All Is Not Lost (Blog #628)

Leave a comment

This morning I woke up early–me, awake before noon–because we’d scheduled to have our carpets cleaned and my dad and I needed to move furniture around before the carpet cleaner guy got here. Well, when I rolled out of bed, Dad had already done most the work. But I didn’t go back to bed; I stayed up. Later the guy said he could have worked around me while I slept, but that would have been awkward. Not to mention the fact that this was the first time in–well, a long time–that I’ve had a man in my room, and like I wasn’t going to be awake for that.

But seriously, y’all, this carpet cleaning guy was worth getting up for; he was absolutely hilarious. You know how some people are just natural born performers–always on. Well, for two hours he chatted and worked and had me and my dad in stitches. When my dad (who’s a big guy) razzed him about having gained weight since he was last here, he said, “Hey, this is my winter weight!” Then he looked at my dad’s stomach and said, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!” Seriously, I was rolling in the floor. It was better than going to the movies.

Oh my gosh. Stop the presses! I just heard a joke from my friend Jeffrey on Facebook. (Sometimes I get distracted while I’m blogging.) Anyway. Why do Santa’s helpers have to see a counselor?

Because they have low elf-esteem!

Okay, back on track. This afternoon I went to see my massage therapist. And whereas she couldn’t work directly on my injured knee, she did work above and below it. That is, she worked on my hip flexors and my calves. Wow, they were seriously tight, I’m sure because I’ve been “walking funny” in order to protect my knee. Thankfully, whatever she did helped. Granted, my knee is still stiff, but it’s not nearly as sore or as rusty as it has been. Anyway, I’m grateful for all the help I’m receiving. As my massage therapist said when we were discussing the severity of my injury, “All is not lost.”

“That sounds like the quote of the day,” I said.

So get this shit. All day I’ve been tired and nauseated. I’m assuming the nausea has something to do with my upset stomach or perhaps my leg. Pain can do that. The point is that when I got back home from seeing my massage therapist, I settled in for a long winter’s nap and ended up dreaming about preparing for an improv show. (Ironic, I know.) Anyway, in the dream I had my laptop out and was searching for a particular song–“Saturday in the Park” by Chicago. You know–Saturday in the park. I think it was the fourth of July. Well, when I woke up, in an effort to figure out my dream, I looked up the lyrics to the song, since the first two lines were all I could remember. And no kidding, right at the end of the bridge it says, Listen children, all is not lost. All is not lost. Oh no no.

Talk about crazy. I’m into this connected universe shit, but even I was weirded out. Granted, I’ve heard that song dozens of time, but I never in a million years could have told you “all is not lost” was part of it. Still, clearly it’s a message I need to hear. Because I have been overwhelmed this last year, and I have felt like all is lost. Not that I’ve been hopelessly down in the dumps or ready to jump in front of a moving vehicle. Far from it. (Don’t worry, Mom!) But I have felt pretty beat down by life and haven’t been able to believe “there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” (My first thought when people say that: It’s probably another train.) But the last time I saw my therapist, she actually got emotional talking about HOW MUCH she believes things are going to turn around for me before long. “I’ll believe it until you can believe it for yourself,” she said. So I’m going to try to let this sink in. Life can get better. Things can improve. All is not lost.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

"

Me and the Universe (Blog #627)

Leave a comment

It’s eleven-thirty at night, and I’d rather be doing something else. Watching TV, reading a book, sleeping, you name it. Anything but writing. Fuck this daily practice. Talking about my emotions on the internet! What a dumb idea that was. (I take it back.) And did I mention I’m still limping around like someone with a war injury? I guess it’s gonna be like this for a while. I did sever my ACL. Ugh. Life is a lot sometimes.

Pass the chocolate cake.

This morning I saw my therapist. I’m sure that’s largely why I’m emotionally up in arms. Not that our session didn’t go well. It did. But everything gets stirred up in there. My damned feelings, I mean. Then I have to walk out and do something with them. Or at least wait for them to settle back down. I don’t know, my therapist says it’s always worse around the holidays, that this time of year is when everyone’s crazy comes out. Additionally, today she said that the universe has clearly dumped a lot in my lap lately. And whereas she said she believes it will let up at some point, she also suggested getting used to the idea that the universe will always be presenting me with new challenges until I’m “six feet under or ashes in a jar” because that’s the way the universe rocks.

In other words, when it comes to personal growth, the universe is a real hard ass.

In light of this idea that “there’s always more to do,” my therapist suggested that I back off the self-help shit for a while. This came up because I recently read a book about inherited family trauma (and did all the exercises it suggested) during a short period of time. “I did something similar once, but it was over a couple of years,” she said. “Suffice it to say, you’ve opened a lot of doors in your subconscious. I’d consider giving it a damn rest while everything bubbles up.”

This is a tough thing for me to do, to not rush-rush-rush to the finish line of mental health. I know, I know–there is no finish line; life is a game that never ends (woo). Again, what a dumb idea. But really, I am going to give this some thought. My therapist said today that she really believed my leg injury had to do with my learning to slow down and graciously accept help. She said, “Accepting help doesn’t diminish you as a person; it makes you MORE of a real person.”

So fine. This is me slowing down. This is me accepting help.

Graciously.

(Insert smile here.)

Now it’s after midnight, and I’m pretty much done for the day. My sister and her family are coming to visit this week, and we’re having the carpets cleaned in the morning in preparation for their arrival. All this to say that I won’t be able to sleep in tomorrow, nor will I be able to sleep in once they get here. My nephews are beautiful, but they’re not quiet. (We all have our spiritual gifts.) Anyway, I’m ready to go to bed. Maybe I’ll watch TV first. Regardless, hopefully I’ll nod off soon, and my emotions can bubble up and magically sort themselves out while I snore. Then I can wake up, and the universe and I can try again. Because I do intend to try again, just like I intend to walk without limping again and keep writing every day.

I’m a hard ass too.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Love  is all around us.

"

Your Feelings Won’t Kill You (Blog #622)

Leave a comment

Currently it’s just before midnight, and I’m house sitting for friends. Me, with the bum leg, on crutches. You should have seen me moving my things from my car, Tom Collins, into the house. It took two trips. The first one was easy enough, since all I had to do was strap my backpack and my man-bag around my neck, then crutch my way inside. Granted, navigating two screen doors (my friends have a porch) and five concrete steps was difficult. But I was determined and made it. The second trip was the real challenge, since I had to move my luggage (on rollers), my walker, and me. It looked like this–

Move my walker two feet, move my luggage two feet, move myself two feet.
Move my walker, move my luggage, move myself.
Move my walker, move my luggage, move myself.
Over and over again.

On the second trip, I figured out that it’s easier for me to go up stairs BACKWARDS instead of FORWARDS. Like, if I turn around and leave my crutches on the bottom step, I can hop backwards on to the one above it. Not that this isn’t challenging, but it’s less challenging than either putting my crutches on the higher step and pulling myself up or leaving my crutches on the lower step and hopping forwards. Anyway, every day I spend on crutches gets better and better, and this new technique is seriously a game changer, especially considering the fact that my friends not only have steps GOING INTO their house, but also have a staircase INSIDE their house leading to the room where I’ll be sleeping.

Their advice: be careful and take your time.

I’m glad I’m here. The last few days have been stressful and overwhelming. This leg situation, on top of every other situation in my life, has simply been too difficult. And whereas I won’t have as much help here as I’ve had at home (my parents have been super), I will have time to myself–time to get quiet and hear myself think, time to process, time to heal.

Yes–now that I’m inside–this is perfect. It’s been a long day. This afternoon I saw my therapist, and it was one of our tougher sessions. Mostly because I actually lay back on her couch and let myself fall apart. This was by design–my design. So often I grit my teeth and push my way through when life gets hard, despite the fact that everything in me wants to fall apart. My therapist says I cover a lot up with humor. (I’m pretty funny.) Anyway, after blogging yesterday about welcoming my emotions, I figured it was time to let my defenses down and talk about how fucking overwhelmed I’ve felt lately. To be clear, by “lately” I mean the last twenty-five years.

Give or take.

I guess you could say our talk went well. I mean, I cried. My therapist says it’s always good anytime you empty out “the poison pot.” Plus, my therapist said today was THE WORST she’s seen me since our first meeting over four-and-a-half years ago. I know that sounds like a bad thing, but my therapist actually seemed delighted about it. Maybe delighted is too strong a word. What I mean is that she really believes that things are darkest before the dawn, so the fact that I’ve hit my emotional rock bottom makes her think that things are about to start improving for me. Talk about optimism. Like that kid who gets excited when he sees a roomful of shit. Jumping up and down in the manure, he says, “There’s GOTTA BE a pony in here somewhere!”

When my therapist saw that I wasn’t on board with her positive outlook for my life, she said, “You can tell me to go fuck off if you want to.” This is a thing with her. Like, she gets excited when clients tell her to go screw herself. I guess because it means they’ve empowered themselves in some way. So I said, “Fuck you,” but she said it sounded wimpy. “Try again,” she said.

I sat up on the couch. “FUCK YOU!”

“Okay, that’s better,” she said.

Leaving therapy, I still felt less than optimistic. “It’s okay if you don’t believe things will get better,” my therapist said. “I believe it enough for the both of us.” So that’s something, a sliver of hope between two people.

Ugh, so many emotions.

Lately I’ve been reading a book called It Didn’t Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle by Mark Wolynn. Honestly, it’s one of the most profound and helpful self-help/psychology books I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a few (hundred) of them. The basic idea is that often our emotional and even physical problems begin long before we’re born. Said another way, our problems, rather than simply belonging to us as individuals, more rightly belong to us as families. For example, for a long time I’ve had a hangup around money. Well, my grandpa on one side went through the Depression. My grandmother on the other side had a father who wouldn’t give her a quarter (a quarter!) for a library card (but he WOULD bail her alcoholic brother out of jail). My parents essentially lost everything twice, once in a fire, once when my dad went to prison. So scarcity is a pattern of thinking that’s–um–pervasive in my family.

The book says that we often adopt not-so-helpful beliefs and even physical illnesses as a way of bonding with our family members, or in an effort to take their pain away. However, when we do this, we get confused about “what belongs to whom.” So one of the exercises the author suggests is to make a family tree of trauma, a list of family members with notes about who died, who lied, who cheated, who mistreated, who blamed, who felt shamed, etc. My parents have been gracious enough to help me do this. Last week my mom and I discussed her side of the family, and tonight my dad and I discussed his. And whereas both conversations were truly helpful, they were also A LOT. Not that I imagine our family is all that different from anyone else’s, but suffice it to say there’s no small amount of grief, disappointment, fear, and sadness in my family tree.

Personally, I think this is why–in addition to my screwing up my knee–this last week and this afternoon have been so challenging. That is, I’ve given myself permission to feel the weight of my family history in an effort to not only honor my lineage but also put some of our traumas to rest. This is not fun; I don’t recommend it. But seriously, I do, since I don’t believe we’re meant to carry our pain indefinitely. At some point, it’s gotta come up, and SOMEONE’S gotta feel whatever it is. (Might as well be you.) In my case, if it takes an injured leg, a confrontational therapist, and some tough conversations for that to happen, then so be it. As one of my friend says, “Your feelings won’t kill you.” But as I’ve felt lighter this evening than I have in a long time, they might just set you free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Sometimes you have to go back before you can go forward.

"

Go Eff Yourself, 2018 (Blog #616)

Leave a comment

Okay. Phew. It’s five in the evening, I’m at home with my bum knee, and I’ve got an hour before I need to get myself up, get myself together, and get to the theater for our holiday variety show. It’s opening night. Woo. I’ll let you know how it goes. Really, if I can get my pants on, things should be fine. If I can’t–well–the audience may get more than they’ve bargained for.

Earlier today I went to see my therapist, and when I walked in on crutches, her receptionist said, “WHAT did you do?” After I explained, she told me how she once tore her ACL while playing Fantasy Football. No kidding, apparently she got excited while watching a game, jumped up from the couch to hoot and holler, and her leg just gave out. So you know–shit happens, you’re never alone in your challenges, and all that.

Merry Christmas.

When my therapist walked into the waiting room and saw me, she did a double take and literally took a step back. After a brief pause she said, “I can see you have A LOT going on today.” Then as I stood up and grabbed my crutches–which are decorated with tinsel and a Christmas stocking because of the theater show I’m in–my therapist disappeared. Reemerging from wherever she went, she dropped a handful of candy into my stocking. “Candy for Tiny Tim–No!–TALL Tim,” she said. Later she added, “Hopefully everyone else will take the hint, and that thing will be overflowing by Christmas.”

Fingers crossed.

About my injury and how frustrating it’s been for me (because this year has been one damn thing after another), my therapist reminded me that “not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.” This is something she’s said before and comes from a story about a small bird whose wings froze one winter. There this little fella was, stuck on the ground shivering to death, and a cow came by and took a dump on him. Well, the heat from the manure thawed the bird out, and he was saved! (Cute, right?) Anyway–“The universe has taken a shit on you,” she said, “but we don’t know WHY. We don’t know what GOOD could come from this or what DOORS this may open.”

Then she said, “And it’s okay to be pissed off and tell 2018 to go fuck itself.”

Go fuck yourself, 2018.

The other thing my therapist said about my current situation is that it’s always darkest before the dawn. Well, she said that it’s always darkest before things turn around, but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “The myths are full of stories about how things get worse before they get better,” she said, “and that’s because myths mirror real life.” (Personally, I have the getting worse part down and am waiting on the getting better part.) Then when I told her that several people are taking my injuring myself as an opportunity to remind me that I’m no longer a spring chicken (aren’t people great?), she said, “You’re ONLY 27! How old do they want you to be–17?!”

This is why I give her all my money.

All right, I’m wrapping this up and am going to TRY to wiggle into my jeans, my dress shoes, and my slightly undersized sweater that says, “Ho Ho Ho.” And to be clear, that’s something Santa says, not a reference to my moral character or what I act like on the weekends.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Even if you can't be anything you want to be, you can absolutely be who you were meant to be. Don't let anyone else tell you differently.

"

The Hardest Lesson You Will Ever Learn (Blog #608)

Leave a comment

Phew. I swear. I haven’t had a lick of energy today. I hate that, feeling like I’ve had the stuffing knocked out of me, going about my day with all the inner fortitude of a soggy biscuit. Still, I’ve tried not to obsess over it (even though I’m clearly obsessing about it now) and just put one foot in front of the other.

Left, right, left, right.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we discussed my frustration with not feeling well. She said that she went through a similar period in her life. And whereas it frustrated her at the time too, she’s grateful for it now–because it helped make her who she is today both personally and professionally. Like, she’s more understanding and supportive and shit. “It’s about developing patience,” she said, “and patience is THE HARDEST lesson you will ever learn. It FUCKING SUCKS.”

But for real.

Later my therapist said she felt like 2019 was going to be a good year for me. God, I hope she’s right. Regardless, I can’t tell you what a big deal this is, to have someone who not only believes in and affirms me, but also consistently imagines a better future for me. Even when I’ve been too down to hope for myself, she’s said, “Things are going to get better. And it’s okay if you don’t believe that–I believe enough for both of us.”

After therapy I went to a coffee shop and read until I got kicked out. The book I’m working my way through is a 450-page tome on addiction in all its many forms (nicotine, drugs, alcohol, shopping, you name it). Then, despite the fact that I’m nowhere near finished with this and a number of other books I’ve started, I went to the library and checked out two more–because THAT’S my addiction. Buying (or checking out) books is that thing that gets me excited (that is, that causes my brain to release dopamine) just thinking about. And whereas I might have “worried” about this at one time, I don’t anymore because 1) it’s a benign habit, 2) it’s not hurting me or anyone else, and 3) it could be A LOT worse.

This evening my parents, my aunt, and I went out to eat for my mom’s birthday (it’s today), and despite my professed lack of energy, I somehow managed to shove a giant burger, a fistful of fries, and half a piece of cheesecake into my mouth. Anyway, here’s a picture after ALL OF US cleaned our plates.

After dinner my parents and I drove around Fort Smith to look at Christmas lights. This was the perfect thing–low-key, easy, beautiful. Now it’s after midnight, and I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. I’m in this weird place–not thrilled about where I am and how I feel, but not devastated about it either. Of course I want things to get better. I want to have more energy. But if this is my life now, this is my life now. If this is meant to teach me patience, then that’s what I intend to learn.

Slowly, of course, since patience by definition can’t be learned quickly.

Damn it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

"

This Is the Difficult Thing (Blog #606)

1 Comment

For the last month, my right shoulder has been giving me fits. I guess I wore it out whenever I was doing all that remodel and painting work. Anyway, it’s been inflamed, and I’ve been hoping it would calm down. Like, Chill out, shoulder. Alas, it hasn’t, just like my upset stomach of four months hasn’t. Ugh, this is the most frustrating thing, low to medium-level pain that simply won’t budge no matter what you try. Every night you go to bed thinking, Maybe it will be better in the morning. But then it never is. So what–do you throw up your hands, give in, and admit that life sucks?

Or do you keep hoping?

After irritating my hip yesterday while practicing for an upcoming dance routine, I called my chiropractor’s office today to see if they could get me in. They do this ultrasound thing that really helps. Luckily, they had space this afternoon. And whereas I normally lie on a “roller bed” that digs into my back muscles before my appointment, today I lay on a “waterbed” that massages your back with jets and–I now know–makes all your fat jiggle from side to side. Anyway, after the chiropractor adjusted my back, his assistant did the ultrasound thing on my hip, then used an infrared machine on my shoulder. So we’ll see what happens. I’m supposed to go back next week. The chiropractor said, “Don’t do anything on your to-do list for a few days. You have two shirts on, and it’s still obvious your shoulder is swollen.”

After my appointment, I went to a friend’s to help them with a computer problem. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?” they said. (Right?!) Now I’m at home. Somewhere between there and here, I’ve become cranky. At first I thought it was because I was hungry, but eating didn’t help. Then I thought it was because I was tired, but resting didn’t help either. I guess I’m frustrated. For one thing, my body hurts. For another thing, my spirit hurts. That is, I’ve been hoping for a long time now that “something” would work out and go my way. And not that I haven’t had some good things happen–I have–but not in the way I’ve been hoping for. Frankly, it’s been a rough year.

Currently the last thing I want to do is sit here and keep typing–because it’s too easy to bitch. When I start thinking about all the things to frustrate me, it’s too easy to–as my therapist says–go down the rabbit hole. And I really want to avoid that, since I don’t like that version of myself, the version that’s hyper-critical, woe-is-me, and gloom-and-doom. I much prefer the version of me that’s willing to weather whatever storm, is up to a good old fashioned challenge, and has infinite inner strength. Alas, I’ve yet to figure out how to conjure that guy up at will. Be happy! Be grateful! Be loving!

Ick. As if that shit works.

In these moments, the best I can do is take it easy on myself. Tonight that means blogging short, maybe reading a book or watching a movie, and going to bed early. It means not trying to solve all my problems this evening, not internally insisting that any difficult thing in my life “go away now.” Because I do believe that our troubles are our teachers. Used correctly, they bring out the best in us. Used incorrectly, they bring out the worst. And this is the difficult thing, to allow your pain, problems, and frustrations to grow you rather than swallow you up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

"

On Thanksgiving and Options (Blog #602)

Leave a comment

It’s Thanksgiving night, and for the last several hours I’ve been hiding away in my room, tucked under my warm covers reading a book, scrolling through social media, and searching Google. By “searching Google” I mean “looking up my medical problems and scaring the shit out of myself.” It’s been a delightful evening. Actually, it’s been a delightful day.

This morning I woke up and ate breakfast (after which the morning was over). Then this afternoon I watched the final two episodes of the FX Series Pose, which is about homosexuals and transsexuals in the late 1980s in New York City. Ugh, what a fabulous show. I cried during the last episode. All evening I’ve been thinking about the characters–their hopes, their dreams, their challenges, their fabulous wardrobes. I can’t wait for next season.

My therapist said once that when you binge watch shows and identify with the characters, that’s called a “para-social relationship.” As I understand it (after reading this slide-show about them) para-social relationships are one-sided relationships a person develops with celebrities or book, television, or movie characters and can be positive because they provide a certain amount of social and emotional stimulation without all the hard work and fear of rejection. Like, Harry Potter will only be there for you. He’ll never tell you to “go jump off a bridge, jerk.” Anyway, my therapist also said that if you, dear reader, get any benefit from what I share from my sessions with her, then this blog would be a “para-therapeutic” relationship for you. “It’s obviously not the same as actually going to therapy,” she said, “but it would be like a quarter measure.”

You always have options.

My therapist has this thing about measures, that is, quarter measures, half measures, and full measures. Like, let’s say you have a problem with someone and want to do something about it. A quarter measure response might be to not see them as often or simply say, “I’d like you to stop texting me when you’re drunk, Grandma.” A half measure response might be to write them a letter or have a serious come-to-Jesus meeting and say, “Just who the hell do you think you are, Beatrice?” A full-measure response, however, would sound more like, “Eff you, lady, and the horse you rode in on. I don’t ever want to see you again.” My therapist’s point being–you always have options and don’t have to go all the way in every situation, especially when going part-way will get the job done.

But back to Thanksgiving.

Late this afternoon my parents, my mom’s sister (my aunt), and I went to Cracker Barrel. This is becoming a thing in our family, going out to eat on holidays. It’s fabulous; no cooking, no dishes. Anyway, because we went later in the day, we didn’t have to wait long (just ten minutes) to get seated. Immediately, my dad started harassing our waitress. “Are there free refills? On the food, I mean.” Then my mom put a prescription bottle from Walmart on the table, and I thought, The holidays have arrived. I texted one of my friends about the bottle, and she said, “Xanax for everyone!”

“I should be so lucky,” I replied. “It’s probably something for irritable bowel.”

For dinner I had the traditional–turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce. It was like a deal–$11.99–and included a free drink and even a slice of pumpkin pie. And whereas it all tasted super great, I couldn’t get over the fact that the stuffing came in the shape of a tennis ball (because it was served cafeteria style, with an ice-cream scooper) and the tablespoon-sized serving of cranberry sauce came in a cup that looked like it should be used to give hospital patients their medications.

After dinner, while Dad and I were eating our respective desserts, an old lady passed by our table, and we smiled at each other. It was just the sweetest thing. Then as she kept walking, Dad pointed out that her shawl was partially tucked into the back of her pants. I guess she went to the bathroom and didn’t get everything put back together quite right. I can’t tell you how much we laughed about this. Honestly, I’m still laughing about it. Out loud.

Anyway, there we were, my whole family, cackling like hyenas, and Dad said, “I’m going to go tell her.”

“No, Ron!” Mom said. “I’ve done that before with toilet paper, and she’d be so embarrassed if a stranger said something.”

“That would be embarrassing,” I said. “And I’ve walked out with toilet paper on my shoe too.”

“No, I had it tucked into my pants,” Mom said.

And so we laughed some more.

Now I’m ready to go to bed, and my stomach’s upset. It’s been upset for months now, and–honestly–it’s not any worse than it normally is. But because I’ve been searching Google about it, I’m kind of freaking out, like, This is never going to get better. And since I’ve tried some quarter measure things like home remedies and prescriptions from my doctor (the latest prescription for a full day now), I’m thinking of trying a full measure thing like a restrictive diet or colon surgery. You know, I like to be dramatic. But something tells me to calm down, Sally, and go with a half measure. I’ll let you know how it goes.

But on today especially, I’m thankful that I at least have options.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

All things become ripe when they’re ready.

"

Flipped Upside Down (Blog #595)

Leave a comment

It’s 7:55 in the evening, and I’m at the local Starbucks. I’m alone, and so far I’ve sat at three different tables. At the first one, I had a video chat with my sister and my nephews. Then, after deciding to stay to blog, I moved to a table with built-in electrical outlets so I could charge my laptop and phone. But the outlets didn’t work. Now I’m at the third and final table, scrunched up in a corner with a giant, not exactly energy-efficient window to my back. So I’m cold. But at least I’m all plugged in and am recharging.

The History of Where I Sat by Marcus Coker.

I’ve felt off for the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday’s therapy session was a lot. I mean, it brought up a lot, mostly around my issues with money and business. Those topics always makes me a little squeamish, although it has gotten better lately, a lot better. (Now I only half-shit myself when discussing money.) Anyway, I came home last night and baked a frozen pizza in order to help me process everything my therapist and I talked about. The only problem was that I left that round piece of cardboard under the pizza when I put it in the oven. (You’re not supposed to do this.) And whereas the cardboard didn’t catch on fire–phew!–it did keep the pizza from cooking properly. This really sucks, when you try to eat your feelings but can’t because you don’t have any kitchen skills.

“You have a lot of talents, Marcus, but cooking clearly isn’t one of them,” my dad said. “You can’t even bake a frozen pizza!”

“Is this you being an encouraging parent?” I replied. “Are we having a father-son moment–is that what’s going on here?”

Today, at least on the outside, has been pretty dandy. This afternoon I had lunch with a friend who made me laugh, laugh, laugh. Then later I had coffee with another friend, and when we discussed my hatred for winter and the fact that my outfit of choice is jeans and a t-shirt, they said, “When you dress appropriately for each season, it’s easier to enjoy them.” So I’m going to work on that, maybe get some thicker socks and a fluffy coat.

I really am trying to take steps to enjoy the colder weather and not be so miserable. Last night before falling asleep I rubbed lotion into my hands and elbows, since they always dry out during this time of year. There’s no reason to add to your suffering, I told myself. A little bit goes a long way. And it’s not like the fall and winter don’t offer up their wonders in exchange for the light and heat they take away. Last night after the pizza incident but before I went to bed, I ran to Walmart to get a new headlight bulb for my car, Tom Collins, since I’d noticed one of them had burned out. Then when I got home, I saw that the sky had cleared (it’s been cloudy at night for weeks), and that the stars were out.

Wow! There was Orion, and next to him Gemini, The Twins. Y’all, it’s been so long since I’ve really gotten to study the sky. All my favorite players from two months ago–Pegasus, Perseus, Triangulum–had all moved from east to west. It was so disorienting–everything that was “right side up” had flipped upside down. (This is the consequence of our earth’s rotation.) My brain didn’t know what to do. Still, all of it was gorgeous, and I actually got excited about what the next few months will gift me in terms of experiences like these, despite the cold package they’ll surely be delivered in.

I came to Starbucks to chat with my sister because I have a meeting online tomorrow and wanted to test out my laptop’s camera and microphone first. Thankfully, my sister agreed to be my guinea pig. And whereas I’d assumed we’d just talk long enough for me to know whether things on my end were working, we ended up talking for twenty-five minutes. There I was in the middle of Starbucks, carrying on a rather loud conversation with my laptop screen and honestly acting a fool, since my sister and I got silly, silly, silly. Anyway, the whole thing put me in the best mood.

It’s weird how you can make such a big damn deal about things in your head. Like, yesterday, I was really worked up about life, and that mood carried over until–sometime–this afternoon. And it’s not like I wasn’t trying to make it go away–I was using every trick I know to stop worrying. But then I quit trying and told myself, Just let it be, Marcus. Just be with the people you care about. Just be here now. Somewhere along the way, my anxiety lifted. Now I’m thinking, What was the big deal about, Marcus? Why all the fuss? It’s weird. Without my trying or even meaning to, me emotions have flipped upside down, like a constellation in the night sky.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

"

Life Is Full of Gutter Balls (Blog #594)

Leave a comment

It’s six in the evening, and I just finished going to therapy and having coffee with a friend. By coffee, I mean hot tea, I just don’t think tea sounds as cool as coffee. Unless you’re British, of course, which I’m not, and neither is my friend. Anyway, my friend had to leave, so now I’m hanging out by myself at the coffee shop. I mean, there are other people here–about twenty–they’re just not sitting at my table. That would be weird, since I don’t know them. And crowded, since my table only seats four.

I told my therapist that lately I’ve been feeling “blah,” that I hate the cold weather, that my body’s felt “just okay,” and that I haven’t made a dollar in two weeks. “Two weeks?” she said. “That’s not a big deal. Let’s talk when it’s two years. Do you have a roof over your head, food in your belly, and gas in your car?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then relax,” she said. “You need to calm the fuck down.”

So I’m working on that.

Everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
Everything is just–what’s the word?–hunky-fucking-dory.

Now it’s six-thirty, and I’ve been sitting in this chair for three solid hours. When I first got here, the place was warm, but someone must have turned on the air conditioner. Never mind the fact that it’s literally freezing cold outside. I don’t know, maybe it’s just because so many people have left. Body heat is like, a thing.

I’m planning to go to a dance in a little while. That should help warm me up. Plus, it’s nice–well, usually nice–to be around people. I’ve been cooped up at home with my parents and Days of Our Lives for the last three days, and whereas I love my parents (and sometimes actually like Days of Our Lives), it’s good to have a change of pace. A little social interaction. A conversation or two.

Everything is fine.

Just before I left therapy, I told my therapist that I recently blogged about commitment versus obligation, two things she and I discussed in our last session. She said it was okay to feel “some obligation” to things, like to this blog. And that’s good, since I definitely feel that at times. Take now, for instance. I’m distracted and ready to get out of here. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately, and I don’t know HOW to calm the fuck down. The last thing I want to do is sit here and sit in my feelings. Seriously, sitting in your feelings every day, every damn day, can get old real quick.

Last night while cleaning my room I found a caricature of me that was drawn in 1994, back when I was a big bowler. My sister and I were actually part of a league–The Wednesday Juniors. This was our idea of organized sports. We had handicaps and everything. We even went to several tournaments, collected a few patches. Woo. Anyway, I’m not sure why it’s relevant now. I just remember that Arkansas ball cap. I used to wear it all the time. And I remember how I’d get nervous and my palms would sweat before it was my turn to throw the ball, especially if I needed to hit so many pins in order to progress to the next round. But then I’d hold my hand over the air vent, pick up my ball, and find my spot on the lane. Then I’d take a deep breath and throw the ball.

Sometimes it was a strike, sometimes a gutter. More often, it was something in between.

My therapist says that in life you need to be prepared to fall on your face hundreds of times, sometimes thousands. Believe it or not, this was said as an encouragement. But I get it, not every moment of every day is a strike. Life is full of gutter balls and in-between moments. It’s certainly full of sweaty-palm moments. Full of I-don’t-know-what-to-do moments. So we do the best we can. We tell ourselves, “Everything is fine.” We try to find our place, we take a deep breath, and we try again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

There’s a lot of magic around you.

"

On Today and Becoming Famous (Sort of) (Blog #593)

Leave a comment

Things that happened today–

1. I woke up

Last night I passed out way early but only slept for a couple hours. Then I tossed and turned for a couple hours, then I finally fell back asleep. Then when my bladder woke me up this morning/afternoon, I was in a fog, which I’ve been in ever since. My hips hurt, and–I know this sounds like something an old person would say, but–it’s probably because the weather’s changing. Seriously, I do not thrive when it’s cold outside. Still, as my dad says, “Any day above ground is a good day.”

2. I remembered how much I’ve forgotten

This afternoon I worked more on my photo-sorting project. I’m getting close to done. A few more days like today, and I should have it licked. Anyway, nothing profound came up today, at least nothing that hasn’t come up before. But here’s a photo of me and my friend DeAnna, who taught me how to dance. (She’s the responsible party.) I know it was taken in Biloxi, MS, but I can’t for the life of me remember when. Well wait, I think it was sometime around (either just before or after) Hurricane Katrina, which was in 2005. So that’s a clue. I swear, trying to remember my life is like trying to solve a murder mystery.

3. I faced my fears

For over a year I’ve been meaning to add a “donate” page to the website, but have been putting it off, putting it off because it brings up a lot of issues for me. (Fear of money, fear of rejection, fear of acceptance.) But my therapist and I set a goal to have it done by next week (ish), so tonight I “drafted” the page. And whereas I was initially terrified to sit down and “write something, write anything,” it went fine and wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I imagined it would be. I mean, it was just putting my honest thoughts on the page, and that’s something I do every day. Plus, my therapist and I have done a lot of digging around WHY this is such a big damn deal for me, and as I heard Shakti Gawain* say tonight (and I’m paraphrasing), “When we really look at the root of our fears and acknowledge them, they begin to dissolve.”

*Shakti Gawain was the author of Creative Visualization. She passed away this last week.

4. I became famous

Well, sort of. Recently while I was on a travel writing trip in Tennessee, my friend and fellow journalist Tom Wilmer interviewed me about swing dancing for his podcast, Journeys of Discovery, on NPR. Y’all, I was totally nervous. I’m so used to ASKING questions, not ANSWERING them. But Tom was super, like “this is no big deal,” and put me at ease. Later, Tom combined my interview with another interview he did about belly dancing, and the show went live tonight. Here’s a link to the entire thing. It’s about thirty minutes long, and my part starts at 13:55. Personally, I’m thrilled with how it turned out. Thanks, Tom!

Be sure to check out some of Tom’s other interviews. He gets to meet the coolest people and does a fabulous job sharing their stories with the world.

5. I cleaned my room

While listening to the podcast, I dusted my room. Woowho. Now I won’t have to do that again for another six months.

[One final shout-out to Tom for taking the picture of me at the top of tonight’s blog. It’s from our trip to Tennessee and was taken at Fall Creek Falls State Park.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

"