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.

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.