Some Days You Feel Like a Nut (Blog #209)

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Dear Friends, I’ve been awake for twelve hours and haven’t done a damn thing, but it feels like I’ve been awake for three days. I’m not exactly sure that I feel worse than I’ve felt for the last week, but I certainly don’t feel better. I guess you know you’re sick when you see a donut on Facebook and all you can think is, That looks like it would take a lot of energy to pick up. I don’t know where all this snot and blood in my nose is coming from. When I woke up this morning, it was like my sinuses had “ordered-in” more junk, had some extra mucus delivered for the upcoming holidays. Surely the stuff I’ve been sniffing, hacking, and coughing hasn’t been coming from inside me.

Obviously the miracle I requested before I went to bed last night got stuck in the mail. Perhaps I should have specified that I needed it delivered Express. Maybe it’ll show up tomorrow.

I wish I had something exciting to report, but I haven’t left the house all day. Since I spent the day reading, I’ve barely left the bed. Granted, it’s just one day horizontal, but I’m starting to feel like one of Charlie’s grandparents in Willy Wonka and Chocolate Factory–completely bedridden, thinking, Will I ever be vertical again? Where is my golden ticket? Speaking of golden, I did pee a lot today. This, I suppose, was the natural consequence of drinking enough fluid to water a California Redwood during the month of August. I don’t remember the last time I ingested so much water, black tea, green tea, and dandelion tea.

I’m sure my kidneys don’t either.

I don’t think I watched a lick of television while I was on vacation. Well, I did watch part of a Disney cartoon with my nephews. But when I woke up today, Dad was watching “his soap,” Days of Our Lives, so I watched it while I ate breakfast. This is often the case when I’m at home, so I’m starting to recognize characters and plot lines. Today I even asked Dad about a specific character, wanting to know what went on while I was out-of-town. Personally–and I’m not judging if you’re addicted to a soap opera, but–I consider this a low point in my life. I really thought I’d at least have an AARP card before this happened. Really, isn’t watching a soap opera a gateway drug to becoming a senior citizen? What’s next, eating dinner at The Golden Coral at three in the afternoon?

Today I read so much that my eyes now feel like sandpaper, and I imagine that if I read even forty-three more words my brain would liquefy and run out of my ears and onto the kitchen tile. Our dog, Ella, would probably lap it up, and my last thought would be, There goes my brain–it’s been real. It’s been real–that’s what a guy told me a couple years ago after we went on two or three dates. I said, “It’s been wonderful getting to know you,” and he flashed me the peace sign and said, “It’s been real.” This person had been given a driver’s license–he was in college. Of all the words in the English language, those are the only three he could string together?

Seriously, straight ladies, how do you put up with my gender?

Most of my reading today consisted of David Sedaris, David Sedaris, and David Sedaris. But I also finished a book about writing, read a chapter in a self-help book, and started a book about the world’s religions. Considering I’ve had the religions book for longer than I can remember, I don’t know why I just started reading it today. Who can say why anything happens? Anyway, all the information was a lot to process for this tired brain and body, so I had to take a nap in between David Sedaris and Hinduism.

During the nap I dreamed I was in an open field, climbing on some oil barrels. Flying in the air was a giant spacecraft shaped like an acorn. Considering whiskey has never given me a dream like this, I’m blaming the green tea. Regardless of where the dream came from, I’ve been chewing on the meaning of it for a few hours. The first thing that came to mind when I thought about the flying acorn was “stored energy,” which I guess would apply to the oil barrels too. When I looked up acorns on an online dream dictionary, it said they represent potential–something small that can grow into something big. So despite the fact that I currently don’t feel very energetic, I’m taking this dream as a positive sign (auspicious, as my therapist would say) that I have a lot of energetic reserves and plenty of potential for growth.

As for the part about the acorn flying? Well, I guess the sky’s the limit.

In the book about religions, it said that because one moment is constantly dying to the next, our days are filled with funerals and rebirths. Seen in this light, I suppose the person who crawled out of bed this morning is no longer alive, and a different one is typing at the table now. Likewise, I hope this one will pass away and a healthier one will wake up tomorrow. Surely if our bodies can fill our sinuses with snot and our heads with dreams, anything is possible. We spend our days worrying about how we feel, what other (stupid) people say to us, and all of our soap operas. But every bit of that stuff is outside of us, and what matters is inside. This is where our true potential lies, the place where anything can happen, the place where acorns become oak trees.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

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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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The truth doesn’t suck.

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Each New Day (Blog #202)

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It’s just before midnight, everyone else is asleep, and I’ve been raiding the refrigerator because I’m hungry. Apparently doing nothing burns a lot of calories. This afternoon my sister introduced me to honey roasted nuts, and I could have sworn she said they were in the kitchen, so I just spent five minutes quietly opening cabinet doors in search of this glorious snack made by unicorns. Well, they ended up being in the pantry, in the last cabinet I opened. When I saw them, I felt like I won the lottery, but what I actually won was another reason to be grateful for stretch pants.

Puh-TAY-toe, puh-TAH-toe.

I just put the honey roasted nuts back on the shelf. I was eating so many, I decided it was either put them back or call a help line. When I walked into the pantry, I noticed the shirts I washed and hung up to dry yesterday. There are six of them, and all of them are gray or black. With a couple exceptions, that’s pretty much been my color palate for the last year. Yesterday my sister and I talked about my current minimalist wardrobe, and today she told me I had what’s referred to as a capsule closet. A capsule closet is apparently a collection of limited clothing (tops, bottoms, etc.), all of which match and coordinate. Well, obviously, gray and black go with everything.

By everything, I mean my one pair of jeans.

I spent this afternoon mostly in the car with my sister, running my nephews around. For being so young, they sure have a lot to do. I guess part of the problem is that Christopher’s charter school is a twenty-minute drive. My sister says he usually doesn’t like to talk about his day, that getting information out of him is like pulling teeth. My parents have voiced the same complaint about me over the years, so I said, “You should give him a couple of scotches. That’ll make him talk.” Well, he wouldn’t shut up today, probably because he lost his watch at school (he has a habit of taking it off) and was hoping he could avoid a lecture by throwing my sister a conversation bone. So for twenty minutes he went on and on about music class, witches, and–I don’t know–cooties. This whole exchange taught me two things–1) seven-year-olds are smarter than we give them credit for, and 2) as smart as they are, they really have very few interesting things to say.

Of course, two-year-olds aren’t any better. They repeat themselves–a lot. This afternoon Ander kept saying, “Now? Now? What about now?” I recently told a friend, “If you want patience, be a dance instructor,” but I should have said parent.

If you want patience, be a parent.

Tonight before bedtime, the boys and I played outside. Christopher wanted to sword fight with plastic bats, but I somehow ended up with a plastic golf club. Talk about being an awkward pirate. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I would have won, but Christopher ended up reaching for a water gun–and using it–on me. So I got soaked, but since I’m bigger than him, I took away the gun and returned the favor. My sister said, “When kids scream and say, ‘Don’t shoot me,’ that means they want you to shoot them.” I don’t know where she discovered this parenting wisdom, but both the boys did seem to be delighted when I covered them in water. In retrospect, I think my sister just said what she did so she wouldn’t have to bathe them tonight.

When we came inside Christopher wouldn’t let me in my room (actually, his playroom) until I said the secret password, which I ended up guessing after he gave me a few hints. It was “cheese block.” Go figure.

Also, now I’m hungry again.

Yesterday I started reading Theft by Finding by David Sedaris. It’s his latest book, a collection of his diary entries over the years, and over five hundred pages. I have tickets to see David next week in Arkansas and am trying to finish the book before then, even though I’m sure he won’t mind if I don’t. Still, I’m a hundred pages in (and fascinated). Anyway, since everyone went to bed, I’ve been reading, David for a while, then a book on writing that David mentioned. (Clearly I have the attention span of a two-year-old, as I’m constantly starting new books before I finish old ones.)

You can’t play small forever.

When I reset my wardrobe last year, I told myself that I was sticking to grays and blacks because they’re neutral and it felt like I needed a fresh start. Subconsciously, I think I’ve stuck with those colors because I’ve been in mourning. A huge part of my life is over, and I guess it feels like a death. It’s good, I think, since that part needed to die. You can’t play small forever. Still, since whatever’s coming next hasn’t fully presented itself yet, my interior atmosphere is often solemn–lighter than before, but solemn nonetheless. Perhaps deep is a better word. I suppose it’s been like this for a while, but I notice it more when I’m around children. Sometimes it’s difficult for me to be silly and not steer the conversation toward self-improvement.

Of course, seven-year-olds would rather talk about their farts.

I don’t imagine farts will ever be my go-to conversation. I seem to be wired for things more serious, like, How do your farts make you feel? I’m okay with that. Still, I love my nephews for reminding me that life is meant to be fun. Today I wore a pink shirt, and that too reminds me to lighten up. Once I had a spiritual teacher hold my hand and say, “There’s nothing serious going on here, I can promise you that.” At the time, I hoped they were right. Now, I really am starting to believe it, that the world isn’t as bad as I thought it was, that I can improve without being so intense or in a hurry, and that I can come out of mourning anytime because the sun rises each new day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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The Night David Sedaris said, “Come Back to Bed” (Blog #76)

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Today my friend Marla and I went on a writer’s pilgrimage to see David Sedaris in Tulsa at an event put on by Magic City Books. I can’t tell you how much fun I had. I mean, I really can’t. I’ve been sitting here trying, but it’s not working, probably because I only slept five hours last night, just got back from Tulsa an hour ago, and my brain is mush. But I’ll keep trying.

I woke up at noon today and had about an hour to get ready. Even though I knew the event would be outside and that it would be warm, I decided to wear jeans instead of shorts because I thought they looked cuter, and you never know when you’re going to meet Mr. Right or when David Sedaris will be so impressed with your pants that he’ll invite you to join him and his boyfriend for dinner. But thinking that I’d definitely sweat in the jeans, I slathered some of Dad’s Gold Bond Lotion all around my private parts. After I did, I thought, There’s probably a reason that stuff is in a green bottle, which is about the time my balls woke up. At first the eucalyptus just felt like a cool breeze on a spring morning, but then things stepped up a notch, and it felt like I’d used a peppermint suppository.

Marla and I got to Tulsa early, so we grabbed a great parking spot and walked a few blocks for lunch. Along the way we found two pink unicorns painted on a set of double doors, so we stopped and took a picture. I still I have no idea what was on the other side of those doors, but I can only imagine it was fabulous.

I broke all my food rules today. It felt great. For lunch I had a sandwich with white bread, creamy soup, and coffee with Irish Creme, immediately followed by a cookies-and-cream donut so big that it’s really a wonder I didn’t instantly become a diabetic. I even licked the bag it came in. Then Marla and I set up our chairs on the lawn where David was supposed to speak and went to a bar that I knew about because a guy once stood me up there on a night I had two tires blow out. (I was not impressed.)

The bar itself was really cool, and while Marla and I waited, I had two beers. Then we went back to the lawn to wait for David. Because my bladder is an overachiever, I had to pee for the second time in fifteen minutes, so I ended up buying a cup of coffee at a coffee shop because only paying customers could get the restroom code. Peeing is a patron’s privilege, apparently. (Say that five times fast.)

For the presentation, David spoke for forty-five minutes, mostly reading from his diary entries, many of which are in his new book, Theft by Finding. One of the stories he told was about a friend who–upon seeing a complete stranger on his or her cellphone–would often walk up beside them and say loudly, “Come back to bed, I’m freezing.”

When the talk was over, David moved across the street to an art gallery to sign books, and a long line began to form. Marla and I had pre-purchased books, which allowed us a spot in “Group A,” but we were still at the back of that section because–once again–I had to use the restroom. (To the guy whose kid’s asshole absolutely exploded in his pants, my heart goes out to you for all the hard work you did cleaning him up. In the future–for chafing–your son may benefit from Gold Bond Lotion, but I don’t recommend the kind in the green bottle.)

One thing I love about David Sedaris is that he takes a lot of time with his fans and doesn’t rush them off. It makes for a long wait–Marla and I waited over two hours–but I think it’s well worth it. Hell, at one point we saw a middle-aged woman sporting a sash that said, “Miss Emollient–Dark as a Turd.” Where else does that happen? I still don’t get it, so I assume she was seeking attention. But who isn’t these days? Anyway, the line snaked around once it got inside, so as Marla and I neared the autograph table, I was right next to this guy who had a PBS shirt on that said, “Be More.” (No pressure, right?) Honestly, it took everything in me to not say, “I’m doing the best I can, damn it!”

At the autograph table, David signed Marla’s book, “To Marla–You make me want to live again.” With others he drew cartoons–an ax with blood on it, something resembling a shovel. I have another signed book of his in which he drew an airplane–a crop duster, it says–a reference to a joke he’d made that night about a particular variety of farts. This is something I love about David, the fact that after all this time he’s still having fun, finding a way to make each person in line feel special.

I got to spend a few minutes with David and ask him a question about a statement in one of his books, as well as a couple of things he said in his talk tonight. I’ve been trying all evening to decide how much to say about it, since even though he’s probably already forgotten the conversation, it feels special to me and I’ll probably be processing it for a while. In short, David said that he doesn’t like to talk about his feelings, but instead likes to talk and write about experiences and opinions.

Fresh off three years of therapy (and writing a blog about it every night lately), not talking about my feelings feels foreign to me, so I almost said, “Oh my god, I know a good therapist.” But then I figured he probably knows one too and has a good reason for not talking about his feelings, especially to total strangers. Like, if I’d said, “WHY DON’T YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS, DAVID?” it probably would have sounded like, “Be More,” and he could have easily responded, “I’m doing the best I can, damn it.”

Thinking about it now, what I love about David’s answer is that it seemed vulnerable and honest, which is pretty remarkable considering the fact that he’d just met me (again for the first time). So I just looked him in the eye, smiled, and said, “Thank you,” and Marla and I walked out. I was so thrilled about getting to spend even a few moments with one of my writing heroes that I accidentally stepped on a stranger’s foot. (Sorry, lady.)

When we got outside, Marla made a joke, and I said, “What’s that?” and she said, “It’s what he wrote in your book.” So I opened the book, and there it was–“To Marcus, Come back to bed, I’m freezing.”

There was a lady working the event tonight whom I overheard a couple of times anxiously telling people in the line, “It’s a long wait, but it’s worth it.” When we got close to the table, she said, “See if you can’t hurry.” Well, we didn’t, and I can only assume that she felt pressured, maybe sensing that some people in the line were upset by the holdup. But I didn’t sense any of that from David. Marla told me that he’s been known to spend nine hours signing books. Personally, I wasn’t upset about waiting, and if I had been, I simply would have left. (My therapist says leaving is always an option.)

It all makes me wonder if David’s so patient because he waited so long to be published. Maybe it’s because he’s doing something he really loves and that makes it easier to go above and beyond with people you don’t even know. Either way, it encourages me to be more patient with what may come in my life, to not put so much pressure on myself or anyone else by thinking, Be More, Be More–Talk about your feelings! Rather, I can remember that I’m doing the best I can, damn it. In fact, we’re all doing the best we can. Especially that guy whose kid shit everywhere.

Realizing this, I think, is like having a lover come back to bed. Suddenly there’s no need to rush, the world feels safer than it did before, and if ever so slowly, that which was freezing begins to warm.

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.

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One, Two, You Know What to Do (Blog #68)

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A few years ago I had a chronic problem with my–ahem–prostate. I guess it wasn’t a serious deal, but it was super itchy down there, on the inside. (Aren’t you glad we can talk about ANYTHING here?) Anyway, my primary care doctor assumed it was a bacterial infection, and I think we went through five rounds of antibiotics to no avail over a several month period. Finally, I ended up with a urologist in Northwest Arkansas that didn’t require a referral, since the ones in Fort Smith do, and that process was moving about as fast as the return of Jesus Christ.

Well, the doctor was a miracle. (If you need a good guy “down there,” let me know.) Basically he stuck his finger up my butt, I said I felt like I should introduce him to my parents, and he said I didn’t have a bacterial infection. (That was easy.) He said that it was non-bacterial prostatitis, so don’t let anyone give me more antibiotics. Also, he said to wear briefs, take warm baths, and watch my diet. Oh, and he prescribed a pill for old people who have trouble peeing because he said it would help everything relax down south. (Apparently my prostate was “stressed.” Who isn’t these days?)

At some point during the prostate problem period (PPP), I read a book called It Starts with Food by Dallas and Melissa Hartwig. The book contends that we can–and should–do a lot of things for our health, but it needs to begin with what we eat. It recommends a reboot of sorts called The Whole30, which is thirty days of no grains, no corn, no sugar, no dairy, no legumes, no alcohol, and–obviously–no fun. (But really, you do get to eat several types of protein and plenty of fruits and vegetables.)

As you can imagine, a diet this strict can be pretty intimidating, but I decided to–as my therapist says–give it a whirl. And get this. Within two weeks, the prostate problem disappeared. In thirty days, I lost sixteen pounds, and about day twenty-eight, I felt especially lighter and more energized. I thought, Wow–THIS is what my body’s supposed to feel like.”

It’s time for some tough love.

They say that what goes up must come down, and apparently the reverse is true also. Slowly, I fell off the wagon–a pizza here, a pizza there–and my weight went up and the prostate problem returned. And then eventually, the problem calmed down on its own. (The body is so strange.) The last time I saw my doctor, I told him about the diet, and he said, “Well, I’m just going to give you a little tough love and tell you to eat better.”

Over the last few years, I’ve done The Whole30 a handful of times, and it always works. But it also takes a lot of focus, and sometimes it makes me light-headed because maybe I’m getting too few calories or maybe I’m getting too few carbohydrates. But again, it’s effective. The point isn’t to lose weight, but I always do, and weird health issues usually clear up or at least improve. I mean, this last January, after taking antibiotics, I had the body odor issues that I’m currently having, so I started a similar thing to The Whole30 called The Candida Cure. Within a week, my body oder returned to normal (which is quite pleasant I’ve been told). But then I had sinus surgery, took more antibiotics (shit happens), and–as the song goes–the cat came back the very next day.

Honestly, I hate the fact that there’s a relationship between what I eat and how I feel. I wish I could just take an old person’s pee pill or rub some magical cream under my armpits and continue to eat waffles, fried chicken, and chocolate cake for breakfast (the healthiest meal of the day). But the fact is–I know better. I’ve seen what clean eating, if only for a couple of weeks, can do for me.

For the last month, I’ve been telling myself that I need to clean it up again, but I simply haven’t had the energy. I mean, the dollar menu is SO EASY. Plus, I usually work things up to be a bigger deal than they actually are, like every decision, every food plan, is FOR-EV-ER. So yes, I’ve been resistant. But last night I stepped on the scale, and seeing that I was just a few pounds shy of a number I’ve never seen before, I thought, Oh hell no–it’s time for some tough love.

So tonight I went to the grocery store. (Notice all the fruits and vegetables.)

While I shopped, I kept wondering if I truly had the focus and energy to currently commit to healthier living. But then I remembered once a couple of years ago when I was in the same situation and my friend and workout partner Jim said, “You know what to do. You’ve done it before.” So I’m finding a lot of encouragement in that thought, the idea that I’m not having to learn this for the very first time. Already, there’s a part of me that’s like, Yeah, this feels familiar. (And hungry. It also feels hungry.)

I’ve had a similar experience regarding my emotional life since starting therapy. I don’t remember when it was, but one day I realized that I’ve been through a ton of shit–like a lot–including illnesses, deaths, heartaches–the big stuff. And even though none of it was easy, I’d made it, so I knew I was strong. Even now, I know I can handle whatever comes. I’ve got my life so far as evidence.

And really, compared to an ex who puts you in therapy, what’s a little spinach? (You can do this, Marcus.)

I’m telling myself that I’m not going to be a complete hard ass about the diet this time. When I woke up this morning (afternoon) I thought I was going to quit coffee today too, but when I got a headache two hours later, I thought, That part can wait. There’s a day next week when I’m going out of town to hear David Sedaris, and I don’t plan on eating out and having a salad. But I know my body is asking me for better, and I do intend to answer the call.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

[The title of tonight’s blog is partly inspired by my friend Jim’s statement and partly inspired by the Lindy Hop legend Frankie Manning, who used to say, “Uh one, uh two, you know what to do.”]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

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One Step at a Time (Blog #63)

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For the last two freakin’ hours, I’ve been looking through three years worth of photos that I have backed up online, searching for inspiration, something to use for tonight’s blog. Honestly, I didn’t find much, so I just took the above photo instead. It’s a painting Bonnie and her family call “Chicken Shit,” which you should be able to figure out if you look at it long enough. Anyway, it feels exactly like what I have to offer at the moment. Promising, I know. But hang in there, and we’ll see what happens.

This afternoon I went for a two-hour walk. Last week when I got my new phone, it came with a fitness app, and when I entered my height and weight, it told me I was fat. (Rude, I know. We just met!) Actually, the word it used was “overweight,” which, according to the Body Mass Index, I apparently am. Personally, I would feel better about the diagnosis if it said, “Overweight, but that’s probably because you have a bubble butt,” or “Overweight, but we understand you’ve been through a lot lately and have needed beer and macaroni to help get you through it.”

But that’s not what it said. It just said, “Overweight.” Period. The end. And then–without even asking my permission first–it set me up on a fitness plan and told me I needed to walk an additional seven thousand (!) steps a day.

Talk about bossy.

And as if that weren’t enough, it now tracks my movements–like a stalker–and sends me a message whenever I’ve walked for about an hour and have “met my goal.” So today after I walked for two hours it said, “Way to go, you’ve exceeded our expectations.”

Or something like that.

You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

On the walk today, I listened to an interview with the author David Sedaris. The interview was about his new book, a collection of personal diary entries that he wrote over a twenty-five year period. I haven’t read it yet, but I’m going to see him in Tulsa in a couple of weeks, and the event ticket includes a copy of the book. In the interview, David said that he remembers when he was younger and REALLY WANTING to be a successful, published author. He said he didn’t think that was too much to ask. The lady conducting the interview asked him what it felt like now that he was one, and he said it felt exactly like he thought it would–he loved every minute of it. (He also said not to glamorize his life too much because when he’s not on tour, he spends five to nine hours a day picking up trash in his neighborhood.)

My friend Marla told me about the interview, and she says that I have a lot in common with David. I mean, we’ve both done a lot of random jobs in order to make a living, we’re both gay, and we’re both–well–writers. So sometimes Marla and I like to fantasize that my life will turn out as successful as his. I mean, is that too much to ask? (Marla says the problem with the formula is that David did meth when he was young, but I didn’t. Still, maybe it’ll work.)

Honestly, I would love that. I mean, I’ll write no matter what, but the big dream isn’t to be a starving artist. I want to be successful. I want to go on book tours. There–I said it.

In the interview, David said that it seems a lot of people don’t really know what they want, or maybe they’re just not willing to say it because saying your dream out loud makes you vulnerable. Obviously, there’s always the chance it won’t come true. I guess it’s a lot like telling the world you’re going on a diet–it’s scary–what if it doesn’t work out? (What if you don’t work out?)

But then again, what if your dream does come true?

Whether you want a flatter stomach or to be a successful writer, I think David’s right. You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want. And then you do our best, cast your bread upon the waters, and see what happens.

My current challenge, I think, is patience. As a general rule, I want things done a certain way, and I usually want them done now. (My therapist says I’m “fussy.”) Well, this can really set a person up for a lot of frustration and disappointment, so my therapist is always saying, “Man, it’s about the journey.” (I always picture her wearing tie-dye and flashing the peace sign when she says stuff like this, but that’s just my overactive imagination.)

Anyway, as I was looking through all those photos tonight, I was struck by all that actually has happened on my journey the last three years. I started a business. I lost a lot of weight, gained some of it back. I stopped smoking (a few times). More than all of that, I learned about boundaries and cleaned up the drama in my life.

(Here’s an old picture that I consider gross on a lot of levels, but I’m posting anyway in an effort to be 1) vulnerable and 2) self-accepting. Smoker or not, I’m clearly not a morning person.)

As I think about all those accomplishments–as much as I hate to admit it–my therapist is right. There’s just no way any of those things could have happened much faster than they did. Diets take time, just like healthy relationships. Honestly, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, I’m glad it’s that way because now I’m more patient and more understanding, and that’s a really big deal. Plus, there’s a satisfaction that comes when you know you’ve worked your ass off something that simply isn’t there when it’s been handed to you on a silver platter.

So even though I have big dreams, I tell myself every day that my job now is simply to develop discipline and work on my craft. As they say in Alcoholics Anonymous, “Do the next right thing,” which to me means that I can’t productively worry about whether or not success will come, but I can productively sit down and write. And if success as I’ve dreamed it does show up, it will only be because, just like the walk this afternoon, I took one step at a time. Do that long enough, and you’re bound to exceed expectations. Just ask the stupid, chicken shit fitness app on my phone.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

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Available Grace (Blog #51)

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Last night I noticed on Facebook that the author David Sedaris was coming to Tulsa in a few weeks and there were tickets on sale for the event that included a copy of his newest book and a guaranteed spot in the autograph line. Facebook said tickets would go on sale at ten this morning, so I thought maybe that would be a reason to get up before noon. But then I stayed awake until seven this morning watching a movie, so I thought, Eff that noise—I’m sleeping in. Besides, I figured it couldn’t hurt to save some money, especially since, you know, I don’t have a job.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about going to pay the hospital part of my sinus surgery bill and meeting a woman in the billing department who was dead-set on helping me. At that time, she said there was an assistance program for middle-aged men who lived with their parents—or something like that—and it would possibly cover seventy to ninety percent of my balance. That night I sent in all the paperwork by email, but I never got a confirmation, so I’ve been wondering if I should follow up on it. (The control freak in me said yes, but the rest of me said to chill the fuck out, so for the first time ever, my control freak sat down and shut his mouth.)

Since deciding to have the surgery, I’ve been telling myself that no matter what it cost or how long it takes to pay it off, it would be worth it. Having had the surgery, I still believe that. That being said, I have this big hang-up about not having any debt, so I’ve spent a lot of time over the last several months worrying about how I was going to take care of everything.

When I got up this afternoon, there was a letter from the hospital for me on the kitchen table, and it came in one of those envelopes with a see-through window, and I could read the part that said, “RE: Charity Approved.” Well, my legs went all rubbery, so I leaned up against the kitchen counter and tore through the envelope and tried to force myself to read the letter from the beginning and not cheat. But I couldn’t help it, and my eyes went straight to the part in bold.

Y’all, the hospital paid one hundred freakin’ percent.

So I’ve had a great day. This evening I went for a really long walk, and I practically skipped the entire time. Of course, I’m still responsible for the doctor’s part of the surgery, but the gift—the grace—I received from the hospital takes a huge load off. That’s the way I’m looking at this, as a grace. For me, it’s a reminder that good things happen even during those periods in our lives that don’t work out like we think they should, those times that seem like one disappointment after another.

For all of the things life takes away, it gives so much more in return.

They say that it’s always darkest before the dawn. First, I hate that. But I do think there’s something to be said for a light that breaks through the clouds just when you’re struggling to maintain hope. I know that’s what it felt like when I had the surgery—hope at the perfect moment. I’d been struggling with sinus infections for so long—twenty years—and I was about ready to give up. And then this magical prince of a surgeon came galloping up on a white horse and saved the day. (Okay, so I actually drove to him in a Honda Civic, but still.) And then, everyone at his office and everyone at the hospital that day were patient, kind, and professional. And if that weren’t enough, the hospital just said, “Oh don’t worry about that bill. We’ll take care of it.”)

Talk about a fairy tale.

(The above photo is of me and Lee Roy, the closet thing I could find to a prince on short notice. It was taken around Easter, which is why he looks like a rabbit.)

Of course, I don’t know why God and the universe do things the way they do. I imagine that having less medical debt means that I can start the next phase of my life sooner, but it may have nothing to do with that. But I do know that the news today has given me a lot of hope, and it’s reminded me to be patient and let things unfold in their own time. It’s also reminded me to do everything I can to walk through life with humility and gratitude. After all, each of us needs help at times. No one gets through life completely on his own.

When I got home from the walk, I decided to get those tickets to see David Sedaris for me and a friend. I thought it would be a great way to celebrate, to give something back to someone else, and to keep me excited about writing. So that’s what I did, and I’ll let you know how it goes.

When I sat down to write tonight’s blog, I started by looking through my computer files, which I sometimes do for inspiration. I came across a poem, a meditation called I Come to Him Running. It’s one of my favorite things, and the first time I heard it, it brought me to tears. I guess it feels like hope, and it does for me in words what the hospital did for me in actions. It reminds me there’s a lot going on behind the scenes, good things are being prepared for all of us, and they’re being prepared in abundance. For all that life takes away, it gives so much more in return. Whether we realize it or not, there’s always grace available.

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I Come to Him Running
The Mishkat Al-Masabih

The Prophet said,

God Most High has said:
When my worshipper’s thoughts turn to Me,
there am I with him.
And when he makes mention of Me within himself,
I make mention of him within Myself;
and when he makes mention of Me in company,
I make mention of him in a better company.
If he draw near to Me a hand’s breadth,
I draw near to him an arm’s length;
and if he draw near to Me an arm’s length,
I draw near to him the length of both arms
wide outstretched;
and if he come to Me walking, I come to him running.
And if he meet Me with sins equivalent to the whole world,
I will greet him with forgiveness equal to it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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