March 10, 2012 at 11:24 pm (Uncategorized)

Ok, I know Internet, I know… I have disappeared. And the only thing worse in internet-land than a blog left vacant to rot is a blog entry by an author apologizing for why they haven’t been updating. I know I know I know.

But really, the truth is that I haven’t had anything to say. I have a show up and it’s awesome and I’m all about it and really happy with it, but that leaves me with a blog-problem, which is: if I say all I want to say in my show (and I really feel like I did), what do I say in my blog? Blogs aren’t fun if they’re all Hey, check out my latest achievement! bullshit. I want to get back to writing again, just for the hell of it, not as promotion for some project I’m working on. And this is all gung-ho and super pious of me and I’ll probably lapse into self-promotion again very quickly, but for now I feel like writing for the sake of writing.

I’ve been totally pre-occupied the last few months. There’s school, there’s the show, but mostly my brain has been on being sick and being pretty scared about being sick. First there was pleurisy (basically: it feels like you’re being stabbed, constantly, with no break at all, thousands of times during the day, in your lungs) which lasted six weeks, then a bad cold, then a root canal. Ok, those last two are like nothing… except that I’m so over being sick, any sort of relatively minor malady just seems like a sick (ha ha!) joke. The best part is that the “cure” for all three is basically to sleep, to sleep endlessly, constantly – and I sleep a lot as it is, but now there’s doctors telling me I need to just sleep some more. That’s great: if you ever want to feel as though you’re not really living your life, just sleep for 15 hours a day. Days zoom by. You don’t know what day it is or what you’re supposed to do. You wake up and, is it morning? night? Your dreams seem as real as reality. It sucks. But in truth, it’s the only thing that makes pleurisy, germs, and tooth pain go away. So you have to do it.

And to make sure you do it, doctors give you drugs, and lots of them. You’re just supposed to take your drugs, and sleep. But wait – I’m a person who likes to obsessively make things, all the time, always, always being productive… yeah, whatever. Take your drugs and go to sleep.  You can lay in bed and think of a thousand projects you want to be doing, you just can’t do them. Blechh. But I learned something really interesting that I never would have gleaned just from watching a million episodes of Intervention: you build up a tolerance for prescription drugs really, really quick. Like, way quicker than you should. If I drink two glasses of wine a night for a week, at the end of the week, I’m still feeling pretty buzzed from drinking those two glasses. Maybe after a month, I can move up to 2 1/2 glasses… maybe. But if I take one Vicodin a night for *two nights*… it doesn’t work anymore. The only thing that works in legit cutting the pain is doubling up on the Vicodin. And then, one assumes, doubling up after that. And, well, fuck that.

I told my therapist the other week, Come on, I’m not adding “drug addict” to my resume. So I stopped the pain killers right away in both cases, and just toughed it out. There were times when the pain in my lungs was so bad I would just force my eyes shut and sing my favorite songs in my head, over and over, til I fell asleep and didn’t feel it anymore; or when my tooth pain was so bad I nearly vomited. Whatever. Just have to get through it. I’m almost at the tail end, I hope.

In the midst of it, I thought a lot about Morphine – probably because of the connection to the drugs I could have been taking, and probably because they’re an amazing band that not enough people know about these days. (I miss my students stalking me; that’s part of why I’m restarting the blog. May as well fill their heads with good music.) At the intersection of “so good it’s bad” and “just so fucking good it hurts all over” is Morphine:

I’ve been listening to them a lot while I make crafts. I’m too preoccupied with the show and too much in pain with my teeth to really make art. And yet, I have to make something, so I am (baskets, little houses), and keeping myself distracted. Morphine would no doubt hate this if that guy Mark were still alive, and I have a weird personal connection with the band that sort of haunts me every time I listen to them and I always picture him looking down on me from heaven. So it’s been a little like having someone disapprove of everything you do while you do it, while you listen to them to keep your mind of the searing pain you’re having. It’s sort of perfect for me, really.

What the hell am I doing? I’m not really sure. But hey, at least I’m blogging again.

 

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