Last night my throat got scratchy and I started coughing. It’s nothing, I thought. Probably allergies. Alas, I woke up sick today, weak and junky. Currently my head hurts, maybe from spending too much time in bed. Who knows what’s going on, either in my body or in American politics? But seriously, it could be sinus crud (it’s always sinus crud), a cold, the flu. Let’s hope it’s not the flu. Or the black plague. I’ve heard that’s awful. Something that can really put a damper on your plans for New Year’s.
Speaking of plans, I was supposed to have a day full of appointments today–a dance lesson, a checkup with my dermatologist, some odd job work. And whereas I thought about pushing myself and doing these things anyway, when I coughed up crap this morning decided to listen to my body and intuition instead. “Cancel your appointments,” they said. “Stay home. Rest.” So that’s what I did–made a few phone calls and went back to sleep. Each time I woke up, I went to the bathroom, drank a glass of water (I’ve heard fluids are important), then went back to sleep again. Finally, at five in the evening, I woke up, turned on my bedside lamp (which because I’m so gross is probably the only thing I could turn on today), and binge-watched Season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.
I haven’t finished yet, so keep your mouths shut about any spoilers.
Having dealt with (what I feel is) my fair share of sinus (and cold and flu) crud over the years, more and more I’m getting okay with it. Sure, it’s frustrating as hell, especially when I go down the rabbit hole of feeling sorry for myself, of thinking, This nonsense again?! Or when I blame myself. I should have known better, I should have done something different, and all that. But when I take whatever’s happening moment-by-moment, it’s not so bad. Like, Now I’m lying in bed. Now I’m coughing up a lung. Now I’m praying to God to get me out of this.
I mean, I’m in bed, I’m warm, I’m full, and I have people who love me.
Not so bad.
To be clear, it’s not so great either. I’d much rather feel like a million bucks or be at Disney World with Zac Efron on my arm. Or both. But these aren’t current options for me. So more and more, “not so bad” is good enough. Because although I’m in a certain amount of physical pain and discomfort, I’m not adding to my suffering by constantly telling myself a “woe is me” or “isn’t it awful?” story.
And when I do tell myself a tale of “and this sucks and this sucks and this sucks”? Well, I try not to believe me.
Currently it’s eleven at night, and I feel like a field of wildflowers is blooming inside my sinuses. Y’all, I know that I bitched about how terrible winter was, about how I “couldn’t wait” for spring to arrive, but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. My allergies are taking over. It’s like a pipe full of mucus has burst inside my head. Last night while trying to sleep, I could actually feel snot sloshing from one side to the other whenever I turned my face on the pillow. I just now sneezed inside my shirt. It’s not sexy. I swear, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced spring is like a twink (a hot, young, often shallow gay boy, Mom)–nice enough to look at, but certainly not something you could stand waking up to every day for the rest of your life.
Come on, summer.
A few days ago I bought a ticket to see Del Shores perform in Little Rock. If you don’t know, Del Shores is the writer who created the LGBT cult classic movie, Sordid Lives, which is about a highly religious, highly addicted, highly fucked-up southern family in small-town Texas. It’s absolutely delicious. If you’re at all twisted and enjoy strange characters and colorful language, I highly recommend watching it, either the movie or the later-made television series starring Rue McClanahan, Caroline Rhea, Leslie Jordan, and Olivia Newton-John. (Leslie and Olivia were also in the movie.) I first saw the series several years ago and still love to quote it with friends.
Here’s the trailer for Sordid Lives, the series. If you watch it, keep in mind Del’s philosophy–“If I’m not offending someone, I’m not doing my job.”
Anyway, it’s been a while since I’ve taken myself on an artist’s date or done anything by myself for creative inspiration, so I thought seeing Del perform his new one-man show, Six Characters in Search of a Play, would be the perfect thing. But when my allergies kicked in yesterday afternoon, I almost regretted my decision. I’d just driven to Tulsa and back the night before and thought, This is a lot of driving, and I could sure use a nap. But I had my money tied up in the show, so after writing yesterday’s blog, I loaded up my car, Tom Collins, with some snacks and hit the road. And whereas it took a little longer than my GPS predicted to get to The Weekend Theater in Little Rock, I arrived just after the doors opened with plenty of time to get my general-admission ticket and snag a seat on the front row.
Front row, bitches!
As it turns out, the play was eighty-five minutes long (with no intermission), and loosely told the story of Del’s life, including his growing up as a closeted Southern Baptist. In reference to the fact this his father was a preacher and his mother was a high school drama teacher, Del said, “I’m REALLY fucked up.” Y’all, I was sucked into the play immediately and laughed from start to finish. I even cried. During the play Del took on multiple roles that included five southern women and one latent homosexual redneck, masterfully switching between himself and each of his characters, the whole time telling the story of his often unbelievable and frequently broken life.
A difficult life can be turned around.
This was such a delectable treat for me, seeing a successful gay, southern writer who has taken his personal tragedies and challenges and turned them into something beautiful for the world to see. During the play, he described it like this–“All that damage gave me a career.” Isn’t that a great perspective? I can’t tell you what hope this gives me, the idea that a difficult life can be turned around into one that you want. Plus, I love the way writers see things, the way they describe the world around them. At one point Del said a waitress who was a size 18 “lived with hope in her heart,” since she squeezed herself into a size 12. Later he said one of his relatives had a “lived-in” face. I learned so much just by noticing what Del noticed, how to take a little thing and turn it into something bigger and more memorable.
When the play was over, I hung around to meet Del and tell him how much I appreciated his work. Y’all, he was so kind. Even before I officially introduced myself, he said I was “a great audience member,” laughing and applauding at all the appropriate places. Of course, my inner teacher’s pet just soared. But get this shit. During my conversation with Del, I asked him what the “all that damage gave me a career” line was because I couldn’t remember it and thought it was so stunning. And just like that, he said, “I have a copy of the script you can have if you’d like it.”
“Oh my god, I’d love it,” I said.
So Del walked back into the theater, and two minutes later gave me an autographed copy of last night’s show–all twenty pages and eighty-five minutes worth of material on paper. He signed it, “Marcus–Thanks for coming and keep writing–Del Shores.” For me, this was like being given the Holy Grail, or at least the Homo Grail. I felt like I’d just won the lottery. Y’all, inside I was screaming like a junior high cheerleader and wanted to fangirl all over Del, but outside I was my typical monotone self as I said, “Thank you, I’ll keep it forever.” Later I thought, God, Marcus, you could show a LITTLE emotion. Like, surely there’s a middle ground between deadpan gratitude and bursting out into, “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket.”
I’ll work on that.
But seriously, I can’t wait to read Del’s autographed script. A year and a half ago I sold most of my worldly possessions and now live basically as a minimalist. Consequently, “stuff,” doesn’t mean much to me anymore. But earlier today I actually considered getting a safety deposit box just to put the script in it.
Disney World and Disneyland have a customer-service-related practice called Magical Moments. Magical Moments are the unexpected “extras” that cast members (employees) often give guests–a free refill for a child’s spilled drink, a free pass to the front of a long line. As I understand it, Magical Moments aren’t something you can ask for, they’re just given to you for no apparent reason. This last year has been the most difficult year of my life. Currently I don’t have a steady job and am laid up in bed at my parents’ house blowing snot into the inside of my Fruit of the Loom t-shirt. But this is the way I’m choosing to look at life and especially last night–magical–a place where the wonderful and encouraging can suddenly bloom alongside the challenging and perhaps because of it, a world where even the most difficult of circumstances can be used as compost for something new, bright, and beautiful.
