I Was Here (Blog #349)

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Last night I was up until six in the morning, partly because I drank a lot of coffee yesterday, partly because I have a rash (where no one wants to have a rash), and it’s been itching like crazy. When I saw my dermatologist a couple days ago, it wasn’t so bad. But things have gotten dramatically worse. I guess when my rash got a glimpse of my doctor, it decided it wasn’t going down without a fight. Anyway, I called my dermatologist today, and his nurse told me, “Do this.” I said, “I’ve been doing that for a week.”

“Oh,” she said. “Let me call you back.” So now I’m still itching but have another appointment, seven not-so-short days away.

Tomorrow I’m planning to go out-of-town for the swing dance convention I’ve been working with the last two months. Part of me is hesitant to go because my energy is low and I get winded walking up stairs. Hell, I get winded riding in an elevator. But I’ve worked really hard for this event, and I’d like to experience at least part of it in person. Plus, I think it will do me good to get out-of-town and spend some time on the road with Tom Collins (my beloved car). I just need to pace myself and take it easy.

Since I’m trying to get in bed soon in order to wake up in the morning, pack, and hit the road at a decent hour, I just took two Benadryl. Plus, the dermatologist said an extra anti-histamine or two could help with the rash. Either way, Benadryl almost always knocks me out, so I’m hoping for a good night’s sleep. That being said, I’m currently rushing to get this blog done, since I don’t know when I’ll become too woozy to function.

Considering that last half-sentence took me ten minutes to write, perhaps that time is now.

I imagine the next few days at the dance event will be jam-packed. When I originally said that I would go, I hesitated because of the blog. My one-year anniversary is at the end of the month, and I didn’t (and don’t) want to get down there, wear myself out, and somehow let a day go by without writing. But I don’t think that will happen. I’m too far into it now, too committed. Plus, over the course of the last eleven months, I’ve figured out how to work this in even on the busiest of days. I used to think that every blog had to be a thousand words, something super deep or beautiful. But now I know that’s not the case. Some days it’s more than enough to simply show up and say, “I was here.”

You keep trying.

This is something I’ve learned about the creative process, not just from reading about it, but from living it for the last 349 days. I can sit down every day to write, but I never know what’s going to end up on the page. Likewise, I can apply creams and take anti-histamines for my rash, but I have no idea whether it’s going to heal. As far as this blog goes, I know that many of my posts are average while others are absolutely over the moon. Either way, I try not to take too much credit. Sure, I’m committed to showing up every day and doing the work, but not once have I ever been able to “force” a super-deep or beautiful post. They either happen or they don’t. When they do, I’m just as surprised and delighted as anyone else. When they don’t, well, that’s just part of the process, part of life. But I’m learning that you don’t quit simply because every day isn’t a banner day. Rather, you keep showing up, you keep doing the best you can, you keep trying.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations--perhaps only difficult situations--can turn you into something magnificent.

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Walking Through the Woods (Blog #347)

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This afternoon I saw my new dermatologist (my old one stopped accepting my insurance), and I showed up with a list of problems. Eight, to be exact. I’ll spare you the details, but the doctor listened then answered my questions one-by-one. Always overly worked-up about any health concern, I half-expected him to say, “It’s hopeless–you’re a leper,” but he didn’t. As a matter of fact, he acted as if he’d seen it all before, which I suppose he has. Anyway, he said I should keep an eye on a small cyst, recommended I use different powder to keep my skin dry, and cauterized some broken blood vessels on my face (ouch). Then he said, “As for your moles, don’t grow any more. There–another problem solved.”

When I left the dermatologist’s office, I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get a duplicate registration for my antique car. (I lost my old registration.) According to the “take a number” number I took when I walked in, there were forty people ahead of me. Since there were a hundred the last time I stopped by, I decided to stay.

Y’all, I seriously think the DMV was modeled after one of Dante’s Circles of Hell. It’s not cute to look at, the lighting is terrible, and the chairs are uncomfortable. (Clearly a gay man was not involved in the design process.) Additionally, everyone who goes there has to wait, and yet there aren’t any magazines to look at, nor is there any coffee to drink. Even the place where I get my oil changed has coffee! The people who work at the DMV call out numbers one-by-one, but if you don’t jump straight up like a jackrabbit when it’s your turn, they skip right over you. (Three-thousand and forty-six!) It’s worse than bingo at the Methodist church. And when they do call your number, it’s not like you get to ride Space Mountain or anything fun as a reward for all your time in line. Nope–you get to hand them money.

What a racket.

My standards have, quite frankly, plummeted as of late.

After it was all said and done, I think I spent about forty-five minutes at the DMV today, and the replacement registration only cost me a dollar. So life could be worse. (Could it, Marcus?) Afterwards, I went to Walmart to pick up the powder the dermatologist recommended. Y’all, I was so excited because the doctor gave me a coupon–two whole dollars off! I would normally shudder to use a coupon, but my standards have, quite frankly, plummeted as of late. So I found the powder, pulled out my coupon, and got in line. (Again, with the waiting.) Well, I immediately got pissed off because the cashier started talking to the customer in front of me about her brother-in-law, who recently had a stroke. She went on and on about it, then told the customer, “Have a blessed day.”

Okay. I’m not TRYING to be a complete dick here. I’m sorry this lady and her family have problems. I get it–I’ve got problems to. (I write a blog about them.) But as a former business owner, I just don’t think it’s appropriate to verbally vomit on your customers. All right–so this was the mood I was in–a little irritated–and then it was my turn to check out. Handing the lady the powder, I proudly presented my coupon. Well, shit. She said it was expired. Realizing I hadn’t even bothered to look at the print on the back, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Okay.” But then she held the coupon in my face and recited the expiration date to me. “Twelve, thirty-one, two-thousand-seventeen.”

I said, “I believe you.”

Waving the coupon around as if she were swatting at flies, she replied, “Sometimes they print them really small, but this clearly says it expired a few months ago.”

I said, “I believe you.”

Oh my gosh, I was so mad. Like, let it go, lady. (Let it go, Marcus.)

After this disconcerting encounter, I saw my therapist. For a while we discussed my health and how I’ve felt so beat-down, kicked-around, and worn-out lately. My therapist said, “I’m not a medical doctor, but I think you’re going to outlive all of us. This is a difficult patch for you, but I really believe you’re going to come through it.” Then she said, “We’ve entered a new part of the woods in your warrior training. (She’s never referred to our sessions as “warrior training” until today–GRRR!) This is the part where you have to keep believing in yourself no matter how difficult things get.”

Y’all, I hate this part.

Later my therapist and I (the grammar nerd in me almost called the blog, My Therapist and I) discussed my upcoming blog birthday. Today’s blog is number 347, so that means that in less than three weeks, I will have met my original goal–one year–365 days in a row of writing. I can’t tell you how much this stresses me out. Granted, on one hand, I’m getting excited. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished here and intend to celebrate. On the other hand, I’m terrified because I don’t know what to do next. Do I keep blogging or do I quit and work on other projects? If I keep blogging, do I change topics–do I change blogs? These are questions I ask myself.

This evening I’ve been feeling “all the pressure.” When I got home earlier, I noticed a red patch of skin that must have “flared up” after I left the dermatologist office, so I’ve been freaking out about it. What if something is horribly wrong? Also, I’ve been thinking that I’ve “got” to figure out the blog. My therapist and I discussed the possibility of my adding a donation page for those who would like to support me and this project (something I’ve been hesitant to do), and I’ve been worried about making “the right” decision.

Honestly, I’m overwhelmed. Life has been a lot to handle for quite a while now, and my plate is full. (Did you hear that, Lord? My plate is full. F-U-L-L, full.) I know this is why I’m irritated by every little thing and am overly concerned that something else, even something small, will go “wrong.” This last weekend I was at a coffee shop, and a little kid came out of the bathroom and was trying to open the door to go outside. Just a toddler, he was leaning on it with his entire body. Looking at me, he said, “I’m not strong enough to open it.” This is what life feels like for me lately, like I’m doing every damn thing I can here, and doors still aren’t opening.

We all walk through the woods together.

Yes, I did help the little kid open the door. And since then, I really have been working on coming around to the idea of letting others help and not trying to do everything myself. Today my dermatologist said, “Call us if things get out of hand.” (Uh, sir, things got out of hand a long time ago.) I know my therapist is there if I need her. I still haven’t settled everything from the car accident I was in last year, and tonight I had two attorney friends say, “Let us know when you want us to step in. We do this all the time.” This is really good for me to remember, that I’m not alone in all this, that just because I’m struggling doesn’t mean I’m struggling alone. We all walk through the woods together.

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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Everyone Has Pus to Deal With (Blog #245)

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Currently it’s just after midnight, I’ve only been awake for ten hours, and I’m worn to a frazzle. I honestly haven’t done much–I went for a walk, attended improv class, bought groceries–but my energy level is squat. (Squat, I say.) Since I tend to obsess about my health, this only concerns me–a lot. Logically I can say that my body feels so much better than a week ago and that my cough has disappeared, so I must be getting better. But logic doesn’t do much good around here–in my brain, that is. All I can think of are the hundred and one reasons why something must be wrong. Maybe I’m not taking enough vitamins. Maybe I’m taking too many vitamins. (That could be it.) Maybe I’m pregnant–my sister says being pregnant can really drain a person.

Honestly, I want to slap myself. Get a grip, Marcus.

I’m not sure where I got the idea that I need to figure my body out. I mean, I think it’s a good idea to be educated about a few things, take a vitamin c every now and then. But in my experience, my body seems to be able to handle most problems on its own. I mean, for an entire year I ran around with little warts on my face, trying everything under the sun to get rid of them. (The internet said to try duct tape!) I think my dermatologist was half-convinced I had HIV because my immune system wasn’t recognizing the invaders on my pretty face. Well, I got tested and was negative. Then one day the warts just went away. Who knows what happened? Maybe my body was just waiting for me to quit trying so hard.

I can just hear it saying, “Would you stop looking over my shoulder and let me do my job, please?”

I guess I have a really hard time with that, letting go of control. I really think a rational human being would say, “Of course I’m tired–I’m healing–that takes energy. I know–here’s an idea–I’ll sleep more!” Like, it could be that simple. Instead I want to complicate things, spend an hour on the internet trying to diagnose myself. This, of course, is a terrible idea. Tonight in improv class I noticed my brain was offline. I felt kind of foggy and couldn’t think of a single funny or witty thing to say. (I still can’t.) Anyway, if you Google “tired, brain fog” and click on more than one article, you’ll walk away wondering how you’re even alive. It’s like I have to tell myself, Step away from the internet, Marcus.

Step away from the internet.

About ten years ago I saw an acupuncturist and Chinese medicine doctor who gave me a magic powder that was supposed to “lock in” health. “Take this on a day when you feel really great,” she said. Well, I never took it. Maybe I just have high standards, but I kept thinking, I could feel better. (I still think that.) So I guess if I weren’t worried about feeling tired, I’d be worried about my allergies, or my high cholesterol, or the fact that my ears crackle and pop sometimes, even though my ear, nose, and throat doctor said, “You’re normal. That’s the way God made you.” Quite frankly, that’s a hard pill for me to swallow, the idea that I’m normal and okay, that it’s normal to always have something going on because the body is forever adapting to an ever-changing environment.

I know we all worry about our health. Both my sister and my mother have been worried about their cholesterol lately. My mom is battling cancer. As of today, my dad is dealing with allergies or a cold, and he has a whole list of other problems as daily struggles–diabetes, high blood pressure, you name it. But if you were to ask him how he’s doing, he’d smile and say, “If I were any better, I’d be twins.” Then there’s his son, who takes to the internet each night to fret about being tired. Honestly, I’m not sure which is better–sweeping your problems under the rug or airing them out on the front porch. Once again, it’s probably a matter of balance.

I’ve been thinking a lot today about community, thinking I could use some more of it. I recently finished re-listening to a Caroline Myss lecture, and she said that the process of growth and self-empowerment first looks like separating from people (in order to find your inner strength), but later looks like reconnecting with them (because life isn’t just about you). Personally, I know I try to do a lot on my own–figure out my problems, whatever. I’m rather independent. And whereas that feels familiar to me, it’s also exhausting, and I’m starting to believe that’s because we’re simply not created that way. Rather, we’re tribal creatures–we’re meant to connect with each other.

This afternoon I ran into our next door neighbor Carree. She pulled up in her Hyundai as I was going for my walk, and since I have a Hyundai too, I couldn’t help but start a conversation about our vehicles. (Incidentally, we both love our Hyundais.) Anyway, we started talking about the blog, and things got real pretty quick. I said, “I’m not sure why I’m so dedicated to it, but I really believe it’s the most important and transformative thing I’ve ever done. Still, it’s hard, working through all your shit every day.” Carree said we all do what my dad does, put on a face and say we couldn’t be better. “But we all have things we’re working though,” she said. “We all have wounds that fester, pus that bubbles up. [Carree’s a nurse.] You either deal with it now or you deal with it later.”

Then she said, “If you ever want to talk, I’m right next door.”

Our burdens are lighter when we share them.

Personally, I don’t think it was an accident that I ran into Carree on the same day I was feeling a little isolated. (I mean, we never run into each other.) I guess it’s easy to assume everyone else has it together, to see your neighbors in their new cars or the celebrity on television and assume they don’t have any problems, that they never have days when every part of them feels like throwing in the towel. And yet everyone has something going on. Everyone worries, struggles, and falls apart at times. Everyone has pus to deal with. But I’m reminded that we truly are all in this together and that our burdens are lighter when we share them. What’s more, there are people out there who want to connect with us, people closer than we think.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on. It ends up seeping, sometimes exploding out.

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