A Time I’d Like to Remember (Blog #403)

Whatever I said yesterday about my body not hurting “that bad” after jumping around on a trampoline this weekend, I take it back. Everything hurts. I’ve been shuffling–shuffling–around the house all day. Like an old man with a walker. They say the second day is always the worst, so maybe it’s downhill from here–or would it be uphill? I guess downhill usually means smooth sailing, but it could also mean that things are getting worse. The English language is so confusing.

Now I have a headache. I really shouldn’t think so hard.

Today I didn’t have a damn thing I had to do–nothing on the calendar at all. Consequently, I’ve been cooped up in the house from the time I got up this afternoon. I haven’t even gone to the mailbox. (Tonight’s selfie, at Starbucks, was taken yesterday.) I did consider taking a walk this afternoon, but thought, My allergies are already acting up. The last thing I’m going to do is step outside during pollen season and intentionally breathe! Instead, I propped myself up in a chair and read several chapters in a how-to book about comedy.

But don’t expect things to all-of-sudden get any funnier around here. (That’s not the way it works.)

Later I tried to take a nap but couldn’t sleep, so I watched two movies. One was about Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis and starred Sean Hayes, and the other was an old Disney movie my sister and I used to watch starring Jodie Foster. I do this occasionally, feel the need to go back decades later and rewatch movies I grew up on. I find it fascinating. Today I remembered several details about the movie–the opening scene and the movie’s ending were quite familiar–but most of the middle was faint, fuzzy, or even fresh, as if I’d never seen it before. It’s weird what your brain decides to hang on to and let go of.

Other than that, I’ve been eating constantly. The body is such a mystery. The only thing I’ve done all day is either sit in a chair or lie in bed, but the way I’ve been raiding the refrigerator, you’d think I were a marathon runner. Maybe I just don’t have anything else to do. Maybe I’m a “bored eater.” Or maybe I’ve just been starving myself to death on the Autoimmune Paleo diet for two weeks (I turned down spaghetti today). Maybe my stomach has finally had enough of grilled chicken and sweet potatoes and that’s why it’s screaming, “Give me some damn corn chips.”

That’s probably it.

I don’t have a big takeaway today but am ready to go to bed. (If I don’t, I’ll eat something else.) My eyes are watering, practically running like Niagara Falls. But I keep thinking about that Disney movie my sister and I used to watch, how seeing it today reminded me of a time when I wasn’t concerned about going outside because of the pollen count or whether or not what I was eating was good for me. This is a time I’d like to remember more often, a time when I didn’t think so hard, a time when the world worked without my worry.

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.

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Have You Seen a Gay Man Pack? (Blog #375)

I have been adulting all day–paying bills, dealing with credit cards, sending official letters regarding medical bills and car accidents. I hate this stuff. However, I’ve also been teaching dance, which I love. But then I’ve also been doing laundry and packing to go out-of-town tomorrow, and I hate doing laundry and packing. Well, I guess I’m indifferent about it. But in the process of packing I realized I left my only pair of tennis shoes in Dallas a few days ago, and I hate that. Also, I have to get up early to go to the airport, so that’s another hate.

I’m ready to scream.

As a species, gay men don’t travel light.

Really, I’m just stressed. I thought I was going out-of-town for five days, returning for one, then leaving again for four more. But I found out today that the two trips I’m taking (to Memphis and Hot Springs) are literally back-to-back. I’m going from one place to the other, which means I have to fit ten days worth of clothes into a small carry-on bag. Y’all, I realize I’ve been living as a minimalist this last year, but–HELLO–I’m still GAY. Have you SEEN a gay man pack? As a species, we don’t travel light. Seriously, I could fill my carry-on with hair products alone. Currently my bag is filled to capacity, and I STILL have clothes in the dryer.

I’m going to have to pray about this.

About forty-five minutes ago I went to Walmart to look for a replacement pair of tennis shoes. This was a waste of time. Not that they didn’t have plenty of shoes to choose from, but none of them were the right brand. Again–I’m a stuck-up homosexual. I thought, I’m desperate, but I’m not THAT desperate. I’ll make do with my Polo boat shoes. Even if they hurt my feet, at least they’ll look nice. I realize this line of thinking is in direct opposition to yesterday’s post about the inside mattering more than outside. I make no apologies for this. As Walt Whitman said, “I contain multitudes.”

Surely I’ll find a way to make it work.

Now I’m trying to talk myself down from a ledge. I still have some packing to do and also need to take a shower. Oh, and sleep–I need to sleep. I’m telling myself that the upcoming trips are going to be great. Regardless of how much rest I get tonight or what clothes I end up taking, I’m sure I’ll have a fabulous time. Plus, if I need a new pair of shoes or anything else, I’ll find a Target or a shopping mall. I’m also worrying about how to do my job (travel writing) on the trip AND continue this blog, but I’ve obviously found a way to make this blog work so far, so surely I’ll find a way to make it work again. Like tonight’s blog, some of my posts may be shorter. (And that’s okay, Marcus.)

Also, some posts may conclude abruptly.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

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A Lighthouse (Blog #343)

Now that my dad’s back from the hospital and is on a strict healthy-living plan, my family owns a new set of bathroom scales. (They’re the fancy kind with a digital readout, so try not to be jealous.) Y’all, if there’s anything positive about being chronically sick and having little to no appetite, it’s weight loss. This afternoon I used the new scales and found out that I’m lighter than I’ve been in four years. I’m thrilled, of course, but this news came as a complete shock. I mean, in terms of diet, I haven’t even been trying lately. I’ve been eating toast with butter and high-fructose-corn-syrup jelly for breakfast for weeks now. All those years of trying-trying-trying, and now that I’ve practically given up caring, the pounds are just sliding off. Go figure. Apparently all it takes is two rounds of influenza.

Uh–count your blessings?

Physically, I’m still worn out, but it could be a lot worse. Today I rallied long enough to do some paperwork, and I’m thinking I may get out of the house before the weekend is over. Also, I took a shower. Y’all, I hate that I consider this bragging–a little paperwork and a hot bath–but I do. God, there’s nothing like the flu on top of a chronic sinus infection to seriously lower your standards and dramatically shift what ranks as an accomplishment in your life. Hey, everyone, you better sit down for this–I bathed.

Emotionally, I have less to offer than I do physically. Yesterday I got some bloodwork back from my doctor, and today I got a message from her about it. She said my CBC results were normal and that my immunology results (which came back as “in range”) would need to be discussed with my immunologist. I’m assuming she said this because he’s the one who ordered the tests and he’s also the specialist–for a reason. At the same time, I hate having to wait an entire month in order to get any explanation at all. Lately my health feels like one of those rush-hour traffic jams caused by heavy construction or a five-car pile-up–like I’m going nowhere fast. It’s so frustrating.

If you’ve never felt this way, it’s exhausting. I don’t recommend it.

Don’t let anyone scare you straight.

I guess I’ve been exhausted for a while now. Some days are worse than others, but I’m honestly worn out by life. It feels like the universe has wadded me up and is running me back and forth across a washboard. I’ve talked to my therapist a lot about this, and recently she said, “Marcus, what are the two things I always tell you? First, don’t let anyone scare you straight. Second, whenever we are the most worn out, the most tested, that’s when something good comes along.” Then she added, “I can’t say this about everyone, but I never worry about you. I’ve never worried about you. I know something good is coming.”

Of course, I hope she’s right. The logical part of me realizes this storm can’t last forever. Still, there are days when it takes all the strength I have and then some to stay above water. On difficult days, I can’t tell you what a difference it makes to know there’s someone in your corner who isn’t judging you, someone who is believing in you and rooting you on. Whether it’s a therapist, a friend, or a family member, I think we all need that–a lighthouse–someone who stands strong in the midst of a storm, someone who helps us find our own way home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s hard to say where a kindness begins or ends.

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You Gonna Open That or Just Let It Sit There? (Blog #296)

Wow. It’s three in the morning, and Daddy is worn to a frazzle. (“Sometimes Marcus refers to himself as Daddy,” my mom recently explained my dad.) I’ve been dancing all day. My friend Matt and I worked this afternoon for about four hours (on three different dances), and tonight we went to an out-of-town dance where we cut a concrete rug with several friends to high-speed rockabilly music. Y’all, it was a blast, but I was sucking air. I guess I’m a little out of practice (and I HAVE been sick lately). Plus, this was at a bar where people were smoking. I’m not judging, but I’m sure that didn’t exactly help with the sucking-air thing. Anyway, it’s been a long day, but a good day.

Now somebody come tuck Daddy into bed.

Last night my parents and I went out to eat with my aunt, who drove in from Tulsa to visit. I honestly can’t remember the last time all four of us were together. Y’all, it was glorious (and the food was delicious). For at least a couple hours we caught up, laughed at each other’s jokes, and told stories about the past we’ve all heard a hundred times. At one point my aunt leaned back in her chair and said, “I am so comfortable right now. You don’t get that with everybody.”

I’ve been thinking about that today, that comfortable feeling thing. Last night Matt and I stayed at our friend Bonnie’s house, and I slept in until one this afternoon. (I’m pretty sure the bed in the guest room I was in was made by magic elves. Talk about comfortable! I may have drooled.) Anyway, Bonnie made “breakfast” for us and kept us full of snacks throughout the day as we worked on dance stuff. Periodically she’d pop into the dance room and dance with me to demonstrate or Matt so he could practice. And up until Matt and I left this evening, the three of us gabbed away, talking about dance events, life’s challenges, and anything funny we could think of. We did a lot–a lot–of laughing. At some point, just like my aunt did last night, I realized how comfortable I was, how good it felt to be around “my people.”

You know–people who get me, who really get me.

Recently I heard a spiritual entertainer of sorts say that he used to have a pretty big ego. Followers would come to him with praise or blame, and he’d take it all personally. He’d think, I‘m great or I’m shit or whatever. He said he finally got over this when he realized all those people were just looking for God or some deeper connection to themselves–it wasn’t about him at all. I’m still chewing on this idea, but I think he’s on to something.

Tonight I spent part of my time at the dance worrying about what others were thinking, but mostly simply enjoyed being there because I love dancing. Like spending time with “my people,” dancing is one of the things that almost always “feels right” and brings me joy. I think this is a good thing–having people, places, and activities that make our hearts sing. Still, the more I learn, the more I think it’s important to clarify–it’s actually impossible for another person or thing to “bring me joy.” Like, no one can put joy in a box and give it to me for Christmas. Rather, all my emotions and feelings come from inside me–they’re gifts I give to myself. At most, friends and favorite hobbies remind me that those gifts exist, like, Hey, you gonna open that or just let it sit there?

This is the deeper connection I think the spiritual entertainer was referring to, realizing that no one person or thing can give you something you don’t already have. So if I can feel comfortable around my family or friends, or if I can feel joyous at a dance, then I know I can feel comfortable or joyous–period. I’m not saying moods don’t come and go, but I am saying that all of them–all of them–are manufactured from the inside out, not the other way around. This means they’re not dependent on our circumstances. If they were, then I’d be sitting here uncomfortable and non-joyous because my family and friends are gone and the dance is over. But I’m not. Rather, the more I get to know and express myself–the more authentic I am–the more comfortable and happy I am no matter where I go, no matter whom I’m with. After all, if you’re content with yourself and you’re always with yourself, then what’s the problem?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All your scattered pieces want to come back home.

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The Deepest Waters (Blog #292)

Today my body has, once again, felt like seven-day-old leftovers–questionable. Like, this could go either way. On the outside, I look fine. (Damn fine, bitch.) But seriously. My face is a little red with histamine (or something), but it’s only noticeable if you stand close and know what you’re looking for. My nose is a bit snotty, but I’m breathing fine–that’s not a problem. But my energy is shit. I keep thinking, I know my body can feel better than this. I just know it. Come on, body, let’s do this. My body’s response to this pep talk?

Crickets.

Proudly, I’ve stayed off the internet. I have, however, been playing around with my vitamin regimen, laying off everything for a few days to see if that makes a difference, adding things back in. And whereas one day’s a little better, one day’s a little worse, outside factors like vitamins and diet don’t seem to make a difference. This is why you have a smart doctor, I keep telling myself. This is her mystery to solve now. Honestly, I’m eager for her to figure things out. I’m not-so-patiently waiting for my blood work to come back and for that referral to the immunologist, who hopefully won’t be booked solid. My doctor said I should hear something soon, but two-thousand years ago Christ said he’d be returning “soon,” so that word obviously means different things to different people.

Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly.

In addition to feeling wiped out, I’ve also felt weepy today. Everything has brought on tears–YouTube videos, “that one song,” poems by Maya Angelou. Maya Angelou can almost always make me cry. (May she rest in peace.) I don’t know, maybe feeling like the bug on a front of a windshield provides the ideal environment for tears. Like a left-on light at a Motel 6 says to a weary traveler, perhaps a weary body tells grief and sadness, “You’re welcome here.” This is something I’ve been thinking about today, the “benefits” to being sick, the “gift” of getting knocked on your ass and being unable to stand up no matter how hard you try.

I recently read that all inner and spiritual growth begins with the cry, “Help.” This makes a lot of sense to me. When you feel well and everything is going your way, it’s easy to feel invincible, to think you can do everything by yourself. But when the wheels of your life fall off, when you can’t find the brakes, and when all you can do is hold on for dear life, you suddenly find yourself in the land of vulnerability, this scary, tender place with shaky, uneven ground where there’s nothing to hold on to. First you fall, then you fall some more. You can’t see where you’re going. You think, I’m in the dark here.

You think, Help.

My Reiki teacher says there are two types of people in the world. Those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t. (Just kidding. That’s what the movie What About Bob? says.) My Reiki teacher says the two types of people are grief people and anger people, meaning that if you’re holding on to something inside, it’s either “a deep sadness” or “a deep rage.” As I understand this theory, healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of. In my case, I’m a grief person. When I think about the injustices in my life and in the world, the waters run long before the fires burn. Not that I never feel anger. I certainly do. But anger, for me, is a shallow well. The Grief Well, however–that’s the one with the deepest waters.

Lately I’ve been wondering just how deep the sadness within me goes. Considering what I’ve lived through, I think, Pretty deep. Considering what my family has lived through, I think, Pretty fucking deep. With this is mind, I’m really trying to be patient with the healing process. Of course, some days, when I cry at the drop of a hat, I think, This again? Haven’t we dealt with this already? I mean, I’ve been in therapy for almost four years. I’ve read more self-help books in the last six months than most people read in a lifetime. I know what my “issues” are. But I’m finding that healing for the mind is very different from healing for the body. The body remembers–it holds on to everything. And whether it’s a deep sadness or a deep rage, your body won’t let go of it until it’s ready, until it’s safe to.

If you think only girls cry, fuck you.

This, I think, is the sweet spot of having done plenty of personal work. A lot of people think crying is something to be ashamed of. As a society, it’s something we hide and apologize for. Granted, it’s not “pretty” like smiling or laughing. And yet we were designed to express all our emotions, not just the socially acceptable ones. We weren’t meant to hold on to any of them. But having done enough of what my friend Elisabeth calls The Hard Work, I can easily say I don’t care what society says. If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever. (Maybe I’m a tad bit of an anger person.) This is the sweet spot I’m talking about, being strong enough to finally let yourself feel weak and vulnerable, being able to stand on shaky ground and watch your world fall apart having full confidence that it will eventually be put back together in a better way, knowing that the deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s enough just to be here.

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Cussing Out My Inner Director (Blog #278)

A few days ago my apparently very intelligent car, Tom Collins, told me that one of my tires had low pressure. This happened a couple months ago with the same tire. Luckily I was right by a gas station. Even better, it was one with free air. How about that? Sometimes life throws you a bone. The next day my brother-in-law said, “Did you know you have flat tire?” Well shit. I guess I ran over a nail. Sometimes life takes the bone back. As my dad said, “Son, you’re starting the new year off right.”

Today has been overwhelming. It began when my alarm went off in the middle of a dream in which I was both ill-prepared and late for a stage performance. I couldn’t get my hair to “do right.” Consequently, there was an announcement that the show would start six or seven minutes late. The director was not amused. When I tried to explain myself, she went straight for my gut and said, “You’re not even that entertaining.”

“Fuck you,” I said, and that was it.

This was not a pleasant way to wake up, my heart already racing. Additionally, I knew I had a lot to do today, including getting the flat tire repaired, finishing a book due back at the library, and writing today’s blog before teaching dance tonight. This is something I like to do–create lists of things I “have” to do that really aren’t that important. I mean, the flat tire was important–I need my car this week. But is it really the end of the world if I don’t finish a library book? Can’t I check it out again? And haven’t I written late at night plenty of times before? Still, I give myself these deadlines.

Now it’s four in the afternoon, and most of my to-do list is done (except the blog). Since I was stressed out, my dad took charge of the flat tire situation. The tire store is just a couple blocks away, so he called them and told them what was going on–we’ve got a flat tire and no way to air it up. Well, one of the guys actually came to the house with an air compressor and blew the tire up enough to get it to the shop. How great is that? Anyway, while that was being done, I finished the book I mentioned, the one about sinus health I’ve talked about before. (I’ve had the book for a full six weeks.)

On one hand, I’m glad to have the book finished. On the other hand, I’m overwhelmed (again) by all the recommendations it provided. My body really isn’t feeling great today, and when that’s the case, I just can’t think about buying two dozen vitamins, installing an air filter, finding (and paying for) an acupuncturist, starting a meditation practice, and learning to walk on water. Talk about frustrating. The book said that people with sinus issues often have “unexpressed anger,” but honestly, the main thing I’m angry about is the fact that I’ve been so fucking sick for three months and that getting better sounds about as easy as obtaining enlightenment. Maybe if I threw the book across the room, that would help. Or I could just start cussing more.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I know part of my frustration with not feeling well is the deadline thing. Like, next week I’m seeing a new doctor, but I think, I need answers now. I need to feel better now. This mentally, of course, contributes to my running around the internet, spending all my time and money looking for the latest home remedies and snake oils. I realize I’m not being patient. If anything, I’m being desperate. That sounds about right. I’m desperate for things to improve.

I plan to talk about it in therapy, but I think the dream was about deadlines too, that feeling of pressure I put on myself to perform, whether that’s daily blogging or making something “great” of my life. I want everything to be just so, and it feels as if life isn’t moving fast enough. Perhaps not so deep down, I feel like I’m not good enough. “You’re not even that entertaining.” The good news, of course, is that I told the harsh director to fuck off, meaning my subconscious is starting to question all my self-judgments and artificial deadlines. It’s saying, “Wait a damn minute, I’m doing the best I can here.” This is something I have to keep telling myself, that I’m doing the best I can, I have plenty of time, and there’s nothing to be desperate about.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

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The Headless Horseman and Dreams of Healing (Blog #239)

After two days of feeling good about the world, I and my positive mental outlook took a nosedive today. Nosedive is an appropriate word, since my melancholy mood is directly related to my sinus infection, which apparently is not going away like I thought it was. I can breathe–that’s a good thing–but all day I’ve continued to cough, deal with drainage, and suffer from lethargy. I can’t tell you how frustrating this is. I’m literally punching the keys on my laptop as we speak, and I’m considering using a baseball bat to knock my own head off. Actually, I bet that’s what happened to the headless horseman–he probably had sinus infections for years, got sick of them one day, and decided to replace his face with a pumpkin.

No wonder he was angry.

The day itself has been delightful. I got plenty of rest last night, the weather has been gorgeous, and I got to go for a long walk. On top of those things, there’s still leftover pie in the refrigerator, so life isn’t all bad. I just keep wishing I had more energy, although I’m not exactly sure what I’d be doing with it if I had it. I mean, when I wasn’t walking or eating pie today, I was reading, which is probably what I would have done even if I’d felt like a million bucks. Flipping pages doesn’t exactly require a lot of stamina. Still, no one likes to feel as if they’re running on an empty tank of gas.

Putt, putt, putt–clunk.

Last week I had a dream that I was looking at my right hand as if it were under an x-ray machine. Inside my hand were loose bones–not like broken bones, but extra ones, kind of floating around. This is where the dream gets fuzzy, but I think it was like a game of Operation–I was trying to get everything in place. Anyway, today while I was walking, I listened to a lecture on Jungian dream interpretation by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes, and she described dreams as “letters from home.” To me this means that dreams are messages from a deeper, wiser part of ourselves and are sent to us to help make us whole.

As for actual dream interpretation, the lecture said to start by writing down your dreams. Then it said to identify all the nouns, then write down what you associate with each noun. Finally, rewrite your dream, but put the associations in place of their respective nouns. For example, the nouns in my dream were my right hand (writer, getting things done, control), an x-ray machine (to look inside, see what’s really going on), and bones (structure, solid, strength). I’ll get to the interpretation later, but I believe this method is exactly how my therapist works with dreams. Of course, it’s always nice to have ideas reinforced and explained in different ways.

This evening I read some more in the book I started earlier this week about sinus problems. Honestly, I’m having to take it slow because it’s a lot of information, and–frankly–overwhelming. As the book suggests a holistic approach, there are a lot of recommendations, and it’s difficult for my inner rule follower to figure out which ones are “required.” Like, if the book lists six vitamins that are good for boosting the immune system, do I really have to go out and buy all six? Because I could easily overdo things and go broke super fast. Plus, I’ve been that person who’s had fifty bottles of vitamins and minerals before, and I hate being that person. I’m definitely willing to try again, but I’ve got to find a balance this time.

After reading the book, I went to Walgreens, Walmart, and CVS in search of a suggested herbal sinus rinse that’s been around for over a hundred years. (CVS had it.) So far I’ve tried it once and am equal parts hopeful and pessimistic. I told my mom that I feel like a sucker for trying everything under the sun, but that I have to try something because my antibiotic runs out tomorrow, and it obviously isn’t getting the job done anyway. (Sorry, cephalosporin, but you’re not.) “I don’t think you’re a sucker,” Mom said. “I just think you want to feel better.”

My god, do I ever.

Tonight I’ve been wondering if I have the strength to fight this sinus infection, to rally the troops and try something else–then something else if that doesn’t work. Part of me definitely thinks no–no I don’t. I’m worn out. But another part of me thinks yes. Already tonight I’ve been thinking about some of the book’s suggestions, and I’m considering holistic doctors I could work with so I don’t have to do this alone. Actually, I just took a break from blogging to look at options online. And whereas I normally feel as if I’ve exhausted all my options, it now seems as if there are a million things I haven’t tried. A day after Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for these options–overwhelmed, but grateful nonetheless. Surely something will work. I’m also grateful for what this infection has brought me–a better diet, a smaller waistline, a ton of new information, and plenty of compassion for anyone with a chronic problem.

So, thank you, sinus infection–you may go now.

As I finished my walk tonight, I watched the sunset and thought about the meaning of the dream I had. Personally, I think the image of the x-ray of my right hand is fascinating–the way it had to do with looking inside myself to see what’s really going on in terms of writing, getting things done, and being in control. The fact that there weren’t any broken bones, obviously, was a good thing. Rather, there were new bones, new growth. This tells me that I have more structure and strength than I realize and that things are coming into place. So I’m reminding myself that if there’s a wisdom that makes the sun set and sends me dreams to help make me whole, then surely that wisdom can guide me toward healing and provide the strength I’m not always sure I have to get there.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous.

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Going Against the Grain (Blog #225)

Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, which is apparently the left one. For whatever reason, my body has hurt in a number of places, and I simply haven’t felt well. This means normal, simple things, like making breakfast and deciding whether to wear a black or grey v-neck shirt have been a challenge. You know how it is when your body is off–nothing tastes good, none of your clothes fit right, and combing your hair is so difficult it feels like it should be an olympic sport. Well, that’s how today was for me, and I don’t mind saying my attitude has sucked too. I seriously considered canceling all my plans and going back to bed until the first day of spring. But now it’s four in the morning, which means I decided to not only keep my plans, but also make more of them.

As my dad would say, I’m a glutton for punishment.

Other than my sour mood, the day itself has been delightful. (Too bad I couldn’t have enjoyed it more.) Mom had chemotherapy today, and I met her, my dad, and my two aunts for barbecue afterwards. Of course, eating out like this can be a challenge when you’re on a diet, but–whatever–I did my best, ordering a brisket sandwich with no bread (BORING!) and a sweet potato. The lady taking my order said, “So let me get this straight–you just want a plain sweet potato–no butter or sugar or butter or nothin’?”

“That’s correct,” I said.

Then my dad (ever the comedian) added, “He’s always been like this.”

So that felt supportive.

It’s hard enough to hang out with a bunch of Southern Baptists when you’re in the closet…

It’s funny how a little thing like eating differently than everyone else at the table can make you feel isolated. I remember when I stopped eating pork in high school, and all of a sudden I was that guy who wouldn’t eat pepperoni pizza. I have this distinct memory of being at a holiday party in Mississippi where I only knew a couple people. Everyone was chowing down and having a good time, but when I surveyed the food, everything was either sausage, ham, or bacon. I swear, it was like all five piggies had gone to market (and never returned home). Anyway, it’s hard enough to hang out with a bunch of Southern Baptists when you’re in the closet, but it’s even harder when they all think you’re a Jew.

In terms of how people have responded to my dietary prohibitions over the years, I seriously can’t tell you how much shit I’ve gotten, mostly from people who claim to be my friends. Not to be graphic, but I’ve received more ribbing, teasing, and harassment for things I won’t put in my mouth than for the things I will. Just eat it. It won’t hurt you. Oh, Marcus is weird–he doesn’t eat that. First it was pork, then dairy, breads, sugar, and alcohol whenever I’ve been on a diet. I honestly don’t know why people give a shit, but having watched others exercise self-restraint and walk away from a chocolate cake (a chocolate cake!) at the same time I went back for seconds, I assume it has something to do with personal guilt. But the point I’m making is that you never realize how communal and bond-forming food can be until you stop eating like the masses. Even sitting at a table with your own family and not eating bread with everyone can make you feel like the odd man out.

One of the things that sucks about having a bad mood is that you take it everywhere you go. Tonight I went to see some friends in a local production of Footloose, and every time someone asked me what I’ve been doing lately, I said, “Not much, just reading and writing,” as if I were apologizing and my life were something to be ashamed about. Maybe that’s how it feels because it doesn’t currently have a paycheck attached to it. But come on, Marcus. You’re writing a thousand words a day at four in the frickin’ morning. Not much, my ass! One friend, a full-time artist, said, “I’m jealous,” which did remind me that my position is enviable to certain people, and I’m planning on enjoying that reminder once I get to feeling better. For now it feels–eh.

After the musical I met my friend Bonnie for Latin dancing, which again, is something I’m planning to enjoy retroactively. Oh yeah, those people really were nice–those dances really were fun. Now all I can think about is how it felt like everyone else knew each other and I only knew Bonnie. Maybe if everyone there had a blog, I’d find out differently. Someone looking at me might have thought I didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe we all put on a good front.

Bonnie and I left before the dance ended to get something to eat at Village Inn. Thankfully, Bonnie’s also on a diet, different than mine, but similar enough so that it made saying no to pancakes and pie much easier. Nope, you heard correct! No one at this table wants anything tasty OR fun. Referencing all the tacos, beer, and doughnuts we inhaled on road trips this last summer, Bonnie said, “Who are we, and what has happened to us?”

I’m still wondering.

While we were not eating pancakes and pie, a couple sat down in a booth across the room. At least I assume they were a couple. Either way, the guy had a coat on, and on the back in big, orange letters it said, “LEAVE ME ALONE.” Naturally, all I could think about was going over to talk to him, asking him twenty questions. Bonnie suggested poking him with one finger. We seriously considered these options for at least five minutes, but ultimately respected the man’s wishes. Still, I can’t stop thinking about his jacket, since I guess we all feel that way at times. Like, Jack–Get back. More often than not, I think this is a defense mechanism, since it’s natural to want to be included, whether we’re on a dance floor or at a dining room table.

Honestly, it’s not difficult to eat chicken and vegetables every day. It’s mundane, but it’s not difficult. But it is difficult to feel alone and keep doing what you think is right, to willingly be different from the group, even if it’s just for a meal or two. And sure, it’s worse when your body feels bad. Still, even though it’s not easy, I think this is what growing up and authenticity require–the ability to go against the grain (the metaphorical grain, not just the bread kind), to make your own decisions regardless of what others do or say. But even when you’re feeling alone, I believe there will still be friends beside you, probably more than you realize. At the very least, you won’t be pretending to be someone you’re not in order to make somebody else happy, which means you’ll have yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All your scattered pieces want to come back home.

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Taking My Mind Back (Blog #221)

Today I’ve been all over the emotional map–North, South, East, and West–in anything but a straight line. I saw my therapist this afternoon, and that’s almost always a shot in the arm. I mean, she’s hilarious and insightful. As per usual, we tackled “the list” of all the thoughts, problems, and curiosities I couldn’t stop thinking about this last week. Probably half our time was spent on dreams I’ve had lately, which included a hot sex dream and a dream about Hillary Clinton. (To be absolutely perfectly clear, those were two distinct, separate dreams.) I’ll spare you the lengthy analysis, but when it was over, my therapist said, “You really have the best dreams.” Well, not once in my life have I ever thought my subconscious would get such a glowing review, but now that it has, I sort of want to put it on my resume. Marcus Coker–can get shit done even in his sleep.

Feel free to roll your eyes.

In case it needs to be restated–my therapist detests social media. If you’ve looked at what people are posting lately, I’m sure you can figure out way. Anyway, today she had a whole slew of new anti-social-media stickers on her laptop, the biggest of which said, “Social Media Personality Disorder.” I said, “Oh, like, I’m neurotic because someone didn’t like my post or said something negative?”

She said, “Exactly.”

Beneath that sticker was one that said, “Take your mind back.” Tying the two sentiments together, my therapist said, “Don’t hand your mind over to other people. You know who you are.” To me this means that I can’t let a news feed filled with cats and political arguments tell me how to feel every day. What’s more, if I spend the day scrolling, comparing myself to others and looking for outside validation, I’m only going to end up feeling worse about myself. So ultimately, unless I want to be neurotic, I have to be responsible for my thoughts and feelings. This, of course, is the very essence of authenticity.

A couple months ago I started a small remodel project–replacing a door threshold–for my friend Ray. Well, it’s dragged on and on because the threshold had to be special ordered, and I guess the shipping department kept sending the product to a different store location. Not knowing this, the store I was working with kept ordering new ones–a total of three of them, in fact. Anyway, shit happens. I finally picked up the threshold today, was immediately deflated because I realized I didn’t have the proper tools to remove the excess length, then got excited when I went to Ray’s because I discovered it was exactly the right size.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

I guess technically–in this case–I threw myself a bone, since I’m the one who would have specified the length of the threshold when I ordered it. That being said, I’m willing to share the credit with life. Very magnanimous of me, I know.

The project itself went really well, albeit slower than I desired. Since some of the wood in the door frame was rotten, I needed to replace it, and this meant using a saw. Well, the only saw blade I had was dull, and for a while I dicked around hoping I could make it work. Dull blades are useless, of course, so then I tried chiseling the wood and even sanding it in order to make it the right size. This felt like trying to teach a cat how to bark. Well, I finally gave up, gave in, made the long haul back to the hardware store, and bought new blades. Y’all, things went MUCH faster after that. Who’d have thought? Now–after all this time–the project is finished.

Phew.

Feeling rather accomplished, I celebrated by playing with Ray’s new kitten, Leo. I’m really not a cat person, but I love black cats, and Leo was SO CUTE. Not only did he let me hold him in my arms like a baby, he also wore a black-and-white bow tie for the occasion. Talk about a class act. But seriously–a kitten in a bow tie! Could anything be more adorable?

The low point for the evening was checking the mail when I got home. Remember when I went to the emergency room a few weeks ago for a skin infection? Well, I got the bill today, and apparently my insurance didn’t pay for anything–not a cent was spent. Talk about a huge bummer, letdown, and disappointment. I tried to stop myself, but I immediately commenced freaking out. I can’t afford this. I should’ve gone to a regular doctor. Shit–I want chocolate chip cookies–This is a terrible day to be on a diet. Y’all, if it’s not obvious, it’s really difficult for me to stay calm in these situations. I went through a similar ordeal after I had sinus surgery this year (which turned out fabulously, despite my worrying), and every time the feeling is the same–I just want the whole thing over with.

This is probably something I should bring up in therapy, the way I flip shit whenever I see a piece of paper that says, “Balance due.” It probably has something to do with the fact that I was handed the family checkbook–which didn’t have much money in it, by the way–at the age of fifteen when Dad went to prison. Now that I think about it, I’m sure it has everything to do with that.

Anyway, it took me a while to talk myself down off the ledge. For a while I tried to ignore the issue by reading a book about writing I found at a used bookstore this afternoon. Then I decided I had to move, so I went for a run, even though it was drizzling and cold outside. Considering the fact that I’m just getting over three weeks of being sick, this may not have been the smartest move. Still, I had to do something to burn off my nervous energy, which I guess I had a lot of because I ended up running six miles. Along the way I remembered that 1) what’s done is done, 2) my life could be much, much, worse, and 3) it’s possible this could turn out better than I’m thinking it will. Around mile five, I actually laughed when I thought of one of my favorite comedy sketches.

Last month when I was in Colorado at a spiritual retreat, the teacher said, “Joy is not in the object.” This statement came out of the observation that most of us behave as if joy is in the object. Like, we want a new car, a new house, or a new boyfriend because we think having those things will make us happy. But if happiness resided in those particular things, they’d make everyone happy or they’d make us happy all of the time. Well, when I laughed while running tonight, I realized that just as joy is not in the object, neither is anxiety, nervousness, or stress. In other words, if a hospital bill were truly the source of my worry, I wouldn’t be able to laugh until it were taken care of. The fact that my mood can change, however, shows me that my reaction has very little to do with a sheet of paper and everything to do with me.

Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

Personally, I think this is really good news, since I have a better shot at controlling myself than I do controlling the outside world. But the point is that the outside world really can’t control your internal one unless you let it–nothing outside of you can tell you what to think or feel. Granted, part of me is still freaking out about the medical bill, but the adult that’s sitting in this chair knows that I’ll call the hospital tomorrow and start a conversation about what can be done. Like the threshold project, I’ll want everything to be wrapped up as soon as possible, but I’ll remind myself that some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store. In this way, I hope to take my mind back from all the many people, places, and things to which I’ve let it wander, gently coaxing it back home to rest where it belongs.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We're allowed to relabel and remake ourselves.

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Courage and Those Who Hold Our Hands (Blog #205)

When I woke up this morning around nine I coughed up some bloody snot. It looked like what I felt like the time. Now it’s four in the afternoon, and things could be better, things could be worse. Statistically speaking, my brain is functioning about sixty percent–well, considering I can’t figure how to end this sentence, let’s say forty-five. Anyway, I figure it only goes downhill from here, so I’m blogging now. Plus, I’m planning to go out this evening to see An American in Paris, the musical, since that seems like a good gay way to wrap this trip up. Anyway, the show starts in less than four hours, and the clock’s ticking.

Last night I went dancing again with my friend Kaleb, this time at a country-western bar called The Dirty Bourbon. Is that a great name or what? Anyway, The Dirty Bourbon is primarily a straight bar, but I guess they’re accepting. Kaleb and I were the only guys I saw dancing together, but I did see some women dancing together, and–most importantly–nobody got their ass kicked. Actually, I saw several people smiling at us, one guy at the bar complimented our dancing, and a lady in the crowd videotaped us doing the rumba.

Situations like the one last night are always affirming for me in the best way. Typically, if a guy holds my hand–let alone dances with me–in public, I usually feel like jumping out of my skin and running away because I’m afraid of what everyone else will think, say, or do. I know straight people have their problems–everyone has their problems–but I imagine this isn’t one of them, being afraid to publicly show affection for or connection with another person. A while back a guy held my hand on Garrison Avenue in downtown Fort Smith, my hometown. As we got close to our car, a couple dudes were standing outside a rather seedy bar, and I thought, Thank God I know a good plastic surgeon because this is not going to end well. Everything in me wanted to drop my date’s hand, but I didn’t. Then as we passed the dudes, one of them said, “Hey, fellas.”

And that was it.

Granted, I know bullshit happens to gay (and straight) people all the time. Strangers are total assholes, say mean things, commit acts of violence. Sometimes parents even cut ties with their own children when they come out of the closet. That being said, thankfully, my experience has been quite the opposite. Despite the fact that I’ve spent much of my life afraid of rejection and confrontation based on my sexuality, so far the only person to make a big deal about it has been me. Part of me still worries, of course. Last night at the country bar I was very aware that Kaleb and I were the only gay guys dancing together. But why should fear stop you from doing something you not only want to do but also have a right to do? Obviously, it shouldn’t.

This morning my sister and I took Christopher to an acting class. Y’all, it was absolutely adorable. The teachers were animated, patient, and amazing. There were maybe fifteen or twenty kids, and the teachers taught them about stage directions, getting into character, and memorization. Some of the kids were shy and timid. Others like my nephew had no problem projecting or asking questions (that didn’t actually have to do with acting).

For one of the exercises, the kids had to memorize a line from the movie What’s Up, Doc? The line was, “What do you think I am, a piece of ripe fruit that you can squeeze the juice out of and cast aside like an old shoe?” Best quote ever, right? Hell, I should probably use it on a few people, maybe add it to my Tindr profile. (I don’t have a Tindr profile. My therapist said the guys on there have a quality rating of “zero point fucking shit.”) But I digress. In addition to memorizing the line, the kids had to come up with a character, stand on stage, and perform the line as that character. (One girl was a cat.) Anyway, here’s Christopher performing as a robot. My sister and I were super nervous for him, but I don’t think he was nervous at all–and he nailed it.

This afternoon my sister and I took both the boys to a costume-themed birthday party at a local park. Ander dressed as “Captain Hook,” but he really just looked like a pirate. My sister’s husband said, “Don’t say anything.” Isn’t he adorable? (Christopher dressed as Peter Pan and was adorable too, but I forgot to take pictures of him. Since I took so many this morning, I hope he doesn’t end up in therapy due to this one oversight.)

At the party there was a piñata, and if you’ve never seen a bunch of blindfolded toddlers swing a stick at a moving paper-mache cat head, you’ve still got a lot of life to live. It was really more cute than I could handle for one day. Well, even before all the kids got a chance at swinging the stick, the piñata burst open, and every single one of those children went from zero to sixty in 1.2 seconds. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. They were on that candy like white on rice. My head’s still spinning thinking about it.

As I’m sure you know, sugar is the great motivator, so the kids were quickly all over the playground equipment. For a while I looked after Ander, and he kept wanting to go down this one little slide over and over (and over) again. I kept asking if he wanted to try a different one, a longer, taller one, but he kept saying, “No, it’s scary,” so we kept returning to the familiar. Even at that slide, every time he said, “Stand at the end to catch me–closer–no, closer.”

I suppose we are all timid like this now and then. After all, life can be a big, scary place. Of course, there are days we wake up feeling as if we can conquer the world, and these are the days we stand proudly and confidently on the stage of life. Other days–maybe most days–we feel as if we’re swinging a stick blindfolded, just hoping to connect with what we want. These are the days when our brains function below one hundred percent, when we are shy and unsure of our right to be here, to taste and enjoy all the goodness life has to offer. But I’m starting to believe that courage always looks like trying something even when you think you’re not ready, even when you’re afraid. Thankfully, we often have others who are willing to take us by the hand and courageously walk, dance, or slide into the unfamiliar with us. This reminds us, of course, that no one is alone. Also–more often than not–things turn out just fine and the world ends up being a safer place to live than we realized.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

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