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

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

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

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

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

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

But I digress.

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

“It’s your call,” he said.

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

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

Phew. I’m normal. My doctor said so.

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

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

Normal people don’t walk on water.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's never a minor thing to take better care of yourself."

The Weight of the World (Blog #230)

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

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

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

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

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

Life ain’t for sissies.

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

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

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

No offense to Bob from Ohio, of course.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our burdens are lighter when we share them.

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

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

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

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

Seriously, down with bacterial collateral damage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I guess things happen when they happen.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

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One Damn Thing after Another (Blog #227)

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no it is not what happened.

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

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

Okay–uh–thanks for your help.

Nothing was made to last forever.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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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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Giving My Own Self Some Damn Grace (Blog #217)

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When I woke up this morning, I felt worse than I did yesterday. Low energy, coughed up some junk. It wasn’t pretty. For a while, I actually thought about going to the doctor, but I’m kind of tired of doctors and all the drugs, so I ate breakfast and took a shower instead. Along the way, I decided to try sinus rinsing again (which I stopped a couple days ago), this time with a garlic infusion. I’ll explain. My chi kung teacher swears the best way to heal your sinuses is by putting a salad up your nose–well, by running sterilized, hot saline water over a clove of garlic, then using that water to rinse out your sinuses. The idea is that garlic is a natural antibiotic and anti-fungal, so no matter what’s causing the problem, it’ll get rid of it.

As a bonus, it’ll also keep vampires out of your nostrils.

Anyway, I tried the garlic-water-up-my-nose thing. Also, I added garlic to my diet because a stranger on the internet said to. Whatever, we’ll see how it goes. I will say that I’ve felt better this afternoon, and I even went for an almost-two-hour walk tonight, something I haven’t felt like doing for the last three weeks. Granted, I’m currently tired and holding my body upright with willpower and ambition, but aren’t we all?

I read recently that scientific studies have shown that vague prayers such as, “Thy will be done,” are more effective in healing than specific ones like, “God, heal Marcus’s sinuses,” or, “God, give Marcus the wisdom to stop putting vegetables and baby shampoo up his nose.” I guess the idea is that vague prayers show concern and compassion but drop any personal agenda that might presume to know what’s best for yourself or someone else. Anyway, I can’t remember the last time I asked someone to pray for me, but if you’d like to say, “Thy will be done” on my behalf, I’d appreciate it.

In other news, this is day two of clean eating. I promise not to become one of those people who post pictures of their organic lunches on the internet, but I am going to talk about them sometimes. (Like now.) Today I ate turkey and vegetables twice and salmon and canned peaches once. This is why I could never be a chief, since I thought that last meal was a good idea. But in my defense, it was easy, and–having done this before–pulling out the skillet three times a day gets old real fast. As I sit here now (sipping on peppermint tea with apple cider vinegar), I feel the same way about the diet as I do about the garlic water nasal rinse–hopeful that it will “work,” fearful that it won’t.

I guess whenever I start a diet like this, I’m always looking for a miracle. Once I ate clean for thirty days and lost sixteen pounds, but that’s never happened since. But it’d be nice if it would, and it’d also be nice if at the end of this month I could fit into all my clothes, my back didn’t hurt, and I had x-ray vision. Le sigh. Some things–most things–take more time than thirty days.

Unrealistic expectations aside, I do feel better when I eat well. If nothing else, I never feel stuffed and bloated. Tonight I met with my friend Bonnie to hang curtains. (She finally found some for our mutual friend. I’ll post pictures after the big reveal.) Anyway, she’s been eating “right” for the last month, and when I told her that after only two days of dieting I already felt like a skinny bitch, she said, “It’s kind of disappointing how good it feels to not eat junk.”

I mean, is she right, or is she right?

While walking tonight, I listened to part five (of seven) in a lecture on trauma and transformation. The speaker, James Finley, is a therapist and said that one of the benefits to a good therapist is that they put the client back in touch with themselves. Like, maybe you have a breakthrough or moment of compassion for yourself, and at first you give the credit to the therapist or even the office space, thinking someone or something else needs to be present in order for that good feeling to happen. But that breakthrough or compassion came from inside you, so it’s available all the time.

I’ve been thinking about this for the last few hours. I brag on my therapist a lot–she deserves it. I know she’s not a blood relative or even a traditional friend, but she treats me just as good if not better than anyone I’ve ever known–she never interrupts, she never tells me what to do, and she never judges me. In short, she respects me. Even when we disagree about something, we talk about it calmly, and she says our relationship can act as a model or ideal for other relationships in my life. Like, if I’m being bossed around or judged, that’s a clue that’s something is off. Anyway, I’m eternally grateful for all of this, but it occurred to me tonight that the way she treats me is the way I could treat myself–I could take that feeling of unconditional acceptance I have in her office with me when I walk out the door because I’m the one that’s feeling it.

To borrow a phrase from Bonnie, this means “giving my own self some damn grace,” not beating myself up for taking time to heal or starting a diet–again. Because that’s how it feels, like, I’ve tried all of this so many times before. But–for crying out loud–I’m just a human, and it’s our nature to struggle and try, to fall down and get back up again, to start over. I guess it’s also our nature to judge ourselves, to think we should be one way when we’re actually another. But I think that part can change, for surely if we can be patient with someone else (and all of us can), we can turn that love around to where it’s most needed.

Surely.

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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The Roles We Play (Blog #215)

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Today is Halloween, the day children and adults alike dress up and pretend to be something they’re not. So when I woke up this morning still sick and feeling like crap, I decided I’d pretend to feel good. A healthy person–that’s what I’ll be today! Now I just have to put one foot in front of the other. I really do think my sinus infection is getting better–I have less “junk”–but lately my energy level has been shit. I’m hoping this is because my body is pooling its resources in an effort to heal, maybe make me rest so it can get busy performing a miracle. I like these ideas better than thinking my body is simply throwing in the towel, something I truthfully feel like doing. As the saying goes, I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

With this in mind, I’m considering starting a restrictive diet tomorrow in order to give my body a reset. I messaged my friend April today, and she said sometimes she cleans up her sinuses by basically eating chicken, a few fruits, and certain cooked vegetables. She said it takes two weeks for your body to “start over” and four weeks to get the best results. Honestly, this sounds like hell–but I’ve done something similar before, so surely I can do it again. Plus, I really think my body could use some help–help that doesn’t look like chocolate cake and Taco Bell, as I’m pretty sure those aren’t immune system boosters.

This evening I drove to Fayetteville and had dinner with my friend CJ. She told me my hair looked good–different–gayer. Ten years ago a statement like this would have horrified me, like, My hair looks gay? What if someone thinks I am? But tonight I said, “That’s fantastic–I am gay. Better if my hair is too.”

For dinner I had a reuben sandwich on rye, french fries, and a pickle. None of that, of course, will be on the diet I’m starting tomorrow, so tonight I kept thinking, This is my last piece of bread, this is my last french fry, this is my last supper. Oh my god, y’all, I ate my last supper on Halloween–just like Jesus!

Oh wait. His last supper was on Easter–er–Passover. (Holidays are so confusing.)

When we finished eating, CJ and I attended The Rocky Horror Picture Show (my mom called it Rocky Mountain Horror) at Walton Arts Center. I saw a live stage performance of Rocky Horror recently, but tonight was the traditional deal–the movie playing on a big screen, people dressed up as the characters and using props, everyone calling Brad an asshole and Janet a slut. Granted, CJ and I didn’t dress up or use props, but we at least got out of our seats and danced the entire Time Warp, which the couple next to us did not.

Losers.

Here’s a picture of the costume contest that went on before the show. The couple that dressed as Eddie (the guy with the saxophone) and Columbia (the girl in gold sequins and a top hat) won the contest, but if anyone knows Rocky (the naked guy with all the muscles), I’d like to give him a consolation prize. God, Marcus, you don’t have to share every thought that pops into your brain. Your mother reads this, for crying out loud.

If you’re familiar with Rocky Horror, you know audience members throw a lot of shit–toilet paper when they say, “Dr. Scott,” toast when they say, “A toast!” Well, as all that toast was flying through the air tonight, I just assumed it was plain old bread. I didn’t figure people would go through the trouble of actually–well–toasting it. I mean, entire loaves were being thrown–that’s a lot of work. But when the lights came on, sure enough, every piece I saw was burned on both sides. Talk about dedication. Well, shit. Now all I can think about is eating toast. I guess I could get up and make some. I mean, the diet doesn’t technically start until tomorrow.

Far be it from me to overachieve.

This morning I read an article by Joseph Campbell about the history and meaning of Halloween. (It’s long, but you can find it here.) In it he says that Halloween represents dying and is the mythological opposite of May Day, which represents being born. He also says that costumes remind us of the everyday masks we wear. (Can you believe some people pretend to be straight when they’re actually gay?) It’s okay to have roles, of course–dance teacher, writer, whatever. But problems arise when we pretend to be something we’re not or–even worse–mistake the roles we play for our true selves, since ultimately our souls are beyond identification.

All things are part of life.

I’ve said it before, but I don’t like this time of year. It’s cold, everything is dead, and I spend the entire fall and winter shivering. I honestly can’t believe I’m about to start a diet and probably lose the only natural insulation I have. That being said, I’m reminded tonight that to everything there is a season. I have a preference for spring and summer, but the universe clearly doesn’t. Rather, all things–coldness and warmth, fall and spring, death and rebirth–are part of life. Likewise, getting sick and running low on energy are part of life, and just like any season, these things will change.

As for the roles we play, I’ve personally decided to keep pretending that I feel well. Since I pretended to be straight for so long, this should be a cinch. I don’t mean I’m going to ignore my body or not let it rest, but I am going to start asking myself, “What would a healthy person do–what would a healthy person eat?” and then do that. I usually get overwhelmed by dietary changes, so I figure this will be an easy way to simplify things, support my body, and start turning things around. I’ll let you know how it goes.

After toast tonight, of course.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing was made to last forever.

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Adventures in Skin and Self-Care (Blog #211)

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Praise the lord. I’ve actually felt better today–not perfect, but better. Maybe it’s the new sinus irrigation technique I started last night, or maybe it’s the fact that I used my dad voice with my immune system in yesterday’s blog. It’s time you start pulling your weight around here, young man. Either way, I’ve had less crud today, haven’t been coughing as much, and have had more energy. Maybe I’m not going to die after all and am headed in the right direction–toward recovery. I’ll let you know how it goes.

This morning I went to Johnson Dermatology in Fort Smith for my somewhat-annual checkup. A few years ago I had a case of warts (on my pretty face!) that wouldn’t go away, so I went once a month for over a year to have them burned off. (Ouch.) Anyway, the warts finally cleared up, and by the time they did, I felt like part of the furniture. I was friendly with the staff, knew where all the restrooms were, and basically had my own parking space–it was like an episode of Cheers, except with skin problems instead of nachos and beer. Anyway, going to the doctor usually makes me nervous, but today felt like going home again. Well, other than the fact that Mom and Dad don’t ask for my insurance information as soon as I walk through the front door.

My skin care wizard today was Nina, and she was super patient. When I asked about my body odor problem (which is pretty much over now) and told her all the things I tried from the internet in order to get rid of it, I think she only rolled her eyes once. Anyway, she said the problem was most likely due to the high number of antibiotics I’ve been on this year. She also said that was probably the reason I got folliculitis (inflammation of the hair follicles) around my nipples a couple of weeks ago. I mean, my being in a hot tub obviously had something to do with it, but she said my immune system and good bacteria were probably “compromised.” (Alert, there’s been a breach in security.) She also said that although my folliculitis is better, the reason it isn’t completely gone is because it’s fungal and not bacterial.

Strike one for the emergency room doctor.

So I guess for the next week or two I’ll continue rubbing cream on my nipples. Not that I’m complaining. There are certainly less enjoyable things to do in life.

I don’t know if you realized this about me, but I have a lot of moles. I know, I know–I wear them well, so this information may come as a shock. But it’s true. The doctors say I have “over fifty,” which I’m assuming qualifies as a plethora. Anyway, for as long as I can remember, the only bumpy or raised moles I’ve had have been on my head, where I and only I would notice or give a shit. Still, catching my comb on a mole drives me crazy, so I asked Nina if we could remove some today. She said yes, so now I literally have not one, but three new holes in my head.

Incidentally, they take off moles with a razor blade–uh–like the kind you buy at the hardware store to cut through carpet or a cardboard box. Granted, they numb you first, but then they just scrape your skin directly off–whoosh–slice right through it as if it were a block of hard cheese. Next thing you know either you or your insurance is considerably poorer, and something you carried around on your body for over a decade is in an envelope on its way to be analyzed at a lab in Poughkeepsie.

Like, there goes a part of me, via FedEx.

The cream Nina prescribed for my folliculitis is being mailed to me, so it won’t arrive until next week. Being the hypochondriac I am, I’m hoping my nipples won’t fall off before then. I mean, I’ve grown rather attached to them. (Or is it the other way around?) Anyway, tonight I took a shower with special soap, applied what cream I have to my nipples, then had Mom put Vaseline on the mole-holes in my head to encourage healing. I’ve had moles removed before, so this will be our routine for the next couple weeks. At first it will seem like a nuisance, then it will simply be part of our routine, and then it will be over. Perhaps one day we’ll sit and recollect about it–those two weeks I sat on the floor while Mom sat in her chair battling cancer and helping me take care of my skin.

Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

Tonight I’m reminded that things get worse and things get better. One day you wake up sick, spend two weeks feeling like crap, then at some point know you’ve turned a corner. Something about your body bothers you for years on end, then just like that it’s gone with a razor blade and the flick of a wrist. Other problems hang around–maybe they’ll be gone next week and maybe they won’t. Caroline Myss says we’re always healing something. This, of course, means that problems come and go because nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same. This also means we always have room to grow. For surely even the smallest irritations bring us into the present moment, prompt us to ask for help and connect with others, and encourage us to be more caring for ourselves.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my nipples are calling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."

Wait a Damn Minute (Blog #210)

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Twelve days into the crud, I’m convinced I’m never going to feel like a human again. I’m exaggerating, but every time I cough, I assume, This is it–I’m going to die. Oh well, it’s been a good run. It’s times like these that I particularly hate Facebook, the place where every boy has a six-pack, every girl has a boy who has a six-pack, and everyone’s at an outdoor concert doing jumping jacks and drinking a pumpkin-spice something-or-other. I know this isn’t reality, but whenever you’re sick, it feels as if everyone else’s life is better than yours. I always hate feeling this way because it reminds me just how little control I have over my circumstances. A few bacteria invite themselves over to my sinuses for a party, bring along some of their friends, and I’m toast.

I keep assuming that at some point my immune system will recognize there’s a problem and do something about it. A little over seven years ago, I had a stomach virus of Biblical proportions. Everything that went in went out, and I spent a solid ten days either in bed or in the bathroom. I was convinced I was dying, but then one day things settled down. It wasn’t a miracle–in fact, it took months before I felt like myself again–but there was definitely a shift. I still remember the pair of pants I wore the first time I was able to leave the house–it was that big of a deal. Anyway, I don’t know why it took so long for my body to say, “Wait a damn minute” and mobilize my white blood cells, but it did.

Whenever I’m sick like this, I feel totally vulnerable. By that, I mean I feel like a sucker, like any cape-wearing charlatan with a bottle of snake oil could roll into town and take all my savings. Tonight I’ve looked at websites for probiotics, prebiotics, liquid collagen, and yoga. The assumption, of course, is that any or all of these things would make me healthier, but the truth is I’d probably be disappointed, since I’ve tried most of them before. I remind myself of this, then my mind says, But you haven’t tried THAT product, THAT yoga class.

Quick, someone give me two Tylenol and tell me to go to bed before I end up broke.

The upside to feeling like the junk on the bottom of my shoes is that I don’t have much of an appetite and have apparently lost five pounds. And not that I want this crap to hang on for another twelve days, but if it does, I should reach my ideal weight. As the guru I met recently said, “For every downside, there’s an upside.” So the silver lining is this incident has given me a renewed interest in taking better care of myself. You know–less whiskey, more Wheaties.

This evening I went to improv class, and one of the girls called me “basic” when my ideas apparently weren’t meeting her superior standards. (Basic means lame, boring, and not cool, Mom.) I laughed about the comment at the time, but later thought, Bitch, you don’t know me. I’m doing the best I can over here. Seriously, I wish I could tell you that I was so spiritually evolved that an incident (or even possible misunderstanding) like this didn’t hit a nerve, but I can’t. Granted, on the scale of things that are going to eff me up for the rest of my life, this one comment from a teenager ranks pretty low, but we’re obviously still talking about it. Mostly I’d just like to say I now have two thousand AND ONE reasons to be glad I’m no longer in high school.

One of the games we played tonight involved two characters who could only say two lines each and one character who could say anything. In one sketch I was an employee at a Halloween costume store, and I could only say, “I quit,” or, “Just kidding.” I didn’t pick these lines out myself, but they’re a pretty good representation of how I feel about life on days like today. I quit, I quit, I quit.

Just kidding.

Everything you’re going through is normal.

I guess we all have days when life (or death) feels like it’s going to get the better of us. We compare ourselves to others, even to how we used to feel, and we think we need to be different than we are in this moment. In an effort to transform immediately, we’ll try anything, buy anything. Just a few moments ago I stopped writing to do another sinus irrigation, this time with Betadine, since I hadn’t tried THAT yet. (If you’re wondering, it felt better than hydrogen peroxide, baby shampoo, and honey.) Sometimes I give myself a hard time for using home remedies like these. I feel gullible when they don’t work, and I start beating myself up for being sick in the first place, for not having all the answers, for being “basic.” But the truth is everything I’m going through is normal–that’s what basic really means, and what’s wrong with that? After all–health and feelings that come and go–this is what life looks like–wanting to quit, but then saying, “Wait a damn minute,” and finding a reason to hope again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

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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)

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The clearer you see what's going on inside of you, the clearer you see what's going on outside of you. It's that simple.

"

One Letter at a Time (Blog #208)

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Today is my sister’s birthday. She’s in Albuquerque, and I’m in Arkansas, so we couldn’t do anything to celebrate. Still, I only have one sister, and she only has one birthday, so in lieu of handing her a card or buying her a drink this evening, I’d like to dedicate this blog to her. I’m not sure this is an acceptable present or any great honor, but it is something within my limited power to give. If it makes a difference, if you can picture your dog excitedly bringing you a dead squirrel, that’s how much enthusiasm I have about this small gesture. (Look! I got you an entire paragraph!) Anyway, Happy Birthday, Sis. This dead squirrel is for you.

You know how when you’ve been sick for at least a week and it seems as if you’ll never get better, and then one day you wake up and all that snot and crud that was there the day before is suddenly gone, and you miraculously feel like yourself again?

Well, today was not that day for me.

Last night I read on the internet that you can help heal a sinus infection by doing a nasal rinse with Johnson’s Baby Shampoo in it. (I’m serious. Look it up. It’s a thing.) Anyway, I tried it. Actually, within the last twenty-four hours, I’ve tried it four times. I’m assuming it’s going to take a few days to see if it’s a panacea, but I will say this–things are definitely not worse and may actually be better, there’s a lot of junk being washed out of my head, and it’s kind of fun to see bubbles coming from my nostrils.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Because I’m an overachiever, I also went to the health food store today in search of another weird remedy. Apparently honey is a natural antibiotic, and my friend Marla told me about a particular honey called Manuka that’s supposed to be the shit. Technically, I guess it would be “the spit,” since that’s what honey is–bee spit. Anyway, I’ve been disappointed by “all-natural” remedies more times than I’ve been delighted, but occasionally something works, so I keep trying. In that spirit, I picked up some Manuka nose spray today, so every few hours I’ve been squirting that stuff up my nostrils as well.

So all day the inside of my head has smelled like a freshly cleaned baby slathered in honey. (Imagine that.)

This evening my friend Marla and I went to Fayetteville to see the author David Sedaris, but we first went to Chuy’s Mexican Restaurant to see our cholesterol go up. Y’all, it was ridiculous. I ate a fried avocado, which I’m now convinced was the forbidden fruit Adam and Eve sampled in the garden. I mean, seriously, think about it–who would give up immortality for a plain old apple? But give up immortality for a fried avocado–with rice and beans? Now we’re talkin’.

Since Marla and I saw David this summer in Tulsa (he told me to come back to bed and I wrote about it here), I guess we’re becoming groupies. I also guess we’re in good company, as it was a packed house tonight. One lady I talked to said it was her fourth time to see him. Personally, I find this encouraging. David started off working in restaurants, cleaning houses, and dressing up as an elf during the holidays, and now he’s packing out theater halls. People actually pay money to hear him read! Clearly, anything is possible.

After the show, Marla and I hopped into the autograph line and were relatively near the front. Still, since David spends a lot of time chatting with his fans, we waited about an hour before it was our turn. As has always been the case before, it was worth the wait. I asked him about all the random jobs he used to have and if he always wanted to be a writer. He said he had all those jobs because he didn’t have many skills and that he still types with one finger. Then we started talking about me, and–of course–I mentioned my therapist. So when David autographed the book I brought he wrote, “To Marcus, my friend in therapy.” How perfect is that?

Also, in case you missed it, David Sedaris said we were friends.

Now it’s thee-thirty in the morning, both my body and brain are tired, and despite the fact that my sinuses smell like a freshly cleaned baby’s bottom, I still don’t feel so hot. On one hand I’m looking forward to sleeping and hopefully not not leaving the house tomorrow. On the other hand, sleeping means lying horizontal, and that means more snot in my head. But I’ve got to sleep, and I will as soon as I can figure out how to end this blog.

For the longest time, I assumed certain people had it “figured out.” It’s been easy for me to look at a pretty face or successful author and think they had something I didn’t, something fundamentally necessary for making it in life, whatever “making it” means. Mostly, I blame the internet for this because everyone looks perfect on the internet, but I am starting to see through it. Recently I briefly met a guy, naturally creeped his Facebook page, and every one of his profile pictures looked like it belonged in a magazine. Used to I would have thought this made him special. This time I thought, Are you kidding me! Nobody looks that good in every photo without A LOT of help.

All of us bump along.

Joseph Campbell says, “Life is a guy trying to play a violin solo in public, while learning the music and his instrument at the same time.” To me this means that you can put on a pretty good show, but no one really knows what they’re doing down here. We get sick and try all sorts of crazy things to get better–sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. We spend years jumping from job to job. These things are normal. All of us bump along, often feeling like a lone finger trying to find its way across a vast keyboard. Even when something clicks and clicks big, we still have our questions and mysteries. So we continue–one moment, one letter at a time. In this way, our story is perfectly written.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Authenticity is worth all the hard work. Being real is its own reward."