Girly shows & MRI machines

Been pretty sick the last week or so. Woke up the other morning and the world was spinning faster than it usually does for me. Dizziness and nausea have pretty much become my standard operating procedure. My eyes have been burning and every time I open them I feel like my brain is going to come pouring out through my tear ducts.

Good news is that today I started listening to music again. My head’s been so fucked up that even sound was squeezing my brain through a tube of old toothpaste. (On a side note, ever listen to the Damnwells? If not you really should give them a try. Alex Denzen is my new favorite songwriter. No lie. His music and lyrics really speak to me in a way that no one has in a long, long time.)

Death’s been rolling through my mind quite a bit lately. To ease any immediate concerns: No I am not suicidal. I do NOT want to die. So don’t start calling and sending notes about that. I’ve just been thinking about getting older and what comes next.

I’m not a man of faith per se. There is no underlying reason for us being here written in some book that made me a bandwagon jumper so far anyway. My family never went to temple. I remember being a kid and my folks asking if I wanted to play sports and music or go to Hebrew school. One word answer: Duh! Religion was always a family thing for us. It meant spending time together during holidays and things like that. No preaching or rules to follow in order to get to the good place in the “afterlife”.

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like. I don’t give any credence to the images of sitting on clouds with a gigantic old long white-bearded man throwing lightening bolts down to the ground during a thunderstorm. Maybe we end up sitting at a round table with all of our heroes. We could talk about the universe, time and how good a glass of water tastes after a long hike.

Regardless of what it’s all going to be like, it interests me more than frightens me. The physical process of dying is what creeps into the back of my mind and keeps me awake at night. I’ve been pretty close more than a few times and it’s not what I call an enjoyable experience. Our bodies are pretty fragile things that are not meant to last forever. As much as we don’t like to think about it, that fact is just as much a part of our lives as falling in love or staring at a perfect blue sky and feeling the fall breeze across our skin.

This week I’ve been thrown out of bed by some awful nightmares. I dream that I’m in an MRI machine. Everything is white, loud and very, very close. I can’t move and I know that I’ll never be able to get out. My big toes go numb and my hands grow extremely cold. Freezing actually. I have a head restraint on so I can barely open my mouth, let alone adjust positions. I try to squeeze the alert bulb in my hand to get the nurse’s attention but my hand is so cold I must have dropped it. I’ve never been claustrophobic before. But this is different. It hurts.

I wake up sweating. I squeeze my hands and try to shake some feeling back in to my toes. I’m too scared to go back to sleep so I pull down the covers and get up. I find my glasses on the bedside table. I try to be quiet, but no matter what I do I wake her up. I close the door behind me and turn on the T.V. After a half hour of flipping through channels in an attempt to find something that will keep my mind off of myself I settle on BBC America. I don’t like Doctor Who, but it’s just crazy enough to occupy my mind for a little while.

Around three or four in the morning my eyes are finally too heavy to fight, so I get up and go back to bed. I’m so tired now that I don’t have the energy to worry what’s hiding in my head anymore. Before I know it the alarm goes off and I have to get the boys ready for school. Usually one or both of them have come downstairs and climbed in bed with us by now.

Make cereal, pack lunches, pick out clothes, pack up backpacks and walk them to the bus stop at the end of the street. By now she’s ready to leave for work so we kiss bye and she drives off. Now I’m alone with the dog, the computer and my head. Sometimes I try to take a nap and catch up on my sleep. Usually that doesn’t work though. I feel too guilty sleeping during the day to do it unless I feel so shitty that I don’t have any choice in the matter.

Last night I told her about my nightmares. We were on the couch watching Project Runway or one of her other girly shows she uses to unwind from her stress-filled job. She picked my foot up and put it on her lap. Her fingers felt great gently tracing patterns on the skin just above my toes.

“I’ll always be there to get you out.”

Slept better last night.

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