I’m Over This (Blog #637)

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Yesterday I had surgery on my left knee to reconstruct my ACL. My dad drove me. Arriving at the surgery center, I was immediately stripped of my dignity. That is, my clothes. “You can leave your underwear on,” the nurse said (the same way my last date did), as she handed me a gown to wear. Later I told my friend Bonnie, “Those things are so unflattering.” Her response: “You’re so gay.”

For the last few weeks I’ve been fighting a skin rash, so in addition to a change of clothes and my wallet, I loaded up my “surgery backpack” with various creams. Anyway, before surgery, I told the nurse I needed to use the restroom, and when she pointed me in the right direction, I grabbed my bag so I could take care of business. “DO YOU NEED YOUR BAG?” she said. I guess she thought I was gonna take a swig of whiskey or snort a line of coke in the john. Not bothering to explain myself, I said, “Yep!” and kept walking.

When I got back from the restroom, the nurse shaved my knee and hooked me up to an IV, which was used to pump me full of saline and antibiotics. Then the anesthesiologist came to explain about putting me under and the option of giving me a nerve block, which is sort of like an epidural, to numb pain.

“I want it all,” I said.

The surgery itself went well. When I woke up in recovery I was in a fancy brace, which the doctor said was mainly for my comfort. “Take it off if you like,” he said. “You’re not gonna pull anything loose.” Ugh. My surgeon is real aggressive. Those are his words. I got the day off yesterday, but at-home rehab exercises started today. So far I’ve done them once (out of three times). And whereas they weren’t fun, they weren’t as painful or as difficult as I thought they’d be.

That being said, I am on drugs, and I can tell when they start to wear off. The nerve block definitely has. But whatever I’m taking keeps me groggy and–when I’m standing–nauseated. I’m sure the nauseated part has something to do with the anesthesia and pain, the consequence of my knee having been cut into like the piece of chicken I just ate for dinner.

Mostly, I’m hanging out in a chair or resting in bed. Changing positions, going to the bathroom, and walking on crutches is awkward. My neck is sore. My sister, brother-in-law, and their kids are sick with cold/stomach stuff, so that terrifies me, being surrounded by germs. I’m trying to keep a positive attitude about it. Just because they’re sick doesn’t mean I have to be. But it’s not like the universe hasn’t kicked me when I’ve been down before.

We’ll see what happens.

Okay, I’m over this. The knee injury, of course, but especially the writing. Between the pain and the drugs, it’s difficult to concentrate. I keep thinking I’ll spend the day reading it watching TV, but I can’t focus and end up nodding off. So I’m shutting this down and going to grunt through my exercises again.

You can do this, Marcus. You can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've really got to believe in yourself and what you're doing. Again, it comes down to integrity and making something solid of yourself, something that's so well-built on the inside that it can handle any storm.

"

Upid (Blog #636)

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It’s 6:36 in the morning, just like this is blog #636, and I’ve been up for half an hour, getting ready for knee surgery. My dad’s about to use the bathroom, then we’re getting in my car, Tom Collins, and heading to Fayetteville. Check in is at 8; surgery at 9:30.

Phew.

Last night after I posted the blog, I walked around the block because I figured it would be the last time I could go for a walk for a while. It was slow, emotional. This really is overwhelming. And by “this” I mean life lately. But still, I made it. There was a point going up a hill when my knee got cranky, but hell, it is pretty screwed up, so why wouldn’t it get pissed about being taken for a stroll?

Just before midnight last night, I ate a snack and gulped down some water, then cut myself off from food and liquids as instructed. Then I crawled in bed. And whereas it took a while to wind down, I did get some rest. Granted, I woke up at five in the morning randomly. I’d just had a dream about–something–being on the yearbook staff in college, I think.

Oh well.

Now Dad and I are in the car, just getting on the interstate. I’m blogging now because I’m imagining I won’t feel much like blogging later. Although my writing while on pain medication could be fun. Anyway, there are times, days like today, when I think this blogging every day thing is perfectly ridiculous. I mean, I know it was my idea, but one day I bet I’ll look back and think, Stupid.

Or as my nephew, who’s not allowed to say stupid, would say, Upid.

So this is it until tomorrow. Even if I feel up to it this afternoon or evening, no more writing. Last night I had “a chat” with my knee, and I told it I’d rest, drink plenty of water. You know, take it easy. So that’s what I’m going to do. Besides, I’m over this.

I have other things to do today.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Bodies are so mysterious, much more complicated than car doors. They take more patience to understand and work with. They require more than a couple hours to repair.

"

About to Step into the Ring (Blog #635)

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Today I’ve felt ick and nauseated. For one thing, it’s Christmas Day and my immediate family doesn’t celebrate, and that’s not fun. It feels like all those weddings I used to work as a single, in-the-closet photographer. Like the whole world’s happy and together, but not me. Whatever, the holidays are complicated for a lot of people. So many memories, so many emotions. Plus, I’m having surgery on my left knee tomorrow to repair my ACL, and that’s got my stomach tied up in knots.

Ugh.

This afternoon I put the knee brace my surgeon’s office gave me in the back seat of my car, Tom Collins. They said I’d wake up in it after surgery. The brace, not my car. I also un-decorated my crutches, which for the last few weeks have been decked out in Christmas tinsel, ever since I was in that tacky holiday variety show at the local theater. Anyway, I put those in the back seat too, as I’ll be needing them again starting–soon. This is part of what’s got me upset. For a week and a half now I’ve been crutches-less and walking on my own. Granted, my walking has been slow and not always pain-free, but at least I’ve felt independent. But starting tomorrow it’s back to square one, hobbling around and asking people to bring me things. I guess it just feels like I’m going backwards.

I realize this isn’t the case. Tomorrow’s surgery is an important step (pun intended) in this whole process and absolutely necessary if I want my “world of movement” to look anything like it did before. But it’s a lot, emotionally. Sure, the surgeon does this every day, but I don’t. I’ll be going under. There will be scars. And whereas the surgeon said the scars wouldn’t be a big deal because I have hairy legs, it’s still a big deal to me to be both cut open and permanently marked.

Also, sometimes I shave my legs.

Now it’s nine at night, and I’ve got to be up at six in the morning. I can only have food and liquids for the next three hours. I still have to shower, pack a small bag, and make sure I have my shit together. Honestly, I don’t imagine I’ll get much sleep. For one thing, I’m not used to going to bed before midnight. More like two in the morning. For another thing, my mind is racing.

I wish I knew how to make it stop.

People do these things every day–have surgery, go through rehab, get through the pain. People walk again. People dance again. So part of me knows it’s possible. And whereas I know I’ll do as I’m told, push through, and probably overachieve (because it’s one of my things), I’m honestly not looking forward to it. You know how sometimes you’re ready for a fight, and sometimes you’re not? Well, I’m not. This isn’t a fight I was looking for or even wanted once it found me. And yet here I am about to step (sort of) into the ring. So I’m taking deep breaths and preparing to do my best.

Here we go.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

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On Humble Beginnings (Blog #634)

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It’s an hour before midnight on Christmas Eve, and I’ve spent most the day cuddled up in my favorite chair, reading. For me, today has been like most any other, since our family stopped celebrating Christmas over twenty years ago. It’s a long story. Part of me wishes I could go back and rewrite it, since I think traditions are important and my thinking around this particular tradition has changed a lot. But, of course, it’s hard to wind back the clock. Plus, once you’ve lost the magic of something, it’s difficult to regain it.

But not impossible, perhaps.

Really, I’m fine with this. Sure, when I see pictures of others celebrating with friends and loved ones and opening presents, a part of me misses that. But I’ve been with my family all day long, and I haven’t had to spend a dime on presents. Which is good, since I don’t have a dime. But I do miss the sparkle around the season. I used to adore decorating the tree and putting up lights on the outside of the house. Really, looking back at how I’d climb on the roof and meticulously unscrew and re-screw every bulb until they were perfectly arranged–green, red, green, red–someone should have told me a long time ago that I was a homosexual. Anyway, the last few years I’ve made an effort to participate and celebrate, if only a little. This year I helped a friend decorate the outside of their house. I was in a holiday variety show.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

I think one of the hardest things to do is accept your life both as it is and how it’s been. Especially in today’s world of social media, it’s so easy to compare yourself to others. Just scroll through your phone for a minute–one minute!–and you can see everything you’re not in terms of looks, friends, prestige, and holiday celebrations. But to really sit with your story, with all your humble beginnings, this is a tough thing to do. My mom’s been depressed since I was a child. Our home burned down when I was four. My dad went to prison. As if this weren’t enough to make us different, we stopped celebrating Christmas, and (years later) I came out of the closet.

This evening my sister, her husband, and their boys went to a friend’s house for dinner. A friend of theirs and their family ended up being there–because their home burned down tonight. The family was okay, but their pets died. This went on while my parents and I went out to eat at Chili’s and I shoved down a plateful of fajitas, two beers, and a chocolate molten lava cake. Granted, it wasn’t extravagant in terms of “what’s expected,” but we were together. Anyway, this is the world we live in. The worst things happen alongside the best things.

Back home from dinner, I returned to my reading chair. After my sister and her crew got home, my older nephew, who spends most his time in his own world and really isn’t into socializing, crawled up in my chair and read his comic book alongside me. Didn’t say a word. Just snuggled up between one armrest and me and turned his pages. It was the sweetest thing; I wouldn’t trade the thirty minutes he sat there for the world. Who’s to say if this would have happened in a living room full of packages? I mean, I’ve seen my nephew around presents.

It wouldn’t have happened.

Yesterday my friend Bonnie gave me a pack of positive affirmation cards called AFFIRMATORS!, and they’re my new favorite thing. There are over fifty cards in the pack, and the idea is that you shuffle them “like a three year-old” and pull one out at random. Well, get this shit. Three times today (out of four) I pulled out the same card–Magic. I’m including a picture of it here, but the idea is that life is a great mystery, and we’re surrounded by serendipity and wonderful, inexplicable happenings. Anyway, on a day that used to be filled with magic for me, during a time in my life that’s so difficult, it was the perfect reminder that miracles can occur in the most unlikely of places and circumstances.

Just after I pulled this card for the first time, I got a text message from a friend from high school that I haven’t talked to in–I don’t know–five or ten years. I guess they were last-minute shopping; they wanted to buy some dance lessons. This ended up being the perfect thing. They got a gift to give to someone they care about, and I got some cash (which I really needed). Anyway, I kept hearing my therapist’s voice in my head, since a couple weeks ago, after having injured my knee, I was bemoaning my financial prospects and suggested I could liquidate a few things. “Naw,” my therapist said, “let the universe do something.” And so it did. Talk about a Christmas miracle.

Magic.

In other good news, the skin rash that I’ve had for the last few weeks is finally getting better. Like, not just a little; a lot. I’ll spare you the details, but I figured out the right cream to use on it. Maybe this seems like a small matter, but when life’s knocked you down over and over (and over) again, it’s really delightful to be on the receiving end of a win. And in light of the fact that I’ll be having knee surgery in a day and a half, it’s nice knowing my body isn’t completely falling apart and that something’s on the mend. It’s good to be reminded that with a little persistence (and not a little magic) things can improve.

God’s got a big thing for humble beginnings.

Despite the fact that I’m not currently surrounded by the trappings of Christmas, I keep thinking about the mythological image of Jesus being born in a manger. I love that part of the story, since it reminds me that God’s got a big thing for humble beginnings. Shit, I can only imagine what Joseph and Mary must have felt like that night–worn out, tired, pregnant, no room in the inn. Surely one of them must have thought, God, I could use a break tonight. I could use a little magic here. Personally, I would have been pissed. Especially if I were Mary. I would have been looking everywhere for Gabriel, and when I found him I would have said, “You mean to tell me that first The Divine knocks me up, and now he wants me to deliver his kid in a barn?!” But I’m reminded tonight that The Divine is into this, into stories that don’t make sense from a human perspective, into “what seems small is big.”

With these things in mind, I’m doing my best to honor my story, including my past and present, as it is and not as I wish it were. Because no matter how humble or challenging and no matter how it compares to another’s, this is my life–my one, unique, and precious life. And no matter what, being alive is a gift. No matter how dark the night or bleak the circumstances, if you’re alive, you’re alive, and you’re story’s not over. And who’s to say what The Divine will make of your humble beginnings?

Who’s to say what magic lies ahead?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."

On Blessing and Cursing (Blog #633)

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This afternoon after a family friend heard that I’d severed my ACL while performing a dance stunt, the first words out of their mouth were, “You can’t do what you used to do.” Not words of sympathy or compassion, but rather, “You’re old and brittle.”

My response: “Shut up.”

I’m making a big deal out of this (and you can’t stop me) because I’ve gotten this reaction from quite a number of people. I tell them the facts (I hurt myself), and they go straight for the jugular. “Well, you’re not getting any younger.” First of all, no shit, asshole. NO ONE IS GETTING ANY YOUNGER. NO ONE HAS EVER GOTTEN ANY YOUNGER IN THE HISTORY OF THE ENTIRE WORLD! Second of all, there was an eight-year-old in my surgeon’s office the day that I was there who’d torn his ACL too, so clearly injuring yourself isn’t directly related to age. That is, all of us are human, breakable, and generally (and by that I mean completely) subject to the laws of physics. Young people hurt themselves. Old people hurt themselves. Is age A FACTOR in whether or not a person is likely to hurt themselves? Of course. But so is physical build, experience, and–when dancing–the slickness of one’s shoes and the floor one is dancing on.

Breathe, Marcus.

My main beef here isn’t whether or not anyone thinks I’m old and frail. Fuck that. People can think what they want. My beef is that WORDS MATTER, and the way you talk to yourself and others matters a lot. This afternoon my friend Bonnie gave me a super-cool deck of positive affirmation cards called AFFIRMATORS! that are a fabulous spoof on positive affirmation cards. (They have a picture of a rabbit riding a unicorn on the front.) Still, the ones I’ve read so far communicate excellent points in humorous ways. Anyway, the first card I pulled out of the deck was Positive Thinking. I’m including a picture of it below (credit to: http://knockknockstuff.com), but the basic point is this–your mind is a garden, and the thoughts you water, tend to, and practice will take root, grow, and take over–so make sure they’re good ones.

When I was in college, I attended a leadership conference in Hot Springs, and the speaker told everyone in the audience to stand up, so we did. Then he told everyone to turn around, so we did. Then he told everyone to jump up and down and basically make asses out of ourselves, so we did. Now, why on God’s green earth would we do this? The speaker said it was because of something called The Power of the Podium. That is, as audience members, we assign a certain authority to someone behind a lectern and will therefore do stupid shit they ask us to do. In terms of the leadership conference, the speaker’s point was–if you’re given the chance to speak to others, make sure your message has a meaning and that you’re not wasting everyone’s damn time.

My point is that you don’t have to be standing in front of an auditorium in order for people to be paying attention to you. Indeed, if your mouth is moving, chances are pretty good that someone is listening to you. And the question I’m proposing is, “What would happen if the person you’re speaking to actually believed you?” Specifically, what if I believed the person this afternoon who was arguing for my limitations rather than my abilities? What if I spent the next year watering the thought, I can’t do what I used to do, versus, My body is strong and capable of great things. Because they could have just as easily said that. They could have said, “This may slow you down for a while, but I trust you’ll be back in the saddle in no time.”

During medieval times, if someone wanted to bless someone, this is how they’d do it. With their words. They’d say, “May the sun rise up to meet you. May your children’s children be healthy and prosperous. May your wife’s breasts be larger than your bank account.” Whatever. Conversely, if someone wanted to curse someone else, they’d say, “A pox upon your house. May a fever seize you. May all your descendants be hanged.” Maybe this sounds silly, but the idea is that the human mind has a tendency to ruminate on and “make true” those thoughts that are planted in it, especially those thoughts that are charged with emotion (like excitement or fear). In this manner, any blessing or curse can easily become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Granted, in today’s society, we often don’t think of ourselves as blessing or cursing each other, but that doesn’t mean we don’t do it. For example, my therapist is constantly telling me that I’ll be wildly successful as a writer one day. That’s a blessing. On the other hand, once when I told a friend that I wanted to be a writer, they glibly referred to my dream and the reason I feel like I’ve been put on this earth as “a hobby.” Their implication was clear: “You can’t make a legitimate living at this.” That’s a curse. Subtle, perhaps, but a curse nonetheless.

I suppose a lot could be said about why we humans drag each other down. My friend Justin says that if you’ve settled for less in your life, you’ll rarely celebrate someone else who’s reaching for more. Misery loves company or whatever. Personally, I think that we can’t truly empower someone else until we have first empowered ourselves, and that’s a tough thing to do. Still, telling someone, “You’re old and feeble,” “Things will never get better,” or, “That’ll never happen” is shitty any way you slice it. Who died and made you God? What else can you tell me while your crystal ball is out? This is a large and marvelous universe. How do YOU KNOW what will happen?

The human spirit is capable of overcoming the greatest of obstacles.

Regardless of how much I rant, I know I can’t control what comes out of another person’s mouth. I’m realizing, however, that I can control what I listen to, put up with, and let take hold in the garden of my mind. More than hoping to change anyone else’s opinion about anything, that’s what I’m wanting to do here–get rid of the weeds that have been long-planted in my consciousness. Because yes, I’m thirty-eight, but thirty-eight is not old, at least not old as in, “It’s time to trade in your dancing shoes for a stamp collection.” Old as in, “There are hairs growing out of my ears,” sure. But if you’re here to tell me that simply because I’m thirty-eight and had a rough year that things are downhill from here, I’m here to tell you to kindly fuck off. People of all ages have rough years, and the human spirit is capable of overcoming the greatest of obstacles. So this is my blessing to myself and everyone else who will take it in; this is the thought-seed I’m hoping to water, tend to, and practice–

Your spirit is ageless, your body is stronger than you know, and your fate is to rise again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You have everything you need.

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We’ll Try Again (Blog #632)

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I don’t know what to say about today. Things happened. Now I’m ready to go to bed. Blah.

Okay, I’ll try again.

This morning I got up early to ride with my dad and aunt halfway to Oklahoma City, where we dropped my aunt off with my aunt’s son (my cousin) and two of her three grandchildren. (She’s spending the holidays with them.) On the way there, I read a book; on the way back, I visited with my dad. When we got back to town, we ran a couple errands.

Since then, I’ve been at home organizing paperwork, doing laundry, and worrying about my health. Also, I’ve been working on a puzzle off and on. It’s slow going. Everything right now feels like it’s slow going. Slow going and overwhelming. One minute I feel like I can do this, the next minute I feel like I can’t. Earlier I went outside and looked at the stars. It’s been weeks since I’ve star-gazed, and I still don’t have a handle on the winter sky. The Northern Cross, which was overhead all last summer (and every summer), now dips below the western horizon well before midnight. Even this sent a streak of panic through me. I thought, Wait! Come back. I liked you.

This evening a friend came by to give me a Christmas present–a thousand piece puzzle that promises to be one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done–because it’s basically a mix of solid colors, and (get this shit) the colors change whenever you look at them from a different angle. I hope that makes sense. (Here’s a link to a similar puzzle if it doesn’t.) Anyway, my friend said, “When you’re working on it and get frustrated, just remember–I really do you like you.” Hum, I feel like there’s a lesson here. Recently someone said, “Consider the idea that you’re loved.” Like, by God, the universe, or life itself. So I’ve been trying to do this, to remember that just because I’m frustrated now, doesn’t mean the world is out to get me. Indeed, years from now I could look back on my current challenges and think, Absolutely necessary.

My puzzle friend, who’s had their fair-share of injuries and surgeries, suggested that I be as patient as possible with my body. “It may take longer than you want it to,” they said, “but one day you’ll wake up and think, This is what I used to feel like.” In the meantime, they suggested I be thankful for my body–because it’s doing the best it can. Even now, they reminded me, the muscles in both my legs are working hard to compensate for the damage we’ve sustained.

This is something I intend to do, to recognize where my body is knocking it out of the park. Because when I think about my injured knee, I think, Wait! Come back. I liked you. And yet in thirty-eight years, I’ve never told it, “Thank you. Thank you for letting me walk. Thank you for letting me dance.” Along these lines, I’m considering the idea that I’m loved not just by something “out there,” but by my own body, something “right here, right now.” That is, I have a body that serves me the best it can every day. Granted, it doesn’t always do what I want it to, but I don’t always do what it wants me to either. So good that we have this time to slow down. Maybe now we can learn to get along, learn to listen to and appreciate each other.

Okay, we’ll try again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It takes forty years in the desert for seas to part.

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This Is Our Darkest Night (Blog #631)

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Today has been–stressful. I’ve had a rash on my thighs for a couple weeks now, and for whatever reason decided to officially start freaking out about it this afternoon. I’m just ready for it to be better. Well, technically it is better. I’m ready for it to be gone. Anyway, I tried getting into a dermatologist today, but everyone’s closed for the holidays. So instead of taking a deep breath and telling myself that I can wait until next week after my knee surgery, I told myself I have an incurable flesh-eating virus.

This was very upsetting for me to hear.

Distressed, I took a nap. When I woke up, I distracted myself by reading a book and playing with my nephews. And eating. My sister cooked dinner, and I ate two platefuls. Then I went through the physical therapy exercises I’ll be doing starting the day after surgery, just to get a hang of them. Ugh. I’m not looking forward to this. I mean, I AM looking forward to getting better, to walking, running, and dancing again. It’s just the damn slowness of the whole thing that’s got me down.

Tonight my sister and I started working on a thousand-piece puzzle. (So far we’ve finished the border.) This is something she, my brother-in-law, and I did last year while they were visiting for the holidays. At that time, I was two months into the grossest and longest sinus infection of my life. And just like we finished the puzzles we were working on, my infection eventually went away. Anyway, I overused the analogy back then, but obviously this is how life proceeds, piece by piece. Sooner or later things come together.

Tonight is the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year (in the northern hemisphere). Officially, it’s the start of winter, but it’s also the start of the solar year. I’ll explain. The sun always appears to rise in the east and set in the west. (I say appears because the sun isn’t actually moving; we are.) However, in the summer, it rises and sets in the northeast/northwest, and in the winter, in the southeast/southwest. (Incidentally, the opposite is true for the moon.) That is, from the summer solstice until the winter solstice, the sun tracks ever less overhead and ever more toward the southern horizon. This is a change that’s noticeable on a daily basis if you know how to measure it, and is something ancient people paid attention to.

Like at Stonehenge.

A lot of people think of the winter solstice as the point at which the sun is at its “lowest,” and therefore the point at which everything turns around and our days start getting longer. I believe this is technically true, but it’s important to note that when the sun reaches its lowest point, it appears to “stay there” for three days. That is, for three days, there’s no perceptible movement in terms of it moving toward the south or the north. This was a big deal to the ancients, since–not understanding modern astronomy–they believed that the sun had “died.” But then after three days, they’d see the sun “rise again” and begin its slow trek toward the north. (Incidentally, the word resurrection means “rise again.”) Anyway, this was cause for celebration, and as I understand it, is why we celebrate Christmas (the birth of the “son”) on December 25, since that’s three days after the 22nd, which is when the solstice typically is. This three-day thing is also why Jonah was three days in the belly of the whale and Christ was three days in the grave.

To me, the symbology is not lost. There are times in all our lives when things get worse and worse. Eventually we hit rock bottom. This is our darkest night. And if things turned around quickly, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. But a period of stillness appears to be required, a length of time spent in the grave. The grave–this is where you rest. This is where you give up hope. Not altogether, but of things going your way. This is where you surrender. This is where you do your best to have faith that your dark nights will grow shorter and your days will grow longer, that the whale will spit you up on dry land, that something bigger and stronger than you will roll away your personal gravestone and give you new life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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A Crisis Is Required (Blog #630)

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It’s just before nine in the evening, and I’m worn out. I haven’t had a lick of energy all day. Granted, I have been able to play with my four-year-old nephew, who dragged me outside this afternoon and had a difficult time understanding that I couldn’t run because of my injured knee. “You chase me. I’ll go slow,” he said as he took off like a jackrabbit. He really is the cutest. Except when he hits me. He’s just playing around, of course, but the boy doesn’t know his own strength. This evening after he’d “bonked” me on my head, I said, “Who made you so violent?”

His answer: “God.”

Later my older nephew (who’s been entertaining himself today) complained that my younger nephew was reading his private journal. My sister’s reply: “Son, he’s four. HE CAN’T READ.”

Kids.

Other than playing with my nephew, I’ve spent today reading a book and scrolling through my phone. I’m really haven’t been motivated to do anything else, although I did get out to have coffee with my friend Marla. We always have a good time together. But for the last two hours I’ve been lounging in an oversized chair in our living room waiting for my life to get better. So far it hasn’t happened. My neck hurts. My skin has a rash. My knee is stiff. My entire body feels “blah.”

Lately I’ve been going back and forth–things will better, things won’t get better. He loves me, he loves me not. And whereas I really want to believe things will get better, it’s a tough thought to hang on to when I’m not seeing a lot of proof here. Sure, it makes sense logically that things will improve; it just doesn’t feel like they will. Like, even if you really believe in rainbows, when you’re stuck in the woods, it’s hard to envision a world of rainbows because all you can see is a world of trees.

Caroline Myss says that “in order to have faith, you have to have a crisis that requires you to find it.” I really hope that’s what is happening here, that this time in my life is bringing out the best in me. That’s one of the things I like about that quote, the implication that faith is already in us, we just have to get in touch with it. But seriously, damn that a crisis is required. That being said, who would wake up on a good day and think, You know what? I could use more faith today. No, we look for our faith when times are tough, when things are darkest, when we can’t see our way out of the woods. And perhaps this is a gift, to be forced to look inside yourself and discover hope waiting for you, to be reminded that part of you never stops believing in something better.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can rise above. You can walk on water.

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That’s Not Too Far Away (Blog #629)

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Things that happened today–

1. I did a knee thing

This afternoon I had my first physical therapy appointment for my injured knee. It was a short deal, maybe fifteen minutes, to go over exercises that I’ll do post-operation, on my own, until officially starting physical therapy two weeks after surgery (which is one week from today). Anyway, it went well, and it occurred to me later that I’m racking up quite the number of “my therapists.” Me and My Mental Health Therapist, Me and My Massage Therapist, Me and My Physical Therapist.

Clearly I need a lot of help.

2. I said goodnight to my nephews

This evening my sister, brother-in-law, and my nephews arrived for the holidays. Ugh. Talk about cuteness overload. They give the best hugs. Granted, when they wake me up at seven-thirty in the morning, I may not think they’re so great.

3. I said goodnight to the world

Since the boys clocked out, my parents, my sister and brother-in-law, and I have been visiting. There’s nothing quite like family. Now it’s almost eleven, and everyone is worn out. My sister because she has two children, and me because my body has been through the ringer lately. At the moment, I don’t have a lot to offer. All I want to do is wind down and go to bed. I really didn’t sleep well last night. You know how some nights you toss and turn. Still, it’s been a good day. The physical therapist said that two months after surgery, if all goes as planned, I’ll be cleared for “light jogging” on flat surfaces, and that six months after surgery I’ll be “back to normal.” At that point, they said, I’ll be no more likely to tear my (new) ACL than I was before my accident. So two months–six months–that’s not too far away. That’s something to look forward to.

I can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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All Is Not Lost (Blog #628)

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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)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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