A Salchow Before Breakfast (Blog #320)

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The flu is disgusting. Coughing, sneezing, mucus everywhere. I don’t remember the last time I felt this gross. Well, yes I do. It was the last time I had the flu–a little over a year ago in New York City–on Christmas Day. Talk about miserable. And having to travel home when you’re sick–that’s the worst. The plane starts to descend, and your head feels like it’s going to pop. So at least now I’m not on a plane. That’s good. And last night my body didn’t do the hot/cold thing, which means I slept better. Still, everything hurts and I feel like my power cord’s been yanked from the wall.

As Grandma used to say, “I am not a well woman.”

I’ve been thinking that maybe a shower would help. I don’t remember the last time I took a shower. Or shaved. Still, showering and shaving sound awfully challenging at the moment. Of course, it doesn’t help that the Winter Olympics are on right now. Like, Adam Rippon can land a triple-axle-salchow-double-loop before breakfast, and this homo can barely pick up his toothbrush. This is why you should never compare yourself to others.

Yesterday all my friends on Facebook told me about their terrible experiences with Tamiflu. Despite these warnings, I started taking it. I spoke to my internist about it, and she said she thought it would help. It’s two pills a day for five days, and I’m currently three pills in. Thankfully, my insurance paid for all of it. So far I’m not nauseated, bleeding from my nose, hallucinating, or having nightmares. I don’t feel like killing myself or anyone else. But this could all change, of course, so watch out. But seriously, as I sit here now, my appetite is returning, so maybe the pills are doing some good. Tamiflu is supposed to be most effective when taken during the first two days of having the flu, and I started it pretty much within that window.

As always, I’ll let you know how it goes.

This is about all I have in me today, just under 400 words. I’ve been staring at the screen for the last thirty minutes trying to come up with a “life lesson,” but I got nothing. Some days I think it’s enough to simply be gross, to be sick, to not do a salchow before breakfast.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a lot of magic around you.

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For Anyone Who Suffers (Blog #318)

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Last night I drove to Fayetteville to have dinner with friends. I was running late, but that’s usual. They expect that. At least they tolerate it. Hold on, back up. I drove almost to Fayetteville. There was a wreck several miles outside of town. It was raining, and the temperature was below freezing. That must have been it. I didn’t see the wreck, but I heard later it was bad. Really bad. A multiple-car pile up.

For about an hour, I didn’t move an inch. After that, things were slow going. Eventually, I got to a point on the interstate where policemen usually hide and clock people’s speed. A policeman, standing in the rain, was directing everyone to turn around. “It’s completely blocked,” he said. “Go back to Winslow and take the business route.” So that’s what I started to do, but in less than a mile, my car, Tom Collins, hit a small patch of ice on a bridge. I was okay, but it was enough for me to get the message. I called my friends and said, “I just can’t make it tonight.”

Before much longer, the check-engine light on Tom Collins started blinking. I thought, Perfect. Stopping at the nearest gas station, I Googled the problem and found out it could be any number of things. One post said, “Don’t drive more than a few miles, and don’t drive at highway speeds.” Twelve miles from home and pulling back onto the highway, I once again thought, Perfect.

I made it home.

In an effort to stop worrying about potential car-repair costs, I buried my face in a book last night, then took to Netflix and watched a documentary called The Truth About Alcohol. Don’t watch it. They say alcohol is bad for you.

This morning I woke up sick. Bad sick. Like could be the big, bad f-word sick. Mom and Dad have been hacking the last few days, and Mom said her temperature was up last night. When I woke up at seven-thirty (five hours ago), I was freezing. When I woke up four hours later, hot. I’m not hacking, but I’m wiped out, super icky. Just before I started this post I sat on the bathroom floor and dry-heaved into the toilet.

I’m glad we can talk about these things.

Now I’m back in bed, vertical, and blogging from my phone, punching out one letter at a time with my thumbs. I’d intended to make this a three-word post (shit, the flu), but I couldn’t help myself. I hope I don’t come across as some sort of blogging martyr. This is how I process things.

That line above–I couldn’t help myself. That’s probably one of the most frustrating feelings in the whole world, to feel like you’ve done everything you can to get your life together but that everything, including you, keeps falling apart and all you can do about it is lie in bed and wait for the night to descend.

I’m telling myself I could have it worse. Way worse. Like those people in the pile up last night worse. I have friends who were stuck in that traffic for three hours, so it must have been ugly. I do think that perspective helps a little. At the same time, perspective has never taken my immediate pain away. Perspective doesn’t help me stand up without feeling woozy or help my head stop throbbing. Still, perhaps it does help me find compassion for both myself and others, for anyone who suffers.

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.

"

Each of Us Brave (Blog #314)

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It’s eight in the evening, and I’m at a local coffee shop. There’s a fire burning in the fireplace just a few feet away, and I feel like a marshmallow melting into a cup of hot chocolate. Granted, I could get up and move. Everyone else has left the room. But I spend so much of the winter freezing that I’m trying to enjoy sitting here on this leather chair in a pool of my own sweat. Gotta soak up the heat while you can! I mean, short of getting the flu, it could be months before I feel this warm again.

Flu, flu, go away.

I spent this afternoon with my friend Bekah. She’s a hairstylist, and we met a few years ago after I’d dyed my hair blonde then back to brown. The first time I sat in her chair, she said, “Hi, I’m Bekah. What the hell did you do to yourself?” We’ve gotten along famously ever since. Anyway, this morning she called and asked if I could help her install a new ceiling fan in her salon, and I said, “I’d be glad to–the one you have now is hideous.” (Our relationship is clearly built on honesty.)

Y’all, we installed the fan, but it wasn’t pretty. I know what I’m doing–really–but I’ve never been able to install a ceiling fan correctly on the first try. Each one is a little different in terms of mounting, wiring, and assemblage. Plus, I don’t always read directions word for every damn word. Anyway, we got the entire thing up–bulbs in and everything–and the fan worked but the lights didn’t. “Shit,” I said, “I guess that blue wire we ignored really was important.” Down came the entire ceiling fan, one light bulb and blade at a time. And there the blue wire was, just waiting for another wire to connect with. (Join the club, buddy.) Thirty minutes later, we were officially in business. Everything worked!

At some point Bekah and I started comparing childhoods, connecting over our respective challenges, times we had to go back and start again. As the conversation continued, so did the work. You know how one thing leads to another. First we hung the old (hideous) fan in one of the other rooms, since the (equally hideous) fan in there was broken, then I started rewiring an antique barber pole lamp back in Bekah’s salon. Suddenly Bekah said, “Be right back. Gotta take a kid to dance.” The next thing I knew, I was up in the salon all by myself. Well, Bekah’s dog Charlie was there with me, but he wasn’t much help. “Just stick around,” Bekah had said as she walked out the door. “I’ll cut your hair when I get back.” So that’s what I did. First I fixed the lamp, then I worked on a writing project until Bekah returned and cut my hair.

I took the above picture while I was waiting on her, so it’ll have to be tomorrow before you can see the new do. #suspense

During my haircut, Bekah pointed out a couple gray hairs in my widow’s peak. That felt good. She also pointed out several oddly long hairs growing out of my ears. You know the type–strays. I like to think of them as well-intentioned gentlemen who simply got lost on their way to my scalp. Like they took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. I imagine them thinking, Oh my gosh, how did I end up HERE? Bekah said, “Growing old sucks. One day everything is tight, and the next day everything is jiggly.” I said, “Seriously. Age requires so much vigilance. Just keeping my nose hairs under control is a full-time occupation.”

Thank god for professional help.

Now the coffee shop is about to close. Today hasn’t gone anything like I thought it would. I’d imagined myself resting at home, maybe reading a book. But I wouldn’t trade it. Earlier I talked to a woman I met through swing dancing. It was her story I was writing while Bekah was gone. She told me that when her husband left her and her daughters a few years ago, she said, “Okay, we’re on our own now. Let’s look at this like an adventure.” Later, when she and one of her daughters decided to try swing dancing, she said, “We’re going to do something brave.” I can’t tell you how much I love this story. I think it’s the perfect way to grow older. May we see each day as an adventure, and each of us brave for being honest with each other, trying new things, and being willing to start over when a ceiling fan, or even an entire life, doesn’t work the first time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

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Here’s Something Weird (Blog #311)

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It’s ten o’clock, and the Super Bowl is officially over. This should come as no surprise, but I didn’t see a single second of it, Halftime Show and commercials included. While millions of other people were gathered around their televisions cheering and groaning, visiting with friends, and drinking beer, I was reading a book on customer service, doing laundry, and ordering probiotics on Amazon. It’s a sexy life, I know.

Here’s something weird.

Several weeks ago a friend told me about a healer named Charlie Goldsmith. I guess there was a television series about him recently on TLC, and a lot of people claim he’s healed them either in person or at a distance. (Having read quite a bit about alternative healing methods, I don’t have any problem believing this sort of thing is possible.) Anyway, my friend said Charlie sometimes does group healing sessions for people on his email list, so I went to his website and signed up. (Why not? It was free.) Well, there was a healing session yesterday, so earlier in the day I did as instructed and wrote down my health concerns. Then when the appointed time came, I put away all distractions and simply lay in bed.

Like, I’m waiting.

Y’all, get this shit. A few minutes before the official start time, I felt warmth coming into my stomach. I felt like I was standing in front of a hand dryer. For the next ten minutes (the length of the session), this feeling came and went. There weren’t any instructions about what to do with my hands, but I intuited that I needed to place them on my stomach, heart, and shoulders, which I did. Well, wherever my hands went, the heat would follow. Since this sometimes happens when I practice Reiki, I honestly didn’t think too much about it, but later my friend said she’d had a similar experience, and several people online said the same. (Several people online also said they didn’t feel shit. So there’s that.) Neither my friend or I experienced a change in symptoms.

Last night I listened to a guided imagery CD designed for healing the effects of trauma. Guided imagery is, essentially, visualization and affirmations. There’s actually more to it than that, but I can’t tell you what it is because I fell asleep during the first five minutes of the CD. (They say this is okay, since your subconscious still gets the message, but my subconscious isn’t writing this blog.) Anyway, I was snoring and everything. I think the total program was sixty minutes, and I woke up for the last fifteen minutes of the affirmation section. So I can tell you that part was stellar, and the other part was–at the very least–good for a nap.

Later I was “up all night,” mostly watching Netflix. I think it was three or four before I actually fell asleep. I didn’t set an alarm, but I’d planned on getting up around ten or eleven during one of my “bathroom breaks” to meet some friends for brunch. Well, that didn’t happen. Y’all, I don’t know if it was Charlie the Healer or the guided imagery CD (or both), but I didn’t wake up until one this afternoon. Like, I didn’t get up to go to the bathroom or anything. I slept like a rock. It felt great.

I still have no idea how my bladder did it.

It’s enough.

Despite the wonderful sleep last night, I’ve dragged ass all day. Currently I’m ready to wrap this up and get ready for bed. I think if I could sleep like I did last night more often, it could only help. But who knows what will happen? And who knows what happened yesterday? Today I started to get frustrated about being sick but then remembered that being ill lately has afforded me a lot of time to read and to learn, and I wouldn’t trade any of that. (As if I have a choice in the matter.) More and more, I’m okay with not having all the answers. Like, I don’t need to know why I’m sick or exactly how to fix it. I don’t need to know how the universe works or be able to understand every weird thing that happens. Rather, I’m learning that it’s enough that things happen as they do. It’s enough to be right here, right now. It’s enough to sit in, and sometimes drag ass through, the mystery.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

"

Giving and Getting (Blog #308)

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Currently it’s six in the evening, and I’ve been at the library for a few hours working on marketing and such for the swing dance event. I love everything I’m doing and learning but am officially done working for the day. Still, I can’t get it off my mind.

Some of the books I’ve been reading about marketing focus strongly on customer service and the individual. The idea is that in today’s world of instant gratification and a million online options, it’s absolutely critical to go “above and beyond” with people. You have to treat them well, one at a time. They simply have too many other places to go if you don’t. I can’t tell you how much sense this makes to me.

Like, lightbulb on!

A few weeks ago I was looking for acupuncture clinics. Well, I found one that really looked sharp. They have a great website, stunning reviews, you name it. Their FAQ (frequently asked questions, Mom) page says they take some insurances–so call for more information. When I stopped by one day, they told me there was a form to fill out online to see if MY insurance was accepted and gave me a little green card with the link to the form on it. Then they answered a few of my questions and were generally helpful but not “over the top” about it. Anyway, I went home, filled out the form online, and–ten days later–got an email that said, “Your insurance does not pay for acupuncture, but let us know if we can still help you.”

Okay. In the beginning I was genuinely excited to have needles stuck in my sick body, but after almost two weeks of waiting and mediocre service, now I’m just–not. Like, spending one hundred and fifty out-of-pocket dollars for an initial visit doesn’t sound fun to me anymore. I guess I could change my mind tomorrow, but that’s how I feel today. This morning I thought, Why didn’t they put that link to the insurance form–I don’t know–on their website? I was already curious about their services and could have easily filled the form out online and saved myself from picking up the phone or getting in the car. And when they told me my insurance was not accepted, why didn’t they say, “We’re sorry. If we can still help you, here’s a discount code for your first visit.”?

I swear I’m not a (giant) customer service diva, and I really don’t care how someone else runs their business. Also, I know I could have done a lot of things differently when I had the dance studio. As they say, hindsight is 20/20. I’m just saying that, more and more, I truly believe little things can make a big difference. I know that in my situation with the acupuncture clinic, it wouldn’t have taken much more for me to feel like I mattered as a customer.

I guess that’s what this is all about, the idea that everyone wants to feel noticed and important, like our dollars and time mean something. Plus, in the world of computers and online shopping, I think we crave honest, human connection. Last week my dad was YELLING into the phone at the automated secretary on the other end–“I WANT TO SPEAK TO A REPRESENTATIVE–I WANT TO SPEAK TO A REPRESENTATIVE!”

With these things in mind, last night at the improv comedy show I performed in, I made a point to go around to every table within twenty feet of the stage and introduce myself. Hi, I’m Marcus. (Insert smile here.) Are you staying for the show? If so, I hope you have a great time. I was super nervous when I started this project, but after the first few tables, I calmed down. Before it was over, I was having the best time–and the show hadn’t even started yet. I met some ladies celebrating a friend’s birthday, talked to one couple who said they were having an affair (uh–probably a joke), and spent over twenty minutes with a woman who used to act, sing, and dance in Branson. “I was a triple threat,” she said.

Of course, I hope my talking to everyone made them feel welcomed and appreciated. I hope it enhanced their experience of the evening. That was the idea. But what I realized today is that I personally got something out of it. I loved meeting new people and hearing their stories. Plus, I was more comfortable on stage because I felt as if I had more friends in the audience, that more people were rooting for me. I don’t think this was just in my head–I think they actually were. Still, the point remains the same–you can’t give without getting. And no matter what you’re trying to give away to another–customer service, a kindness, a smile–you end up also giving to yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

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First Things First (Blog #307)

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Last night I stayed up til four in the morning in hopes of caching the super moon, blue moon, full moon eclipse, but my body said no. Still, I set my alarm for six this morning, and when I dragged myself out of bed and looked out my window, there was the moon–mid-eclipse. Two hours before my intention was to put on some clothes, go outside, and watch this spectacular event in the freezing cold for an entire hour. But standing in my underwear in my warm bedroom, I thought, Screw that, and went back to bed. I woke up two more times in the next thirty minutes to look out my window. The last time, I couldn’t see the moon–at all. Later, when I crawled out of bed just before noon, I thought, Maybe in another four hundred years.

Yesterday I checked out four books from the library. Well, five, but four of them were about marketing. (The other one was about quantum physics and the nature of reality.) Anyway, I’ve been working with this swing dance event as their marketing director and have had my eye on one of the books for the last couple weeks. But then I started looking through the marketing section thinking, THAT looks interesting and THAT looks interesting, so now I have so many books on my nightstand that I look like a college student.

Next thing you know, I’ll have to buy a backpack.

Information comes to you when it comes to you.

I read one of the marketing books last night. Today I made my way through half of one of the others. (I love learning.) Now my mind is flooded with ideas. Why I never thought to focus my attention in this way when I owned my own business, I don’t know. Maybe I was just too close to it, too overwhelmed by being an owner/operator/instructor/janitor. Maybe the material makes sense now BECAUSE of my past successes and failures. Regardless, information comes to you when it comes to you. And no matter what I’m getting out of this project officially, I really am having fun, and I’m learning things that I can only assume will serve me–and hopefully others–for the rest of my life.

Now it’s four in the afternoon. In four short hours, I’ll be performing with my improv comedy group, The Razorlaughs, at local restaurant. We’re being “given a shot” on one of their slow nights–a trial run of sorts. If tonight goes well–if people show up, buy food, take advantage of their drink specials, and (oh yeah) have a good time–it could become a regular thing. I’m only slightly nervous, by which I mean I feel like throwing up and going to the bathroom all over myself. My mom asked me if I was ready, and I said, “Well, it’s improv, which by definition means I can’t be.” That being said, our group does have a plan. We know which “games” we are going to play, who will participate in each scene, and–most importantly–what we are wearing. I feel fortunate to be working with an extremely talented group, so things should go well.

I can let you know how it turns out, or–better yet–come join us.

Earlier I had a choice to spend the afternoon working on the swing dance event or spend it journaling, meditating, and working on the blog. I chose to do the latter, reminding myself that these are the MOST important things I currently do. They matter more than ANYTHING else. I thought, Take care of yourself first, Marcus. You’ll have time for the rest later. This “first things first” idea has been on my mind lately. Yesterday I blogged earlier than normal so I could watch a movie with a friend. We ended up visiting until midnight, and I was better able to enjoy myself because I wasn’t thinking, I really need to get home and talk to myself on the internet. Likewise, I’m imaging the improv show will go better tonight because I will be able give it more of my attention.

People say you can’t pour someone else a drink from an empty picture and that you should put your own oxygen mask on first. I’ve always thought this sounded nice, but I’m coming to really believe it, and it’s part of the reason I think the swing dancing event can wait a day or two. It’s the reason I put so much time and attention into therapy and this blog. I really want to get my shit sorted out. Not so I can say, “Look at me and all my neatly-sorted shit.” But because sorting your shit out clears the way for a better future, not only for you, but also for everyone else you come in contact with. It puts the past where it belongs–the past–and leaves you present, right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

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Radiant (Blog #297)

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I guess I wore myself out dancing yesterday, as I’ve had all the energy of a slug today. Not even a young slug–like, a retired one with a bad hip. That being said, I did clean up and shave my face, so I at least look like a human, even if I don’t feel like one. It’s midnight-thirty now, and I really need to knock this out in about an hour and get some sleep. I’m up early tomorrow and have a full day, then Mom’s mastectomy is Tuesday. So it’s go-go-go, then wait-wait-wait. Provided everything goes as planned with Mom, things should slow down later this week. One day at a time, sweet Jesus.

It’s okay to write a short blog, Marcus.

Tonight I went to dinner and a musical in Fayetteville with a friend who doesn’t want their face or name splattered all over the internet. This sounds more mysterious than it actually is. For dinner, we went to eat at Pesto Cafe, a quaint little Italian restaurant that has red-and-white-checkered tablecloths and everything. Y’all, our waiter had the waistline of a prepubescent teenager. The Levi’s label on the back of his pants said they were 25 inches around. I think my left thigh alone is that big. Anyway, he was a great waiter, mostly because he gave me a compliment. (It really takes very little for me to love you forever.) Here’s what happened. We’d just sat down and were ordering wine, and the waiter looked at me and said, “May I see your ID?” So I started reaching for my driver’s license, and he said, “I’m SURE you’re old enough, but you’re just so radiant.”

Radiant. (I’m radiant.) Can I start putting that on my resume?

Seriously, my friend rolled his eyes, and I couldn’t stop laughing out loud. No one has ever used that word to describe me, certainly not another man. (Not that I minded, but I’m not even sure this guy was old enough to drive.) Also, I’m pretty sure “radiant” is a 32-inch-waistline-or-above word, so maybe he just meant I had oily skin.

Regardless, he got a good tip.

Come to the cabaret.

The musical we saw was Cabaret, as in “Life is a cabaret, old chum. Come to the cabaret.” If you don’t know the plot, it’s a little naughty, but also delicious. It’s about a nightclub in Berlin just before World War II and showcases the lives of dancers, prostitutes, and their friends (and customers). The cast did a fantastic job, and since we sat on the second row, we got to see everything (even the spanking) up close and personal. The star of the show is the emcee, a character with obvious homosexual leanings. In the beginning of the show he says, “Leave your worries at the door. There are no worries here.” But by the end of the show, things have gone dark, and the emcee ends up in a prison camp because of his sexuality. For two hours it was “life’s a party,” then all of a sudden it was “life’s a bitch–a real bitch.” You could hear a pin drop in the theater.

Walking out of the auditorium, I thought, That wasn’t exactly the feel-good musical experience I had anticipated. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I appreciate the realness of it, since bullshit like that actually used to happen, people being killed for something they can’t change about themselves. We’ve made a lot of progress, but it still happens today. This is the planet we live on. This is how we’re capable of treating each other, pinning a pink triangle on another person and labeling them “less than human.”

Pink triangles were what the Nazis used to identify homosexuals, Mom. Like cattle branding.

On the inside we’re all shining.

Fundamentally, I don’t believe anyone is better than anyone else. Maybe you have a smaller waistline than I do and maybe I can dance better than you can, but we’re all human here. Period. There is no more-than or less-than in the human category. Regardless of sexuality, skin color, or religion, we all get tired, we all fall down. Each of us has a heart that bleeds and breaks, and each of us has a heart so full of love that it’s impossible to exhaust it. Just when you think you can’t love someone or something anymore than you currently do, you find yourself doing exactly that. Sure, we forget it plenty of times, but on the inside we’re all shining. This is what gives me hope, knowing that we are all radiant.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The truth doesn’t suck.

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Me, The Moth, and The Eyeball Oracle (Blog #285)

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Currently it’s 9:15 in the morning, and I’m in Somewhere, Oklahoma, waiting to see The Oracle.

Let me back up.

I woke up at five this morning, although my alarm wasn’t set to go off until six. You know how it is when you’re both eager and anxious about something. You can’t sleep. Plus, the waterbed was especially hot last night, and my legs kept jerking. They do that sometimes, go into these violent, sudden twitches just as I’m starting to nod off. It’s startling, maybe related to my magnesium levels. Of course, the internet could be wrong–it’s been wrong before. The body is a mystery. Anyway, at five-thirty I decided there was no point in continuing to try to slumber, so I got up, got dressed, meditated, wrote in my journal, and made breakfast and a full pot of coffee in preparation for my big day.

Last week my friend Elisabeth messaged me and said she’d been hearing a lot about a woman near Tulsa who practices iridology, a field of alternative medicine that basically identifies problems in one part of your body based on the appearance of another–specifically, your eyeballs. Like–I don’t know–that fleck there means your liver is broken and is in need of repair. (Take this vitamin, do a colon cleanse, and call me in the morning.) Elisabeth said four different people had recommended this lady, that she was thinking about going, and that I should go too. (If I wanted.) “Maybe she could help with your allergy and sinus issues,” she said. Well, on the scale of weird things I’ve tried over the years, eyeball gazing actually ranks pretty low, so I said, “I’m in. Let’s go tomorrow.”

Since the vitamin shop where the iridology lady works ended up being closed last week, I’ve been on pins and needles ever since, just waiting for today. I’ve spent a lot of time reading reviews online, and everyone that talks about this lady absolutely raves. They call her The Oracle. (Personally, I like The Eyeball Oracle.) They say they’ve been seeing her since they were a child, she’s always spot on, she helped when no one else could–shit like that. So I’m hopeful. That being said, this isn’t my first alternative medicine, stranger-things-have-happened rodeo, so I’m trying to keep both feet grounded in reality. I’ve mentioned recently that I’m seeing a new medical doctor this week, and that’s still happening. I’ve been telling myself, Do your weird shit first, get all the information you can, then go talk to someone who went to college.

Like, “Doc, a Native American told me my liver was broken. Fact or crap?”

On the drive here this morning, I listened to my new favorite podcast, The Moth. If you’re not listening to it, you’re missing out. It’s basically real people telling stories about anything and everything, without notes, in front of a live audience. It’s delicious. This morning I heard a story about a girl who grew up with a mom who was both a nudist and a stripper. The story started when her mom stripped for her and her brother one evening as her step-father manned the music. This reminded me that there is no such thing as normal–there’s only “normal for you.”

Another story I heard earlier was about a gay actor and writer in California who had two different psychics tell him that Montgomery Clift, the famous actor, was trying to communicate with him from beyond the grave, trying to get the man to write his story. (Clift was closeted, and apparently both he and the man had had facial reconstruction following respective accidents.) Whether you believe that something like this is possible or not, the story really is fantastic to hear, and as the host of The Moth pointed out, is true to the person who told it.

Now I’m inside the shop, waiting. The lady isn’t scheduled to be here for quite a while, but the online reviews said to show up early, so that’s what I did. At first, I was the only one waiting. Now there are two other ladies, and Elisabeth is on her way. We’ll see what happens. Originally I’d intended to blog after this person looks into my eyes, looks deep into my eyes, but I’ve decided to make this a cliffhanger and post about the results tomorrow. But I’ve been thinking, This is a little crazy, but the universe is a big place. How do we know what’s possible? Who’s to say what’s “normal”? Maybe a dead movie star can talk to a stranger. Maybe a medicine woman can look into my eyes and reveal my body’s secrets. I’m open to it. After all, the universe, like the body, is a mystery. Of course, I’m trying to stay grounded in reality, but am more and more open to what reality can look like.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Feeling Weak, Feeling Strong (Blog #284)

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Lately I’ve backslidden on my sleep schedule, staying up until almost sunrise and waking up in the afternoon. But because I’m getting up early (by anyone standards) tomorrow to run around, I set my alarm for before noon today. Like, maybe I can ease myself into this. Y’all, it’s awful. I’ve been ready to go back to bed all day. Now it’s five in the evening, and I’m working feverishly to finish the blog before I teach dance in an hour and a half. Since I’ve got to go to bed early tonight–I’ve just got to–this may be more of a sprint than a marathon. Some days all you can do is show up.

This afternoon I finished reading a book by Laura Day about intuition and how it relates to healing. It’s due back at the library tomorrow, and I’m finding that having a deadline is a good way for me to get things done. Anyway, the book mentioned something about feeling “comfortable and proud” in your body, so I’ve been chewing on those words, since they’re not the first adjectives I think of when describing how I feel in my skin, but I’d like them to be. I guess sometimes I feel that way, and I know I feel that way more than I used to. I’d just like to feel that way more often–comfortable and proud.

Hum.

Whenever I get a sinus infection, my go-to adjective for describing the way I feel is “weak.” All my energy is just up and gone. It feels hopeless, like all my vitality has been buried next to Jimmy Hoffa, never to be found again. Much to my non-amusement, “weak” has become a kind of joke in our family, a word we toss around whenever one of us feels bad–like, poor, poor, pitiful me.

As a healing exercise, the book I finished earlier suggested remembering a time when you felt strong, almost unable to contain yourself, absolutely powerful. This isn’t exactly easy to do when you feel like someone’s unplugged you from the wall, but I assume that’s exactly the point, to reconnect with the best possible version of yourself. More than anything else, the exercise made me realize that weak isn’t simply a word I use to describe myself when I get sick. I mean, I don’t put it on my business cards or even think that word on a day-to-day basis, but I often feel that way, like I’m unable to affect change in my life, unable to move forward, unable to heal.

Just bringing my attention to this fact has made me realize that it’s not true. Like, I can look at my life and list dozens of places and situations in which I’m able to get things done, make progress, be effective. And yet still that feeling is there. I guess I get hung up on the things that aren’t happening yet, the things that aren’t healing. I start comparing myself, giving all the praise I have away to others and saving little for myself. This is something I intend to work on, gently if possible. I just looked up “weak” on Google, and whereas the first definitions is “lacking physical strength and energy,” the second is “easily damaged.” Synonyms are frail, feeble, delicate, fragile. This is good information to have, since I don’t feel THAT way at all. Even when my energy is low and things aren’t happening as I’d like them to, I don’t feel that kind of weak. Rather, I know there’s a part of me that’s eternally strong. That’s the part of me I want to spend more time with, the part that’s not only confident, but also comfortable and proud, simply happy to be alive, sure that it can weather any storm.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s enough just to be here.

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Late to the Party (Blog #279)

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Today I’ve been obsessing about what might be causing my allergies. My latest fear is that it’s my waterbed, so earlier this afternoon I stripped all the sheets off it in order to check the bladder, the thing that holds the water, for mold. I read online that if there’s a leak, mold can grow on the outside of the mattress. Also, it can grow inside the mattress if the water isn’t treated, which I’m sure mine hasn’t been in forever. If that’s the case, the internet says it will smell “musty.” Well, I didn’t immediately see any leaks or mold on the outside. Also, things didn’t smell musty on the inside. So maybe I’m not sleeping on a deathtrap.

Phew.

All that being said, now all the sheets are off my bed, so I’m thinking I might as well add conditioner or cleaner to the water while I have everything taken apart. Except I don’t have any. I just called a couple mattress stores in town, and no one carries waterbed supplies anymore because it’s not the 1980s. I told one guy, “I guess waterbeds are a little out-of-date.” Which just means I’ll have to order the conditioner online and–once again–try to be patient. I hate that.

Last night I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house. Their eight-year-old son greeted me at the front door wearing a pajama onesie that looked like one of the Ninja Turtles. It was the cutest thing you’d ever want to see in your life. It even had a hood on it. On his feet he had a pair of red-and-black plaid slippers. Since I hate the winter and spend four months out of the year shivering, all I could think was, God, that entire outfit looks so warm. So later I asked the kid where he got the slippers, and in all his innocence, this is what he said–“My mom bought them for me.”

Oh, of course she did.

By the time the dance lesson was over, I decided I had to do “something” about my winter woes. So I drove straight to TJ Maxx and bought 1) a thicker pair of sweatpants for wearing at home and 2) a long-sleeved thermal shirt for all occasions. Then I started my hunt for slippers. Y’all, I looked at TJ Maxx, Burlington’s, Target, and Kohl’s, but apparently everyone else in the River Valley had the same idea I did–before I did. I couldn’t find a single pair of slippers that were my size.

Well–correction–I couldn’t find a single pair of “cute” slippers that were my size. I mean, this is about keeping my feet warm, but it’s also about maintaining certain fashion standards. Not to reinforce stereotypes, but I am, after all, a homosexual, and you never know when you’re going to walk out of your parents’ living room on your way to the mailbox and stumble across Mr. Right, who–quite possibly–will be so impressed with your handsome slippers that he’ll immediately think, Now there’s someone I want to marry.

These are thoughts that I actually have. And yes, I’m in therapy.

After all the running around last night, I ended up finding an acceptable pair of slippers at Walmart, of all places. Tickled shitless with myself, I immediately came home and changed into my new sweatpants and house shoes. And whereas I’m thrilled with the sweatpants, y’all, I know why they call them slippers–my feet keep slipping out of them. That being said, my feet are significantly warmer–and cuter–so I’m still considering myself a winner. Now just to check the mail and accept my wedding proposal.

It occurs to me that I am often “late to the party.” Like, not long ago I discovered this new technology called Bluetooth. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Likewise, last night I spent over an hour shopping for slippers–something I’ve never bought before. Of course, they were hard to find because the rest of the world was on top of it–they bought slippers months ago. Maybe I’m resistant to change. I get comfortable doing things a certain way, like sleeping in a type of bed that’s older than I am. I guess we all like our routines. We get stuck in shoes, beds, or even relationships that are hard to get out of because they’re familiar. We think, Maybe I can make this work a little longer. In my experience, this thinking isn’t effective, like walking around in bare feet in January. Ultimately, you have to acknowledge the winters in your life, the things that aren’t working, then do what you can to warm yourself up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

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