the mere thought of the match

Remain seated until the ride comes to a full and complete stop. Up and down. Fasten your seatbelt. Up and down. Please allow the safety bar to lock in place. Blurred and focused. Keep arms and hands inside the car at all times. Blurred and focused. A baseball has 108 stitches.

Things have been a roller coaster lately. My health has been questionable, which is not really a surprise to anyone who knows me at all, and my personality decided to rear an ugly unexpected and unwelcome head. Frankly I’ve been a raging dick over the last few weeks. No matter what the cause, it’s unacceptable and unforgivable. It’s embarrassing really. My fuse was too short for the fire to even light it. I exploded at the mere thought of the match.

As much as I complain about the state of the medical system these days, and I do feel justified in my opinions, there are some things that they have done right. Sometimes the medicines they prescribe do actually work. I know… I know that’s crazy talk coming from me. Yesterday the chemicals flooded back into my system and lifted the veil covering my eyes so that I can start to see out of this fog of pain again.

No. I’m not talking about anything illegal or nefarious. I’m talking prescribed medications that I’ve been on (and off of) for a while now. Sometimes you need to take a break and feel like total shit for a week or so to realize how much the medicines are really helping. Yes I still have pain, and yes I will always complain, and yes I will always be cynical, and yes I will always point out the dust motes floating around the otherwise beautiful blue sky. But it’s not as bad as it could be.

For the moment I can still walk. I can still goof off with the kids. I can still write. I can still laugh. I can still enjoy a good book. I can still throw my dog’s favorite toy so she can chase it. I can still kiss my wife. I can still tickle my kids. I can still listen to music. I can still cry at a good movie. I can still go for a slow walk (with a cane) outside and smell the forest.

This past weekend was great. We went to a Borders bookstore and got a ton of great stuff for the kids. Not to mention the haul I got for myself too. It’s really sad and frustrating that such a great store is going out of business, but I definitely didn’t feel guilty taking advantage of the sale. After that we went to a fabric store and Melissa got inspired and actually started making a quilt again when we got home. It’s wonderful to watch her having fun with all that stuff!

Sunday was all it should be. We hung out at home, watched teevee, read books and basically goofed off. There was some cleaning and chores thrown in there too, but it was a well-deserved lazy day. And for those of you who don’t know, I found out that my publisher announced my first novel on their website. Not a huge amount of fanfare, but it’s an amazing feeling for me!

I smiled a lot this weekend. More than I have in a very long time. We all did. Sometimes it’s important to stop being cynical. Some times just brushing everything off and allowing yourself to be happy is the best medicine. I forget that. For some reason I enjoy wallowing in my own bullshit. I don’t know why.

That’s not exactly true. I do know why.

In our society it’s romantic to be the struggling artiste. It always has been. We don’t like to think that it’s possible to be happy and create anything worthwhile. We would rather be dark and mysterious like Beethoven or Rimbaud. Of course a tremendous amount of beautiful and important art has come out of struggles with misery. But there is room for a balance, to be both creative and positive in life.

All this baggage that accumulates in life weighs me down. What I am starting to discover is how much of it I decide to carry around with me matters, and how much I leave behind too. I’m trying to switch to a smaller carry on bag. Hopefully the airline will lose the rest for me so I won’t even have the option of picking them up again.

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