Does Someone Up There Have a Bet Going? (Blog #620)

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For the last few days I’ve been struggling to use my blog editing software, which recently updated itself without asking me first. (How rude.) And whereas I was starting to understand it, it wasn’t playing nice with my “preview pictures,” the smaller-sized versions of each blog’s main photo that are used for the “related posts” section on my site. (Found at the bottom of each individual post, the “related posts” section recommends three–um–related posts). Anyway, when I noticed last night that a particular preview picture wasn’t being generated, it frustrated me to no end. So earlier I figured out a workaround, then later figured out how to get all my pictures, quotes, and everything else back to the way they’ve been for the last two years.

Up next: an explanation.

My blogging site’s new editing software is called Gutenberg, probably named after the man who invented the printing press. Regardless, I guess the people who invented Gutenberg saw this problem coming, curmudgeons like me getting frustrated by changes, so they created an option to blog using the “Classic Editor.” That’s the one I’m using now. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it–classic? Almost makes me forget I’m a pissed off old fart with his arms folded across his chest who’s refusing to do things differently than he always has.

Classic: another word for set in your ways.

I’m telling myself it’s not that I absolutely won’t learn new things. I will. But these new things need to work at least as well as the old things did, or I’m out. (Done. Check please.) Ugh. I really didn’t intend to bitch for 250 words about this situation. The truth is I’m frustrated with my body. Earlier this year I battled a skin rash (where nobody wants a skin rash), but it’s been under control for months now. Then this morning–out of the not-so-clear blue sky, it showed back up. Maybe because since injuring my knee I’ve been showering in my parents’ bathroom and using a different soap. That’s the best theory my team of doctors came up with the first time, that it was an allergic reaction. “An inflammation whose cause is unknown” is what the lab report said. Anyway, it’s not pleasant. I feel like I have an entire extended family of mosquitoes living inside my pants.

I’m glad we can talk about these things.

As if that weren’t enough, this afternoon I got an MRI of my knee, my first MRI ever. Y’all, that machine was SO FRICKING LOUD. It sounded like a woodpecker using a jack hammer combined with that awful screeching noise used in Psycho when Anthony Perkins stabs Janet Leigh to death in the shower. Even with earplugs in, all I could hear was THUD-THUD-THUD-REEK-REEK-REEK for twenty minutes straight.

It was not relaxing.

That being said, the MRI itself went well. “We got really good pictures,” the technician told me. But lest this post start to sound too cherry, let’s get back to the bad news, which my doctor called me with this evening. In short, I tore my ACL and lateral meniscus, which explains why my leg currently has all the inner strength of a blob of apricot jelly. (That is to say, I can’t stand on the damn thing.) Anyway, my doctor said that ACL tears are pretty common in sports (like dancing), and that mine can be repaired (with surgery), but will require “harvesting” ligaments (I think that’s what he said) from my hamstring. Harvesting–can you believe that’s an actual medical term? Sounds like something you should be doing in September in Iowa–gathering in the corn. Except in this situation, they’ll be gathering in my body parts.

Talk about macabre.

In terms of my lateral meniscus, my doctor said they don’t repair well, so he’ll probably end up shaving off the damaged section. (Doesn’t that sound pleasant?) I can’t tell you how disheartening all this is. Not that I haven’t been assuming I’d need surgery, but there’s something about hearing your doctor say it, about being told you’ll be in a big, awkward brace for six weeks, will be in some sort of brace or another for an entire year (an entire year!), and won’t be able to dance for three months.

As of now, surgery hasn’t been scheduled, but my attitude is “let’s do this.” Not that I’m looking forward to it–I’m not–but the sooner we get this ball rolling, the sooner it’s all behind me. Shit. I’m really in a state of disbelief. My stomach’s upset (it has been for months), my skin’s irritated and inflamed, and now this nonsense with my leg (which, by the way, I use to make a living). What else can go wrong? Don’t answer that.

I know, things could always be worse. I’m not alone. Plenty of people have upset stomachs, irritated skin, and knee caps that function like Slinkys. But seriously–God, life, the universe–something needs to give. Yesterday I said the juice was worth the squeeze, but I didn’t mean squeeze harder. I’m up for learning through suffering and all–I get that’s a thing down here–but back off a little. (Pretty please?) I mean, if I accidentally signed up for the advanced course before incarnating, I apologize. That was a mistake. I take it back. From now on, if you don’t mind, I’d like my “tests” a bit more spread out. Just one exam a semester should work, thank you.

Life sucks until it’s finished sucking.

I know life doesn’t work this way. Sure, you can ask the heavens to back off, but you see how well that worked for Job. In other words, sometimes life sucks, it sucks hard, and it sucks hard until it’s finished sucking. And good luck ever getting an explanation. It’s not like the deity ever bothered telling Job, “You see, I had this wager–.”  And even if he had told him, it’s not like that tidbit of information would have made Job feel any better about losing–um–everything he ever loved. It’s not like, after being told that he was the subject of a big cosmic crap game, he would have scraped a piece of broken pottery across his leprosy boils and said, “Makes sense to me, God; feel free to double down next time!” No, explanations don’t help us when we’re suffering. Nor do we get to boss the heavens about or decide when we’re “done.” What we can do, however, is pray for the grace to accept this moment for what it is. For in acceptance, it seems, there’s relief.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

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Oh Boy (Blog #613)

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Two days ago I injured my left knee during a dance routine, and this afternoon I saw a friend of mine who’s an orthopedic surgeon about the matter. Y’all, he took one look at my swollen leg, and these were his exact words–“Oh boy.” Talk about bad news. Later, after his staff took x-rays, he said there was “a small fragment of bone” floating unattached–toward either the front or back of my kneecap. (I’m assuming this isn’t normal and was also bad news.) “We really need to get an MRI,” he said. “That will tell the whole story, then we can go from there.”

So now we have a plan–wait for the hospital to call and schedule the MRI, get the MRI, then go back to see my friend the doctor. In the meantime, he gave me a knee immobilizer, this fancy situation with three steel rods in it to stabilize my leg and protect it from further damage. As for how to take care of my knee, he said I could use ice or heat or “whatever makes you feel comfortable,” but that nothing would really increase or decrease the rate at which I heal. Ugh, healing. The topic of surgery has already been brought up. In other words, this could take a damn while.

Merry Christmas, Marcus.

I spent this afternoon and evening at the Fort Smith Little Theater getting ready for our holiday variety show, which is this coming weekend. I’ll be in two skits–a musical improv skit, which I discussed yesterday, and a two-man improv game called What’s My Line, during which a friend of mine and I will make up a skit on the spot and have to work in audience-provided lines that we pull out of a hat mid-performance. In tonight’s practice game we were two siblings in the backseat of a car (on the way to grandma’s), but our relationship and location will change based on audience suggestions each night. If this sounds terrifying, just rolling with whatever’s thrown at you, IT IS.

Here’s a picture of our set and two of the other musical improv actors.

In both the musical improv and regular improv numbers, there were hits and misses tonight. That’s the deal with improv. It’s like a box of chocolates. Sometimes you hit on something really super–a great character, a delightful relationship, a wonderful line. At one point this evening, I became a four-year-old named Walter, and everything just clicked. Probably because my emotions lately have been about as stable as a toddler’s. But then other times you fall flat on your face. In my last musical number, I was a dad who took his daughter to Disney World and ended up saying, “The holidays are awkward. That’s why your grandma drinks. Also, your mother and I are getting a divorce. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear at Christmas.” At which point our musical director said, “Well THAT took a dark turn.”

I mean, sometimes life takes a dark turn.

I guess it keeps things interesting.

Personally, I’m fed up with “interesting” in my life. Lately my energy levels have been low, and now that everything from going to the bathroom to plugging in my phone is has become a major production, I’m more physically worn out than ever. But you know–I’m trying to be pleasant, to not totally withdraw and feel sorry for myself. This is why I didn’t bail on my commitment to the Little Theater, why I’m slowly dragging my ass out on stage every night despite the fact that I’m embarrassed by my crutches and–I realized tonight–wholly jealous of the other cast members, who get to dance, jump about, and otherwise make use of both the knees God gave them.

That is, I’m trying to roll with what’s been thrown at me.

(Tonight this costume was thrown at me.)

This is definitely a challenge, going with the flow, or, as Teresa of Avila says, breasting life’s rough waves joyfully. Personally, I’m so tired of “soldiering on.” This afternoon while listening to Neil Diamond sing, “Money talks, but it don’t sing and dance, and it don’t walk,” I started crying because I thought, I don’t dance or walk either!

Seriously, life can a lot sometimes.

Now it’s almost midnight, and I need to get to bed because I have an appointment in the morning and need to wake up early enough to shower. Granted, I’m not sure HOW I’m going to shower, but after three days of NOT showering, I feel like I should. This afternoon I stood on one foot at the sink and took a “whore’s bath” with a washcloth, and that just didn’t get the job done, if you know what I mean. Anyway, we’ll see what happens; we’ll see what life throws at me tomorrow.

Oh boy.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

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