For What it’s Worth


I’ve had a wonderful day. I’m so tired I was falling over and finally gave up trying to fold clothes. I have a pinched nerve at C7 and my left arm vacillates between feeling like it’s asleep to feeling like it’s dipped in liquid fire. Here, let me move my laptop from the table to my lap. Better.

Pause. Make a protein shake as a dessert from dinner.
Movement helps the back. At work today I was virtually pain-free all day and it was pretty rigorous physical labor. I’m proud of my heart just a month after the ablation. It’s ticking like a metronome. I’ve been back to the gym lately and today at work I was sweating from about five minutes in and for most of a ten-hour shift.  My heart didn’t miss a beat. Literally. I loved being back among familiar coworkers and working hard.
“We get it bitch, you worked a work day. Congratulations. How about stringing a few of those together.” (The Voices of Recrimination are ever-present, even when I’m feeling happy and grateful as I am tonight. Fuck the voices.)

I’ve only been back from Sundance a few days and I hit the ground running with catching up with friends, catching up on work (or trying to) and Mardis Gras festivities. Carnival is now in full swing with only one week until Fat Tuesday. I loved keeping Lent two years ago and it is my intention to do it again this year (with possible little vacations from abstinence during my two trips to Europe in the next two months. I don’t think that’s allowed but hey, I’m not really Catholic). Wait, when is Easter.
(checks the calendar)

Never mind. The Serbia trip is after Easter anyway. London is sooner and happens during Lent so I’ll just have to decide exactly what I’m abstaining from without fucking up my time in Britain. I will have a stout with my fish-and-chips. Maybe I’ll give up abstinence.
Today was a great day. I haven’t been doing very many of the grip-and-grunt work shifts of late. With the benefit of an art fellowship I’ve been able to devote myself more fully to those pursuits and be way more involved in connecting other veterans to the pen, and expansively to the Arts.  And I had some little things that needed to be sorted out with my health beginning with a broken leg from snowboarding in April. It was good for me to do that gig today.
I get depressed. I fight with myself to make myself to the things I know I should do if I want to see my goals come to fruition. I lack structure. I’m mentally ill so sometimes, if I don’t have the morning mapped I will find myself, an hour out of bed, just standing in the living room in my boxers wondering what, possibly, out of the thousand things I need to do, should I start with. So I often end up not doing any of them. That can start a spiral. When I have a gig to show up to at a certain time, it’s good for me. And I actually love rigorous physical labor. I had that great “quality tired” (Mama used to call it).

When I got home. Josh is in from off-shore and he was already chillin’ at my crib when I got there.
I fried me up a ribeye with onions, black beans on the side. A PBR, the working-man’s brew. (I get bougie on the weekends). Josh declined a steak (he was eating with a lady friend later on) but accepted a PBR and, since he was in a talkative mood, I chewed while he entertained me. God help me I love the boy. He loves me too and tells me so several times during any single visit. He’s a Republican. I’m not. I’ve often thought how our friendship demonstrates the hopes that America might not actually rip herself apart. We have had some fiery arguments too, boy—not always in convenient places. When two 6’5” 250 lb Marines start circling each other and screaming, ain’t too many people who want to be around. I’ve thrown him out of my life something like three or four times, usually with some dramatic declaration. “I’ve brought you the rifle back. I’d like to have my house key please.” One time I thought he was going to try to kiss me to keep me from walking out the door and, trust me, there ain’t a gay bone in this boy’s body and I’m one of those “continuum” believers. Each time I tried to kick him out, he’d show up a couple of days later with a bag of barbecue. He needs me and I reckon I need him too.
I’m making a stab at a daily blog.  Tired as I am, I wanted to get at least something down.
But now I’m to bed. I have to work another long day tomorrow hanging lights and tomorrow night I’m helping to lead a bridge-building meet-up between Tulane Theatre students studying Ajax (the Greek Classic play, not the household cleanser). Plus, I have to get up early enough to have breakfast so I can take the medications that are helping my recovery from the heart stuff. I want to make my lunch again to take; in addition to saving me fifteen bucks, it gives me an odd feeling of self-reliance and frugality. Oh, and I have to budget 30 minutes extra before I leave because Kerry Cahill has me doing this Deepak Chopra mediation thing. What am I doing? I need to get to bed!

The mediation thing does really seem to be making a positive difference. I wonder, then, how long it will take me to throw it overboard. Or maybe it doesn’t have to be that way this time.

Until tomorrow.

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