On Winning the Hour and Returning to Balance (Blog #1051)

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Currently it’s 4:22, and I’m at the library. On Valentine’s Day. It’s sexy, I know. I just finished up some editing work for a friend and client. When I wrap up this blog, I plan to grab dinner–alone–then meet my friend Kate to see my friend and her husband Aaron in a play at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Based on the photos he’s been posting, at some point during the play he’ll be dressed as a woman. Red wig, fishnet stockings, two-inch heels and everything. Talk about exciting. One minute you’re hanging out at the library, and the next minute you’re really getting a show. This is life, full of twists and turns.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how it doesn’t take much. Like, it doesn’t take much to make your day a good day, it doesn’t take much to heal. Recently I said that doing the right thing isn’t difficult, it’s just figuring out what the right thing is that’s challenging. Yesterday I consulted with the woman whose blog first turned me onto the fact that the bacteria L. sakei can help tremendously with sinus issues. And whereas I tend to overdo the application of this little bad-bacteria-fighting critter, she said, “A little dab will do ya.” This is what I mean by “it doesn’t take much to heal.” I mean it doesn’t HAVE to take much to heal. So you don’t necessarily have to go all out. Just do whatever you need to do in order to bring balance, to tip the scales back to Center.

Along these lines, last night I ordered an air purifier for my room. Now, I read a long time ago that cleaner air is good for your sinuses, but the whole prospect of picking out an air filter and cleaning the air in our entire house seemed too overwhelming, impossible. But last night I figured that even if I breathe cleaner air only while I’m sleeping, that’s a third of the day, and a third of the day is nothing to sneeze at. (This, of course, being my hope, that I won’t be sneezing as much.) Anyway, usually I’m so all-or-nothing. But more and more I’m realizing there’s a lot of room in between, a lot of room where healing can happen. Indeed, more and more I believe that healing doesn’t occur at the extremes.

The lady I spoke to explained it this way. In everyone’s sinuses are bacteria, viruses, and fungi, much like in every neighborhood are juvenile delinquents. But these delinquents are only a problem if their parents go out of town and aren’t able to keep them in check. Again, this is the idea of balance. It’s not that we have to ALWAYS filter our air or can NEVER eat chocolate cake. We just don’t want things to get our of control. This, of course, is a subtle and delicate task.

Back to the idea of things not taking much, this morning a family friend of ours came over to discuss having me frame some of their antique brooches. Anyway, we ended up chatting about her new Fitbit, which helps her keep up with how many steps she takes each day. Well–and you may know this, but it was news to me–apparently every hour you take so many steps, Fitbit says, “You won the hour.” Is this delightful or what? I told my friend that it was going to be my phrase for the day, especially after she said she won the hour by coming over and visiting and laughing with me and my family. That’s the deal, we make happiness and contentment out to be these huge things, something OUT THERE, but winning the hour doesn’t take much, returning to balance doesn’t take much. It just takes being present. To the little things that happen right here, right now. Like laughing with a friend, eating dinner alone (and enjoying your own company), seeing your pal wear fishnet stockings.

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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I Know Who I Am (Blog #742)

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Today’s happenings–

1. I ran

This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and ran for 45 minutes straight on the treadmill. This amounted to 3.3 miles and was the longest in both time and distance I’ve gone since my knee injury and subsequent surgery this last December. Let’s hear it for progress. Let’s also hear it for breathing hard, grunting in front of strangers, wearing a sweat-soaked, sopping wet t-shirt (I could have won a contest), and being absolutely sore and worn out later in the day.

2. I got a compliment

This evening I went to see a play at the Fort Smith Little Theater–The Graduate. And whereas the play was delightful, what I’d really like to talk about is my arm pits. I should back up. A couple years ago after going through several rounds of antibiotics, I developed a body odor problem. At least I thought it was a problem. I tend to obsess about little things. Anyway, it’s been an off-and-on thing ever since. One minute I think I have it under control, then the next minute I smell like onions. And whereas I’m always trying different things to help, I’ve recently thought, Screw this. I smell how I smell. I accept myself for who I am.

So get this shit.

Tonight a random stranger, who was sitting next to me during the first half of the show but moved one row down to be by her friend at intermission, told me I smelled good. Like, she went on and on about it to her friend, to the point that I was fanning myself so her friend could get a whiff. There they were, asking if I wore cologne, and I said, “No, but I did take a shower today.” The friend said, “Do you use a shower gel–ANYTHING?” So I said, “Well, I just got a new bar of soap (I didn’t tell them it was because I’m allergic to regular soap)–made out of goat’s milk.”

“Oh yes,” the friend said, like AHA, that’s the ticket. “GOAT’S MILK.”

Y’all, I can’t tell you how good this made me feel.

Daddy’s still got it.

3. I got another compliment

After the show I went backstage to see some friends, and another total stranger told me she liked my aesthetic. I was wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. Oh, and Robert, my brown workman’s jacket. Anyway, I started to brush it off, like, Yeah, some aesthetic. My entire outfit cost twenty-five dollars. But then I thought, She’s entitled to her opinion. So I thanked her and introduced myself instead.

Daddy’s still got it.

4. I got frustrated, then thoughtful

Well crap. Maybe Daddy’s still got it (and to be clear, I impressed a couple ladies tonight, but they are not my target audience), but his website doesn’t. Just as I was saving this post, an issue came up where I couldn’t access certain pages, at least from my current browser. Anyway, I’m chatting with tech support now, so I should go. I’d hate to be rude. But how to end this?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much outward appearances and things to change (whether or not your knees work, body odor, your clothes) don’t matter. My friend Justin told me recently that he never thinks of me as having changed. Not that I haven’t, but when you care about someone, it’s more about their insides than their outsides. And that’s what I’ve noticed these last two years since starting the blog and focusing more on my insides. Not that I don’t think about my outsides–it’s nice to get a compliment–but they’re simply not as important as they used to be. I know who I am.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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What are you really running away from?

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This Is Your Year (Blog #646)

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Last night I didn’t sleep well again. Achy leg and all that. Ugh, this injured leg of mine is really becoming an around-the-clock nuisance. Still, things are improving. I’m experiencing less pain whenever I stand up now, and it’s easier to bend my left knee than it was even a few days ago. This means that it’s easier to change pants, put on my shoes, and get in and out of the shower. Huge. Of course, I’m still walking like someone with a war injury, but everyone keeps telling me that will get better. “You’re doing great,” they say. “You’ll heal quickly,” they say. “You’re young,” they say.

“Could you repeat that last part?” I say.

This afternoon I ran an errand in Northwest Arkansas and came across a random sign that said, “This is your year.” And whereas I know the sign was put there for thousands of random shoppers and onlookers, it felt like it was put there just for me. Or rather, since I only went to that part of town on a hunch, for fun, maybe I was put there for it. Either way, I hope it’s right. God, I hope it’s right.

After my errand this afternoon, I came home, did my rehab exercises, and got stuck in my head. You know how sometimes a cloud surrounds you. Well, I’d planned to go to a party at the little theater (for anyone who’s been in or worked a show there this last year) and seriously considered ditching it. I thought, I don’t want to take a shower; I’d rather stay here and mope. But then I thought, Get out of the house, Marcus. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This ended up being the best thing, cleaning up and putting on my suit. Hell, I even blow-dried my hair. Talk about feeling good.

The party tonight’s theme was “casino royale,” thus the giant playing card in tonight’s main photo. Anyway, it was absolutely fabulous. First of all, there was food. Second of all, there were dozens of friendly faces, all my favorite theater folks. Plus, all the members of our improv comedy group–The Razorlaughs–were there. All this to say that there was a lot of neck-hugging, catching up, and laughing. It was the perfect thing.

When I left tonight’s party, I walked out with friends and made tentative plans to hang out later this week. Then another (new) friend said, “We should get together sometime,” and I said, “I’d love that.” I don’t know, it was the weirdest thing, how I’ve had this cloud hanging around me the last few days (or weeks), and at some point this evening, it lifted. Maybe not completely, but a lot. And it’s not that any of my problems have changed or magically solved themselves. I still have a bum leg, still don’t know what I’m doing with my life, etc. But I was reminded tonight multiple times that I’m not alone, and that really does go a long way. Yes, a little friendship and a little encouragement are just the thing for cloud-parting.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s okay to ask for help.

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The Juice Was Worth the Squeeze (Blog #619)

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I spent this afternoon at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Today was the final performance of our holiday variety show, for a private group that bought out the entire theater. The show went really well, and the best part was that the vast majority of the audience members were elderly. What I mean is that since I’ve been on crutches this last week, I’ve felt a tiny bit conspicuous, like the odd man out, the only guy in the room with just one working kneecap. But y’all, today the AVERAGE person in the audience was in a wheelchair. Talk about feeling at home. There were broken knees and hips on every aisle. Hell, by comparison, I looked SPRY.

As they say, everything is relative.

After last night’s show (which also went well), we had a cast party, and some of my friends had to carry my food from the buffet line to where I was sitting, since I couldn’t carry it for myself (what with the crutches and all). I say they “had to,” but of course they volunteered to. No one held a gun to their heads. Indeed, they assisted quite willingly. This is the thing I’m still processing, that so many people seem eager to lend me a hand, grab me a drink of water, or help me get to my car. It really is humbling. And good for me, I think. I’ve been SO independent for so long, I’ve needed this reminder. No man is an island.

When today’s show was over, most of the cast stayed to tear down the set and clean up the theater. However, since I’m grossly immobile, the only thing I could help clean was the kitchen. That is to say, I ate all the leftover cheese from last night’s party. (You’re welcome.) But seriously, I threw a few things away, then left the work to those who were more able and agile. For a “do-er” like me, this wasn’t exactly easy, walking away from “a project.” Well, LIMPING away from a project. But I think it’s important to realize–there are times to show up and rise to the occasion, and there are times to bow out and walk/limp away, and it’s good to know the difference.

I spent this evening with my friends and former roommates Justin and Ashley at their house. We talked for hours and hours. (We laughed, we cried, lives were changed.) At one point Justin used a phrase I hadn’t heard before–“the juice wasn’t worth the squeeze.” I don’t remember what he was referring to, but isn’t that the perfect saying? Personally, I’m going to start using it anytime I get asked about one of my exes.

Yuck, yuck, yuck.

As I was at Justin and Ashley’s until after midnight, it’s now almost two in the morning. No kidding, I really did try to get away sooner, but Justin and I don’t do short conversations. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about that phrase in reverse. What I mean is that when I was visiting with Justin, I KNEW I’d come home late and be blogging during the wee hours (and that my brain and body would want to be in bed instead). But I’m okay with being tired and a little frustrated (that I can’t rub two thoughts together in this moment) because I got a huge amount of joy and satisfaction from hanging out with my dear friends. In other words, the juice WAS WORTH the squeeze.

Likewise, being involved at the theater this last week has been physically challenging. Every day for the last eight days–every day since my knee injury–I’ve had to get dressed (not the easiest thing with a bum leg), crawl into my car, and slowly crutch my way on and off stage, even though I could have easily stayed home. But this morning my dad said, “I imagine this has been good for you, that it’s distracted you from your problems and helped the week go faster.” He was right–it has. And despite how difficult it’s been at times, this experience has given more than it’s taken–I’ve learned new things, made new friends, laughed my butt off, and come to see the world as a kinder place.

So that’s big.

Use your challenges as a vehicle for transformation, not consternation.

I guess what I’m getting at is that this knee problem is not something I’d choose to have happen again. My life turned upside down in an unfortunate instant. But already it’s taught me so much that again I’d have to say–the juice was worth the squeeze. I say that and realize this ordeal isn’t over. I mean, I’m probably looking at surgery and rehab, and I’m sure those things will be a serious drag. I’ll probably curse a lot. But this is a choice I think we all have to make either before, during, or even long after the “squeezes” in our lives–whether or not the are going to be “worth it” to us. For me, it comes down to looking for the good instead of the bad, to using my challenges as a vehicle for transformation, not consternation.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Each season has something to offer.

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The Ones We Admire (Blog #618)

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I swear. This new blog editing software is driving me crazy. (My dad says it’s a short trip. Everyone’s a comedian.) But seriously. Yesterday I couldn’t find the spell checker, and now I’m typing NEXT to my daily selfie instead of UNDER it.

Technology is so hard. (Okay, I figured it out.)

Something else that’s hard is living life on one leg, which I’ve been doing for a solid week now, ever since I injured my left knee during a dance performance. No shit. Everything that I used to do so easily–like putting on my underwear, tying my shoes, and going to the bathroom–now requires a five-step plan. Earlier I hobbled into the kitchen to refill my cup of coffee and literally had to strategize about how to get it back to the living room, since I couldn’t exactly use my walker and hold onto my beverage at the same time. Well, I ended up scooting the drink on the counter beside me until I made it out of the kitchen, then stood between the counter and an end table and passed the cup from one hand to the other, then REEEEEA-CHED for the edge of the table. Thankfully, this worked.

The things we do for caffeine.

Earlier today I stumbled across an internet article about a guy who lost his left leg to cancer when he was nine and now creates funny Halloween costumes around the whole situation. I guess it all started as a joke several years ago when he decided to be a gingerbread man whose leg had been “bitten” off. Anyway, what a fabulous reminder that you can make the best of a bad situation. And obviously we humans can learn to adapt. This guy seems to get around fabulously and can even balance himself upside down on his crutches. (Don’t worry, Mom, I’m not going to try anything stupid.)

Despite this inspiration, I don’t mind saying that having a bum leg is a serious drag. (Get it–a serious DRAG?) Even before this accident, for weeks, I haven’t taught a single dance lesson and have been strapped for cash. Then today–out of the blue–a woman calls and says she’s interested in learning to jitterbug. Ever the optimist, I thought, Surely I could TALK her and her husband through learning at least the basics. But then–with actual enthusiasm–she said, “I don’t have a partner!” Normally this wouldn’t be a problem–I could dance with her–but in my current condition, there’s no way in hell. Geez. The universe can be a real bastard sometimes. Who dangles the proverbial carrot in front of someone while knowing full well there’s NO WAY they can even come close to taking a bite of it?

Talk about a twisted sense of humor.

Speaking of a twisted sense of humor, last night’s holiday variety show at the little theater went–uh–okay, at least with respect to our musical improv number. Personally, I think the night before went better. But these things happens. “What’s a place that puts you in the holiday spirit?” we always ask at the beginning of the show. Well get this shit. Last night some broad says, “Sea World!” The night before someone said, “Walmart.” (What the hell is wrong with people?) Anyway, last night we sang about Christmas at Sea World, and it was–um–challenging. That being said, one guy in our group (not me) absolutely saved us with his last verse about Orca Whales. (Phew.)

This is the deal with improv comedy. Sometimes you do something good (fabulous even), sometimes you do something mediocre, and sometimes you flop. I guess the important thing is to try, to put yourself out there. The guy in our group who saved us was literally flopping around on stage like a whale, and it was a smash. Later he said, “I’m just not afraid of being embarrassed.” No kidding, this is the secret to good comedy. Maybe to life. You gotta be willing to put yourself out there. In my second improv skit, my partner pretended to be a drunk woman at a holiday office party, and the next thing I knew he was diving through an invisible laminating machine. It was hilarious.

Maybe you would have had to have been there.

These, I think, are the ones we admire, the ones we stand in awe of from a distance, the ones who are willing to dare and live fully in the moment. Yesterday on the way home from the theater, I was thinking about how much grief I’ve given my body over the years, mostly for not looking like HIS. So much time I’ve spent being disappointed in a perfectly good body–a body that had two working legs!–legs that carried me anywhere I wanted to go, legs that danced, and legs that gave, and gave, and gave. Talk about not being on your own team. Anyway, now one of my legs is asking for a break (no pun intended), so I’m doing my best to finally listen to my body, give it time to heal, and appreciate it for what it is and what it CAN do. Hopefully, we’ll come through this situation less embarrassed, more willing to live each moment as fully as possible, together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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On Improv-ing and Improving (Blog #617)

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What the frick? Apparently my online blog editing software has been updated and is now different than it’s been for the last two years. Ugh. So far I’m not impressed, having to learn new things for Christmas. Seriously, nothing is where it used to be. It’s like someone’s rearranged my entire bedroom. Whose bright idea was this? (I can’t find my underwear!) And where the hell did the spell checker go?

Bah humbug!

Okay. This morning I went to see my primary care physician, and I’m guess I’m a little upset about that. Not that the visit didn’t go well–my doctor is awesome. But she looked at my recently injured knee and started talking about surgery and rehab, so it looks like that’s going to be a thing. And whereas I’ve been assuming it would be, there’s just something about hearing someone in a white lab coat say so.

Like, “Better get used to those crutches, kid.”

In other personal medical news, I’ve been short of breath lately, and my doctor mentioned the word “asthma.” Seriously, is this what growing older is about–daily adding to your number of problems? One day you’re fine and the next you have a list of ailments as long as your arm? (Don’t answer that.) Anyway, I took a (short) breath, then my doctor said, “WELL–since this started AFTER your upset stomach [another problem of mine], it’s possible that the two things are tied together; your reflux could be affecting your airways.”

So that sounds–um–promising.

In other news, I may have psoriasis–but only on one elbow!–and it would probably help my stomach if I started a new diet. Ugh. This sounds like a lot of work. I mean, when you hop around on one leg, you eat what anyone (that is, your parents) are willing to feed you. Anyway, I’m telling myself I don’t have to do anything this red hot minute; I have time to figure things out. Plus, my doctor said people usually fall into one of two categories–healthy or not-healthy (there’s no real middle ground, she said), and being healthy is simply about 1) not smoking, 2) getting enough rest, 3) eating more greens and less processed foods, and 4) exercising. “That sounds simple enough,” I said.

“In theory it is,” she said, “but we live in a world where there are Whataburgers.”

So you know what I immediately started craving for lunch.

Okay, phew. I apparently “found” the spell checker when I typed “Whataburgers.” It’s invisible. That is, there’s no button for it because it’s always on.

Like me. (Ba-dum.)

When I got home from the doctor’s, I took a nap, but it didn’t do anything to improve my mood. I just can’t even right now. (Wake me up when December ends.)

Now it’s five in the evening, and I need to eat dinner and get around to go to the Fort Smith Little Theater. Last night was opening night for our holiday variety show, and everything went really well, including the two improv skits I was in.

Here’s a link to the first skit, a musical improv number that involved everyone in the pictures I’ve included in tonight’s blog. (The pictures were from dress rehearsal a couple nights ago.) The skit has it’s highs and lows, which is the case when you’re making stuff up on the spot (all of us) and don’t fancy yourself a singer (me). That being said, I’m super proud of the first “mini-skit,” which involves me and a high school student I’d never worked with one-on-one before last night. The setup is we’re at Walmart for Christmas, and he decides we’ll be father and son. (Guess who the father was.) He starts by saying, “Dad, how long are we going to be here?!” and I say, “Well, we’ve been here for six hours, and we’re halfway through the line–you do the math.” So he starts doing the human calculator thing–“6 times 24, carry the 2, divide by 12” and keeps scratching his head. Finally I look at him and say, “This is why we don’t have a bumper sticker about you on the back of our car.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKpVGSX5rWM

We’ll see how things go tonight. In last night’s second improv number, my friend Wesley and I were pretending to be siblings outside in the snow, and we were “filling in” our lines with random Christmas carol lyrics we pulled out of our pockets. At one point I got mad and said, “Do you know what I’m gonna do?” and pulled out a slip of paper that said, “Santa Baby.” Well, it took a second, but the audience just died laughing, at which point Wesley said, “I guess we all have our preferences!”

Having been asked to keep the show PG, I wasn’t sure if we’d crossed a line. But what do you do in a moment like that–how could it have been avoided, exactly? Plus, considering the fact that my mom didn’t “get it” when I told her about it later, it’s not like a kid in the audience would have “gone there.” But this is my point–there are certain things in life that you can’t prepare for. Words come out of your mouth, and problems show up in your body just like that. So we do the best we can. We improv. With any luck, we IMPROVE.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

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Go Eff Yourself, 2018 (Blog #616)

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Okay. Phew. It’s five in the evening, I’m at home with my bum knee, and I’ve got an hour before I need to get myself up, get myself together, and get to the theater for our holiday variety show. It’s opening night. Woo. I’ll let you know how it goes. Really, if I can get my pants on, things should be fine. If I can’t–well–the audience may get more than they’ve bargained for.

Earlier today I went to see my therapist, and when I walked in on crutches, her receptionist said, “WHAT did you do?” After I explained, she told me how she once tore her ACL while playing Fantasy Football. No kidding, apparently she got excited while watching a game, jumped up from the couch to hoot and holler, and her leg just gave out. So you know–shit happens, you’re never alone in your challenges, and all that.

Merry Christmas.

When my therapist walked into the waiting room and saw me, she did a double take and literally took a step back. After a brief pause she said, “I can see you have A LOT going on today.” Then as I stood up and grabbed my crutches–which are decorated with tinsel and a Christmas stocking because of the theater show I’m in–my therapist disappeared. Reemerging from wherever she went, she dropped a handful of candy into my stocking. “Candy for Tiny Tim–No!–TALL Tim,” she said. Later she added, “Hopefully everyone else will take the hint, and that thing will be overflowing by Christmas.”

Fingers crossed.

About my injury and how frustrating it’s been for me (because this year has been one damn thing after another), my therapist reminded me that “not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.” This is something she’s said before and comes from a story about a small bird whose wings froze one winter. There this little fella was, stuck on the ground shivering to death, and a cow came by and took a dump on him. Well, the heat from the manure thawed the bird out, and he was saved! (Cute, right?) Anyway–“The universe has taken a shit on you,” she said, “but we don’t know WHY. We don’t know what GOOD could come from this or what DOORS this may open.”

Then she said, “And it’s okay to be pissed off and tell 2018 to go fuck itself.”

Go fuck yourself, 2018.

The other thing my therapist said about my current situation is that it’s always darkest before the dawn. Well, she said that it’s always darkest before things turn around, but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “The myths are full of stories about how things get worse before they get better,” she said, “and that’s because myths mirror real life.” (Personally, I have the getting worse part down and am waiting on the getting better part.) Then when I told her that several people are taking my injuring myself as an opportunity to remind me that I’m no longer a spring chicken (aren’t people great?), she said, “You’re ONLY 27! How old do they want you to be–17?!”

This is why I give her all my money.

All right, I’m wrapping this up and am going to TRY to wiggle into my jeans, my dress shoes, and my slightly undersized sweater that says, “Ho Ho Ho.” And to be clear, that’s something Santa says, not a reference to my moral character or what I act like on the weekends.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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On Moving Forward (Blog #615)

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[Photo credit: Joel Culberson]

This afternoon I took a shower and put on a pair of stretchy jeans. I normally wouldn’t brag about such things, but after injuring my knee this last weekend, both showering and dressing myself have become activities worthy of praise. (Way to go, Marcus!) No kidding, it’s hard enough to squeeze myself into my jeans standing up, let alone lying on the ground while trying to hold my left leg completely still. And you should have seen me trying to put on my dress shoes; I had to get my dad involved. “Don’t you have a shoe horn?!” he said.

“No I don’t have shoe horn; I’m not eighty!”

Anyway, Dad ended up slipping my shoes on with a spoon he found–I assume–in our dishwasher. Talk about being creative AND helpful. That being said, I know my dependence is wearing on both me and my parents. After I got dressed and got into my car to run errands in Fort Smith, I honked my horn because I remembered I’d forgotten to brush my teeth and was hoping Dad could bring me my toothbrush–and toothpaste–and maybe a glass of water. (Getting out of car and crutching my way to bathroom would have taken forever.) Anyway, when Dad came into the garage and I told him what as going on, he said, “Oh no you didn’t forget to brush your teeth–your teeth are just fine–they’re very pretty.”

But then he went inside and brought me my toothbrush and toothpaste, and Mom brought the glass of water. What a team!

This afternoon my friend Bonnie and I went to four different stores in search of an outfit for me to wear for the holiday production I’m in at the Fort Smith Little Theater this week, since I decided I felt “frumpy” in the elf costume the theater gave me a couple days ago. Y’all, this is not an experience I care to repeat on crutches ever again–getting in and out of the car, going from store to store, perusing up and down the aisles. Seriously, I’m ready for this ordeal to be over. Ugh. My parents reminded me that when my sister hurt her knee and had to have surgery (and go through physical rehab), they lived with and helped her out for nine weeks. Nine weeks! I’m trying to let that possibility sink in. “Just be grateful you don’t have two little kids running around,” Mom said.

“Yes, that would be quite the challenge,” I replied. “Thank you for making me gay.”

At our third stop, Bonnie and I found an ugly Christmas sweater for me, and at our fourth stop, we found red and silver tinsel (and other supplies) for decorating my crutches. This was Bonnie’s idea, to make my crutches part of my holiday costume. “They can be your candy CANES,” Bonnie said. Talk about clever. Anyway, then we went back to Bonnie’s house, and I changed shirts (and put on a holiday hat that Bonnie had), then Bonnie and I wrapped my crutches in tinsel and added a stocking to one crutch and a stuffed elf to the other. Check out the finished products. (I’m in love.)

As I’m only in two skits for the show, I spent most of my time at the theater tonight on a couch in the green room with my leg propped up. While waiting for my first skit, I got a text message from a friend who’d heard about my dance injury, and he suggested a new nickname for me–GRACE. Isn’t that perfect? Anyway, tonight’s show was a dress rehearsal, and it went well. Actually, our musical improv group did as well as ever. Maybe a few dozen people were there as a test audience, and it really made the biggest difference, having that added bit of pressure.

[Photo credit: Joel Culberson]

Now it’s almost midnight, and I’m in the living room with Mom and Dad. Earlier they made me dinner, helped me get my shoes off, and brought me some ice packs. Also, they switched out my tinsel-clad crutches for a walker so I don’t spread little strips of glitter all over the house. A walker! Now I really feel like an old person. (I should probably just break down and buy that shoehorn.)

So this is my reality. This is my holiday season. Mostly likely, this is my new year. And whereas I hate having lost my normal mobility, I’ve realized that I’ve taken “two working knees” for granted my entire life. Watching people run around the shops and the theater tonight, I thought, You probably have no idea how good you’ve got it. Or maybe they do. One of my friends at the theater tonight said she’s been on crutches A NUMBER of times. For me, I’m reminded how persistent the human spirit is, since it’s willing to crawl, scoot, crutch, or even walker around in order to get from here to there. To buy an ugly Christmas sweater! I guess we all do what we must in order to keep moving forward. Hopefully we do so with grace.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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On Pulling Taffy and Cracking Nuts (Blog #614)

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This morning, on crutches, I went to see my chiropractor and my massage therapist. (It’s a two-for-one deal.) And whereas it took all the energy I had, I’m glad I went, since they focused on my shoulder that’s been bothering me for over a month now. Plus, my chiropractor adjusted my hips and back, which he said were out of whack because my right side has been compensating for my left side, which makes sense, we both agreed, since I jacked up my left knee this last weekend and haven’t been able to walk on two legs since.

Just call me Hop-along Cassidy.

This is always a challenge for me, taking care of one part of me when another part of me isn’t working. I’m such an all-or-nothing person that I either want to be “all engines go” or give up completely. Like, if my leg doesn’t work, then screw my shoulder, my sinuses, and the dry skin on my elbow. Perhaps this is a childish inclination. I just get so overwhelmed, paralyzed. Of course, it’s not logical to stop attending to every little problem simply because a bigger one comes along, so, despite my limited mobility, I’m trying to continue initiating acts of self-care.

For example, I saw my chiropractor and my massage therapist today, and I’m still brushing my teeth twice a day.

After my appointment was over, I got a call about scheduling my MRI. And whereas I was hoping it would be this week, it’s going to be next week on Monday. My mom said she had to wait a full two weeks for her MRI when she was first diagnosed with cancer, so I guess six days isn’t that long.

This afternoon I started reading a book about time. So far, it’s mostly about one’s personal and subjective experience of time, which our brains keep track of based on MOTION and CHANGE. Along these lines, research shows that time seems to fly by when we’re having a good time because we’re so focused on what we’re doing (or whom we’re doing) that our brains AREN’T keeping track of what’s moving and changing outside of our field of focus. The idea is that if we don’t perceive many things or events as having happened, we feel like not much time has passed. Conversely, the book says, time seems to drag on when we’re in pain or a miserable location (like a prison cell or the Department of Motor Vehicles) because, since they have nothing better to do, our brains are hyper-focused on every little movement and change that’s happening in and around us. We think, He stood up, I scratched my nose, she moved her finger. Oh my god! I’ve been here FOREVER.

When it’s only been six seconds.

After reading for a while, I took a nap. And whereas I wanted it to last three hours, it only lasted one. (Today, class, we’re going to learn about lowering your expectations.) Anyway, it’s weird how your body does that, acts absolutely exhausted, tells you it could sleep for days, but then won’t even take a decent nap when given the chance. What the hell? Ugh. I wish I could sleep until next week. Actually, I wish I could sleep until my body heals and I feel like a normal human being again. Whatever normal is. Last night on social media I saw a picture of me at the Little Theater, and I didn’t even recognize myself at first. What with the crutches and all. Plus, I WAS wearing an elf costume. But my point is, I thought, WHEN did this become my life?!

Whatever. This is my life–tired, in pain, on crutches. At least part of my life anyway. At least for now. And whereas I don’t want to IGNORE my problems, I also don’t want to DWELL on them. Rather, I want to read a book, go to the Little Theater–um–give myself ANYTHING POSITIVE to focus on, so that my personal unpleasantries won’t seem to drag on in my subjective reality any longer than they actually drag on in my objective reality. This, I think, is the power of our minds and our attention, that we can take an experience and stretch it out like a piece of taffy (That took FOREVER) or compress it down like–what’s a good analogy?–a nutcracker (There, that was quick and relatively painless).

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Oh Boy (Blog #613)

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Two days ago I injured my left knee during a dance routine, and this afternoon I saw a friend of mine who’s an orthopedic surgeon about the matter. Y’all, he took one look at my swollen leg, and these were his exact words–“Oh boy.” Talk about bad news. Later, after his staff took x-rays, he said there was “a small fragment of bone” floating unattached–toward either the front or back of my kneecap. (I’m assuming this isn’t normal and was also bad news.) “We really need to get an MRI,” he said. “That will tell the whole story, then we can go from there.”

So now we have a plan–wait for the hospital to call and schedule the MRI, get the MRI, then go back to see my friend the doctor. In the meantime, he gave me a knee immobilizer, this fancy situation with three steel rods in it to stabilize my leg and protect it from further damage. As for how to take care of my knee, he said I could use ice or heat or “whatever makes you feel comfortable,” but that nothing would really increase or decrease the rate at which I heal. Ugh, healing. The topic of surgery has already been brought up. In other words, this could take a damn while.

Merry Christmas, Marcus.

I spent this afternoon and evening at the Fort Smith Little Theater getting ready for our holiday variety show, which is this coming weekend. I’ll be in two skits–a musical improv skit, which I discussed yesterday, and a two-man improv game called What’s My Line, during which a friend of mine and I will make up a skit on the spot and have to work in audience-provided lines that we pull out of a hat mid-performance. In tonight’s practice game we were two siblings in the backseat of a car (on the way to grandma’s), but our relationship and location will change based on audience suggestions each night. If this sounds terrifying, just rolling with whatever’s thrown at you, IT IS.

Here’s a picture of our set and two of the other musical improv actors.

In both the musical improv and regular improv numbers, there were hits and misses tonight. That’s the deal with improv. It’s like a box of chocolates. Sometimes you hit on something really super–a great character, a delightful relationship, a wonderful line. At one point this evening, I became a four-year-old named Walter, and everything just clicked. Probably because my emotions lately have been about as stable as a toddler’s. But then other times you fall flat on your face. In my last musical number, I was a dad who took his daughter to Disney World and ended up saying, “The holidays are awkward. That’s why your grandma drinks. Also, your mother and I are getting a divorce. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear at Christmas.” At which point our musical director said, “Well THAT took a dark turn.”

I mean, sometimes life takes a dark turn.

I guess it keeps things interesting.

Personally, I’m fed up with “interesting” in my life. Lately my energy levels have been low, and now that everything from going to the bathroom to plugging in my phone is has become a major production, I’m more physically worn out than ever. But you know–I’m trying to be pleasant, to not totally withdraw and feel sorry for myself. This is why I didn’t bail on my commitment to the Little Theater, why I’m slowly dragging my ass out on stage every night despite the fact that I’m embarrassed by my crutches and–I realized tonight–wholly jealous of the other cast members, who get to dance, jump about, and otherwise make use of both the knees God gave them.

That is, I’m trying to roll with what’s been thrown at me.

(Tonight this costume was thrown at me.)

This is definitely a challenge, going with the flow, or, as Teresa of Avila says, breasting life’s rough waves joyfully. Personally, I’m so tired of “soldiering on.” This afternoon while listening to Neil Diamond sing, “Money talks, but it don’t sing and dance, and it don’t walk,” I started crying because I thought, I don’t dance or walk either!

Seriously, life can a lot sometimes.

Now it’s almost midnight, and I need to get to bed because I have an appointment in the morning and need to wake up early enough to shower. Granted, I’m not sure HOW I’m going to shower, but after three days of NOT showering, I feel like I should. This afternoon I stood on one foot at the sink and took a “whore’s bath” with a washcloth, and that just didn’t get the job done, if you know what I mean. Anyway, we’ll see what happens; we’ll see what life throws at me tomorrow.

Oh boy.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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