, live in a log cabin, and spend all day reading. You know, keep away the neighbors by never bathing. Okay, maybe not that last part, but I have always loved the idea of being in nature and getting to know myself, looking through as many of my window panes as possible. But that’s not gonna happen, I’d think. Who has time to read all day?

Maybe you see where this is going.

Sometime between checking out the book on Thoreau and writing tonight’s blog, I realized that in a lot of respects, I’m currently doing what Thoreau was doing. Granted, the spare bedroom at my parents’ house isn’t exactly Walden Pond, but it is the place where I’m learning to live deliberately. Put another way, it’s where I’m learning to live in the arena of authenticity, to be myself. And I guess sometimes I give myself such a hard time about not doing what everyone else is doing the way everyone else is doing it that I forget they hear their drummers and I hear mine. Like, Wait a damn minute–I’m not supposed to do things like other people–because I’m not other people–I’m me.

When we expect great things, we see great things.

As I’ve said before, I worry a lot about what’s going to come next and about earning a living, but my therapist says that when you follow your bliss, it always pays off. Not that I don’t believe her, but I’m curious to see how it worked out for Thoreau, if he had anything to say about the matter. But considering I’m already happier than I ever have been and am currently getting to spend my days as I want to, in sacred spaces with piles of books to read beside me, my sense is that things have already been paying off and I simply haven’t been acknowledging it. Maybe we all do this–wake up every day, go through our routines, and expect the mediocre. We say, Oh, that’s just my life, and we end up taking our Walden Ponds for granted. But I’m reminded tonight that when we expect great things, we see great things–great things that are right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Allowing someone else to put you down or discourage your dreams is, quite frankly, anything but self-care.

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One Damn Thing after Another (Blog #227)

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I haven’t done squat today but am worn out. Well, I did go for a walk and also went to Walmart to buy groceries. But otherwise I haven’t done much. Still, something has zapped my energy. Maybe it’s the junk hanging on, the change in my diet, or allergies and the weather. Regardless, I think God meant for us to hibernate during the winter–crawl in a cave with the bears, snuggle up, and snooze right through Christ’s birthday. I mean, the lord doesn’t seem like the type who’d want a piñata or any sort of big fuss made over him. But seriously, just imagine sleeping all winter–we could wake up refreshed in the spring, say, “Happy Belated, Jesus,” and pick up where we left off. Personally, I’d really enjoy that, even though it’s obviously not going to happen. A mere ten hours from now I have to wake up to get ready for therapy, then it’s just one damn thing after another.

Whenever I eat the way I’m currently eating, there comes a point at which I start getting light-headed. For the most part it’s not dramatic, simply something I notice when I first stand up or bend down. Well, it’s been happening today, this sense of dizziness whenever I change positions, and it’s starting to bother me. The internet says the wooziness is due to a decrease in carbohydrates and mild dehydration. So, despite the fact that I’m already drinking so many fluids that I’m going to the bathroom every fifteen minutes, I guess I’ll up my water intake. Also, one of my friends said to try salt because salt helps with fluid retention, so I’ll give that a whirl too.

Stuff like being low on energy and getting light-headed always freaks me out. Like, I should probably go ahead and see if the retirement center has a spare room, maybe even pick out a casket. God forbid I ever have something actually wrong with me. All that being said, I know I often bitch and joke about my health issues (if they could even be called issues), so I’d like to take this opportunity to acknowledge that although I have a few things I’d like to see improve, my body is actually knocking most things out of the park lately.

For example, for months I blogged off and on about body odor, but I haven’t had an issue with it in weeks. Whatever it was finally worked itself out. Also, since starting the diet a couple weeks ago, I don’t think I’ve had a headache one time, I’m not coughing up green junk every morning, and I can actually feel my hip bones! Anyway, I guess I have a tendency to look at all the things that aren’t working, so I’m trying not to forget what is working.

So, way to go, armpits–I’m proud of you!

This evening, in an effort to be a dutiful son, I helped my dad change a few light bulbs. However, while I was changing one of three bulbs in the light in my dad’s bedroom, the entire fixture flickered, then sizzled, then burned out. Well shit, I thought. Since other electrical items in the room also went out, it quickly became apparent that a fuse had been blown. Of course, something like this should be easy enough to fix–just walk out to the garage, flip a switch, and you’re back in business. But is that what happened tonight?

No, no it is not what happened.

Since our fuse box isn’t labeled, my first mistake was thinking my dad and I could easily make a chart of what does what. With this plan in mind, I called my dad on his house phone from my cell phone, marched out to the garage, and started flipping switches. Did that turn anything off? Did THAT turn anything off? I practically had my dad doing laps around the house playing What Light Bulb Is Off Now? (I’ll take The Laundry Room for a thousand.) And whereas my dad isn’t in the best shape and was breathing hard, he was a trooper–we were on the phone for twenty minutes. Well, we got most of the house electrically mapped out, but we couldn’t get the fuse for his room to come back on. Finally, it dawned on us that the light fixture itself had not only crapped out, but had also burned some wires in the process. So that’ll be a project for later.

About two paragraphs ago, my mom told me the link I posted to last night’s blog wasn’t working. Since a similar thing happened once before (on my birthday), I assumed it was the site’s security certificate, which is what allows for the more secure website prefix of https and not the oh-so-ordinary http. Anyway, for the last hour I’ve been chatting online with someone in India whose responses were coming so slowly that we might as well have been communicating by carrier pigeon. Unfortunately, things got worse before they got better–at first my site simply wasn’t working–then it was redirecting to an asbestos company–then I couldn’t sign in to post anything new. “But don’t worry,” the guy said, “it’ll all be working in 4 to 48 hours.”

Okay–uh–thanks for your help.

Nothing was made to last forever.

As my friend Matt said when I told him what was going on, “Technology is great when it works.” Well, thankfully, it only took thirty minutes for everything to go back to normal, which means I’ll be able to post this tonight and not have to wait. Honestly, I don’t know why shit like this happens. I don’t know why our bodies, light bulbs, and websites stop working at times. I guess nothing was made to last forever, to always operate smoothly without any hiccups. Earlier tonight I listened to a lecture by Joseph Campbell, the mythologist, and he said that the question we have to ask ourselves is whether or not we’re going to say yes to life the way it is and not the way we want it to be. This reminds me to take everything as it comes (one damn thing after another), to be grateful that most things work most of the time, and to label both the good and the bad as “just life.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s enough just to be here.

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No Goose Is Worth Chasing (Blog #226)

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Currently it’s 2:45 in the morning, which I guess means I met my goal of starting tonight’s blog before 3:00. As we speak, the house is cold, so I have a comforter wrapped around my shoulders like an old lady. I’m pretending the comforter is John Stamos. I’ve heard he likes to cuddle, and this is the perfect weather for it. Earlier I took a nap on the futon, and when I woke up, the television was screaming, the microwave was beeping, and Dad was belching. This is my life, I thought. Now the television is off, my parents are asleep, and all I can hear is the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the clacking of this keyboard. Silence never sounded so good.

Isn’t that right, John?

Yesterday I wrote about waking up on the wrong side of the bed and the fact that I was in a piss-poor mood all day. Well, today things have considerably improved. My body’s felt better all the way around, and I’ve actually been happy. This, I think, is one of the benefits to daily writing and self-reflection. It’s not that I don’t have “bad days” anymore, but fewer days get labeled that way (because they’re not “all bad”) and fewer bad days bleed over into the following days because they get analyzed and silver-lining-ed every night.

This afternoon I met my friend Lorena for coffee and watched her eat a cherry pastry while I ate a salad that tasted like air. Considering the salad was made of greens and grilled chicken and not a quarter pounder with cheese, it also wasn’t very filling. Plus, I’m pretty sure that half the salad got stuck in my teeth, so I basically spent eleven dollars to floss with kale and rinse my mouth out with hazelnut coffee. But perhaps all the dieting is worth it, since Lorena said my waistline looked fabulous.

And oh yeah–I almost forgot–I feel better too. (Yippee.)

For about three hours, Lorena and I did a lot of laughing. In an otherwise quiet restaurant, I’m pretty sure we were “those people.” When I told Lorena about a straight woman who used to have a crush on me (and pursued me even though she knew I was gay), Lorena said, “Did she think you were going to put your chocolate in her peanut butter?” Oh my gosh, y’all, I nearly died. Now all I can think about is peanut butter–but the real kind, not the euphemism. To be clear, I never think about the euphemism. (That’s what makes me gay.)

Lorena and I talked about this for a while–women who go after gay men. I mean, I get it–we talk about our feelings and like to go to the opera–some girls like that in a man–I know I do. But having had a woman pursue me more than once over the years, I can’t tell you how exhausting it is, since to me it always feels like, It’s never going to happen, Alice. Of course, if it’s exhausting for me, it’s got to be exhausting for the other person, to want something you can’t have. At least that’s been my experience, having several times crushed on gay and straight men who simply weren’t interested. So I have compassion for anyone whose heart leads them on a wild goose chase.

My friend George says crushes like these start off as fun, progress to fun with pain, then end with just pain. Think about it–how could they not? And anytime someone’s gotten carried away with me or I’ve carried away with someone else, the only answer that’s ever worked has been a boundary that looked like time and distance apart. It’s never been enough to say, “Cheryl, I’m gay,” or, “Marcus, he’s straight, can’t spell, and isn’t old enough to legally rent a car” then continue seeing the person as friends. I guess this is because feelings usually don’t respond to logic, especially when the object of their desire is paraded in front of them on a regular basis.

This is why I don’t keep cherry pastries around the house. My willpower is only so strong.

Of course, this is a lesson I’ve learned (and am learning) the hard way. I can’t tell you the number of female friendships I’ve had over the years that went south because attraction got involved and no one said anything until it was too late. In those situations, I almost always asked for time and space because it’s not fair to anyone for two people to be approaching a relationship of any kind with two different and opposite expectations. Likewise, in situations where I’ve been the infatuated person, I’ve had to either be shut down or shut myself down by stepping away from guys who–for one reason or another–weren’t good for me. Okay, Marcus, no texting, calling, or creeping on him, him, and (definitely not) him. John Stamos just doesn’t like you like that. Rules like this can be difficult to enforce, but I see them as acts of self-respect and self-care, since I know from experience that I’m protecting myself from further trouble and heartache down the road.

Often a little silence is all we need to bring ourselves back to balance.

I think what’s good about time and space is that they give you a perspective you simply can’t get when you’re too close to something or someone. We all like to think that we can see clearly a hundred percent of the time, but when our chocolate and peanut butter get involved, that’s obviously not the case. It’s like trying to think when your parents are awake and making noise–it ain’t gonna happen. Honestly, I think infatuations are a lot like addictions, little habits like smoking or junk-food eating we let ourselves slip into from time to time and think we can’t live without. So we get carried away. But (duh) we can live without those things, and often a little distance–a little silence–is all we need to bring ourselves back to balance, to remind us what we’re really looking for in ourselves and other people, and to remember that no goose is worth chasing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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