The Roles We Play (Blog #215)

Today is Halloween, the day children and adults alike dress up and pretend to be something they’re not. So when I woke up this morning still sick and feeling like crap, I decided I’d pretend to feel good. A healthy person–that’s what I’ll be today! Now I just have to put one foot in front of the other. I really do think my sinus infection is getting better–I have less “junk”–but lately my energy level has been shit. I’m hoping this is because my body is pooling its resources in an effort to heal, maybe make me rest so it can get busy performing a miracle. I like these ideas better than thinking my body is simply throwing in the towel, something I truthfully feel like doing. As the saying goes, I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

With this in mind, I’m considering starting a restrictive diet tomorrow in order to give my body a reset. I messaged my friend April today, and she said sometimes she cleans up her sinuses by basically eating chicken, a few fruits, and certain cooked vegetables. She said it takes two weeks for your body to “start over” and four weeks to get the best results. Honestly, this sounds like hell–but I’ve done something similar before, so surely I can do it again. Plus, I really think my body could use some help–help that doesn’t look like chocolate cake and Taco Bell, as I’m pretty sure those aren’t immune system boosters.

This evening I drove to Fayetteville and had dinner with my friend CJ. She told me my hair looked good–different–gayer. Ten years ago a statement like this would have horrified me, like, My hair looks gay? What if someone thinks I am? But tonight I said, “That’s fantastic–I am gay. Better if my hair is too.”

For dinner I had a reuben sandwich on rye, french fries, and a pickle. None of that, of course, will be on the diet I’m starting tomorrow, so tonight I kept thinking, This is my last piece of bread, this is my last french fry, this is my last supper. Oh my god, y’all, I ate my last supper on Halloween–just like Jesus!

Oh wait. His last supper was on Easter–er–Passover. (Holidays are so confusing.)

When we finished eating, CJ and I attended The Rocky Horror Picture Show (my mom called it Rocky Mountain Horror) at Walton Arts Center. I saw a live stage performance of Rocky Horror recently, but tonight was the traditional deal–the movie playing on a big screen, people dressed up as the characters and using props, everyone calling Brad an asshole and Janet a slut. Granted, CJ and I didn’t dress up or use props, but we at least got out of our seats and danced the entire Time Warp, which the couple next to us did not.

Losers.

Here’s a picture of the costume contest that went on before the show. The couple that dressed as Eddie (the guy with the saxophone) and Columbia (the girl in gold sequins and a top hat) won the contest, but if anyone knows Rocky (the naked guy with all the muscles), I’d like to give him a consolation prize. God, Marcus, you don’t have to share every thought that pops into your brain. Your mother reads this, for crying out loud.

If you’re familiar with Rocky Horror, you know audience members throw a lot of shit–toilet paper when they say, “Dr. Scott,” toast when they say, “A toast!” Well, as all that toast was flying through the air tonight, I just assumed it was plain old bread. I didn’t figure people would go through the trouble of actually–well–toasting it. I mean, entire loaves were being thrown–that’s a lot of work. But when the lights came on, sure enough, every piece I saw was burned on both sides. Talk about dedication. Well, shit. Now all I can think about is eating toast. I guess I could get up and make some. I mean, the diet doesn’t technically start until tomorrow.

Far be it from me to overachieve.

This morning I read an article by Joseph Campbell about the history and meaning of Halloween. (It’s long, but you can find it here.) In it he says that Halloween represents dying and is the mythological opposite of May Day, which represents being born. He also says that costumes remind us of the everyday masks we wear. (Can you believe some people pretend to be straight when they’re actually gay?) It’s okay to have roles, of course–dance teacher, writer, whatever. But problems arise when we pretend to be something we’re not or–even worse–mistake the roles we play for our true selves, since ultimately our souls are beyond identification.

All things are part of life.

I’ve said it before, but I don’t like this time of year. It’s cold, everything is dead, and I spend the entire fall and winter shivering. I honestly can’t believe I’m about to start a diet and probably lose the only natural insulation I have. That being said, I’m reminded tonight that to everything there is a season. I have a preference for spring and summer, but the universe clearly doesn’t. Rather, all things–coldness and warmth, fall and spring, death and rebirth–are part of life. Likewise, getting sick and running low on energy are part of life, and just like any season, these things will change.

As for the roles we play, I’ve personally decided to keep pretending that I feel well. Since I pretended to be straight for so long, this should be a cinch. I don’t mean I’m going to ignore my body or not let it rest, but I am going to start asking myself, “What would a healthy person do–what would a healthy person eat?” and then do that. I usually get overwhelmed by dietary changes, so I figure this will be an easy way to simplify things, support my body, and start turning things around. I’ll let you know how it goes.

After toast tonight, of course.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

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Coupons on the Table (Blog #184)

Okay, kids, it’s one in the afternoon, I’ve been up for an hour, and the sun has been shining the entire time. I just ate breakfast, which I made myself like an adult, and I’m ready to go back to bed. Honestly, I don’t like alarm clocks. This morning I woke up in the middle of a dream about eating food from a fast food restaurant where one of the sodas had two strips of bacon in it. I can only assume the dream had something to do with my guilt around food, and it’s no fun to wake up feeling that way then immediately march into the kitchen and start shoving calories into your mouth.

Tonight I’m going to Rogers to see one of my friends perform the lead role in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I can’t wait. I’m going with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time, we’re having dinner, and I’m literally already writing the rave reviews for whole evening. Of course, the truth could look totally different, but I do think it will be a great time. That being said, I don’t want to drive all the way home after the show, then start writing. I’ve done that before, and it’s a bit like popping a balloon. I love writing, of course, but some nights this commitment is like drawing the short end of the “you get to go to bed now” stick.

Currently I’m sitting at our kitchen table next to Dad’s deluxe pill caddy, a tube of all-natural anti-fungal wash, and a stack of coupons. I’m hoping this isn’t a preview of things to come, but considering it’s also what my grandparents’ table looked like, I may be–as they say in Savannah–shit out of luck, my dear. Dad’s watching television and occasionally he starts talking to me, since he doesn’t realize I have my headphones in. When I told him I was writing early today because of the show tonight, he said, “Can you write in the afternoon?” Well, that’s a valid point, but I said, “I think so. I’ve done it once or twice before.”

The problem, of course, is that nothing remarkable has happened. The last two mornings I cut into my breakfast grapefruit and discovered they were both rotten–rotten to the core (haha). Well, this morning I had one grapefruit left, and–ever the optimist–I figured it would be rotten too. But it wasn’t. Although it was a little dirty on the outside, it was like a virgin on the inside–fresh as the noonday sun. And maybe it’s just because I’m quickly approaching forty, but this was really exciting. A non-rotten grapefruit!

God, I need to get laid more.

Now I’m worrying about the mail. Last week I ordered a couple items from Amazon, and yesterday I got a notification that the package had been left in my mailbox. Well, it must be invisible because it’s not there. But it SAYS it’s there. But it’s not. Maybe it went to the wrong address, or maybe it’ll show up today, but I’m trying really hard to let it go and put it in the pile of things I can’t do a damn thing about, right next to “most of the situations in my life.” Still, I keep wanting to jump up from this laptop, run to the mailbox, and–I don’t know–hold up a postal service protest sign that says, “Liars,” or something creative like that. My armpits are sweating just thinking about it.

As you can see, the letting go thing is a real success.

Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

Last night I dreamed I was in bed with my therapist. I mean, we weren’t having sex or anything, just physically in bed together–like a slumber party from an 80s movie. Well, this sort of thing has happened before, and my therapist (in real life) says the dream really isn’t about her–it’s about all the qualities that I associate with her that actually belong to me. So I’m taking last night’s dream as a sign that I’m getting really, really comfortable with being authentic and speaking my truth. That being said, my therapist’s hair in the dream was–quite frankly–a fucking mess. Since I’m vain about my hair, that probably means I’m still judging myself or worried about what other people will think.

I’ll ask about the dream this week, but that sounds about right.

Okay, for the last thirty minutes I’ve been getting out of my chair, looking out the window for the mailman, and basically behaving like Gladys Kravitz. Anyway, the mailman just showed up, so I marched my happy little ass over to the community mailbox and asked about my package (from Amazon–don’t be dirty). For a moment I thought I was going to be up shit creek again, but the mailman ended up finding the package in the “parcel locker.” He said, yes, it was delivered yesterday, but SOMEBODY forgot to leave a locker key in my box.

Sweet, another mystery solved. Good job, Nancy Drew. Honestly, there would have been a time when I was too afraid to bother the mailman. I would have thought, I’ll just wait until next week, or, He’s too busy. Everyone says, “It can’t hurt to ask,” but it honestly can, at least on the inside. Having asked a ton of people to dance over the years, it can still be challenging. What if they say no or tell me to go fly a kite? Well, obviously, you move on or go fly a kite. Rejection hurts, but somehow we survive. Looking back, I’m probably more disappointed in the dances I didn’t even ask for than the rejections I’ve received from others because rejecting yourself is what really hurts. Package in the mailbox or not, I’m proud of any moment I practiced a bit of courage and therefore took care of myself in some way.

We imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists as it is.

Now I’m almost done blogging and ready to start preparing for tonight’s festivities. I kind of hate to admit it, but it feels really good to finish writing with the day ahead of me instead of behind me. In conclusion, I’ve been thinking this week that I make a lot of plans in my head. All week I’ve been imaging dinner tonight and going to the show. You know how you think about talking to people and fill in both parts of the conversation. But, of course, it never happens that way. Every day is full of surprises–weird dreams, rotten grapefruits, and packages that are just out of reach. All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is, looking like undelivered mail, feelings of hope alongside rejection, and coupons on the table.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

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