On Dance Rehearsal (Blog #610)

It’s two in the morning, and I’m in Springfield, Missouri. After spending the morning packing and getting ready, I drove here this afternoon to practice with my friend Matt for our upcoming dance routine. Matt and I met at the ballroom where he teaches–The Savoy–about five and worked for a couple hours, mostly on our lifts and jumps, as well as one move that I told Matt I would practice this last week but didn’t. (As our performance is tomorrow, I think I’m just going to end up faking it. It’ll be fine, I promise, I’m a professional.) Anyway, then we went out with our friends Anne and Andy for sushi followed by frozen custard. Then we all came back to the ballroom, where Matt and I worked some more.

Y’all, sushi and frozen custard are not the thing to eat before dancing.

Considering the fact that Matt and I just started this routine two weeks ago and have only rehearsed two other times before today, things are coming along well. That being said, we ended up cutting one of our lifts tonight because not only did we think the move didn’t look good enough, but we also kept hurting each other trying to do the damn thing better. Oh well–we replaced it with something less challenging but just as fun, a trick I can practically do in my sleep. And whereas my inner perfectionist wishes we could have nailed that first move, I’m reminding myself that we’re doing this whole thing FOR FUN and NOT for perfection.

Here’s a picture of ANOTHER move we’ve been working on.

Sometime after midnight, Matt and I called it quits. Our bodies pretty much insisted on it. “Stop,” the said. “We’ve had enough. Just who do you think you are, anyway–Superman?” But then instead of going to bed, we decided to run to Walmart to buy undershirts for our costumes so our routine shirts don’t end up with giant sweat stains on them. The only problem was that we left the ballroom DURING a tornado warning. Y’all, this is why men die before women–we do stupid things like running errands in the middle of a thunderstorm. Anyway, we were fine, seriously. (To quote Matt, “I didn’t see a tornado anywhere.”) However, we did get soaked running from our car into Walmart. And get this shit. The manager, who was standing at the front door with two cops when we ran up, told us that the store was closed until the tornado warning was over. “You’re welcome to wait here in our shelter for the next thirty minutes,” he said.

“Do you want to wait here?” Matt said.

Picturing myself locked in a backroom with a bunch of strangers for half an hour, I said, “NO I DON’T WANT TO WAIT HERE!”

So back we ran to our car, then back we drove to the ballroom, which is where I am now (without an undershirt, I might add). Hopefully I can get some rest, then tomorrow Matt and I can go back to Walmart, run through our routine a few final times here at the ballroom, then perform it tomorrow night (back in Arkansas). I’ll let you know how it goes.

Now all I can think about is how everything hurts and how badly I want to go to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Who’s to say that one experience is better than another?

"

A Delightful Day (Blog #609)

Things that happened today–

1. I felt better

After dragging ass for over a week and SERIOUSLY dragging ass yesterday, this morning I woke up feeling like a regular human being. And whereas I can’t say for certain what caused it, I’m attributing my increase in energy to the probiotic I occasionally swab inside my sinuses, which I did last night. Who knows? Life is a mystery. Regardless, I’m learning to be grateful for any and every “normal” day.

2. I got into the holiday spirit

This afternoon and evening I helped a friend decorate the outside of their house for Christmas. As this was their first time doing this, we started with a trip to Walmart for lights, cords, and fasteners. Then we put lights in the hedges and draped one of their trees. But before we could wrap the posts on their porch, I had to go back to Walmart to get lights with WHITE cords and NOT GREEN cords because–we realized–their posts are white, and they “couldn’t bare” for things not to match. Anyway, it was a small project, but it turned into an all day affair, since we both had to leave to attend previous engagements but decided to meet again later in the evening (after ten) to finish up.

Here’s a picture of the final product.

3. I saw a musical

During my break from decorating, I attended Alma High School’s production of The Addams Family, a musical. (A few of my friends that I worked with backstage when The Wizard of Oz was in town invited me, and last week I actually helped paint one of the set pieces.) Anyway, the show was fabulous. The school really does do such a phenomenal job with the sets, costume, and lighting. And the kids! You wouldn’t know that they were in high school.

Here’s a picture of the graveyard set. Talk about seriously creepy and cool.

Here’s a picture of the living room set, which includes the piece I worked on. (I painted the stairs and handrail.) It’s not much in the grand scheme of thing, but every little bit helps!

4. I thought about my ancestors

Otherwise, I worked on my photo organizing project earlier today. I’m so close to done I can almost taste it. Then I talked to my parents about some of our family history, which was in part prompted by my project, and in part prompted by a book I’m reading about families, trauma, and healing. I’ll say more about it later, but the book points out that–for better or for worse–your entire family structure is part of your story and plays a big part in your overall mental and physical health. Coincidentally, tonight’s musical featured The Addams’s dead ancestors, whom they said couldn’t rest until there was peace with the living. Anyway, I think it’s interesting, the way the universe can deliver up the same message in multiple ways. Get your past sorted out.

5. I gave myself a break

Now it’s almost two in the morning, and I’m doing laundry because I’m getting up early tomorrow and going out-of-town to rehearse and perform a swing dance routine with my friend Matt. And whereas I wish I could post this and pass out, I still have my nightly routine to go through. So in an effort to be kind to myself, I’m ending things abruptly.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"You can't change your age, but you can change what your age means to you."

The Hardest Lesson You Will Ever Learn (Blog #608)

Phew. I swear. I haven’t had a lick of energy today. I hate that, feeling like I’ve had the stuffing knocked out of me, going about my day with all the inner fortitude of a soggy biscuit. Still, I’ve tried not to obsess over it (even though I’m clearly obsessing about it now) and just put one foot in front of the other.

Left, right, left, right.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we discussed my frustration with not feeling well. She said that she went through a similar period in her life. And whereas it frustrated her at the time too, she’s grateful for it now–because it helped make her who she is today both personally and professionally. Like, she’s more understanding and supportive and shit. “It’s about developing patience,” she said, “and patience is THE HARDEST lesson you will ever learn. It FUCKING SUCKS.”

But for real.

Later my therapist said she felt like 2019 was going to be a good year for me. God, I hope she’s right. Regardless, I can’t tell you what a big deal this is, to have someone who not only believes in and affirms me, but also consistently imagines a better future for me. Even when I’ve been too down to hope for myself, she’s said, “Things are going to get better. And it’s okay if you don’t believe that–I believe enough for both of us.”

After therapy I went to a coffee shop and read until I got kicked out. The book I’m working my way through is a 450-page tome on addiction in all its many forms (nicotine, drugs, alcohol, shopping, you name it). Then, despite the fact that I’m nowhere near finished with this and a number of other books I’ve started, I went to the library and checked out two more–because THAT’S my addiction. Buying (or checking out) books is that thing that gets me excited (that is, that causes my brain to release dopamine) just thinking about. And whereas I might have “worried” about this at one time, I don’t anymore because 1) it’s a benign habit, 2) it’s not hurting me or anyone else, and 3) it could be A LOT worse.

This evening my parents, my aunt, and I went out to eat for my mom’s birthday (it’s today), and despite my professed lack of energy, I somehow managed to shove a giant burger, a fistful of fries, and half a piece of cheesecake into my mouth. Anyway, here’s a picture after ALL OF US cleaned our plates.

After dinner my parents and I drove around Fort Smith to look at Christmas lights. This was the perfect thing–low-key, easy, beautiful. Now it’s after midnight, and I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. I’m in this weird place–not thrilled about where I am and how I feel, but not devastated about it either. Of course I want things to get better. I want to have more energy. But if this is my life now, this is my life now. If this is meant to teach me patience, then that’s what I intend to learn.

Slowly, of course, since patience by definition can’t be learned quickly.

Damn it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love  is all around us.

"

Thoughts Can Be Changed (Blog #607)

It’s just before eleven in the evening, and my parents’ house smells like potpourri because my dad just farted and sprayed something to cover it up. I’m not sure which smells worse–the fart or the spray. Last night a dog–either my parents’ or my aunt’s–shit on my futon, where I usually blog. I was having a bad day and had just dragged my laptop and pillows into the futon room to start writing, and there it was. It’s like the dog knew exactly where I prefer to sit and thought, Yep, this is the place. Fuck him. But that’s the deal when you’re having a bad day. Everything that goes wrong feels personal. As if the universe were a bully that not only wants your lunch money, but also is willing to hand deliver offensive smells and shitty situations to your doorstep if you don’t pay up.

Anyway.

The bad mood I had yesterday is better, although it’s lingered. Mostly, I’m tired and am looking forward to seeing my doctor in a couple weeks. It’s not that I’m sick-sick, I just don’t have a lot of pep in my step. Some days I drag ass from start to finish, and other days I feel super. But even then, I wear out easier than normal. By normal I mean before I got sick so bad a year ago. Shit, nothing’s been normal since then, and I guess that’s my frustration. I keep wanting to be on the other side of that entire ordeal, but–apparently–I’m not. It’s this weird thing, when you know you’re out of the woods, but you haven’t quite left its shadows.

I spent this afternoon working on my photo organizing project. I’m almost done. It’s strange, looking back at all those old photos. I know I had things I worried about back then, but they weren’t the same things I worry about now–my health, my finances. It’s like these concerns just show up one day, and then–bam–you’re stuck with them. But I really don’t believe it has to be that way. Earlier tonight I watched a positive thinking thing and was reminded that limiting beliefs like This will never get better or That might work for other people, but it won’t work for me are just thoughts, and thoughts CAN be changed.

I really have been working on this lately, acknowledging the fact that I have a lot of negative or limiting thoughts running around in my head and trying to do something about them. But usually when I try to “say affirmations” or “think the opposite,” it feels like I’m blowing a lot of smoke up my own ass. Saying everything is fine when it isn’t feels like–hum–spraying potpourri over a fart. So my approach recently has been to be gentler. That is, instead of saying everything is fine, I’ve simply been trying to relax more, to softly make room–even a little room–for something different or better to come along.

Often on this path of self-growth and healing, it feels as if I “should” be better at this positive thinking thing. I think, Why is abundance (in all its many forms) still such a hang-up for me? Well, it just is. For me, the idea of scarcity was planted a long time ago and has been practiced A LOT. But I’m telling myself that’s okay because in any moment, I can start over. In any moment, I can take a deep breath, think a new thought, and try again. This, I think, is one of life’s greatest graces, that we can turn our lives around gently and a little at a time, that we try, try again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

"

This Is the Difficult Thing (Blog #606)

For the last month, my right shoulder has been giving me fits. I guess I wore it out whenever I was doing all that remodel and painting work. Anyway, it’s been inflamed, and I’ve been hoping it would calm down. Like, Chill out, shoulder. Alas, it hasn’t, just like my upset stomach of four months hasn’t. Ugh, this is the most frustrating thing, low to medium-level pain that simply won’t budge no matter what you try. Every night you go to bed thinking, Maybe it will be better in the morning. But then it never is. So what–do you throw up your hands, give in, and admit that life sucks?

Or do you keep hoping?

After irritating my hip yesterday while practicing for an upcoming dance routine, I called my chiropractor’s office today to see if they could get me in. They do this ultrasound thing that really helps. Luckily, they had space this afternoon. And whereas I normally lie on a “roller bed” that digs into my back muscles before my appointment, today I lay on a “waterbed” that massages your back with jets and–I now know–makes all your fat jiggle from side to side. Anyway, after the chiropractor adjusted my back, his assistant did the ultrasound thing on my hip, then used an infrared machine on my shoulder. So we’ll see what happens. I’m supposed to go back next week. The chiropractor said, “Don’t do anything on your to-do list for a few days. You have two shirts on, and it’s still obvious your shoulder is swollen.”

After my appointment, I went to a friend’s to help them with a computer problem. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?” they said. (Right?!) Now I’m at home. Somewhere between there and here, I’ve become cranky. At first I thought it was because I was hungry, but eating didn’t help. Then I thought it was because I was tired, but resting didn’t help either. I guess I’m frustrated. For one thing, my body hurts. For another thing, my spirit hurts. That is, I’ve been hoping for a long time now that “something” would work out and go my way. And not that I haven’t had some good things happen–I have–but not in the way I’ve been hoping for. Frankly, it’s been a rough year.

Currently the last thing I want to do is sit here and keep typing–because it’s too easy to bitch. When I start thinking about all the things to frustrate me, it’s too easy to–as my therapist says–go down the rabbit hole. And I really want to avoid that, since I don’t like that version of myself, the version that’s hyper-critical, woe-is-me, and gloom-and-doom. I much prefer the version of me that’s willing to weather whatever storm, is up to a good old fashioned challenge, and has infinite inner strength. Alas, I’ve yet to figure out how to conjure that guy up at will. Be happy! Be grateful! Be loving!

Ick. As if that shit works.

In these moments, the best I can do is take it easy on myself. Tonight that means blogging short, maybe reading a book or watching a movie, and going to bed early. It means not trying to solve all my problems this evening, not internally insisting that any difficult thing in my life “go away now.” Because I do believe that our troubles are our teachers. Used correctly, they bring out the best in us. Used incorrectly, they bring out the worst. And this is the difficult thing, to allow your pain, problems, and frustrations to grow you rather than swallow you up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

"

The Re-Oriental (Blog #605)

There’s a theory in psychology that you can tell a lot about a person if you know what their three most favorite movies are–because it tells you what’s going on in their subconscious. And whereas it’s not my intent to discuss my three most favorite movies in this post, I would like to discuss my FOURTH most favorite movie–Tombstone. Hum, why do I like this movie–psychologically, that is? It’s about the wild west and a band of outlaws called The Cowboys, and Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday (and their friends) absolutely clean their clocks. I guess that’s it. Their such badasses; they don’t take any shit from anybody else. They stand up for themselves. Their simply not–what’s the word?–afraid to face their demons.

There’s this scene toward the beginning of the movie–Wyatt Earp has just rolled into Tombstone (the town) and enters a saloon called The Oriental. Well, the place is real fancy, like nicer than your mom’s living room, but there’s hardly anyone in the place because their card dealer is a total jerk, a real blowhard. Wyatt asks the owner, “Why don’t you get rid of this guy?” The owner says, “I’m too scared.” So Wyatt says, “I’ll do it.” And just like that Wyatt calls the guy’s bluff and tosses him out on his ear.

So get this shit. Last night I had a dream about The Oriental. However, instead of it being a saloon, it was a hotel–a huge, grand hotel. This is like a theme for me; I can’t tell you the number of hotel dreams I’ve had. The last time I brought up a huge, grand hotel dream to my therapist, she said, “That’s you–big and grand.” Considering the fact that I also have A LOT of construction dreams about building houses, an activity which I think correlates to my building a new life (both internally and externally), I personally see hotels as representing that which is temporary, as well as the need to rest.

But back to last night’s dream. I’m in a swimming pool (water dreams are pretty much non-stop for me) and say, “I’m going to change [my bathing suit.]” The problem is that I can’t find my room, Number 364. Two people give me directions, but the room isn’t where it’s “supposed” to be. So I’m running all over the place–upstairs, downstairs, you name it. Finally I find the right room number, but on the inside is a sweet shop, a restaurant. And then I woke up. Looking at the clock, I noticed it was one in the afternoon.

I’d slept for eleven hours and was still tired.

This afternoon my friend Matt and I rehearsed for our upcoming dance routine at our friend Bonnie’s house. I mean, we rehearsed at her house; the performance is in Northwest Arkansas. Anyway, we worked for several hours. And whereas we got a lot done–the routine is really coming together–my body hurt pretty much the entire time. I have this issue with my right hip, and I guess one of the new moves we’ve been learning irritates the hell out of it. Or at least my doing the move wrong irritates the hell out of it. That’s the thing with aerials–the moves themselves aren’t that bad if you do them right, it’s just figuring out HOW to do them right that hurts.

I don’t have any pictures from our dance rehearsal, but here’s a picture of me with Bonnie’s new boots, which I think are absolutely fabulous. Check out that dollar sign!

Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m icing my hip with a bag of frozen blueberries in an effort to minimize the damage from earlier. Hopefully that, the drugs I just took, and a good night’s rest will do the trick. We’ll see. I may have to go to the chiropractor this week. They do this ultrasound thing that really helps with inflammation. I mean, whatever it takes.

But back to last night’s dream and a couple things that fascinate me. First, The Oriental. The obvious connection is to the movie Tombstone, in which case it would be a reference to finding my voice and learning to stand up for and take care of myself. But I think there’s also a wordplay in the name of the hotel–The Oriental–that refers to my current quest to “orient to” or follow my own path in life. (I guess you could call what I’m doing The Re-Oriental.) Second, the room I was looking for, Number 364. The obvious connection here is that 364 is one day shy of a full year (and is the exact number of days one book I recently read about the sun and moon suggested using if you wanted to make your own calendar), so that would be a reference to time. But for me it’s also a reference to my birthday (9/13), since 364 can also be written as 9/4 (because 3 plus 6 is 9), and so can my birthday (because 1 plus 3 is 4).

I realize the birthday/math part is potentially confusing, but I’m always doing this, adding numbers together to see if they match, and it’s the first place my mind went when I woke up this afternoon. Anyway, my birthday would still be a reference to time, and that would make sense because in the dream I couldn’t find my room, and in my real life it feels like I “can’t find the time” or don’t have enough of it. That’s what they say about dream interpretation. WHAT in your waking life FEELS this way?

When I consider the fact that in the beginning of the dream I said, “I’m going to change” and then ended up in a sweet shop/restaurant, the time thing makes sense. That is, I see sweet shops and restaurants as places to kick back, relax, and recharge. And yet I’m always in such a damn hurry to change–running from here to there, thinking I need to move into that new construction–that I rarely remember to slow down, rest, and take better care of myself. Even when my body hurts and WANTS to rest. So the sweet shop is a reminder that there’s TIME to chill out, that this is WHAT time is for–for changing, for re-orienting, for–what’s the word?–healing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can't build a house, much less a life, from the outside-in. Rather, if you want something that's going to last, you have to start on the inside and work your way out, no matter how long it takes and how difficult it is.

"

On Being Distressed (Blog #604)

It’s just before midnight, and my body is in rebellion. First, my energy meter has been in the red all day. Second, the muscles in my back are on all-out strike. I’m not sure what it is. My shoulder’s been jacked up for a couple months now. I should probably do something to fix that, like other than hope and pray about it. Because that ain’t working. Nor is Tylenol. And did I mention that I have dry skin on my right elbow? Ugh. It’s all so overwhelming.

I’m just falling apart.

Yesterday a high school senior in Alma I met while working backstage at The Wizard of Oz invited me to come paint sets with her for the school’s upcoming production of The Addams Family (a musical). So this afternoon I took the opportunity to get out of the house and out of my head. And whereas it was tough on my body (my right shoulder is seriously pissed about my decision to make it work), it ended up being the perfect thing for my soul. First, there were other people there, so I got some human interaction. Second, I pretty much got an entire set piece–the stairs–all to myself. So I got to do what I wanted. Well, three of us did put the base coat–brown–on the stair rails and spindles, but then I put on a second coat of gray and a third coat of black solo.

Here’s a picture of where I left things this evening about 10:30. To be clear, someone else did the walls. I just worked on the stairs and railing.

It takes a village.

Here’s another picture from the side of the stairs, closer up, so you can see the different colors. Adding gray and black on top of the brown is one way to make new wood look old, and in theater, sets that have had this done are referred to as being “distressed.” Once they add in the correct lighting–Voila!–it’ll look totally creepy and kooky (and all together ooky).

Distressed. That’s how I’ve felt lately. Not only is my body out of whack (it’s hurting as we speak), but I also don’t know what to do with my life. Better said, I don’t know HOW to make my dreams come true. This is a tape that plays constantly in my head–that I SHOULD be doing SOMETHING more than I am–but I don’t KNOW what that thing is. Talk about stressful. Meanwhile, I really don’t feel well enough TO BE DOING any additional work. So in my best moments, I try to be thankful that I have time to rest, take things easy, and figure things out.

Recently I read this poem by the mystic Rumi–

The spiritual path wrecks the body
and afterwards restores it to health.
It destroys the house to unearth the treasure,
and with that treasure builds it better than before.

Boy, if that first line doesn’t make you want to be spiritual, I don’t know what will. Seriously, I’m always saying I don’t recommend this work, and here’s yet another reason why. Your body will suffer. Let’s put THAT on a church billboard and see who shows up on Sunday morning. That being said, the part about the body being restored sounds pretty delightful. Ugh. I’m personally still waiting on that part, the being-put-back-together part. And that’s okay. Things are better than they were a year ago. Really, better than they’ve been for the last twenty years, at least in terms of sinus infections. I haven’t had one of those in about eight months. That’s huge. Plus, it clearly takes time to distress oneself, so it’s only natural that it would take time to un-distress oneself as well.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."

The Point of No Return (Blog #603)

It’s almost midnight, and my body is worn out. I’m not sure why. My energy level has been up and down lately. I’ve been sitting here in the living room for the last three hours, unable to drag myself away from a documentary my mom’s watching about Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. It’s weird, I remember when all that happened, but now all the major players are twenty years older. Which means I’m twenty years older too. Weird how time flies by like that. Recently I told my friend Matt that I started dancing when I was 19; now I’m 38. Matt said, “That means you’ve been dancing for half your life.” I said, “Thanks for pointing that out–I think.”

Half. My. Life.

This afternoon I went to a friend’s house to help them set up a new television that they bought this morning. It was a Black Friday deal. Anyway, I ended up spending the day there, working on their television, eating dinner with them, helping them with a few Christmas decorations. We laughed a lot. It was kind of the perfect thing. Unplanned, but perfect.

Now I’m really ready to go to bed. I wish I had something profound to say, but I don’t. Last night I dreamed that I was looking through the mementoes of a dead blues singer and–earlier in the dream–driving with a friend toward Division Street, a street in Fort Smith that crosses Midland Avenue. I read recently that if you keep a dream journal, you can name or label your dreams in order to help you get an idea of what they’re about. I called this one “Getting My Past in Order,” since it “felt” like what I’ve been doing lately going through old photos, at least the looking at mementoes part. As for the dead blues singer, I took that to mean that I’m working to put the sad events of my life behind me.

I’ve been chewing on the Division Street part on and off all day. On the way home from my friend’s tonight, I actually drove down Midland Avenue and Division Street to see if that would reveal anything profound. It didn’t, but my sense is that Midland has to do with “the middle,” as in balance or a mid-way point. It’s how I feel right now–in stasis–stuck in Mid Land. Like it’s too late for me to go back, but I’m not sure how to move forward. As for Division, I think it’s that “getting my past in order” thing. That is, in any hero’s journey, there must be a line drawn in the sand. A point of no return. The past, with all it’s sadness and limitations, must be left behind you. Because you can’t take it with you wherever you’re going. It’s just too heavy.

And have you seen what the airlines charge for baggage these days?!

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?

"

On Thanksgiving and Options (Blog #602)

It’s Thanksgiving night, and for the last several hours I’ve been hiding away in my room, tucked under my warm covers reading a book, scrolling through social media, and searching Google. By “searching Google” I mean “looking up my medical problems and scaring the shit out of myself.” It’s been a delightful evening. Actually, it’s been a delightful day.

This morning I woke up and ate breakfast (after which the morning was over). Then this afternoon I watched the final two episodes of the FX Series Pose, which is about homosexuals and transsexuals in the late 1980s in New York City. Ugh, what a fabulous show. I cried during the last episode. All evening I’ve been thinking about the characters–their hopes, their dreams, their challenges, their fabulous wardrobes. I can’t wait for next season.

My therapist said once that when you binge watch shows and identify with the characters, that’s called a “para-social relationship.” As I understand it (after reading this slide-show about them) para-social relationships are one-sided relationships a person develops with celebrities or book, television, or movie characters and can be positive because they provide a certain amount of social and emotional stimulation without all the hard work and fear of rejection. Like, Harry Potter will only be there for you. He’ll never tell you to “go jump off a bridge, jerk.” Anyway, my therapist also said that if you, dear reader, get any benefit from what I share from my sessions with her, then this blog would be a “para-therapeutic” relationship for you. “It’s obviously not the same as actually going to therapy,” she said, “but it would be like a quarter measure.”

You always have options.

My therapist has this thing about measures, that is, quarter measures, half measures, and full measures. Like, let’s say you have a problem with someone and want to do something about it. A quarter measure response might be to not see them as often or simply say, “I’d like you to stop texting me when you’re drunk, Grandma.” A half measure response might be to write them a letter or have a serious come-to-Jesus meeting and say, “Just who the hell do you think you are, Beatrice?” A full-measure response, however, would sound more like, “Eff you, lady, and the horse you rode in on. I don’t ever want to see you again.” My therapist’s point being–you always have options and don’t have to go all the way in every situation, especially when going part-way will get the job done.

But back to Thanksgiving.

Late this afternoon my parents, my mom’s sister (my aunt), and I went to Cracker Barrel. This is becoming a thing in our family, going out to eat on holidays. It’s fabulous; no cooking, no dishes. Anyway, because we went later in the day, we didn’t have to wait long (just ten minutes) to get seated. Immediately, my dad started harassing our waitress. “Are there free refills? On the food, I mean.” Then my mom put a prescription bottle from Walmart on the table, and I thought, The holidays have arrived. I texted one of my friends about the bottle, and she said, “Xanax for everyone!”

“I should be so lucky,” I replied. “It’s probably something for irritable bowel.”

For dinner I had the traditional–turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce. It was like a deal–$11.99–and included a free drink and even a slice of pumpkin pie. And whereas it all tasted super great, I couldn’t get over the fact that the stuffing came in the shape of a tennis ball (because it was served cafeteria style, with an ice-cream scooper) and the tablespoon-sized serving of cranberry sauce came in a cup that looked like it should be used to give hospital patients their medications.

After dinner, while Dad and I were eating our respective desserts, an old lady passed by our table, and we smiled at each other. It was just the sweetest thing. Then as she kept walking, Dad pointed out that her shawl was partially tucked into the back of her pants. I guess she went to the bathroom and didn’t get everything put back together quite right. I can’t tell you how much we laughed about this. Honestly, I’m still laughing about it. Out loud.

Anyway, there we were, my whole family, cackling like hyenas, and Dad said, “I’m going to go tell her.”

“No, Ron!” Mom said. “I’ve done that before with toilet paper, and she’d be so embarrassed if a stranger said something.”

“That would be embarrassing,” I said. “And I’ve walked out with toilet paper on my shoe too.”

“No, I had it tucked into my pants,” Mom said.

And so we laughed some more.

Now I’m ready to go to bed, and my stomach’s upset. It’s been upset for months now, and–honestly–it’s not any worse than it normally is. But because I’ve been searching Google about it, I’m kind of freaking out, like, This is never going to get better. And since I’ve tried some quarter measure things like home remedies and prescriptions from my doctor (the latest prescription for a full day now), I’m thinking of trying a full measure thing like a restrictive diet or colon surgery. You know, I like to be dramatic. But something tells me to calm down, Sally, and go with a half measure. I’ll let you know how it goes.

But on today especially, I’m thankful that I at least have options.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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The Law of the Vital Few (Blog #601)

Today has been go, go, go. This afternoon I had a Skype consultation with a posture/exercise guru about muscle imbalances in my body. And whereas he didn’t tell me much more than I already knew (my shoulders are rounded, my head sticks forward, my hips are tilted forward), he did give me a lot of good information about how things in the body work together. For example, if your shoulders are elevated (like mine are), that most likely means that the muscles along your shoulders are too strong, but also that the muscles in your mid-back are too weak. So fixing the problem–apparently–becomes a twofold task: stretch the too strong or tight muscles, and strengthen or “work out” the weak ones.

It never hurts to have more information.

As I have quite a few muscle imbalances in my body, my first inclination to my assessment today was to be overwhelmed. How am I ever going to fix all this? I mean, one of my issues is that I sleep on my left side, so my body is apparently shrink-wrapped into a scrunched-up position on right side. So what the hell, now I have bad habits even while I’m sleeping? A guy can’t catch a break. That being said, the consultant today said that some problems I thought I had and assumed were terrible (like my hips tilting sideways and my feet pronating) really aren’t that bad. So I’ve been telling myself that it never hurts to have more information.

Now I can better make a plan.

After the call, I spent the rest of the day running errands in Fort Smith. Last night after having fixed the door on my parents’ dishwasher, I discovered the dishwasher was leaking. Ugh. There was water all over the floor. Anyway, that was my first order of business this afternoon–trying to track down a new gasket or rubber seal. (After going to three different stores, I think I’m going to have to order one online.) Then I went to Lowe’s for a part to fix my dad’s leaky faucet (everything leaks around here), then I went to Home Depot because I forgot Plumber’s Putty at Lowe’s. Then I went to three different places looking for a pair of shoes for a dance performance I have coming up (I found the perfect pair for twenty bucks at the third place), then I went to the vitamin store because I was out of the few supplements that I take.

And no, I don’t mean “a few hundred.”

Finally, after the sun went down, I made my way back to Van Buren, where I picked up a new interior lightbulb for my car, Tom Collins, as well as a prescription for my upset stomach. (My doctor recently suggested something new.) Back at the house, I fixed Dad’s leaky sink. Like, it actually works. Well, except for the fact that you have to turn the cold water handle in the opposite direction now. Like away from you instead of toward you. But whatever. Dad said he’s smart enough to figure it out.

So that’s good to know.

After I’d put all my tools away and cleaned up Dad’s sink, Dad pointed out that it needed to be re-caulked. I said, “It sure would have been nice if you’d told me this sooner.” (Yeah, yeah, I know–if “ifs” and “buts” were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas.) “I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” Dad said. “You don’t have to do it tonight.” But since I had “sink” on the brain, I dragged my supplies out again and got to work. And now it’s done. Yippee.

The consultant today told me about something called The Pareto Principle, which states that roughly 80 percent of the effects come from 20 percent of the causes. This is also called The Law of the Vital Few, and applied to business means that 80 percent of a given company’s sales come from 20 percent of their customers. Applied to my body and all it’s imbalances, the guy said, it means that 80 percent of my problems (muscle tension and soreness, headaches, etc.) come from 20 percent of my issues (back, shoulders, neck). I really like this explanation, since it reminds me that I don’t have to nit-pick and worry about every little thing in order to get noticeable results.

I think The Law of the Vital Few could be applied to one’s personal life as well. For example, of all the problems I’ve brought up in therapy over the last four years, the majority of them have boiled down to a boundaries issue. Not that I didn’t have plenty of other issues when I walked into my therapist’s office that first time, but “having healthy boundaries” is what we’ve consistently discussed from day one because–at least for me–having good boundaries solves the most problems. So I think it’s important to figure out what your vital few are. What are those few actions you take (or can take) that will alleviate the most stress in your life?

Please share your answers in the comments below.

My vital few are:
1) Writing this blog every day
2) Going to therapy
3) Having good boundaries
4) Getting enough sleep and taking care of my body
5) Dancing

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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