I stood in the gravel, looking toward a mixture of history and nature, my head overwhelmed with the fact that just twelve days earlier, I thought I might die. I watched the sunlight through the trees and listened to the background of insects and the bustle of distant voices. The blanket of joy at just being alive and in such a beautiful place flooded me so overwhelmingly that I could barely muster the strength to film myself talking. I stopped filming when I felt my breath catch and the certainty of tears choked me. I’ve watched the clip several times over the last few weeks; each time, I reconnect with the gratitude of such a moment. No one has seen this clip. It’s not because I’m worried about how I look or sound; rather, it’s because I know that no one would recognize how much it took to just say the words without succumbing to the emotion.
It’s 52 days since my surgery. It’s been a year of moments in the interim. But I go back to that Sunday afternoon, knowing I’d be around to figure out what in the hell I am supposed to be doing. My experience was just a blip compared to what others are struggling with. I am so grateful for that decision to visit the place in the woods, so close to so many people and history.
Nevertheless, here’s the takeaway: people are the answer. Not places. Not moments. Sharing your time with friends and loved ones.
Your surprise will come soon enough. It’s inevitable.
If you can, appreciate what you have, who you are, and who you’re with.
Love, X
P.S. I’ll put a picture I took of my surgery incision from the bed when I fully woke up in the comments. It motivates me to overcome my anxiety.
“The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” Sylvia Plath. I wrote one of the best jokes of my life to accompany this quote, but due to the nature of her death, I can’t risk demonstrating how tone-deaf I am.
I’m infamous for carrying index cards everywhere. To jot down thoughts, draw/doodle, note reminders, pranks, or actual important messages.
I’ve always known that messages on index cards carry weight, but recently I’ve been practicing and refining my delivery. It’s led to some hilarious and amusing results: most people just believe whatever you’re reading from an index card, even if I’m looking at a blank card or one that has nothing to do with whatever I’m saying.
Psychologically, if it appears you’re reading something off an index card, people will be more gullible about its alleged contents. It’s evocative of the Uniform Effect.
You can use this to your advantage, whether it is to make up a fake phone message, statistic, reminder, or important information.
Just telling them somehow lessens the credibility compared to “reading” it from an index card. People don’t just write crazy stuff on index cards, do they?
Love, X
“I’m writing my book in fifth person, so every sentence starts out with: “I heard from this guy who told somebody …” Demetri Martin
I walked into the early morning storeroom, flipping the lights on and making the first pot of coffee. I knew it would be different without her, on her first day of retirement. So I posted this on her door, the one that now opens to an absence.
At 2 a.m. I stood out on the landing, looking at the glow of the fairy lights I strung yesterday. Güino excitedly examined them with me. When I looked up toward Gregg Avenue, a fox was running South down the middle of the street. It was an unexpected sight. I hope to see more such things today.
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When we went inside, I rolled him with a lint roller, still one of his favorite things.
This is a motivational quote from a future State Senator, one designed to remind us that we need to forge ahead even when people aren’t kind or easy to deal with. Step over them and keep going.
“It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize just how much you love them.” Agatha Christie
I posted this picture because it is one of the best ridiculous pictures of me I have. Coffee, happiness, love, youth: a recipe for the perfect life. I still have a great life and great people in it.
No, I’m not afraid of brain-eating zombies. For some reason, every year they ignore me and increasingly so as I get older. It’s a good lesson that there are benefits to failing to apply the lessons I’ve learned. I get to use the joke every year that if brain-eating zombies do invade, I’m going to run into a conference room full of middle managers. Zombies instinctively know that there aren’t any functioning brains in such a room.
“If you can’t beat them, arrange to have them beaten.” —George Carlin
“During the day, I don’t believe in ghosts. At night, I’m a little more open-minded.” – Anonymous. The same is true for the tricks my mind plays on me when I get anxious. As the night falls and the hour grows quiet, my mind stretches and starts its gymnastics. Being creative sometimes has its drawbacks, as it allows me to take a minor concern and let it blow like those billowing air devices at car washes. Last night, I took melatonin which previously had little effect on me. It brought strange dreams, one of which brought an infinite loop of the “Kiss From a Rose – Jesus Loves Marijuana” from the tv show “Community.” I woke up still hearing the song in my head. It’s a fitting song for the last day of October.
After waiting a bit too long, I went to the doctor Friday (finally!) and started taking 1/2 doses of Lexapro. Many months ago, the clinic told me to come in if I really needed to; when I did, my doctor was at another clinic and the other doctors deferred due to it being anxiety-related rather than a medical need. That’s when I immediately reached out for counseling. It bothered me a great deal that they’d turned me away when I was honest and said I needed to be seen. So few people just come right out and say so. I’ve watched so many people fail to be honest about what’s going on in their heads and lives; most choose alternate forms of self-medication.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I have insurance. Surgeons saved my life six weeks ago. I’ve lasted 16+ years in my job and I appreciate it in a way that I didn’t up until a year ago. This last year has been five years long. I’ve had so many great experiences despite the bad ones. There are some exceptional people in my life, some of whom were hiding in plain sight. They didn’t change and suddenly become open; I did.
My doctor didn’t really hesitate to prescribe me something less powerful, especially due to the fact that I’m seeing a counselor and seem to be very aware of how my body and mind react. He might not have thought so before my crazy weight loss journey and exuberant confidence about other areas of my life. Apart from all the other issues I’ve had with the clinic, the doctor told me again he had never seen a person just SAY they were going to be thin and just do it without any structured program or surgery. He told me to remember that it is an accomplishment worthy of maintenance. And that he fully expected my anxiety to be temporary. His certainty was a welcome addition to my medical visit. I joked that since medical bills were a part of my cyclical worry, that I appreciated his pro bono treatment. He laughed. For a brief second, I thought of Leslie Nielsen in “Airplane!” when he said, “You can tell me, I’m a doctor.”
You know that the doctor thinks you’re going to live a while longer when they agree to bill you. That’s optimism in action.
Due to my cousin’s advice, I refrained from hiding behind the door to scare the doctor this time, even though it’s Halloween. I wanted to take my stylish brown sheet and ‘ghost’ him, so to speak. Instead of leaning away from the truth, I told the doctor that I thought he might not appreciate the level of my anxiety if he based it on how much I LOVE a good laugh and how I interact with his staff. He told me that he learned a long time ago that people’s internal issues rarely intersect evenly with their personalities. I told him my feedback loop theory and he nodded. To make him laugh, I told him Ronnie Shake’s hilarious quote: “My doctor gave me two weeks to live. I hope they’re in August.” To his credit, the doctor did burst out laughing.
Walgreens committed another in a long line of unexpected and hard to believe messes. I switched to CVS – late on Friday afternoon, no less. There are several stories I’m omitting here for brevity. I’m just shaking my head about it.
Note: it’s not recommended to grind up and snort this sort of medication. Not because it makes it less effective, but it leaves people with the impression that coke is making a comeback. The protein powder I sometimes eat raw directly from the canister probably already sends the wrong message when it sticks in my mustache.
I’ll let y’all know how it’s affected me when I figure it out and it’s built up in my system. If you see me pretending to ice skate while wearing banana slippers, just wave and ask me to put some pants on.
I look forward to my old optimism kicking back into full gear. That I need a serotonin boost doesn’t embarrass me in the slightest. That brain-eating zombies don’t think I’m worth the effort bothers me a bit.
“The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.” Ferdinand Foch
Life is not a pencil. The eraser is an illusion. Life is a chalkboard. You can erase it and start over. But as you do, you’ll note that the residue of what preceded your newly scribbled life and words leaves a residue. That’s all it is, a reminder. It’s okay to reinvent yourself and abandon all your old routines if they no longer work for you. To put it more accurately, for you to recognize that they don’t. We find comfort in the familiar, even if the familiarity contains pain. We forget that we are not our routines and habits. Erase the board if you can. And use colored chalk this time around while you’re at it.
Life has its lessons. You can’t plan for the unexpected, so have a plan to deal with that, too.
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I slept from about 9 to 6 last night, the longest I’ve slept in months. I laid and listened to the wind in the trees. It was sublime. And I knew the floor would be there to catch me if nothing else did.
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Instead of anything funny, I put this up at work on Friday.
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A friend at work surprised me with three new brooches. The lapel pin is one I made from someone’s purloined Sam’s Club card.
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The Vice Rule: invest in vice and frivolous hobbies and you’ll always have money in the bank.
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I surprised my supervisor at work with my long-held theory that he IS Bigfoot.
Tonight, I sat at the end of a long table, looking toward a gathering of current and former coworkers. Atop the table was an assortment of good drinks, appetizers, and good food. More importantly, the perimeter of the table was lined with people connected to one person. The purpose of the get-together was a send-off to Leigh, someone who dedicated decades to work. They let me do a toast and I lit it up with a bit of humor and a dose of sincerity. I opened my toast with the Andy Bernard (The Office) quote: “I wish there were a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left the good old days.” I reminded everyone that as we gathered there, we had experienced those good days with Leigh and that tonight, we had to face the realization that not only had these been the good old days, but that they were drawing to a close, as all such times must do. Leigh’s shoes can’t be filled.
I laughed dozens of times. I teared up a couple, both due to the people sitting around me, as well the backdrop of time overlapping from memory and transposing itself onto the fact I knew I’d remember that moment for the rest of my life.
I left the restaurant with a fuller heart but also a slight wound there, too. Bittersweet moments both rejuvenate and pierce one’s heart.
As much as Leigh looks forward to retirement, I know she mourns the loss of people who’ve occupied her waking hours for so many years. I miss her already. I try to imagine what was in her heart as she looked around at us laughing and sharing stories.
Part of the sting is the knowledge that endings are a constant companion to our lives.
And if we can’t remember to bow our heads in reverence to the life we’ve been graciously given, we’re doing it wrong. Leigh was never one to get the doldrums about life; she graciously accepts the highs and lows as well as anyone I’ve ever met. Her faith takes care of the rest.
We gave our bon voyage as a group tonight. After tomorrow, she’ll find a new way to focus her energy. We’ll stay behind, each waiting our turn to say our goodbyes.
For tonight, laughter, good food, and a bittersweet farewell to a kind, funny person.
We’ll miss you, Chihuahua!
Love, X
P.S. Leigh took this picture. I told her I would add words to reach her heart.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 