Going Against the Grain (Blog #225)

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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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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.

"

Walls Are Meant for Painting Over (Blog #220)

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Last night I slept in a twin-sized bed, the one I slept in from childhood until the summer I moved out of my parents’ house at the tender age of twenty-eight. My dad’s best friend growing up was a guy named Ronnie, and Ronnie’s dad, Roger, handmade the bed, which has a trundle, sometime before I started remembering things. Roger worked for a local furniture company during the day, and at night he’d craft his own furniture, which he said was his therapy. I guess he needed a lot of it (who doesn’t?), since Roger not only made my bed, but also made my entire bedroom suite, part of which I said goodbye to last year when I had the estate sale. What remains, however, is the bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a toy chest, and some other piece of furniture I can’t describe but that my sister spilled nail polish on when we were kids, so it needs refinishing.

Anyway, most of that furniture is crammed into the room I grew up in. I’ve been staying in a different room since I moved back home–my sister’s old room–but sometimes I go into my old room to search for things or practice yoga. The room itself is smaller than my sister’s, but it currently has more floor space. Twin beds, after all, don’t take up much room. Today I went in there to exercise, and I noticed a small chip in the brown paint, really no bigger than a sunflower seed. Beneath it were tiny flecks of baby blue and dark grey–baby blue from when we moved here when I was five, dark grey from when I was in high school and decided to remodel, replacing the cartoon train border with a Coca-Cola one.

I don’t usually think much about it, but sometimes when I’m in my old room, I’m swept away by nostalgia. The blinds are wide, aluminum, something I picked out at some point and matched with a retro fabric band that holds them together. Around the window is a set of adjustable shelves we had custom-made. Now they hold some of my dad’s collectables and a few family photos, one of me in a Boss t-shirt, trying to be all sexy, as if that’s possible when you’re thirteen. But I can still remember the way I alphabetized my CDs on those shelves, exactly where my collection of Tim Sandlin books went. Around the top of the room are other built-in shelves that once held my collection of Legos, Batman toys, and Coke bottles. Now those things have all been sold, and God knows where they ended up, other than my memory.

When I think about the trundle-bed, I remember Dad used to hide me in the trundle part whenever my friends would come over and play hide-and-seek. At bedtime he’d tuck me in real, real tight on both sides so that I couldn’t wiggle or squirm. Then he’d turn out the lights, and there I’d stay, all wrapped up until morning, since I hadn’t yet experienced the need to get up in the middle of the night to pee. But something about the pressure of the tightly tucked-in sheets, I guess, made me feel safe. Then again, I didn’t think much about safety back then or whether or not the world was a scary place to live. Not like I do now. I just assumed everything would be all right.

When I was a kid, the bed had a regular mattress. But when I was a teenager, Roger came over to the house and reinforced the sides in order to convert it into a waterbed. I can still see him placing the brackets. Anyway, it’s been that way ever since, although it usually stays unplugged, unheated, and unused unless my nephews are visiting. When I was in my mid-twenties, I wrote an essay about the bed. I’d have to dig it up, but my dad still jokes about it because I basically blamed my small bed for my not growing up sooner. After all, twin beds don’t offer a lot of room–for growing, stretching out, or spending the night with someone else. I guess Dad thinks things would have been different, life would have been better for me, if I’d gotten a bigger bed before I moved out in my late twenties. (Maybe he thinks I would have moved out sooner.) But today I told him, “Dad, I’m fine. I was being poetic.”

Getting far in life has absolutely nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

Of course, I prefer a bigger bed. They are great for spreading out, certainly for hosting others. Not that I’ve done any hosting since moving back in with Mom and Dad, but I did pick the bed in my sister’s old room because it’s larger–king-size, I think. Plus it’s been easier to not be in my old room. I guess sometimes when I go in there, it does feel like I haven’t gotten very far in life. Like, here I am–thirty-seven, same fucking town, same fucking room. But then I look at the picture of that thirteen-year-old kid, I remember everything we’ve survived in the last twenty-four years, and I’m reminded that growth and getting far in life have absolutely nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

The bed in my sister’s room is just all right. It used to belong to my aunt and her husband, so I’m guessing the mattress is at least as old as I am. Anyway, my back has been hurting since I moved back home, and I’ve simply been blaming it on the fact that I was in a car accident or that my back just hurts sometimes. But since my back didn’t hurt while I was in Colorado and New Mexico, I decided to warm up the waterbed to see if it would make a difference. And whereas I can’t say that my back has felt like a miracle today, I do think it’s been better.

More than anything else, crawling into bed last night truly felt like coming home again. My sister’s old room is on the corner of the house, and it’s always cold this time of year. But my old room is in the middle of the house–it’s smaller, warmer, cozier. Of course, the waterbed itself is warm, the sheets flannel and inviting. Crawling under the covers last night felt like slipping into the biggest hug. Pulling the comforter across me, I could feel the pressure, the okay kind that makes all the other pressures of life seem bearable. All it felt–familiar–as if I’d been there and done that ten thousand times before. Obviously, I had, and it’s no wonder I slept better than I have in maybe a year, even if my toes were a little crowded. Now part of me wants to hold on to that bed forever, as if it had the power to turn back the clock and make everything all right again. But another part of me knows it can’t do that–that’s my job. Beds, after all, are meant only for sleeping, just as walls are meant for painting over and boys are meant for growing up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

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

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

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

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

I’m sure my kidneys don’t either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."

How Wide My Branches (Blog #195)

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Once again, I’m blogging while the sun is up. I hope this doesn’t become a habit. I mean, it’s all right. I woke up early to get ready to go out-of-town. For the last three hours, I’ve packed, showered, and gone to Walmart to get my “subscriptions” filled to deal with my current skin inflammation. I swear, my nipples are so red, it looks as if I’ve been breast-feeding. Anyway, I’ve quite literally packed almost everything I own for this trip. I might as well just throw the rest of my shit in the car and go ahead and move. Maybe I’ll meet Zac Efron in Colorado and that will be that. A girl can dream.

My main stress today has been “getting on the road.” I love a good road trip, but I hate getting ready for them. You know how it goes–all the shit to move around, trip after trip from inside the house to the car. My hair products alone weigh enough to make for a decent Crossfit workout. But I digress. The other big stress has been what to write about. It seems like I just did this last night, and other than spotting a few lesbians at Walmart, not much has happened. I guess we could talk about the yogurt I’m currently eating or the fact that my pharmacist said to not put the antibacterial ointment on my nipples as if it were axle grease.

I wonder if he thought I would enjoy that sort of thing.

Just now a man pulled in our driveway and hopped out of his truck with his two sons. Last week his uncle knocked on our door and asked if he could take some of the Chinese Chestnuts that had fallen from our tree into our front yard. “Sure, take all you want,” I said. Well, I guess our nuts are becoming a town hit, since the guy told his nephew about them, and he later came by and asked if he could bring his kids to get some. I remember being excited about this sort of things when I was younger. My sister and I would put the tops of carrots in little saucers of water, watch them sprout into little forests. Once a man came over and helped plant apple trees in our backyard. I was so excited, like I was going to be Johnny Appleseed or something, spend my summers hanging from the branches. Eventually they died, but before they did, our white-haired neighbor with painted-on eyebrows made a few killer apple cobblers.

As part of getting ready to go out-of-town, I dismantled the Lego set I put together several weeks ago. It’s not for certain, but I’m hoping to see my sister on this road trip, and I’d like to give the Lego set to my nephew. Since he’s seven, I’m assuming he doesn’t read my blog and that it will be a surprise. Anyway, when I put the Lego set on the kitchen table, my dad said, “How old are you?” Well, I put my shoulders back and said, “I’m thirty-seven, thank you.” Tonight I’ll be staying with my friend Megan, and she said she and her son were building a castle this afternoon. Honestly, this excites me. Just because you get older, I don’t think that means you have to lose your childlike sense of wonder. My therapist says that growing up means you don’t act childish, but you can–and should–be curious.

Earlier my friend Kara sent me a text with best wishes for my road trip. I said, “First, thanks! Second, help! I don’t know what I’m going to write about today.” Well, being the dutiful friend and eternal student that she is, Kara sent me a list of suggestions–road-trip snacks, pictures with roadside attractions, etc. My favorite, however, was “How quests have to start with questions.” Until she said it, I hadn’t thought of my trip as a quest, but I guess it is. Ultimately, I’m doing this because I’m looking for something besides Zac Efron–knowledge, self-discovery, more peace of mind. On the surface, the question I’m asking looks like, What’s this all about? Deep down, it looks more like, Who am I and what am I really doing here (like, on the planet)? I don’t expect to have those questions answered in a weekend, but perhaps a piece of the puzzle will come together.

Maybe that’s what I like about it–the mystery of it all. I can pack and plan all I want to, but I really don’t know what’s going to happen. I may stop and see some friends next week who are staying in New Mexico, but they said they may leave early if the weather gets bad. So I’m trying to be up for anything, to remain open and curious. For a planner like me, it’s not easy, and it’s kind of like I’m planning to be spontaneous. This makes even me shake my head. But I do think it’s exciting, not knowing exactly what lies ahead. Like those who plant seeds, my constant hope is to simply remain in fertile soil and tend gently to myself, all the while wondering what will become of this tree and how wide my branches can reach.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

"

The School of Life (Blog #180)

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Today started in a sleep-deprived fog. By that I mean it started before noon. Last week I rescheduled a chiropractor appointment for four in the afternoon today, and I was so proud of myself. I thought, I can sleep in, not set an alarm, it will be glorious. Then a few days later the ladies I’m working with on a group dance routine asked if we could meet today on their lunch hour. Well, shit, so much for sleeping in. Really, it was a matter of priorities. As dedicated as I am to my night-owl routine, I’m also dedicated to getting paid, since these hair products aren’t going to buy themselves. So, in a haze, I woke up, took a shower, and went to work. Talk about being an American.

It almost felt patriotic.

Thankfully, the ladies were worth getting out of bed for. They’re working their tails off and have made a lot of progress. As a teacher, it’s rewarding. Plus, they’re funny, and it always helps when people are pleasant. Once I had a married couple get in a fight with each other and walk out. There was even a bit of arm waving along with raised voices–the whole bit. Awkward, but at least I had the rest of the hour to look at Facebook and pick my nose. Anyway, when the ladies were packing up today, they asked what I had going this afternoon. “Oh, I’ll probably read a book,” I said, then started explaining that I’d gotten a new book yesterday at the library even though I was already in the middle of five or six others. I always say this sort of thing like an apology, as if it’s something to be embarrassed out. I think, God, Marcus, get your act together. Can’t you read one book like everybody else? Well, one of the ladies said, “You’re a reader,” like, that’s what readers do.

Oh, yeah, I forgot–I’m a reader.

For lunch I went to Tropical Smoothie Cafe. This is a place I’ve recently fallen in love with, except for the fact that it’s consistently butt cold and the music they play is terrible. It’s always knock-off versions of popular songs, something that might happen if Justin Bieber and an elevator had a baby together. Not pretty. All that being said, I’m somewhat addicted to the Chai Banana Boost (with peanut butter), so I force my body to endure the frigid temperatures and “today’s pop music meets the ukulele” in order that my taste buds may be delighted. Anyway, I remembered when I got there that the restaurant offers a deal on Tuesdays–a smoothie, a pita sandwich, and a side for seven dollars. I can’t tell you how excited this made me. I felt like I’d just won the lottery.

Who, me?

Ironically, this evening my dad was flipping through a coupon magazine he got in the mail, and as he was practically getting wet over the buy-one-get-one meal deal at Village Inn, I thought, This is so embarrassing. Last night I went to the gas station to pick up a pizza for my parents, and they sent me with a discount card they bought from some high school kid who I imagine was raising money for a new band uniform–you know–the kind with the hat that looks like a toilet bowl cleaner turned upside down. Well, a discount card seems more legitimate. I mean, it’s plastic–like a Mastercard. But a coupon you cut out of the newspaper? It just seems so–ordinary.

I realize this is all very judgmental and hypocritical of me.

After lunch I sat in my car and read the book I got yesterday–The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman. The sun was coming through the glass, the insulin from lunch was kicking in, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Sometimes when I feel like this, I think of my bed and start singing that song by The Kinks—So tired, tired of waiting, tired of waiting for youuuuuuuu. Anyway, I read for a while then headed to my chiropractor/massage appointment. My chiropractor said I was practically back to where I was before the car accident, so we’re backing off of weekly appointments.

In one sense this news is freeing because it feels like a graduation. In another, I’ve come to like going to the chiropractor. Today all the staff was up front, and everyone knew my name. It was like Cheers without the alcohol. Although I guess there was a Keurig in the waiting room. Plus, there was Christian music on the speaker system, so maybe was like a bar–Christian bar–one where the smell of coffee and the sounds of praise waft through the air simultaneously, all while you get rubbed on and have your back cracked. Anyway, maybe I’m codependent, but I just like being there. Today I used the restroom, and there was a special dedicated bluetooth speaker on a pedestal in the bathroom. It was turned up really loud, so I got to listen to worship music “on high” while sitting on the toilet. It was–what’s the word?–uplifting.

After the chiropractor’s, I came home and took a nap–hard. I think I slept for a few hours and only woke up because my dad was on the phone with my aunt, practically shouting about the plot of some television show they were both watching. “Everyone thinks she’s innocent, but she’s really a whore and a murderer. Just you wait and see.” Or something like that. I was in the middle of a strange dream at the time, and the combination wasn’t the best way to wake up.

Tonight I finished reading The Ocean at the End of the Lane. Honestly, I’m still not exactly sure what the book is about. As a writer, this disturbs me. But as a reader, parts of the book are pretty magical. It centers around an old man who goes back to visit his hometown, where, as a seven-year-old, he knew a mysterious girl who said the pond at the end of her road was actually the ocean. Toward the end, the old man, in referring to how he’d grown up, asks one of the central female characters if he’d “passed.” She said, “You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.”

As I’ve thought about it, this line brings me a lot of comfort. You know, you grow up in school and you’re always getting graded on something. A’s and B’s for this, gold and silver stars for that. As an adult, it’s easy to walk away with the idea that everything in life is pass or fail. Maybe you think it’s better to get up early than to stay up late, or that finishing a book is good and not finishing a book is bad. Personally, I have a small hang up with using coupons, as if I’ve “passed” life because I have so much money that I don’t need them. But the truth is that life doesn’t work that way. Some days you’re tired and some days you’re full of energy. One minute you’re blissed by your tastebuds and the next minute you’re pissed that you’re eating lunch inside a meat locker. Come graduation day, you’re excited to move on but also terrified. It’s simply the way life is, and all of it’s ordinary. What’s more, I’m certain, is that no one who matters is passing out grades.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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They Say It’s My Birthday (Blog #167)

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Today is my birthday. Traditionally, I love my birthday, and this one has been no exception. That being said, it started off rather rough because 1) I didn’t sleep much last night, 2) I woke up with a crick in my neck, 3) I woke up to Dad talking loud on the phone because not only does his phone suck, but he’s yet to figure out that you don’t have to shout into technology in order for it to function, and 4) My website wasn’t working when I woke up. I thought, Shit, shit, shit, tried to fix it, and failed. Skipping food, I decided I’d have to deal with it later.

Seriously, technology is bullshit. I’m sure Dad would agree.

I’m glad to say that things quickly calmed down, since the first official thing I did today was get a massage from my friend Ron. He’s awesome. A few times he actually stood on my back and worked on me with his feet. The whole time I was thinking, Damn, I have a lot of tight muscles. Normally this fact would really frustrate me, and I’d start internally shouting at myself, RELAX! But today I thought all my tightness was a reason to practice self-compassion. This is the body I live in, and it’s obviously under a lot of pressure. Be gentle, Marcus.

For lunch (or, more accurately, breakfast), my friend Bonnie took me out for Mexican food and dranks. (That’s how kids these days say “drinks,” Mom.) Our waitress was pretty funny, and she asked if Bonnie and I were married. I said, “No, she’s married, but not to me.”

“So you’re having an affair then, an adulterous affair?”

“No, we’re just friends,” I said, then thought, I’m a homosexual!

Later the waitress kept teasing and said, “You’re telling me nothing’s going on here? I mean, she’s wearing strappy shoes, and you’ve got on those nut-hugger jeans.”

Nut-hugger jeans.

I said, “Shit, I’D be wearing those strappy shoes if she’d let me.”

After Mexican food, Bonnie asked I was having cake today, and I said, “I hadn’t planned on it.” So just like that, we decided to go to another restaurant for chocolate cake and coffee. Talk about decadence. In lieu of a boyfriend for my birthday, Mexican food and chocolate cake will do just fine. (Also, they’re cheaper and don’t talk back.) Look at this thing. I’m pretty sure it’s the reason God made insulin and Levi’s made my stretchy (nut-hugger) jeans.

After all the sugar and caffeine, I went to the library for a couple hours with the intent of fixing the blog and writing today’s post. Well, best laid plans. I spent the entire time trying to fix the site, which I finally did. Rather, someone with my hosting company’s technical support team did. Seriously, the person is my hero. Apparently, the site has something called a security (SSL) certificate, which verifies me as the site owner. The certificate expired last night, so although the site was reachable with HTTP in the address bar, it wasn’t reachable with HTTPS in the address bar, which is how all the links I share are designated. The certificate was set to auto-renew, but the process hadn’t completed, so the tech guru expedited things. Within thirty seconds, the site was up and running again.

I considered it a birthday miracle–second to insulin, of course.

This evening I met my friends and former roommates, Justin and Ashley, and we all rode together to Fayetteville for dinner with my friends Ray and Jesse. I’d shown up in a t-shirt, but Justin and Ashley were looking super fly, so I changed into a button-up and jacket I’d thrown in my car just in case. Here’s a picture of the three of us together before we hit the road. Justin’s one of my oldest friends, and I can’t tell you how lovely it is to spend time with him and his sweet wife. It’s like resting in your favorite chair–comfortable, something that just gets better with time. Perhaps you have friends like these, people who stick with you through the ups and the downs and all the changes. I hope so.

Tonight the five of us ate at Vetro 1925 off the square in Fayetteville. It was the perfect thing–easy, relaxed, delicious, full of good company. Ray and Jesse gave me a leather-bound journal. Ray said he wasn’t great at gift giving, but I thought it was just right, especially since Ray loves words like I do. As I flip through all the blank pages, I see lots of potential and I wonder what ideas will be born on them. After dinner we all went back to Ray and Jesse’s house, sat on their back porch, and philosophized and told stories until my birthday was over. It was exactly what a special day should be, spent in the company of dear friends and delicious food.

Throughout the day, I’ve been overwhelmed by the number of messages and well-wishes I’ve received. I used to date a guy, and sometimes when we were out, he’d say people were looking at me, in a good way. But–really–I usually don’t notice that stuff, since I’ve spent most of my life feeling a bit invisible. So whenever someone says, “Oh hey, you’re cute,” or, “I read your blog,” part of me is always surprised, and I guess it’s the same thing with my birthday. Every year I hear from people who I would have assumed didn’t even know my name. It’s really a humbling thing, one of the times I’m glad to say, “I was wrong, and thank you.” Because I don’t think it’s a little thing for someone to take a moment out of their busy day and say, “Happy Birthday,” or, “I notice you and hope you are well.” It’s not a little thing at all.

On the ride back to Fort Smith tonight, Justin asked me what I’d done in the last year that I was proud of, and I said, “I’m proud that I closed my studio, sold most of my possessions, and started a blog where I’ve written every day for over five months.” Honestly, the answer surprised me, since I’ve spent a lot of time the last year wondering whether it’s all been worth it. I have no shortage of fears associated with this time in my life, and when I think about being back home again, “proud” isn’t the first word that springs to mind. But talking to Justin, I realized that all the changes over the last several years have taken a lot of courage and faith in both myself and something larger than myself, and that’s not a little thing either.

Whether if happens on your birthday or not, I think we all need days like the one I’ve had today, days when we’re recognized and celebrated by both others and ourselves. It seems we put so much pressure on ourselves, but the truth is that all of us are courageous simply for being here. Life–perhaps you’ve noticed–isn’t for sissies. Also, although each of us walks a different path and carries mysteries only he or she can answer, we still have each other, people to help take the pressure off, cheer us on, and remind us where we’re succeeding. People say, “Growing old sucks,” but I disagree. Sure, sometimes I wake up with a crick in my neck, but the older I get, the kinder I am to myself and others and the more gentle I become. For this and many other reasons, I’m grateful for each passing year, and I’m excited about all my blank pages.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love  is all around us.

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Rest in Peace, Jerry Lewis (Blog #143)

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I’m not sure what to talk about today. It’s kind of been all over the place. Well, I’ve been all over the place. Literally. I woke up in Arkansas, and now I’m in Kansas City. Tomorrow is the total eclipse (of the heart), and my friends and I are supposed to be on the road in seven short hours. Currently I have a headache. I’m tired, and, although I didn’t realize it until just now–I’m sad.

Jerry Lewis died today.

When I was a kid, I loved Jerry Lewis. I don’t remember how it happened, when i first saw him, but there used to be a video rental store (with VHS tapes) in Van Buren, and it probably started there. My mom used to take my sister and me to rent movies, and Dee-Anne would rent Elvis movies, and I’d rent Jerry Lewis ones. Then I started collecting them. Somewhere (before the internet) I found a list of all his movies, and I’d mark them off as I’d order new ones or record them off Turner Classic Movies. There were dozens and dozens of them, and I watched them over and over again.

In 1990 a family friend helped me write to Jerry Lewis, and he (or someone in his office) mailed me a personalized autograph photo, a personalized autograph autobiography, and an MDA (Muscular Dystrophy Association) wristwatch. I used to keep them in a fireproof safe. I remember taking it with me out-of-town once when we went to visit a friend in Missouri. I carried it like a briefcase. I don’t think they got it. Other kids had baseball players for heroes. I had Jerry Lewis. I swear, I was the only kid I knew who had a t-shirt that said, “Hey, LAAAAAADY!” on it.

Not surprisingly, I was a virgin for a LONG time.

In high school, right about the time that dial-up and the internet were becoming popular, I saw Jerry Lewis on a talk show do something called The Announcer’s Test. It’s a tongue twister that used to be given to potential announcers at Radio City in order to check their diction and enunciation. It starts off, “One hen. One hen, two ducks,” and goes on like that adding numbers and random things until it gets to ten. I thought, I’ve got to learn that. So I took to the internet and found a guy named Charles in Canada who’d mentioned it on a forum, and I wrote him.

Well, Charles wrote me back and included The Announcer’s Test, and I memorized it. I can still repeat it to this day–even when I’m drunk (which is honestly funnier). What’s more, Charles and I are still friends. He’s probably the biggest Jerry Lewis fan I know. The above photo is one I sent him in 2002 when he requested my autograph (not because I’m famous but because he does that with friends). Of course, it reminds me of Jerry.

Well into my twenties, I collected Jerry Lewis memorabilia, things like old movie posters that were folded in squares because they used to put them inside the rolls of film sent to movie houses, even an autographed picture of Jerry Lewis AND Dean Martin from when they were still a team.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped staying up all night to watch the MDA telethon. By the time Jerry left (or was asked to leave) in 2010, I’d stopped watching it altogether. I’d catch little clips of his online, but I guess I’d moved on to other things, other heroes. I can’t say exactly what happened. I mean, I’d stopped playing with Legos too, stopped collecting Batman toys. Then when I had my estate sale last year, I decided it was time to say goodbye to Jerry altogether–the movies I hadn’t watched in a decade, the autographs that were collecting dust.

That decision took a lot of contemplation. I guess Jerry and my childhood were so intertwined, letting him go felt an awful lot like growing up.

It was just something I had to do.

When I saw the news this morning, I guess I was numb. Honestly, I’d watched some interviews with him over the last several years, and I thought he was sometimes an ass. Perhaps cocky is a better word. Hell, I’d probably be too if I’d had his life, but it took away some of the hero magic, seeing him human like that. This morning I read that he never felt like he was more than nine years old, that for him hearing an audience applaud was like hearing a roomful of mommies and daddies say, “Good boy, baby.” So maybe that had something to do with it. Maybe even talented heroes hurt, spend their whole lives healing.

Sometimes when I think about my childhood, I only think of the hard times, the things that fucked me up. But when I think of Jerry, I’m reminded that parts of my childhood were so happy, so good, so creative. My childhood was encouraging. It was funny. I remember laughing–a lot.

Before I left for Kansas City this afternoon, I rifled through my closet until I found a folder in one of my boxes. I thought, If I DID keep that autograph, this is where it would be. But it wasn’t. No, it’s definitely gone–he’s definitely gone.

I definitely grew up.

I suppose we all do this some days–try to hang on to our childhoods. We let go of our heroes, then maybe we spend an hour on YouTube the night they die watching video after video of them. Once again, they make us smile. So we try to stay young. We try to stop the inevitable. We hope somehow they’ll come back to us, makes us innocent again, return us to a time that was magic. And yet these are the things we must learn to do for ourselves over and over again–let go, grow up, remember how to laugh–let go, grow up, remember how to laugh.

Each year when Jerry ended the telethon, he sang a song called “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” It’s opening line says, “When you walk through a storm, keep your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark.” This reminds me that the storms of life are inevitable. There will always be sad days with mixed emotions and final goodbyes. Knowing that storms don’t define us, they refine us, we walk on. What’s more, those who have made us smile, those who have made us laugh, walk with us.

[Rest in peace, Jerry. Thank you for my happy childhood.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We always have more support than we realize.

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Birds Will Shit on You (Blog #114)

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When I was a kid, my sister and her best friend used to speak a secret language, sort of like Pig Latin, but different. I remember it frustrated the hell out of me to not know what they were talking about. Well, eventually they taught me, and when my sister and I spent part of the summers in Mississippi with our childhood friend April and her siblings, we taught April the secret language as well. So every summer the three of us practiced, and we got pretty good at it. Several years later, when April and I started working at summer camp together, we continued to talk in the secret language, which came in really handy for personal matters and inside jokes we wanted to keep from the campers and other staff.

Anyway, I guess the last time I spoke it was fifteen years ago.

Today I drove to San Antonio to see April and meet her three children for the first time. Bonnie let me borrow her convertible, and I drove with the top down half the way there, which was apparently enough time to sunburn my arms and face. Oh well. When I got to April’s, I met her two girls, Ella and Istra, but her son, Phoenix, was busy playing inside a blanket fort. However, before long, we all piled into the car and headed downtown to eat a restaurant called La Gloria.

So get this. While we were all still in the car, April started talking in the secret language so the kids wouldn’t understand her. And here’s the cool thing–even though I had to ask her to slow down and repeat a couple of things (which I said IN the secret language), I actually understood what she was saying. And since I spoke it, I obviously remembered how it worked. Maybe not quite like riding a bicycle, but close. It came back–just a little wobbly.

At the restaurant we sat outside, and when they weren’t eating, April’s kids explored the adjacent park together. Every few minutes they’d come back, check in, get a hug from April. I thought the oldest, Ella, looked a lot like April and he sister when they were young, and Phoenix reminded me of April’s youngest brother. Anyway, it was the weirdest thing seeing them eating and playing games together, since I remember being their age and doing those same things with their mom.

When we finished eating we walked along the Riverwalk, which was a first for me. We started off in the new section, and when the kids got tired, we boarded a water taxi (a boat) that took us to the old section, the one that everyone is probably talking about when referring to the Riverwalk. Along the way Ella told several jokes, like, “What do you call a crate full of ducks?”

A box of quackers!

I said, “What do you call a cow with three legs?”  Eileen. But Ella said she didn’t get it, so April had to explain. (It’s never funny when you have to explain, especially if you’re nine.)

When we arrived at the main section of the Riverwalk, we got off the taxi and walked to the Alamo. (Remember the Alamo?) April pointed out that on one side of the street was the site of a historic battle, and on the other side of the street was Ripley’s Believe It or Not (believe it or not).

I guess time changes everything.

Next we hung out in the lobby of the Emily Morgan Hotel. April said this was a good way to sit down, chill out, and entertain children for free. Well, up until this point, Phoenix had been shy to warm up to me. But I guess he figured I was okay, and after I picked up WAY up in the air, he kept wanting to “do it again, do it again.” But instead of my just picking him up, he’d put his feet against me and run up my chest and shoulders like gravity or my discomfort didn’t matter.

Because they didn’t.

Eventually we made our way back to the Riverwalk, grabbed another taxi to head back to where we started, and I got shit on by a bird. You read that right. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, and I felt what I assumed was a splash of water on my legs, figuring it came from the river or maybe the tree above us. But then I something more than water on my leg–something of, shall we say, substance. And get this. Before I could even ask, April said, “I’m not one of those moms who carries napkins or wet wipes.”

I looked at the shit on my thigh. “How is that not a requirement for parenthood?”

From day one, our bodies weren’t meant to last.

One of the things I told April today is that sometimes I forget that I had a life before I became an adult, that I used to play in the mud, tell knock-knock jokes, and get piggy back rides instead of give them. I look at April’s kids, and it seems like so much time has passed. I guess because it has. But then–just like that–I was speaking that secret language again, letting kids climb all over me as if I’m a jungle gym, like I used to do at summer camp, and it felt like no time had passed at all.

One of my favorite quotes by Joseph Campbell says, “As you proceed through life, following your own path, birds will shit on you. Don’t bother to brush it off.” What I love about this idea is that–obviously–there are a lot of things we can’t do anything about. But so often we get hung up on–well–shit we can’t change, stuff that comes with the territory of being human. And this is where I think kids really have it made over adults–they live more in the present. If a bird shits on them, they’re not complaining about it two hours, let alone, two years later. What’s more, they’re more likely to see “something awful” as “something interesting,” as evidenced today when Phoenix pulled his bare feet out of his rubber boots, smelled his toes, and smiled.

Of course, none of us can stop our physical bodies from growing old. In that respect, time really does change everything. From day one, our bodies weren’t made to last. Our spirits, however, are a different matter, and we don’t have to grow old internally if we don’t want to. Rather, we can make it a point to stay curious and full of wonder, laugh and cry when it’s honest to do so, and not worry so much about all that shit we can’t do anything about, all that shit that is ultimately–part of life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Confidence takes what you have and amplifies it. Confidence makes anyone sexy.

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Marcus and the Beanstalk (Blog #97)

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This evening I learned that the story of Jack and the Beanstalk is basically about sex. (As Joey on Blossom used to say, “Whoa!”) Remember how Jack gets sent to the market to sell their cow, Milky White, and he trades it for magic beans instead? Well, apparently Milky White represents the mother’s milk, the dependency of the child on his parents. The beans represent Jack’s personal seed, his puberty, his coming of sexual age. And the beanstalk? Well, that’s Jack’s penis. Oh my, look how it grows!

Take all the time you need to process this information.

This afternoon I was on the phone four different times regarding the car accident I was in last week. The first phone call was minutes after I woke up, and I don’t mind saying the lady at Allstate was a bitch. Uh, ma’am, I don’t feel as if I’m in good hands right now. Maybe she was doing her job, but she was rude. I realize a lot of people take advantage of the system, but it sucks to have the shit knocked out of you first by a car, and then by an insurance agent.

The good news is that after the company made an offer for my totaled car, I countered, and today we compromised at seventy percent of the difference in my favor. So I’m getting ninety-four percent of what I asked for. Or, as the rude lady on the phone said, “You will IF we accept liability.”

“Oh,” I said. “Is that still a question?”

The next lady I talked to was my specific case manager, and she was delightful–also doing her job, but delightful. She explained that liability had not been accepted only because they hadn’t spoken to their client yet, the gentleman who hit me. So that’s just standard. She also said that they gave me a rental car prematurely, but not to worry about it. But then she called back and said, “You might want to worry about it–take it back until we’ve decided for sure that we’re liable. Otherwise you might have to pay for it yourself.”

“Well shit.”

So I put on my shoes and was about to walk out the door, but then she called back–like–it’s me again, Margaret. “Okay, don’t worry! I spoke with our client. You don’t have to take the car back. You’re good to go.” I said, “Thank you!” and thought, If we talk one more time today, I’m going to feel obligated to invite you to my wedding.

Amongst everything else, the lady and I talked about how reimbursement for the car would work, how medical coverage and payment would work, and how she’ll be calling every seven to ten days to check up on my progress. Meet my new best friend, the insurance agent. The next time she calls I’m going to ask who her celebrity crush is. Just based on her phone personality, I’m going to guess she’d say Taye Diggs, and I could definitely support that. Me too, girl. Me too.

Despite the fact that things are going as well as possible, I’m really anxious to have it all settled, get the reimbursement check, and purchase a new car. (I picked one out yesterday, and it’s being held. Details will be forthcoming. Now you can be anxious with me.) Additionally, spending all that time on the phone today–being a damn adult–wore me out. I always feel like I’m on the defensive in these situations, watching out for every dollar. (It’s not like I have a goose that lays golden eggs over here!) And I hate that. I’d much rather assume the best of people and trust everyone. I’d also much rather have a goose that lays golden eggs.

This evening I felt like I needed to do something for me. So for the first time in over six months, I drove my antique car, a 1977 Mercury Comet. It’s name is Garfield (because it’s orange, duh). Y’all, I’m not a car person, but I’m a THAT CAR person. I LOVE Garfield. I got him in 2005, the same year I opened my dance studio, and he’s perfect for spring, summer, and fall evenings, since he doesn’t have working air conditioning. But he’s super handsome, has a V8 engine, and gets lots of compliments from old guys at gas stations. (Ooh-la-la.) Honestly, he’s one of my favorite possessions–ever.

Last year when I had my estate sale, I decided it was time to say goodbye to Garfield. It took a while, but I made peace with the idea, especially since I thought the extra money would help get me to Austin. Well, the sale came and went, but no one made an offer on Garfield. So for the last several months, he’s sat in my parents driveway collecting dust and working on a nice case of tire-rot. Every time I see him, I think I need to spruce him up, put him on Craigslist. But I’m always afraid he won’t sell or won’t sell for “enough,” and that makes me afraid that I’ll never get to Austin. Basically it’s been easier to pretend he’s not there.

But because I’m always happy when I’m driving him, I got him out tonight–checked his fluids, aired up his tires. I said I was going on an errand, but because I drove the back roads, it took an hour and a half to buy two bags of coffee. The wind in my hair, the roar of the engine, the weight of the all-metal car barreling down the road–I loved every minute of it. However, there was a faint feeling of sadness, like you might get if you were having lunch with your best friend and you knew it was one of the last times. Maybe one of you is moving and can’t take the other. You both know it’s best, you know you can’t stay together forever, but you don’t really want to say goodbye either.

Eventually you have to grow up and face your giants.

When Jack climbs the beanstalk, he’s confronted by the representation of his parents, the giant and his wife. This imagery represents Jack growing up, becoming an adult. Once or twice the giant’s wife protects Jack, hides him in an oven or whatever. Here the oven represents one’s desire to not grow up, but rather return to the womb.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, how nice it would be to be a child again, to be protected, to be taken care of. Isn’t that part of the reason we love fairy tales? Doesn’t everyone want someone to sweep them off their feet, some charming partner with whom to live happily ever after in a world without car wrecks and bitchy insurance agents? But obviously, that’s not the way it works, and some days being an adult is almost more than you can handle. (I don’t recommend being one if you can help it.) Of course, you can’t go back and be a kid again, at least not permanently. Maybe you get a few moments here and there, an hour free of responsibility, your foot on the gas of an antique car. But eventually you have to grow up and face your giants. Sooner or later, we all say goodbye.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn't. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable--something perfect.

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