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)

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

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The Night David Sedaris said, “Come Back to Bed” (Blog #76)

Today my friend Marla and I went on a writer’s pilgrimage to see David Sedaris in Tulsa at an event put on by Magic City Books. I can’t tell you how much fun I had. I mean, I really can’t. I’ve been sitting here trying, but it’s not working, probably because I only slept five hours last night, just got back from Tulsa an hour ago, and my brain is mush. But I’ll keep trying.

I woke up at noon today and had about an hour to get ready. Even though I knew the event would be outside and that it would be warm, I decided to wear jeans instead of shorts because I thought they looked cuter, and you never know when you’re going to meet Mr. Right or when David Sedaris will be so impressed with your pants that he’ll invite you to join him and his boyfriend for dinner. But thinking that I’d definitely sweat in the jeans, I slathered some of Dad’s Gold Bond Lotion all around my private parts. After I did, I thought, There’s probably a reason that stuff is in a green bottle, which is about the time my balls woke up. At first the eucalyptus just felt like a cool breeze on a spring morning, but then things stepped up a notch, and it felt like I’d used a peppermint suppository.

Marla and I got to Tulsa early, so we grabbed a great parking spot and walked a few blocks for lunch. Along the way we found two pink unicorns painted on a set of double doors, so we stopped and took a picture. I still I have no idea what was on the other side of those doors, but I can only imagine it was fabulous.

I broke all my food rules today. It felt great. For lunch I had a sandwich with white bread, creamy soup, and coffee with Irish Creme, immediately followed by a cookies-and-cream donut so big that it’s really a wonder I didn’t instantly become a diabetic. I even licked the bag it came in. Then Marla and I set up our chairs on the lawn where David was supposed to speak and went to a bar that I knew about because a guy once stood me up there on a night I had two tires blow out. (I was not impressed.)

The bar itself was really cool, and while Marla and I waited, I had two beers. Then we went back to the lawn to wait for David. Because my bladder is an overachiever, I had to pee for the second time in fifteen minutes, so I ended up buying a cup of coffee at a coffee shop because only paying customers could get the restroom code. Peeing is a patron’s privilege, apparently. (Say that five times fast.)

For the presentation, David spoke for forty-five minutes, mostly reading from his diary entries, many of which are in his new book, Theft by Finding. One of the stories he told was about a friend who–upon seeing a complete stranger on his or her cellphone–would often walk up beside them and say loudly, “Come back to bed, I’m freezing.”

When the talk was over, David moved across the street to an art gallery to sign books, and a long line began to form. Marla and I had pre-purchased books, which allowed us a spot in “Group A,” but we were still at the back of that section because–once again–I had to use the restroom. (To the guy whose kid’s asshole absolutely exploded in his pants, my heart goes out to you for all the hard work you did cleaning him up. In the future–for chafing–your son may benefit from Gold Bond Lotion, but I don’t recommend the kind in the green bottle.)

One thing I love about David Sedaris is that he takes a lot of time with his fans and doesn’t rush them off. It makes for a long wait–Marla and I waited over two hours–but I think it’s well worth it. Hell, at one point we saw a middle-aged woman sporting a sash that said, “Miss Emollient–Dark as a Turd.” Where else does that happen? I still don’t get it, so I assume she was seeking attention. But who isn’t these days? Anyway, the line snaked around once it got inside, so as Marla and I neared the autograph table, I was right next to this guy who had a PBS shirt on that said, “Be More.” (No pressure, right?) Honestly, it took everything in me to not say, “I’m doing the best I can, damn it!”

At the autograph table, David signed Marla’s book, “To Marla–You make me want to live again.” With others he drew cartoons–an ax with blood on it, something resembling a shovel. I have another signed book of his in which he drew an airplane–a crop duster, it says–a reference to a joke he’d made that night about a particular variety of farts. This is something I love about David, the fact that after all this time he’s still having fun, finding a way to make each person in line feel special.

I got to spend a few minutes with David and ask him a question about a statement in one of his books, as well as a couple of things he said in his talk tonight. I’ve been trying all evening to decide how much to say about it, since even though he’s probably already forgotten the conversation, it feels special to me and I’ll probably be processing it for a while. In short, David said that he doesn’t like to talk about his feelings, but instead likes to talk and write about experiences and opinions.

Fresh off three years of therapy (and writing a blog about it every night lately), not talking about my feelings feels foreign to me, so I almost said, “Oh my god, I know a good therapist.” But then I figured he probably knows one too and has a good reason for not talking about his feelings, especially to total strangers. Like, if I’d said, “WHY DON’T YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS, DAVID?” it probably would have sounded like, “Be More,” and he could have easily responded, “I’m doing the best I can, damn it.”

Thinking about it now, what I love about David’s answer is that it seemed vulnerable and honest, which is pretty remarkable considering the fact that he’d just met me (again for the first time). So I just looked him in the eye, smiled, and said, “Thank you,” and Marla and I walked out. I was so thrilled about getting to spend even a few moments with one of my writing heroes that I accidentally stepped on a stranger’s foot. (Sorry, lady.)

When we got outside, Marla made a joke, and I said, “What’s that?” and she said, “It’s what he wrote in your book.” So I opened the book, and there it was–“To Marcus, Come back to bed, I’m freezing.”

There was a lady working the event tonight whom I overheard a couple of times anxiously telling people in the line, “It’s a long wait, but it’s worth it.” When we got close to the table, she said, “See if you can’t hurry.” Well, we didn’t, and I can only assume that she felt pressured, maybe sensing that some people in the line were upset by the holdup. But I didn’t sense any of that from David. Marla told me that he’s been known to spend nine hours signing books. Personally, I wasn’t upset about waiting, and if I had been, I simply would have left. (My therapist says leaving is always an option.)

It all makes me wonder if David’s so patient because he waited so long to be published. Maybe it’s because he’s doing something he really loves and that makes it easier to go above and beyond with people you don’t even know. Either way, it encourages me to be more patient with what may come in my life, to not put so much pressure on myself or anyone else by thinking, Be More, Be More–Talk about your feelings! Rather, I can remember that I’m doing the best I can, damn it. In fact, we’re all doing the best we can. Especially that guy whose kid shit everywhere.

Realizing this, I think, is like having a lover come back to bed. Suddenly there’s no need to rush, the world feels safer than it did before, and if ever so slowly, that which was freezing begins to warm.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've really got to believe in yourself and what you're doing. Again, it comes down to integrity and making something solid of yourself, something that's so well-built on the inside that it can handle any storm.

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