On Being Irritated (Blog #687)

Leave a comment

Last night I dreamed I was being bitten by mosquitoes. I hate mosquitoes. When I woke up, my first thought was that the dream had to do with being irritated. Mosquitoes, after all, are SOOO annoying.

This morning I had my third and final appointment with my dermatologist this week. On Monday I got patch tested for skin allergies by being exposed to 74 “common household ingredients.” On Wednesday I found out that I’m immediately allergic to four things, the worst of which is mercury, the most common of which is peppermint. Today I found out that I had “delayed reactions” to two OTHER things–cinnamic aldehyde (cinnamon) and neomycin sulfate (as in Neosporin). Geez. What the hell–delayed reactions? I guess that’s my skin’s way of saying what I’ve said to many an ex-boyfriend–“Initially I thought we’d get along, but now that I’ve had some time to think it over, I can’t see things working out between us.”

Or as Simon Cowell would say, “It’s a no for me.”

Believe it or not, when I got the news about my skin being allergic to a total of six different things, I didn’t freak out. Granted, cinnamon and peppermint are in every mouthwash, toothpaste, and dental floss out there, but whatever, I don’t need to take care of my teeth. After going through a battery of immune system tests last year and being told repeatedly that nothing was wrong, it was actually good to be given an explanation for at least one of my problems–contact dermatitis. And whereas the worst of it (a rash) is already under control, perhaps now we can get the least of it (itchy skin) under control. My dermatologist said, “I know it seems daunting, but all you have to do is avoid these ingredients.”

Encouraged by this pep talk and the ida that I could see results in as little as a month (because that’s how long it takes skin cells to regenerate), I went to the natural food store this afternoon to buy new personal products, since all of mine are on my no-no list. “Just think,” my dermatologist said, “you can go on a shopping spree.” (Like I needed an excuse.) Anyway, armed with a phone app that reads barcodes and compares product ingredients against my allergens, I started checking products. Y’all, I scanned at least two dozen toothpastes, shampoos, conditioners, body lotions, and shaving creams, and–no shit–every one one came back either as “not in our database” or “not safe for you.” (I kept thinking, No soup for you!) And whereas this normally would have sent me over the edge, today, for whatever reason, it made me laugh.

Perhaps this was a grace.

At this point, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Honestly, I think I could keep using the products I’ve been using and survive, since my reactions have been slow and delayed. However, I would like to listen to my body, clean things up, and give my skin a fresh start, so I’ll probably end up ordering some products the app recommends online. And whereas it’s frustrating that my choices are limited (because apparently my no-no ingredients are in EVERYTHING), at least it makes the selection process simpler. Plus, I was only using ONE shampoo, ONE conditioner before, so it’s not like a need a hundred options anyway.

This evening I’ve been telling myself that this isn’t a huge deal. I don’t have a major disease; I have irritated skin. Chances are that’s what my mosquito dream was about last night–the fact that my skin is even more worked up than normal because I haven’t had an antihistamine in a week (because of the testing). But it’s not lost on me that I’m generally irritated and worked up about something. They say that’s common with people who’ve been through  significant trauma–you can’t really calm down because you’re always holding your breath, waiting for the other show to drop. So I want to continue to work on that part of it, to do whatever I can to exhale.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

"

On Being Decapitated (Blog #644)

Leave a comment

It’s 11:17, and this needs to be quick, since I didn’t sleep so hot last night and need to get some rest. Well, wait, I did sleep hot. That’s part of the problem. Not only did I keep waking up in the middle of the night half-terrorized by crazy dreams, but I also woke up hot. That is, sweating. Granted, I don’t think I had a fever, but my hair and shirt were soaked. This happens sometimes when my body is under stress or something is “off.” Anyway, I need to turn in earlier tonight, and I still need to blog and do one more set of rehab exercises.

The rehab exercises, I think, are definitely paying off. Today I’ve been getting around pretty well and have even been able to carry semi-large items from here to there. Earlier when I took tonight’s picture, I even got my left leg to bend a little more than 90 degrees, 90 degrees being my goal. (In the picture it looks like it’s my right leg that’s bent, but it’s actually my left. Camera flip or whatever.) Anyway, this is progress. Earlier tonight a couple called about dance lessons starting later this month, and I didn’t even mention my knee surgery. Sure, I’ll have limitations in what I can demonstrate, but they’re beginners. Plus, just to be sure, I “walked” through a basic dance step a few hours ago. And get this shit. I did it.

This afternoon I took a shower. Not to be gross, but that’s only happening about every two or three days. Hell, that was the case BEFORE surgery, but especially now. It really does take a lot of effort with a stiff knee–getting in and out of the tub, carefully standing up or sitting down. Thankfully, I’m getting to the point where my left leg can bend and actually help me stand or lower. Before that job belonged solely to “righty,” and “lefty” was simply dead weight. I noticed in the shower today that my left leg is distinctly yellow. I knew it was bruised before but realized this afternoon that the bruising extends further than I realized. Ugh. This is a big damn deal. The whole thing, I mean. As if the seventeen staples in my knee weren’t enough to convince me of that fact.

But back to my keeping this short so I can get some rest. Last night I dreamed that I was in an old church (a common dream place for me), and there was a group of athletic students jumping from one set of tall scaffolding to another. There was one student, a girl, who made the jump successfully a couple times, but then felt hesitant and fell to her death. No shit, there she was on the floor, decapitated. Talk about gross. No wonder I didn’t sleep well. Anyway, I’ve been chewing on this all day, and here’s what I’ve come up with. First, girls represent one’s intuitive or feeling side, and the girl’s feelings of hesitation and failure (I’m assuming she felt failure on the way to her death) mimic my own feelings regarding my dance jump that went seriously wrong and resulted in my having to have surgery. Second, I think the fact that the girl “lost her head” has something to do with keeping one’s head and heart together.

I’ll explain.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend about integrity. Not integrity in a moral sense, although I guess that would apply. Rather, integrity as I see it is concerned with having one’s head and heart lined up. Or, said another way, having all parts of your body and soul on the same page and working together. In the dream, the girl was hesitant, meaning her head was saying one thing and her heart was saying another. I can think of a number of situations in my life where my head and heart are likewise conflicted. For example, my body (as I see it, my heart) is currently asking me to slow down and take care of myself. My head, however, is set on being “productive.” This, of course, is a conflict and amounts to my being “separated” or “decapitated” in dream terms. So I’m working on it, on listening to my heart and getting all parts of myself on the same page. This is no small task.

That’s okay. I have time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

There is a force, a momentum that dances with all of us, sometimes lifting us up in the air, sometimes bringing us back down in a great mystery of starts and stops.

"

The Re-Oriental (Blog #605)

Leave a comment

There’s a theory in psychology that you can tell a lot about a person if you know what their three most favorite movies are–because it tells you what’s going on in their subconscious. And whereas it’s not my intent to discuss my three most favorite movies in this post, I would like to discuss my FOURTH most favorite movie–Tombstone. Hum, why do I like this movie–psychologically, that is? It’s about the wild west and a band of outlaws called The Cowboys, and Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday (and their friends) absolutely clean their clocks. I guess that’s it. Their such badasses; they don’t take any shit from anybody else. They stand up for themselves. Their simply not–what’s the word?–afraid to face their demons.

There’s this scene toward the beginning of the movie–Wyatt Earp has just rolled into Tombstone (the town) and enters a saloon called The Oriental. Well, the place is real fancy, like nicer than your mom’s living room, but there’s hardly anyone in the place because their card dealer is a total jerk, a real blowhard. Wyatt asks the owner, “Why don’t you get rid of this guy?” The owner says, “I’m too scared.” So Wyatt says, “I’ll do it.” And just like that Wyatt calls the guy’s bluff and tosses him out on his ear.

So get this shit. Last night I had a dream about The Oriental. However, instead of it being a saloon, it was a hotel–a huge, grand hotel. This is like a theme for me; I can’t tell you the number of hotel dreams I’ve had. The last time I brought up a huge, grand hotel dream to my therapist, she said, “That’s you–big and grand.” Considering the fact that I also have A LOT of construction dreams about building houses, an activity which I think correlates to my building a new life (both internally and externally), I personally see hotels as representing that which is temporary, as well as the need to rest.

But back to last night’s dream. I’m in a swimming pool (water dreams are pretty much non-stop for me) and say, “I’m going to change [my bathing suit.]” The problem is that I can’t find my room, Number 364. Two people give me directions, but the room isn’t where it’s “supposed” to be. So I’m running all over the place–upstairs, downstairs, you name it. Finally I find the right room number, but on the inside is a sweet shop, a restaurant. And then I woke up. Looking at the clock, I noticed it was one in the afternoon.

I’d slept for eleven hours and was still tired.

This afternoon my friend Matt and I rehearsed for our upcoming dance routine at our friend Bonnie’s house. I mean, we rehearsed at her house; the performance is in Northwest Arkansas. Anyway, we worked for several hours. And whereas we got a lot done–the routine is really coming together–my body hurt pretty much the entire time. I have this issue with my right hip, and I guess one of the new moves we’ve been learning irritates the hell out of it. Or at least my doing the move wrong irritates the hell out of it. That’s the thing with aerials–the moves themselves aren’t that bad if you do them right, it’s just figuring out HOW to do them right that hurts.

I don’t have any pictures from our dance rehearsal, but here’s a picture of me with Bonnie’s new boots, which I think are absolutely fabulous. Check out that dollar sign!

Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m icing my hip with a bag of frozen blueberries in an effort to minimize the damage from earlier. Hopefully that, the drugs I just took, and a good night’s rest will do the trick. We’ll see. I may have to go to the chiropractor this week. They do this ultrasound thing that really helps with inflammation. I mean, whatever it takes.

But back to last night’s dream and a couple things that fascinate me. First, The Oriental. The obvious connection is to the movie Tombstone, in which case it would be a reference to finding my voice and learning to stand up for and take care of myself. But I think there’s also a wordplay in the name of the hotel–The Oriental–that refers to my current quest to “orient to” or follow my own path in life. (I guess you could call what I’m doing The Re-Oriental.) Second, the room I was looking for, Number 364. The obvious connection here is that 364 is one day shy of a full year (and is the exact number of days one book I recently read about the sun and moon suggested using if you wanted to make your own calendar), so that would be a reference to time. But for me it’s also a reference to my birthday (9/13), since 364 can also be written as 9/4 (because 3 plus 6 is 9), and so can my birthday (because 1 plus 3 is 4).

I realize the birthday/math part is potentially confusing, but I’m always doing this, adding numbers together to see if they match, and it’s the first place my mind went when I woke up this afternoon. Anyway, my birthday would still be a reference to time, and that would make sense because in the dream I couldn’t find my room, and in my real life it feels like I “can’t find the time” or don’t have enough of it. That’s what they say about dream interpretation. WHAT in your waking life FEELS this way?

When I consider the fact that in the beginning of the dream I said, “I’m going to change” and then ended up in a sweet shop/restaurant, the time thing makes sense. That is, I see sweet shops and restaurants as places to kick back, relax, and recharge. And yet I’m always in such a damn hurry to change–running from here to there, thinking I need to move into that new construction–that I rarely remember to slow down, rest, and take better care of myself. Even when my body hurts and WANTS to rest. So the sweet shop is a reminder that there’s TIME to chill out, that this is WHAT time is for–for changing, for re-orienting, for–what’s the word?–healing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can rise above. You can walk on water.

"

The Point of No Return (Blog #603)

Leave a comment

It’s almost midnight, and my body is worn out. I’m not sure why. My energy level has been up and down lately. I’ve been sitting here in the living room for the last three hours, unable to drag myself away from a documentary my mom’s watching about Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. It’s weird, I remember when all that happened, but now all the major players are twenty years older. Which means I’m twenty years older too. Weird how time flies by like that. Recently I told my friend Matt that I started dancing when I was 19; now I’m 38. Matt said, “That means you’ve been dancing for half your life.” I said, “Thanks for pointing that out–I think.”

Half. My. Life.

This afternoon I went to a friend’s house to help them set up a new television that they bought this morning. It was a Black Friday deal. Anyway, I ended up spending the day there, working on their television, eating dinner with them, helping them with a few Christmas decorations. We laughed a lot. It was kind of the perfect thing. Unplanned, but perfect.

Now I’m really ready to go to bed. I wish I had something profound to say, but I don’t. Last night I dreamed that I was looking through the mementoes of a dead blues singer and–earlier in the dream–driving with a friend toward Division Street, a street in Fort Smith that crosses Midland Avenue. I read recently that if you keep a dream journal, you can name or label your dreams in order to help you get an idea of what they’re about. I called this one “Getting My Past in Order,” since it “felt” like what I’ve been doing lately going through old photos, at least the looking at mementoes part. As for the dead blues singer, I took that to mean that I’m working to put the sad events of my life behind me.

I’ve been chewing on the Division Street part on and off all day. On the way home from my friend’s tonight, I actually drove down Midland Avenue and Division Street to see if that would reveal anything profound. It didn’t, but my sense is that Midland has to do with “the middle,” as in balance or a mid-way point. It’s how I feel right now–in stasis–stuck in Mid Land. Like it’s too late for me to go back, but I’m not sure how to move forward. As for Division, I think it’s that “getting my past in order” thing. That is, in any hero’s journey, there must be a line drawn in the sand. A point of no return. The past, with all it’s sadness and limitations, must be left behind you. Because you can’t take it with you wherever you’re going. It’s just too heavy.

And have you seen what the airlines charge for baggage these days?!

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

"

A Stellar Interior (Blog #585)

Leave a comment

Several brief things from the last twenty-four hours because I need to get ready for bed–

1. A stellar interior

Today I had lunch with a friend who studied physics in college, and when I brought up my interest in astronomy, they said, “Let me tell you about a stellar interior,” that is, what a star is made of and how and why it produces matter and generates heat. And whereas this information was fascinating, the only thing I could think about was how that phrase–a stellar interior–describes perfectly what I want for myself, an inside that’s strong, integrated, confident, calm, and kind.

2. A den of thieves

Currently I’m reading a book by Ervin Seale, and he says the biblical story of Jesus flipping his shit and throwing the money-changers out of his father’s temple is an analogy about our minds. Like, our minds should be a place of peace (a temple), but can’t be when we allow worries and anxieties (thieves and robbers) to enter in, take up residence, and do business there. I love the idea of picturing your mind as a building occupied by different types of people (or thoughts or beliefs). I especially love the idea of throwing some of these “people” out, of saying, “Wait a damn minute, who let you in here!?”

3. An ass for every seat

This afternoon I drove a friend to pick up a new car and ended up chatting with their salesman. When I commented about the HUGE number of cars on his company’s lot, he said that an old car dealer once told him, “There’s an ass for every seat.” To me this means not only that there’s a driver for every car, but also that there’s someone for everyone (for friendship or romance) and something (a job, a home, a dream) for everyone as well.

As Grandpa used to say, “It’s a big old world.”

4. A big old snake

Last night I dreamed that while traveling through a swamp I was suddenly aware of a giant snake. Initially terrified, I kept traveling. Meanwhile, the snake traveled too, right beside me, face to face. Eventually, I experienced a shift in mood. Not like I was relaxed, but like I was “okay.” The snake wasn’t going to bite me.

As far as I recall, this is my first-ever dream about a snake. And whereas Freud would say it was phallic (everything was phallic with Freud), for me the dream was about power (snakes are strong), attitude (snakes are clever and pick their battles), and transformation (snakes shed their skin). I don’t know–sometimes when you’re in an icky place in life (a swamp), it’s easy to forget that certain parts of you can actually thrive in less-than-ideal environments, that you yourself are strong and clever and capable of transformation and navigating murky waters.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

if you're content with yourself and you're always with yourself, then what's the problem?

"

What Dreams May Come (Blog #564)

Leave a comment

Currently it’s 10:30 in the evening, and I have to be up at 5:00 in the morning in order to go out-of-town for a writing gig. I just ate dinner and am “almost” done packing. I hate packing thick, winter clothes, trying to cram everything into my little carry-on. But I also hate freezing my ass off, so I’m trying to take everything I own. My friend Marla suggested dressing tomorrow in layers, walking into the airport looking like the Michelin Man.

Sounds like a plan to me.

This morning I was up early to meet some handymen who are working on the home of my friends who recently moved. Well, they were working–they finished everything today. Anyway, while they worked I tackled a couple projects I’ve been putting off forever. First, I finished adding all my favorite “Quotes from CoCo” to the blog. When I started this task last week, I was over a year’s worth of quotes behind. Now it’s done. Phew–what a load off. Second, I color-coded the over 250 digital post-it notes I have on my phone. Now everything is categorized (Dance, Writing, Medical, To-Do) and easy to find. Lastly, I combined my digital dream journals. Previously, they were all spread out–in my phone notes, in my laptop notes, in Microsoft Word. But now they’re in one place, organized by date.

Eeek. I just love having my ducks in a row.

Recently I’ve been reading a book called The Three “Only” Things: Tapping the Power of Dreams, Coincidence, and Imagination by Robert Moss. The premise of the book is that we often say, “It’s ONLY a dream,” “It’s ONLY a coincidence,” or “It’s ONLY my imagination,” but these three things are actually powerful sources for our personal and collective knowledge and growth. So far, I’ve ONLY read the dream section, which explains that dreams can help us solve our problems, improve our relationships, heal our bodies, and feed our creativity, and this was part of my motivation for getting all my dream logs into one spot. This way, I can easily search for common themes and symbols.

The author of the book says that dreams about shoes are often insightful because shoes have soles–or souls. Thus images of shoes can communicate where part of our spirit may be lost or where our inner being wants to go (or travel). Fascinated by this concept, I searched my dream journal for shoe dreams, and here’s what I found.

In 2014 (before I started therapy), I dreamed that I had a pair of purple shoes on but put on another, more “masculine” pair over them. (Purple is the flagship color of homosexuals, Mom.) Later that year (after I started therapy), I dreamed that I was lining my shoes up on a fire-place. (Perhaps I was “warming up” to the idea of being more myself.) In another dream that year, I had my shoes in bag. (Again, getting ready to put them on.) In 2015, I dreamed that I was in a church I used to attend with friends I rarely see anymore and was wearing shoes that were too small for me. Then I dreamed that I got new shoes for Christmas. (In this dream, someone had been murdered, indicating that a no-longer-useful part of me had died.) In 2016, I dreamed that I was taking off my shoes to put on thicker socks. (I haven’t figured out my socks dreams yet, but my guess is they have to do with being comfortable in my shoes/soul/body.) Finally, in 2017 (after starting the blog), I dreamed I was putting on my socks, my shoes, and a dress shirt.

Since I took a long break from dream journaling, these are the only dreams I have recorded about shoes. However, to me they show a clear progression. At first I hid my true self, then I started thinking about being me, then I discarded the ideas and parts of myself that no longer “fit,” then I made some more adjustments, and finally I fully presented myself.

Often I’m baffled by my nightly dreams. Many mornings I wake up and think, What the hell did I eat last night? But by looking at my dreams OVER TIME, I see clearly that some part of me is speaking a definite, intelligible language, and it’s simply up to me to learn it. For example, I have A LOT of dreams about cameras and taking pictures. And even though I’ve never quite been able to figure them out, I keep having them, so it’s obvious it’s a symbol my unconscious likes to use. Well, last night I had ANOTHER dream about taking pictures and actually figured the camera thing out (I think). Cameras for me are about memories and PERSPECTIVE. (COINCIDENTALLY, perspective is one of the categories I used MOST on this blog.) When I use a camera, I decide what to zoom in or focus on and what to crop out. The takeaway then is that I have this same power with my memories and experiences. Like, Am I going to make a big damn deal out of this or focus on something more positive?

Now the dryer is buzzing, and I still need to take a shower and get to bed. Honestly I can’t wait–not just for my trip tomorrow–but also for what dreams may come tonight.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Give yourself an abundance of grace.

"

No Tornado, No Adventure (#553)

1 Comment

It’s day seven working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and all the long days are starting to catch up to me. Physically, I’m trucking right along. Emotionally, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I’m due for a good night’s rest, which, according to the science I’ve read, truly does reset your feelings to baseline. Alas, that’s not going to happen tonight, as we’ll be running the show until late this evening and have to be back early tomorrow for our first performance (for the local high school). But I think–I think–we get tomorrow night off, as well as the next morning. So maybe I can sleep in.

And since I know I’m not the only one who’s worn down and stressed out, maybe we can all sleep in.

I spent this morning painting and sprucing up more sets. However, one of them, The Oz Chamber, got called onto stage in the middle of my paint job, so it’s still not done. And whereas The Completionist in me can’t stand it, this is life–I don’t know when or even if the project will get done. Anyway, when The Oz Chamber got called in, I moved on to other matters. Specifically, I added more details to the flower pots I worked on yesterday and decorated a backup wand for Glinda (The Witch of the North), which is pictured above.

Here are yesterday’s pots.

Here are the same pots today.

Last night I dreamed I was driving home on the interstate and a fast-moving tornado was coming in my direction. I wonder if I’ll be okay, I thought, and then woke up. Of course, I assume the tornado image came from The Wizard of Oz, but I think it’s interesting symbolically, since tornadoes represent chaos and destruction. In Dorothy’s story, the tornado is this big, scary thing that rips her away from her family and the only world she’s every known. It’s terrifying.

I think of the worst things that have happened to me, and without exception they’ve all felt like tornadoes, these huge, strong, uncontrollable forces that have come into my life and ripped me away from whatever I held dear at the time. God, I felt so helpless when our house burned down, so powerless when my dad went to prison, so heartbroken when that relationship ended. But that’s what it’s like when a tornado comes into your life. One minute your feet are on solid ground, and the next minute you’re up in the atmosphere, floundering. And who knows where you’ll land–or if you’ll even land at all?

All you can do is surrender.

Personally, I think tornadoes get a bad rap. After all, had Dorothy not been picked up by her tornado, she never would have landed in Oz or faced her fears and overcome them. Clearly, she wasn’t doing that on her own, so she needed a nudge (a shove) in the right direction, and the tornado was obviously the only thing strong and powerful enough to separate her from her old way of thinking and being. Say what you will about the tornado, but it ultimately got Dorothy over the rainbow (to her true self). Personally, I wouldn’t trade any of my tornadoes, any of the terrible things that have happened in my life. Not a single one. Because they gave me my chops. They made me who I am. And I like who I am.

No tornado, no adventure.

I’m not saying you should write a thank-you note to the tornadoes in your life (because sometimes tornadoes are people–you know it and I know it). But I am saying that a story without a tornado (a little drama to shake things up) is no story at all. That is–no tornado, no adventure. And not that you should go inviting storms into your life (don’t worry–they’ll invite themselves), but consider that a storm may be the only force capable of prompting you to dig deep and unlock the power, beauty, and magic that you’ve been hiding within yourself–let’s face it–for way too long. This is, after all, how nature works. Only under pressure does a piece of coal turn into a diamond.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

And God knows you don't make everyone else happy. But this is no reason to quit or be discouraged, since doing what you love and feel called to do is never--never--about gaining acceptance from others.

"

This Isn’t Brain Surgery (Blog #546)

Leave a comment

Things that have happened since we last spoke–

1. A good night’s rest

Last night I slept for over ten hours. I’m convinced that my recent commitment to going to bed earlier and getting more rest is doing me nothing but good. I’m starting to covet it, even protect it. Each night I use a pair of clamps to attach a dark blanket to the frame around my window. Then I lay another blanket in front of my door that leads to the hallway. In essence, I turn my room into a cocoon. It’s this odd ritual, specifically designed to keep the light OUT. At least until I awake.

When I started this blog a year and a half ago, I’d only write in the wee morning hours–between midnight and six in the morning. So much good has come from it. Now I’m convinced–the darkness* is where we heal ourselves. At least until we awake.

*the place where our shadow lives, that part of us we’ve ignored, stuffed down, or forgotten about; the place where solitude and stillness exist; the place where you can hear yourself and meet yourself; the cocoon in which you transform

2. A bizarre dream

Early this morning I dreamed I was taking a shower, a common dream motif for me. (I’m sure it has to do with coming clean, bathing in the waters of my consciousness/unconsciousness.) Anyway, then I was throwing up moths–yes, moths–the kind that circle around your front porch light. Hundreds of them. There they were on the floor of the tub, most of them (but not all of them) dead. Some of them, I think, were still stuck in my throat. A friend or doctor said something about a prescription, but I didn’t recognize the name of the medication.

What this all means, I’m not sure. I associate moths with irritation, since they’re always eating holes in my shirts or flitting around my face. My sense when I woke up from the dream was that it had to do with my currently upset stomach, so maybe there’s something about the hundred things in my life that are irritating to me and my internal desire to voice them (moths to mouth). As my therapist says, “Get the poison out.” Or maybe I’m learning to not keep everything inside (throwing up the moths) and am closer to healing (the friend or doctor) than I realize.

3. An encouraging number

After breakfast I stepped on this scales and was delighted to find out that I’ve lost between one and a half and two and a half pounds since beginning my exercise program and “moderate” diet ten days ago. And whereas I hadn’t worked out in a few days and was thinking of giving up “this shit” altogether (because I obviously can’t do things perfectly), the number on the scale reminded me that small actions, taken not perfectly but consistently, produce results.

As someone once told me, “It’s not what you do 20 percent of the time. It’s what you do 80 percent of the time.”

So I worked out. Later, I ate a sensible dinner.

This isn’t brain surgery.

4. A moment of courage, a moment of kindness

This evening I went to the house I’ve been cleaning up for friends in order to roll their trashcan to the curb for pickup in the morning. However, since I’m working all weekend elsewhere, I wasn’t sure about getting the trashcan off the curb. Finally, I worked up the nerve to ask the neighbors down the street, who were hanging out in their driveway, if they could do it. I thought, Marcus, It’s okay to ask people for help. So when one of the daughter’s (I’m assuming) rolled their trashcan to the curb, I introduced myself and asked her for the favor. Well, she just acted confused, like she didn’t know if she could help or not. Shit, I thought, this isn’t brain surgery; it’s a trashcan. (In her defense, I’m guessing she’s in school all day tomorrow and that’s why she was unsure. Plus, teenagers suck at communication.)

Thankfully, her dad (I’m assuming) came over later and said he’d be glad to roll the trashcan back up the driveway after the trash truck comes tomorrow. And he was so nice about it. “No problem, brother,” were his exact words.

Again–
It’s okay to ask people for help.
People are kind.

5. A magical book

Yesterday I started reading a book called Into the Magic Shop by James R. Doty, MD, and tonight I finished it. I absolutely adore books like this–ones you can be absorbed into, be spellbound by.

Doty’s book is part autobiographical, part informative (he’s a neurosurgeon, so this IS brain surgery for him), part instructive (on the topics of mindfulness and visualization). And whereas I’ve read so many books on mindfulness and visualization that I want to vomit up a hundred moths, this one is different in the best possible way. More than once I found myself weeping as Doty describes his painful childhood, his desire for a better life, the magical woman who miraculously showed up and taught him how to open his heart and have everything he could ever want, and what has ultimately brought him happiness. (Hint–it’s not what he thought it would be.)

Doty says, “It’s easy to connect the dots of a life in retrospect, but much harder to trust the dots will connect together and form a beautiful picture when you’re in the messiness of living a life.” Amen. For anyone (like me) who’s waiting and desperately wanting the dots of their life to be connected, Doty’s story offers hope on almost every page. It’s a glorious tale gloriously told.

I don’t know what else to say. Read it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

"

On Seeing Constellations and Yourself (Blog #524)

Leave a comment

Last night my dad and I went to a concert in Van Buren. My sister and I bought the tickets for Mom and Dad for Dad’s birthday, but since the concert ended up being the same day as Mom’s surgery (which I blogged about yesterday), I went with Dad instead. And since my friend Bonnie graciously volunteered to come over and sit with Mom while Dad and I were gone, we didn’t have to “worry” about Mom being alone while we were out having a good time. Well, as good of a time as you can have at a gospel concert where the age of the average attendee is “one foot in the grave.”

Amen?

Anyway, when Dad and I got back from the concert, I took Bonnie out to eat as a thank-you (per Dad’s suggestion). Bonnie drove, however, which ended up being the perfect thing because Bonnie has a convertible and–after dinner–said, “You wanna go cruising?” Well, I of course said yes, and for maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour, Bonnie both tootled and sped along the back roads of Van Buren.

Y’all, it was the perfect thing on the perfect night, and the majority of the time I had my head titled back toward the heavens, star-gazing. I learned recently that the constellations include nine birds, three of which can be seen from the Northern Hemisphere, and two of which are connected to the Summer Triangle, which are the three bright stars you could easily spot overhead if you were to look up any summer evening. Anyway, there they were–Aquila the Eagle and Cygnus the Swan (often called the Northern Cross)–soaring.

This afternoon I saw my therapist and brought up a couple of things that I’ve already mentioned here–the first being my recent dream about dead bodies, the second being my experience with someone being passive aggressive.

With respect to my gory dream about dead bodies (that were cut up in pieces), my therapist agreed that it was about all the “non-productive” parts of my psyche that I’m discarding (like people-pleasing, approval-seeking, perfectionism, and self-judgment). “And no wonder you were terrified in the dream,” she said. “This kind of work is unsettling, and God knows that working with me is NOT for the faint of heart.” Then she addressed another part of the dream that I didn’t blog about originally–the fact that there were cops from whom I was trying to hide the dead bodies. “That’s your inner authority,” she said, “the part of you that wonders, Is is REALLY okay to be myself?” Then she paused. “So what do you think–is it okay to be yourself?”

“Yes,” I said. “It most certainly is.”

With respect to my being DIRECT with someone who had been PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE, when I told my therapist that I’d called this person out, she almost jumped out of her chair and started doing the Macarena. Then, since this wasn’t the first time I’ve either been passive aggressive or had someone else be passive aggressive, we talked about the idea that certain challenges show up in our lives over and over again UNTIL we figure out the best way–the most direct, honest, and kind way–of dealing with them. This isn’t the perfect analogy, but it’s like the universe sends us “tests” until we get a “passing” grade–then it’s on to something else. “Since you’ve handled this situation so differently than you have historically, my guess is your future experiences with passive aggressiveness will drop by at least fifty percent,” she said.

Last night while Bonnie and I were out driving, I identified two constellations that I recently read about and had never seen before–Sagitta (the Arrow) and Delphinus (the Dolphin), both of which are located nearby or “above” Aquila the Eagle. Since all the stars in both constellations aren’t very bright (unlike me and you, dear reader), it took a while to find them. I kept thinking, Is that them? But after comparing the sky to my handy-dandy constellation phone app, I was sure of it–I’d found them. The best part? I looked for them again tonight, and they’re still there!

I’m coming to think of parts of my personality this way, as constellations I’m just learning to see clearly. Not that they weren’t there before–those parts of me that are direct, bold, and self-accepting–they just weren’t defined or highlighted. And here’s the most beautiful thing about seeing a new constellation or a new part of yourself–you can’t UN-SEE it ever again. Just as the summer sky will never not include the Dolphin and the Arrow for me, my personality will never not include, or at least have access to, its stronger, healthier aspects because I can see them now. I can see–me–now.

[Tonight’s star/constellation image is from the Stellarium app. For a bigger, better version, right-click the image and select “Open Image in New Tab.”]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Since one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.

"

On Dreaming of Dead Bodies (Blog #519)

Leave a comment

I’d intended to do nothing today. Well, nothing except read, that is. You know, go easy on myself. Maybe take a nap, rest. And whereas that’s exactly what happened for the first part of the afternoon, the rest of the day has gone to pot. For one thing, our air conditioner broke, which means the house has been getting gradually hotter with each passing hour. And if that weren’t enough, our freezer stopped working too, which I noticed when I walked into the garage and stepped into the River Jordan.

“It probably just needs defrosting,” Dad said

“Like my sex life,” I replied.

So that’s been the evening. Right in the middle of dinner, the air-conditioner repair man showed up, then the freezer thing happened. So everyone’s been running inside and outside, the guy working on the air conditioner, and me, Mom, and Dad transferring all the food from the outside freezer to the inside one–cramming-cramming-cramming everything from TV dinners to chicken wings inside and–since all of it was covered in water–making a big damn mess in the process. Then we dragged the freezer into the driveway, hooked up the water hose, and sprayed the caked-up ice inside until it disappeared like all my hopes and dreams.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

Now it’s seven in the evening, and I’m straight-up irritated, mostly because I’d rather be reading a book or visiting some friends who invited me over earlier. But instead there’s the freezer project and this, the blog project. I mean, some days writing is a real source of inspiration and relief for me, and other days it’s just a pain in my ass. Like, there are times I’d like to chunk my laptop across the room and give the internet my middle finger. Seriously, I don’t recommend trying to become a better person. Just watch Netflix. Self-help and personal growth, let along sharing your every thought with the entire virtual world, is for the fucking birds.

And as if ALL THIS weren’t enough to get me worked up, now there are a million flies circling around me, the result of the back door being opened and closed so many times this evening.

Shoo, fly, shoo.

For two out of the last three nights, I’ve dreamed about dead bodies. In last night’s dream, I was trying to dispose of a dead body, first in a large body of cold water, then in a trash can. And whereas my therapist says dreams like this are good because dead bodies represent the discarding of no-longer-useful parts of one’s personality, they’re still not fun dreams to have. Again, in last night’s dream, there was an entire row of giant trash bins filled with trash. That’s good because it means I’m discarding a lot mental and emotional junk I don’t need. But still, there was a dead body–and all that trash–there was even blood. Talk about gross. Not exactly the best way to start your morning.

I say all this to point out–once again–that personal growth isn’t everything the books in the self-help aisle make it out to be. It can be a real bitch at times–ugly and uncomfortable. Because what do you do when a part of you–even a not-so-useful part of you–dies? What do you do when you’re USED to having a lot of mental and emotional STUFF around, then suddenly it’s no longer there? Personally, I find that part of me wants to celebrate The Great Letting Go, and part of me wants to hang on. Ugh. It’s so disorienting, so frustrating. You think, If I’m not that person with all that trash, WHO am I? And WHAT exactly AM I becoming?

I still don’t have an answer.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.

"