On Being Distressed (Blog #604)

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It’s just before midnight, and my body is in rebellion. First, my energy meter has been in the red all day. Second, the muscles in my back are on all-out strike. I’m not sure what it is. My shoulder’s been jacked up for a couple months now. I should probably do something to fix that, like other than hope and pray about it. Because that ain’t working. Nor is Tylenol. And did I mention that I have dry skin on my right elbow? Ugh. It’s all so overwhelming.

I’m just falling apart.

Yesterday a high school senior in Alma I met while working backstage at The Wizard of Oz invited me to come paint sets with her for the school’s upcoming production of The Addams Family (a musical). So this afternoon I took the opportunity to get out of the house and out of my head. And whereas it was tough on my body (my right shoulder is seriously pissed about my decision to make it work), it ended up being the perfect thing for my soul. First, there were other people there, so I got some human interaction. Second, I pretty much got an entire set piece–the stairs–all to myself. So I got to do what I wanted. Well, three of us did put the base coat–brown–on the stair rails and spindles, but then I put on a second coat of gray and a third coat of black solo.

Here’s a picture of where I left things this evening about 10:30. To be clear, someone else did the walls. I just worked on the stairs and railing.

It takes a village.

Here’s another picture from the side of the stairs, closer up, so you can see the different colors. Adding gray and black on top of the brown is one way to make new wood look old, and in theater, sets that have had this done are referred to as being “distressed.” Once they add in the correct lighting–Voila!–it’ll look totally creepy and kooky (and all together ooky).

Distressed. That’s how I’ve felt lately. Not only is my body out of whack (it’s hurting as we speak), but I also don’t know what to do with my life. Better said, I don’t know HOW to make my dreams come true. This is a tape that plays constantly in my head–that I SHOULD be doing SOMETHING more than I am–but I don’t KNOW what that thing is. Talk about stressful. Meanwhile, I really don’t feel well enough TO BE DOING any additional work. So in my best moments, I try to be thankful that I have time to rest, take things easy, and figure things out.

Recently I read this poem by the mystic Rumi–

The spiritual path wrecks the body
and afterwards restores it to health.
It destroys the house to unearth the treasure,
and with that treasure builds it better than before.

Boy, if that first line doesn’t make you want to be spiritual, I don’t know what will. Seriously, I’m always saying I don’t recommend this work, and here’s yet another reason why. Your body will suffer. Let’s put THAT on a church billboard and see who shows up on Sunday morning. That being said, the part about the body being restored sounds pretty delightful. Ugh. I’m personally still waiting on that part, the being-put-back-together part. And that’s okay. Things are better than they were a year ago. Really, better than they’ve been for the last twenty years, at least in terms of sinus infections. I haven’t had one of those in about eight months. That’s huge. Plus, it clearly takes time to distress oneself, so it’s only natural that it would take time to un-distress oneself as well.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t stuff down the truth—it always comes up.

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From Forty Feet Away (Blog #549)

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I’m currently backstage at the performing arts center in Alma working with the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. It’s dinnertime. After two full days of thinking, What the hell did I get myself into?, I’m beginning to find my stride. It’s work, of course–my body’s stiff in the all the wrong places–but today has actually been the most fun I’ve had so far. I guess this is because I’m gaining confidence in the tasks I’ve been asked to complete and also getting to know some of the people I’m working with. I keep telling myself, You can talk to strangers, Marcus. Strangers can talk to you.

Despite the fact that I thought I’d be working with props today (and therefore dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a colorful t-shirt), I’ve spent the entire day (the entire fucking day) painting. This is why you shouldn’t let people know you’re good at something–they’ll keep asking you to do it. (Thankfully, I brought paint clothes to change into.) Last night one of the girls and I worked on the trees for the Tin Man’s House, so my job today has been to finish the rest of that set–touch up the bushes in the back, spruce up the grass floor, and completely redo the base. This has been quite the challenge, matching all the colors, but I’m getting better and better at mixing paints together. I feel like Bob Ross.

“We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.”

Here’s a picture of the base BEFORE I started this morning. Notice that it’s pretty banged up from being on the road.

The base–I’ve been told–is supposed to look like bamboo. (I didn’t get that either.) But apparently in Oz, bamboo is white and shadows are blue. Anyway, in order to make this particular base look like some of the others used in the show, I started with a solid coat of white, sponged on blue all the way around, added blue lines about half an inch or an inch apart (this took forever), sponged on more blue, and finally added some red/brown grass at the bottom. Take a took.

Here’s a picture of the “grass” before. Well, the right side is before. The left side has one coat of sponged-on new green.

Here’s the grass after. I used three–well, I think, five–different greens.

Despite the kinks in my shoulders this project has produced, I really am proud of it. I absolutely adore musical theater–it has such power to positively affect a person–and I love that I’ve gotten to participate from the other side, to play one small part.

When my supervisor saw the completed Tin Man’s House, she said, “Marcus, that–looks–gorgeous!” Someone else said, “That’s the best that thing will ever look.” Of course, I know where all my mistakes are, all the details that could have been “better,” whatever that means. But one of the the construction guys said, “You have to remember that people with cataracts are looking at these sets from forty feet away.” This is a good reminder. Personally, I think it applies not only to musical scenery but also to humans. We’re so tough on ourselves. We pick ourselves apart. We zoom in our bodies and imagine our “flaws” to be bigger than they really are, flaws another might not even see, acknowledge, or care about. From forty, or even four feet away, another might remark, “You–look–gorgeous!”

[Incidentally, I realized on the way to work this morning that yesterday’s blog (#548) officially marked a solid year and a half of blogging. Woowho! And so this journey continues.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You’re exactly where you need to be.

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