One Letter at a Time (Blog #208)

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)

"

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

"

The Path of Least Resistance (Blog #65)

Yesterday we moved from Tim’s apartment to Ben and Mallory’s house, which means I got my own room. Also, instead of sleeping on a couch last night, I slept on a “double futon.” (A double futon is two futon mattresses stacked on top of each other–very creative–it’s almost like a bed.) What’s more, there were A LOT of pretty pillows, so I kind of felt like a princess. You know–a princess who snores.

This afternoon Bonnie woke me up for what we’ve started calling my “forced feeding.” Having only slept five hours last night–er–this morning–I almost skipped it. But then Bonnie said we were going to Chuy’s Tex-Mex, so I figured sodium was way more important than sleep. After all, IT IS a mineral.

At Chuy’s I ordered a Big As Yo Face Burrito, and when it came out, I didn’t think it was ACTUALLY as big as my face. I considered holding the plate up next to my head and taking a selfie, but then I figured the cheese sauce would drip onto my shorts, and that simply wouldn’t do. So here’s a picture of the food, without my face beside it.

I’m proud to say that I did NOT eat the entire burrito at lunch. However, I can’t say the same for the basket of chips. But at least I wasn’t alone in eating those; everyone had their hands in them. (Mallory said that when she grows up, she wants to be a carb because everyone loves them.)

When we left the restaurant, Bonnie, Mallory, and I took the photo at the top of the blog, and Bonnie and I opened our mouths so that we would look like Mallory. Mallory said that sometimes she opens her mouth in photos if her regular smile isn’t working for her. (I love a good strategy.)

While the rest of us were eating lunch, Todd went on a fifty mile bike ride. Bonnie kept joking that he did the whole thing on nothing but a cup of coffee, but Todd said he also had a banana. (There’s so much about calorie theory that I don’t understand. But then again, Todd’s pants fit and mine don’t.) Anyway, after lunch, we all crashed pretty hard–Todd because of the ride–the rest of us because of the Tex-Mex.

This evening Ben and Mallory stayed home to watch the Predators game. The Predators are Nashville’s ice hockey team, and they’re currently competing in the Stanley Cup. It’s a big deal around here. Here’s a video of Mallory yelling at the television during the game. Notice how she’s still able to maintain her Southern Charm.

While Ben and Mallory watched the game, the rest of us got ready to go to a free swing dance with a live band at Centennial Park, the place where the Parthenon is. I noticed while I got ready that my favorite pair of underwear had a small tear in them, maybe because I ripped them on something, maybe because they’ve fought the good fight and just can’t do it any longer. (This only goes to show that even the best elastic is no match for a mineral like sodium.)

Before we left, Bonnie and Todd handed out souvenirs from their recent trip overseas. Here’s a picture of Ben with a shirt from fucking Paris. Also–

I joked that I should crop Ben’s picture to thumbnail size and use it on the blog whenever I say a cuss word, which would obviously mean that he’d be my official mascot in no time.

At the dance, Bonnie, Todd, Tim, and his girlfriend took a beginner lesson, and I watched their stuff. Here’s a picture of me with a portable chair, a bottle of water, and Bonnie’s purse, which I don’t really think matches my outfit, but did seem to be just the right size.

For the last hour, I’ve been stuck where this picture was taken. I mean, I’m currently back at Ben and Mallory’s–everyone else is in bed–but I’ve been mentally stuck at the dance because I’m not sure how to wrap up the day. Honestly, I need to get some sleep. I keep thinking about those princess pillows. But as far as this website goes, it’s not a blog that just talks about my day. Rather, it’s a blog that talks about my day AND how that connects to mental health, spirituality, and just being a damn person. (Pardon my French.) Because of that fact, I put a lot of pressure on myself (and everyone else around me) to–say something profound. I go through every day expecting a big burrito to change my life so that I can have something to write about each night.

Frankly, it’s exhausting.

At one point tonight, I danced with a girl named Eleanna whom I met earlier this week at Motown Mondays at The 5 Spot. She’s a lovely person and dancer, and apparently she’s learned strictly on the social dance floor. After we danced together, we got to talking, and she asked if I had any tips, so I got to play the teacher for a while. One of the things I had her do was to stand with her feet together and lean her upper body to one side until she was forced to take a few steps. If you try this for yourself, you’ll notice that you travel farther across the floor, with much less effort, than you would if you were standing up right and forced yourself to move. That’s because when you lean, gravity pulls you and you don’t have to do all the work yourself.

There’s a concept in the self-help world called The Path of Least Resistance, and it has to do with the idea that life is actually on our side. Like gravity, it’s pulling us in a certain direction. But all too often, we put up a fight. Rather than leaning into a problem or situation, rather than taking the path of least resistance, we stand straight up, force every step, and take the path of most resistance.

So that’s something I’m working on. In terms of my life right now, I’m really, really trying to not force every step, to lean in to all the uncertainty and see where life pulls me. I’ll let you know if it works out. What I can say now is that the theory helped me finish tonight’s blog. For over an hour, I tried to force something to happen. But as soon as I got honest about the fact that I was stuck, actually wrote it down, the direction I needed to go became obvious. So I’m starting to believe that no one dances completely alone. Even when it feels like you’re stuck, there’s a partner waiting for you. But maybe first you have to stop trying so hard and lean in a little, trusting that life not only wants to dance with you to unknown places, but also that it will provide the momentum to get you there.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

It's the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and--when the time is right--room for something else to come along.

"