That Which Is Scary (Blog #236)

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Currently it’s two in the morning, and Mom and Dad are in bed. The house is quiet, I’m at the kitchen table, and the most interesting thing I can find to talk about is the plant sitting next to me–the one my therapist told me to buy a couple months ago. Recently a new stem appeared. It’s tiny, but it’s taller than the others. The way its leaves are folded back, it reminds me of a rocket ship. To me it looks full of potential, and I wonder what will become of that new stem, haw far its leaves will spread out one day. And where did it even come from? I swear it wasn’t there five days ago. Honest to god, it’s like I’m sitting next to a miracle.

Today has been all over the place. I’m coughing less than yesterday, but I still feel like crap. There’s just no better way to say it. I know I was pretty pessimistic in yesterday’s blog, and some of that bad attitude leaked into today. Objectively I know that life will improve and everything isn’t all bad, but it certainly hasn’t felt that way. I’ve talked to my therapist about this before, and she says, “When you’re off in the body, you’re off in the mind.” To me this means I simply don’t have access to my best thinking when I’ve been sick for five weeks straight. So for now I’m trying to hang in there, to trust that things will look different after the storm has passed.

Since yesterday I wasn’t even trying, I consider this a big improvement.

I honestly am rather disgusted by the fact that one sinus infection has taken up so much space on this blog. I wish I had something else to talk about. That being said, I told a friend earlier tonight that sinus infections have been my constant teacher over the years, and this one has been no exception. Just when I think I’m trusting, patient, optimistic, and kind, all I need is a good sinus infection to bring me back to reality. But on a deeper level, being sick like this brings up all my emotional shit–all the icky feelings like “not good enough” and “despair” that have been making themselves at home and putting their feet on my table for decades.

You know how feelings can take over, like they own the damn place.

In terms of not feeling good enough, I imagine we all feel this way at times. After all, advertisers don’t exactly entice us to buy their products by suggesting we’re perfect the way we are. But I think the button that gets hit for me is deeper and goes back to having to grow up so fast when my dad went to prison. At the time I didn’t think it was a big deal to take over the house and keep going to school, even to stop going to church and stop eating pork when my family changed our religious beliefs. But I can see now that all of that was a huge deal. I did the best I could, but I really wasn’t up to the task emotionally. Not only was I in over my head, but I was also isolated because we’d made ourselves so different from everybody else.

Twenty years later, it still feels like I’m not up to the task. Well-meaning people make suggestions (Have you tried a Neti Pot?), and it feels like an accusation, something I’m not doing right. But earlier I was thinking about how I’d respond if a fifteen-year-old I knew were going through what I went through at that age–what I might say if he were giving himself a hard time–and my heart absolutely melted. So I’m trying to extend the compassion I’d feel for anybody else to myself, to realize that I’m doing best I can (damn it) and always have been.

In terms of feeling despair, this is something I’m just starting to unpack. It’s something my therapist and I have been talking about lately but that I haven’t discussed here because it feels so raw. But a few weeks ago I was talking about several things that happened–or rather, didn’t happen–when I was a teenager. These were things I got my hopes up about, like Dad being found innocent or, when he wasn’t, being let out of prison early. Anyway, I was telling my therapist that I often feel powerless, like there’s nothing I can do to make a situation better, and all of a sudden she got quiet. (She never gets quiet.) Then she said, “I just realized something that affects and changes everything else we’ve been talking about.”

“What?” I said.

“Hope is scary for you.”

Honestly, I haven’t exactly known what to do with this information, which, by the way, is correct. Brene Brown says that hope is information, and my therapist says I’ve been let down so many times over the years that I simply haven’t had the right data. Consequently, I’ve spent a lot of time reading about people who achieve their dreams or who overcome chronic health problems, but there’s always a part of me that doesn’t quite believe those things are possible. Well, maybe they’re possible for someone else, but not for me. “It’s too bad,” my therapist says, “since life is actually set up for you to succeed.”

Again, if some teenager in my improv class told me he was afraid to hope, I’d melt with compassion. If someone told me they were going through a storm, I’d say, “You’re going to make it. Things will look different when it’s over, but mostly because you’ll be different–stronger than you were before.” So I’m trying to take it easy on myself, to take both this sinus infection and my life one day at a time and not assume the worst. Things can get better–they’re already better than they used to be. Looking at the plant beside me, I’m reminded that I, too, am full of potential, capable of new growth at anytime. For surely if a plant is a miracle, then I am one too, ever ready to let go of that which is behind, turn my face toward the light, and hope again.

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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One Day at a Time (Blog #235)

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As Little Orphan Annie would say, “Yesterday was plain awful.” By yesterday, of course, I mean yesterday, today, and now. The good news is that I slept for over thirteen hours last night and napped this evening for two or three, so my body has gotten some rest. The bad news is that I was sweating all through the night, my body aches, and I’ve been coughing up junk all day. Physically and emotionally, I’m worn out. Even now I’m close to tears because the last thing I want to do is stay up to write an inspirational blog.

Seriously, whose idea was this–to sit down each and every day and find something positive to say about the world, to let life kick you in the nuts repeatedly then turn around and say thank you? I know, it was my idea, but couldn’t I have just started a cooking blog like everybody else? I mean, I could have worn an a cute, little apron and said things like, Look at all the wonderful things you can do with coriander! Surely that would have been easier than this project. At least I would have had a recipe to follow. But now I don’t know what step to take next. On every level–in both life and online–I’m frustrated and don’t know what to do.

Personally, I think it really sucks that I dragged my ass to a doctor last week and am now feeling worse than I have since this whole mess started five weeks ago. And yes–I know my attitude is terrible. Things could be worse–things could always be worse. Just last night my mom (who has freaking cancer) threw up twice because her headache was that painful. Today my dad had to stop midway from his car to Mom’s doctor’s office because his knees hurt so bad. So you don’t have to tell me–I realize I could have it worse and am not looking on the bright side over here. Rather, I’ve spent the day being irritated by the smallest of things, like the young adult fiction novel I’m reading that, like my illness, refuses to get better as it goes along.

That’s how I know I’m really not doing well, when I find myself losing perspective and being hypercritical of the world around me. Everything that was fine the day before is suddenly a major crime. The television’s too loud, my hair is wrong in every way, the book I’m reading is stupid (but I keep reading it). Objectively I can say that my attitude is bad because my resources are low, that eventually I’ll be back on my feet and will see things differently. But it certainly doesn’t feel that way. Rather, it feels as if no matter what I do or try, nothing will ever improve.

I guess that’s a difficult idea for me to get away from, the idea that there’s something I can do about this, that if I just ate better, knew the right doctor, or were my spiritual, I wouldn’t have this chronic problem. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with those things, of course, but if you do everything you know to do believing it will make a difference and the difference doesn’t show up, then you’re left feeling like you’re somehow inadequate or have been weighed in the scales and found wanting. In my case, as if getting sick weren’t enough, getting sick always feels like it’s my fault for not knowing enough.

This is something I’d really like to get away from. Obviously there are a lot of factors that go into health and wellness and there’s plenty more I could learn, but even God told Job it wasn’t for him to understand the mystery he was living. Honestly, this is a tough pill for me to swallow, I guess because it requires me to surrender. I’m so used to go-go-going and do-do-doing, I have a difficult admitting that something as personal as my health and well-being are ultimately beyond my control. I imagine most westerners feel this way–we hate thinking of ourselves as vulnerable. Maybe that’s why we have a hard time showing compassion when people suffer. Someone our age dies in a car accident, and we say, “Well, he wasn’t wearing is seatbelt,” as if seat belts grant immortality. I mean, you can do everything right, and something bad can still happen to you.

As they say, no one gets out of here alive.

I guess when I don’t feel well, it’s really easy to take things personally, to forget that we all have bodies that struggle and don’t do what we want them to. We all try things that don’t work and have days or weeks (or years) we feel like quitting. We all wrestle to find the difference between the things we can change and those that lie beyond our control. Some days, most days, we have more questions than answers. Perhaps days like today weren’t meant to be inspirational, just as bodies weren’t meant to be invincible. Perhaps it’s okay to be sick and vulnerable and not know what to do next–simply because that’s honest. Perhaps the best we can ever do is live our mysteries one day at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can't build a house, much less a life, from the outside-in. Rather, if you want something that's going to last, you have to start on the inside and work your way out, no matter how long it takes and how difficult it is.

"

Trying to Give Myself a Break (Blog #234)

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This afternoon I had the intention of participating in two of Matt’s dance workshops. (He’s teaching the second one now.) However, my body had other plans. When I went to bed last night, I was itchy all over, tired. When I woke up this morning, my cough had gotten worse–dryer, deeper. I’m assuming all of this is due to allergies, perhaps a side effect of the steroid I’m taking. Either way, I’m not impressed and am writing now in hopes of getting home and going to bed as soon as possible. Since I’m teaching a private lesson in an hour, I’ll probably have to finish this later, but a start is a start. I guess some days the best you can do is go through the motions.

Yesterday during our dance lesson, Matt asked me how he could keep his feet under his body when dancing to fast music. I said, “Not to be a shitty dance instructor, but the answer to the question is within the question. In other words, when dancing to fast music, you keep your feet under your body.” Well, today when Matt asked me how I was feeling and I told him, I said, “I’m really not a good sick person. I wish I could stop whining, but I don’t know how to.” So he said, “The answer to the question is within the question–you stop whining.”

Don’t it suck when people use your own wisdom against you?

After the private lesson today, I’m looking at a three-hour drive home. Personally, I hate traveling when I’m sick. That being said, I’ve driven an entire day with a sinus infection before and have flown with a stomach flu of biblical proportions on more than one occasion, so I know that if I can fly with a virus six miles above the earth and not puke on a stranger, I can make it back to Arkansas with a cough. Really, when I start comparing this illness to others I’ve survived, it’s pretty small potatoes. What’s three hours in a car? I don’t have a fever and I’m certainly not throwing up. So even though this feels as if it’s going to last forever, it probably won’t.

Get a grip, Marcus.

Okay, it’s about time to teach.

All right, I’m back. The lesson went well, but I currently feel like death. In fact, here’s my latest selfie.

I remember getting the flu right after my first broken heart. I wasn’t out at the time, so when people asked me what happened to X, I just said our friendship didn’t work out. The downside to a lie like this, of course, is that a broken heart gets suffered alone. So this fever, body aching thing happened, and I was out for ten days. I didn’t leave the house once, just slept on the futon and watched Turner Classic Movies. And whereas I’m sure I had a virus, I don’t think the fact that it happened right after the secret breakup was a coincidence. As I think about it now, my heart was shattered, so how could my body not follow suite?

One of my favorite authors and speakers is a doctor named Gabor Mate, and he talks a lot about the connection between stress or trauma and the physical body, the fact that getting sick is often the body’s way of saying no to something the person (through no fault of their own) is unable to. Anyway, seen in this light, sickness could be seen as the organism’s way of communicating, “We can’t live like this anymore. Acknowledge your broken heart. Come out of the closet. Something’s got to change.”

I often hesitate to launch into theories like this one, since it could sound like people get sick because they are doing something wrong. (That’s what you get for being in the closet!) However, this isn’t what the theories are saying. The idea is that, for example, if a person grows up and doesn’t know about boundaries–say they’re always doing things for other people but never for themselves–then sometimes the body will develop an illness as a way of bringing attention back to the self and establishing proper relationships. It’s like an alarm saying, “Houston, we have a problem.” I realize this is a brief, unscientific explanation, but there’s actually a lot of research behind it. (If you’re interested, look for Gabor Mate’s book, When the Body Says No.)

Anyway, I’m not saying I want to rearrange my life every time I get a common cold, but since I’ve had this infection for five weeks, I am starting to wonder if my body is saying no to something. I know I spend a lot of time getting frustrated with my body–I want it to look or feel differently than it does. But I can only imagine how frustrated my body gets with me, since I’m constantly go-go-going, don’t always eat right, and don’t always sleep much. One of my friends said that once during meditation she got an image of her body wagging its finger at her, like, “You are not twenty anymore–you’ve got to take better care of us.” And maybe it’s that simple, this sickness, just my body’s way of saying, “Please rest–like for more than a weekend.

“And no, this is not our idea of resting.”

Another thing I think about is that perhaps sickness actually gives me permission to whine. Not that I think whining and complaining are good ideas, but sometimes I think they happen because there’s something else underneath them. I know that personally I spend a lot of time trying to be strong. That probably started when Mom got sick and really kicked into high gear when Dad went to prison. You’re the man of the house now. Talk about a shit job for a teenager. Anyway, now I’m thirty-seven, and it still feels like I keep my muscles slightly tensed on a daily basis because I’m waiting for something else to go wrong, something I won’t be prepared to handle. Consequently, I never can fully relax–it’s exhausting. So sometimes I think getting sick is not only a chance to rest, but also an opportunity to let my guard down, ask for help, and stop being so strong for once.

I guess we all want an explanation when we don’t feel well–this happened because of that. As if life were that simple. Obviously a lot more things play into health and wellness than can be explained in a paragraph, and even the experts say we’re just starting to get a glimpse of the mind-body connection. But I personally don’t think it has to be complicated, even if it is complex. For me getting better is starting to simply look like not demanding so much of myself, not pushing myself to heal when my body obviously needs more compassion than that. Right here, right now, it looks like finishing this blog, driving back to Arkansas, going to bed, and giving my body the rest it deserves.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

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Mystics Aren’t Picky as Shit (Blog #233)

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After a long day here in Springfield, it’s three in the morning, and one of Anne and Andy’s black cats is staring at me from across the room. I’m guessing she’s wondering what I’m going to blog about tonight, like I know. I swear, sometimes writing is so frustrating. Ninety percent of your time is spent staring at the wall, as if good ideas live in the sheetrock and come out when given “the look.” It honestly feels like waiting on Zac Efron to call. Like, what are the chances? But as a writer, you just keep staring at the wall, trusting that a good idea will eventually present itself, then you can spend the other ten percent of your time actually writing.

Of course, by writing I mean hitting the backspace button.

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I noticed was that god had not left a miracle of healing under my pillow. Rather, I still felt anything but fabulous, and to top it all off, the weather outside had turned cold and wet. I honestly don’t know how our ancestors survived before things like medication, central heat and air, and indoor plumbing. That being said, I used to live in an old house with gas heaters, only one of which I kept on all the time. So for months I’d come home and see my breath in the living room or trek down the hallway in the middle of the night to use the bathroom only to be welcomed by a cold toilet seat.

As if that were any way to treat a loyal customer.

Still, even though this isn’t my favorite time of year, I try to suck it up and do the best I can. This morning I threw on an extra shirt, trudged through the rain to my car, and headed out for a session with my ninja massage therapist, Rod. Well, anytime I’ve seen Rod before, he’s worked pretty deep, but today he didn’t–everything was nice and easy. I mentioned the difference when the massage was over, and he said, “I didn’t have to work deep today. Whatever you’re doing–living at home with your parents, I guess–it’s working. Your body likes it.”

“That’s good to hear,” I said. “I’m always picky as shit when it comes to my body, so maybe I focus too much on what’s wrong.”

“I mean, there’s always stuff to work on,” he said, “but from my perspective you’re doing great.”

For lunch my friend Matt and I went to a tea room across from Anne and Andy’s dance studio. Y’all, everything was flowers, chandeliers, and pink dishes. I’ve never felt so pretty in all my life. If you’re ever on Commercial Street in Springfield, you should look for this place–there’s an actual Mad Hatter’s tea party table that’s been turned upside down and attached to the ceiling! Additionally, the food’s great. Matt had a monte cristo with mushroom soup, and I had a tuna salad stuffed tomato with mushroom soup.

Since I’m on a diet, I was really proud of myself for not eating the bread that came with my meal. You know how it is when you’re on a diet, the way you get all high and mighty. You spend thirty years eating whatever the hell you want, then all of a sudden you find yourself turning your nose up at club cracker, like, I would never. Well, I guess our waitress realized I was exercising my willpower because she brought over a dessert tray that was big enough to park your car on and waved it in front of my nose. Y’all, it was filled with cakes, cookies, and macaroons of every shape and size. I swear, even eating one item would have been enough to turn Jack LaLanne into a diabetic on the spot.

It looked delicious.

Naturally, I thought about ordering half the tray, but when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “No thank you, I don’t want anything.” I don’t want anything? Y,all, I was just as surprised as you are. I spent the summer eating food truck tacos and drinking better, and now tuna salad without crackers is more than enough to satisfy me? What has happened? I mean, it’s practically winter, I’m freezing over here, and this is no time to be losing valuable body fat, and yet I’m on a diet. Where was all this willpower six months ago during swimsuit season?

After lunch Matt and I worked on Lindy Hop for a couple hours, then I took a long nap. When I woke up I felt like a new man–not perfect, but so much better than this morning. It’s amazing what sleep can do. Tonight the lot of us cleaned up the ballroom downstairs, which was used this evening for a wedding. Now it’s five in the morning, and I’m blogging on the futon, covered up with a blanket and wearing my sock cap to stay warm. My eyes are itchy from the junk or allergies (I guess), and I really, really think we were meant to hibernate at this time of year and not deal with all these irritations.

Seriously, who thought winter sinus infections would be a good addition to life?

Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

For all the time I’ve spent poking around in the spiritual section of bookstores and attending yoga classes, I haven’t had many experiences that you could call mystical, moments of utter bliss and serenity. But I did have one such experience in that old house a couple years ago during the winter–in the middle of the night on a cold toilet seat no less. So there I was, shivering, hating it–then I just stopped. It felt like someone wrapped a thick blanket around my entire body. It’s hard to explain, but my sense was that the cold air itself was alive and holding me, not just in that moment, but in every moment of my entire life. Anyway, it seems now as if I spend a lot of my time waiting–waiting for ideas to show up, waiting on my body to look or feel better, waiting on winter to go away. Like most people, I simply assume life will be better and I’ll be happier when whatever it is happens. But clearly life doesn’t need me to boss it around. Rather, perhaps it’s waiting on me to stop being picky as shit, recognize that more things are going right than are going wrong, and remember that even during my most uncomfortable moments, I’m supported in ways I can’t even imagine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to find a problem, you will.

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Normal People Don’t Walk on Water (Blog #231)

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Okay, screw technology. I’m ready to go to bed, and the internet is slow. All I want to do is post tonight’s selfie, get in a thousand words, and call it a day–now. I swear, sometimes patience is more difficult to come by than others. Maybe I should consider becoming one of those people who honk in traffic. (You know who you are.) I never honk in traffic, perhaps because I can still picture my college psychology teacher saying, “Road rage starts at home.” But maybe honking would be a slightly more respectable way to blow off some steam than punching pillows. Either way, I’m taking my upset over one picture’s failure to load quickly as a sign that I need to calm down, perhaps get back to yoga.

It’d probably help if I didn’t drink a pot of coffee every day. At the very least, I could throw some more water down my throat. Earlier tonight in improv class, I was literally shaking from too much caffeine. I’m surprised my eyes didn’t pop out of my head–AH-OOH-GAH! Still, despite the fact that my body was about to vibrate across the room, I couldn’t string two thoughts together. My brain was like, “Nope–try again next time.” Whenever I lose my car keys, I keep looking for them in the same spot I usually put them. I always think they’ll magically appear because they’re supposed to be there! Anyway, my brain was that spot I kept going back to tonight in my search for ideas. But alas, it was empty every time.

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

I’m quite sure the problem with both my mood and my mind is the fact that my body is worn out. I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for a month now, and I didn’t sleep much last night because I went to the doctor early this morning. Thus all the coffee to prop me up. (The nurse at the doctor’s office said, “Your blood pressure is a little high. Have you had an energy drink?”) Anyway, considering the fact that my body has been waving the white flag for a week or two now, seeing my ear, nose, and throat doctor was the right decision. That being said, I really think our bodies should come equipped with computer screens, at least a scrolling marquee to send us messages. I get that our bodies are talking to us all the time, but I for one lost my decoder ring a long time ago and would be thrilled with even a dot-matrix printout of daily instructions like, Hello, anybody home? We could use some help here! Go to the damn doctor already.

Y’all, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a sinus doctor before, but in order to open you up and see what’s going on, they spray jet fuel up your nose. This isn’t so bad, but the jet fuel is also a numbing agent, and when it runs down the back of your throat, you can’t swallow for thirty minutes. Not that they bother to give you cup to spit in or anything. Thank god I’ve been so many times that I felt comfortable enough to take one off the supply table. I mean, what was I gonna do–spit in my hand–asphyxiate?

But I digress.

The doctor listened to all my questions and concerns about taking medication and said, “Thank you for being honest.” When I told him I was embarrassed by all the things I’ve been squirting up my nose in an effort to find an effective home remedy, he said, “Don’t be embarrassed, although there is some evidence that some of those things can be more irritating that helpful.” Afterwards, he shoved a scope up my nostrils, took a look around, and said that post-surgery, things looked fabulous. No polyps, no scar tissue–just an obvious infection that was probably eighty percent over. Still, he suggested I take some drugs to get me over the hump and back to baseline.

“It’s your call,” he said.

“Let’s do it. I’m tired of feeling bad.”

Then he said the best thing ever–and I’ve been waiting all day to put it in writing on the internet. He said, “You just caught something like any other person would. If it keeps happening, come back and we’ll discuss options, but a lot of people get sinus infections in the spring and fall that last six weeks on average. [Here comes the good part.] So don’t worry–you’re normal.”

Phew. I’m normal. My doctor said so.

This afternoon I went to a couple bookstores, picked up my drugs, then came home and took a nap before improv class. Off and on I’ve been considering this idea of being normal. It’s something my therapist has proposed on more than one occasion, to which I typically reply, “I’m not so sure about that.” As I think about it now, I guess for the longest time it’s felt like I needed to fix something because I wasn’t okay the way I was. Maybe it was chronic sinus infections, maybe it was a relationship (even if that relationship was with me). Either way, this idea that something needed to change–specifically, me–is what’s been pushing me toward all the self-help and alternative healing material over the years. And whereas I’m grateful for everything I’ve learned and don’t regret my path, it does–sometimes–occur to me to wonder, How much progress do I really need to make here? Just how perfect do I need to be?

(Just the right amount to walk on water, I suppose.)

Normal people don’t walk on water.

My mom says, “You don’t have to be exceptional every minute of every day.” To me this means that it’s okay to get sick, it’s okay to try to get better on your own, it’s okay to fail, and it’s okay to ask for help. (My mom also says, “We’re all in this together.”) What’s more, not having to be exceptional every minute of every day means I don’t have to try so hard, and I don’t have to take it as a personal shortcoming whenever I get sick. Hell, being sick is hard enough without the “I did something wrong” record on repeat. So going forward, I hope to remind myself that normal people don’t walk on water. Rather, we roll in and out like the tide. Getting sick and getting better, losing our keys (and our minds) and finding them, expecting too much of ourselves and giving ourselves a break–these are things that normal people do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

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The Weight of the World (Blog #230)

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For the last four-and-a-half weeks, I’ve been sick.  Granted, I haven’t been battling a major disease and I haven’t lost a limb. But I have had an infection that’s refused to leave my sinuses, even though I’ve asked it politely to go somewhere else on a number of occasions. I swear, it’s like I’ve had a door-to-door evangelist up my nose, and nothing the internet has suggested for home remedies has made it skedaddle. So far, not only have I changed my diet and added supplements, but I’ve also washed my sinuses out with hydrogen peroxide, baby shampoo, Betadine, garlic water, and apple cider vinegar. Honestly, I don’t think the world-wide web is a safe place for someone with my personality, since I’m obviously willing to put half my kitchen cabinet up any orifice I can find just because a guy named Bob from Ohio said to. I mean, in the last month I’ve put so many things up my nose that I’m beginning to feel like a member of The Rolling Stones.

Going forward, I really don’t think I can be trusted to drive the information super highway without proper supervision.

Anyway, when I woke up this morning, things had gotten worse. I was sweating, kind of shaky, and absolutely devoid of energy. A friend recently suggested buying a powerful blend of herbs, and I considered that for a moment. Maybe I could try one more thing, since God knows I’m a try-er. But then I quickly ran through the mental list of money I’ve spent over the years on vitamins, herbs, and minerals, teas and tinctures–hell, all the colon cleanses–and each thing practically guaranteed to work. No, I thought, I quit. Hands to heart and heart to God, I quit. So before my feet even hit the floor this morning, I dialed the number for my ear, nose, and throat doctor. I thought, I’m tired of doing this alone.

I guess that’s what it’s felt like lately, that I’ve been alone in this struggle. (No offense to Bob from Ohio, of course.) Normally, I’d be okay with that. I’ve gotten used to doing most things by myself over the last twenty-five years. My shoulders are usually up for carrying the weight of the world. But today they rolled over, tapped the floor three times, and cried uncle. Whenever that happens, I know I’m really sick. It’s like there comes a point when nothing in my external world has changed, but the skies are suddenly darker and it feels as if the sun will never shine again. And it’s not that I have to be absolutely miserable or dying in order to feel this way–I just have to be exhausted from trying so hard.

That’s what I’ve felt like today, exhausted. Like, don’t ask me to do a damn thing and certainly don’t ask me to give a fuck, since I’m out of fucks to give. All afternoon I’ve walked around in a stupor, pretty much faking it, the whole time wanting to curl up in bed and have someone else take care of me. I’m not sure that this desire ever really goes away, the desire to return to the best parts of childhood, even to the womb where things were dark and warm and safe. Some psychologists talk about birth trauma, which, simply put, is the trauma we all experience as the result of being suddenly projected into the cold, vulnerable light of day. Of course, nobody gets to go back, and once you’re here, it’s tits up, chest out, and weight of the world on your shoulders.

Life ain’t for sissies.

This afternoon while scrolling Facebook, I noticed a post from a woman I used to work with. She was asking for prayers, since her husband has shingles–again. Later I saw a post from a guy I met in an airport restaurant and haven’t spoken to since. He’s younger than I am, and he’s been having back pain and losing weight without explanation. He said he was finally going to the doctor today and that he just wanted to feel good again. (Right?) I mean, my own mother has breast cancer. These things remind me that even though it often feels like I’m alone with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I’m not alone. Sure, maybe my friends and I aren’t dealing with the exact same challenges, but I’m not the only one who gets sick more than he wants to or the only who looks for answers and can’t find them.

Tonight I had dinner with my friends Bonnie and Todd, and Bonnie said that for the longest time she was into natural remedies. Hell, she had four home births. Anyway, Bonnie’s big thing back then was essential oils, which, as she said, “Will cure amputations.” But now, instead of being “all natural” and “never western” in terms of healing, she takes a more balanced approach. This too reminds me that I’m not alone in my experiences. I’m not the only one to get caught up in the idea that the big, bad bacteria in my sinuses are no match for my kitchen spices. And I’m not saying I’ve always been disappointed with do-it-yourself healing. I told Bonnie that there’s a natural supplement that cures my hemorrhoids every time. Like, in two days things down there go from razor blades to daisies. (Daisies!) That being said, that’s the one miracle cure I’ve come across in the last decade.

So I’m going to the doctor tomorrow–my appointment is in the morning. And it’s not like I suddenly think doctors have all the answers. They’re human too. If I were going to a doc-in-the-box, I’d probably get a steroid and an antibiotic, and those things certainly have side-effects that frustrate me. But I’m seeing my specialist, someone who knows my history and always listens to my concerns with compassion. As much as getting better, that’s what I’m looking forward to, talking to someone who deals with this all the time and can intelligently discuss options.

No offense to Bob from Ohio, of course.

Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

I guess we all have our breaking point. Some days we look at our problems and feel like trying again, going back in the ring, putting a little more weight on our shoulders. We don’t mind being alone. Other days we feel like quitting. We look at whatever it is we’ve been fighting and say, “That’s it. You win. I gave it the old college try, but you’re bigger than me.” Realizing our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world, we finally ask for help. Now we’re not alone, and some of the weight has shifted. With less on our shoulders to carry, we naturally stand taller and see things differently than we did before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"The heart sings for its own reasons."

Who’s Driving This Flying Umbrella? (Blog #229)

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Okay, it’s 2:30 in the morning, and I’ve put it off long enough. I’m finally blogging. (See, that was two whole sentences, and this is three.) You can’t hear it, but my blogging music is on, and the violin just started. I don’t know why I put writing off the way I do, considering it’s the most comforting part of my day. The clack of the keyboard, the introspection, the violin, finding hope–all of it feels like coming home–at least when the writing part is over. That’s the hard part–the writing–because I never know what I’m going to say. I don’t think any writer worth their salt would tell you otherwise. Writing is like the blind leading the blind–there’s no telling where you’ll end up.

Honestly, the whole creative process reminds me of that scene in the Disney cartoon Robin Hood when a bunch of scared animals run off with a circus tent on top of them. It’s absolute chaos. That’s creativity for you. Then on top of the tent is Little John, who’s been swept up in the madness. Of course, he has no idea how he got there, where he’s going, or how to make the it stop. That’s what it’s like to be a writer. Every time you sit down at the keyboard, you get carried away on this bumpy ride, and the entire time you’re wondering what Little John did–Hey! Who’s driving this flying umbrella?

I’ve spent most the day feeling wiped out. Actually, I’ve been wiped out for a while, ever since I got sick with head junk about four weeks ago. And whereas I’m considerably better than I was, and although I’ve been telling myself maybe it’s just allergies, I’m obviously not over whatever this is. Of course, this makes me want to cry, scream, and give up–anything but go to the doctor. Well, you might think, then you’re getting what you deserve, Marcus. But before you get all judgmental, it’s not that I haven’t thought about going to the doctor. Actually, if things go on much longer, I’ll cave. But this isn’t my first sinus infection rodeo, and doctors almost always give antibiotics for this sort of thing. Well, I’ve been on more antibiotics the last few years than I can count, and, since antibiotics don’t discriminate, I’d like to stop killing all the good bacteria inside me. After all, they’re just doing their job and minding their own business. Surely they don’t deserve to be innocently murdered just because their bad bacteria relatives got a little out of hand.

Seriously, down with bacterial collateral damage.

So, in a last-ditch effort before making an appointment with my sinus doctor, I started using apple cider vinegar today. Y’all, if you believe the internet, apple cider vinegar will not only cure a sinus infection, it will also lower high cholesterol, remove warts, and condition your hair. But wait, there’s more! Order now, and we’ll send you a second bottle that you can put on your salad. Seriously, this stuff is supposed to be loaded with vitamins and have the ability to kill bacteria and fungi of every kind, and there are a lot of people online who’ve had multiple sinus surgeries and tried dozens of antibiotics that swear apple cider vinegar was the thing that helped their sinuses the most. So, picturing the bottle of apple cider vinegar in a red cape, I not only started drinking it tonight, but also started steaming it on the stove so I could inhale it.

Please don’t act as if you’ve never gotten your hopes up over a home remedy.

My sister said, ‘Most of us mortals don’t read all those self-help books.’

This evening I went to TJ Maxx to buy a new skillet, since the one Dad and I use every day was warped from too much heat and food was starting to stick to the inside. Anyway, I called my sister on the drive over, and we started talking about books. And whereas she’s reading mostly fiction lately, I said that fiction is a rarity for me, that I read mostly non-fiction. Then my sister said, “You know, most of us mortals don’t read all those self-help books–we just pretend like we know what we’re doing.” I mean, I guess she has a point–I could probably stand to lighten up.

Surely I could find a book about how to do that.

Things went well at TJ Maxx, and when I got home from The Great Skillet Hunt of 2017, I immediately threw out the old pan and scrambled some eggs in the new one. Y’all, it was like a miracle–even heat, food that slid right across the surface, and easy cleanup. Bam! I felt like I should have my own TV show. Who knew spending eighteen dollars could be so satisfying? My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner.

I guess things happen when they happen.

It’s funny how I sit down every night with almost no idea of what I’m going to write about, but things inevitably come together. One minute I’m bouncing around, lost, thinking Who’s driving this flying umbrella?, then before I know it I’m at the last paragraph, piecing together random things like sinus infections, skillets, and cartoons from my childhood. Writing, like life, is a mystery. All night I’ve been thinking about whether or not to go to the doctor, then thinking about apple cider vinegar, then thinking about whether or not to go to the doctor. I’ve been dealing with sinus issues most my life, and I still don’t know what the the best answer is. I guess something will happen when it happens. More and more I’m convinced my sister is right (there I said it)–we mortals just pretend like we know what we’re doing. And perhaps life often feels like a runaway circus tent–absolute chaos–because from our perspective it is. Yet somehow we manage to hang on for the ride, bumping from one moment to the next as the mystery of life takes us to wherever we’re going and things inevitably come together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

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The Roles We Play (Blog #215)

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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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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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One Letter at a Time (Blog #208)

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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.

All of us bump along.

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.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

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Nowhere Else to Be (Blog #207)

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This morning my alarm went off at six, and I woke up feeling worse than I’ve felt in days. When I coughed up some junk in my sister’s sink, it became clear that whatever moved into my sinuses last week had not only made itself comfortable, but had also put its snotty little shoes up on an ottoman and confiscated the TV remote. Needless to say, I was not impressed, and I seriously considered screwing my plans in Arkansas this week and going back to bed. But I cleaned up, got myself and my things together, and prepared to hit the road.

Some days you simply have to power through.

After a quick breakfast and goodbyes with my sister and nephews, I grabbed a cup of coffee and walked out the backdoor. Just as I did, I caught a final glimpse of my sister talking to one of my nephews, and part of me wanted to stay, to listen, to hold on a little longer. But it was already after seven, so just like that, I closed the door, jumped in my car, and headed east. Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m back in Van Buren at my parents’ kitchen table. I can still see my sister there in her kitchen, and it’s kind of hard to believe we’re only separated by a day’s drive and don’t see each other more often.

To be fair to both of us, it makes for a pretty long day in the car. Especially if you happen to feel about as good as a warm turd.

Because I had dinner plans, I plowed through the drive in record time, and only stopped twice. This made the trip just over ten hours, including two stops. Normally my bladder would have needed more breaks, but I purposefully deprived the little sucker of fluids, which is probably not the smartest thing to do when you’re sick. It’s also probably not a good idea to drive with the windows down so all the dust and air pollution can irritate your already irritated sinuses, but I did that too. I kept hoping the decline in elevation would help everything, but so far I haven’t experienced a miracle, even though I’m almost a mile lower than I was this morning.

That being said, it is easier to breathe, and I’ve heard breathing is important.

The drive itself was great. I’ve really been so grateful for Tom Collins (my car) this trip. He’s been a true-blue trooper and infinitely better to travel in than the car I had before. (Sorry, Polly.) At the beginning of today’s journey, I listened to a lecture on trauma and transformation, then one on boundaries. Well, I can only handle so much “growth” in one day, so for the rest of the trip I listened to a travel playlist my friend Bonnie sent me. Y’all, it was the coolest thing–every song was handpicked and had something to do with getting away, being on the road (again), or coming home. Short of a hot toddy, it was just what I needed to prop me up.

After dinner, Tom Collins and I finally pulled into my parents’ driveway. Safe and sound and only a little worse for the wear after nearly two weeks on the road, both of us heaved a collective sigh. Ever anal-retentive, I immediately began unpacking and putting everything back in its place. Then I went to Walmart for supplies for yet-another sinusitis home remedy and bananas. I’ll say more about the sinus thing after I try it out, but no (in case you were wondering), the bananas were not part of it. I’m up for just about anything, but come on, bananas go in your mouth, not your nose.

For a while before I started blogging, Mom and Dad and I talked about my trip–our family (of course), all the friends I got to see, all the things I got to do. (If you’d like to know more, uh, read this blog.) In turn, they filled me in on the latest in Van Buren, then went to bed. So for the last thirty minutes, I’ve been sitting alone, blogging. Also, in an effort to undo some of the damage from earlier today, I’ve been double-fisting liquids–water in one hand, hot tea in the other–and (I’m pretty confident) have already ingested enough fluid to float a battleship.

Or at least a bladder-ship. (Yuk, yuk, yuk.)

Anyway, we’ll see if hydrating, having air to breathe, and sleeping makes a difference. Tomorrow promises to be a long day also, so fingers crossed. At the moment, all I can really think about is going to bed. Daddy is WTFO (That’s Worn the Fuck Out, Mom.) Still, part of me wants to wrap this day up somehow, put it away in its proper place as if it were a t-shirt. It seems as life changes in an instant. One moment you’re seeing your sister in a doorway, then you’re not. One moment you’re powering through, then you finally hit a wall. You wake up in one state and pass out in another. Personally, I’m starting to believe that “coming home” really has very little to do with where you unpack your bags. Rather, “coming home” is about seeing yourself through all of life’s moment-to-moment changes and realizing there’s nowhere else you can ever be (or ever have been) except right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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