something strange happened today – we got into a spiral of hopelessness and despair – Synthroid effect? who knows………and who cares, in all honesty.
we did our best – we got quiet and meditated and, you know, asked for whatever-we-talk-to for help – we even stopped doing what ever little tasks we were doing to distract ourselves – putting away laundry, more coffee? maybe decaf this time? maybe a pot of tea? no – too tired to wait for the kettle to boil.
leaving the house to get our prescription helped.
as did the brisk walk and soft lighting at a favourite/favorite/beloved cafe.
but we hesitated when the kind attending server/waitress/food services professional said – “is there anything else we can do for you?”
because we wanted to say: “yes. can you take away this tired, sad, exhausted feeling? can you tell us when our green card will arrive? can you solve our current identity crisis which is either mid-life, or mid-medication-that-replaces-thyroid-function or god-help-us-REAL (let’s not go there)? can you tell us whether all this writing is helping or will be used as evidence against us at some point? will our weight/appetite ever stabilize? will we want to be in a committed relationship ever (again?) or are we just Built That Way? will the tumours/tumors/Tobias’ cousins come back (let’s face it – that’s always the kicker in all those pre-Cancer memoirs)? can you tell us why we became a Suit? can you tell us why our writing career fell apart the first time (even though we kinda know and recall a few emails circa 1996 that shed light on that one)? can you tell us if these five screenplays we’ve written will ever be made into movies?”
but of course we didn’t say any of that. (because This Isn’t A Movie – yet, darlings)
and then we looked carefully at her and said:
“Perhaps we could have a spot more hot water for the tea?”
(americans love it when we use the english vernacular)
So here’s what we did to change our mood (and it didn’t involve sugar………….today, at least)
we read this book cover to cover – Queer and Loathing by David B Feinberg
and our whole Attitude got Adjusted.
If you’re feeling blue, we highly recommend it.
David was (yes, he died age 37 in 1994) salty and witty and profane and a darling soft-hearted beautiful man and describes in excruciating and exquisite prose what the process of illness is like and the horrific inevitability of the worst decline that he and so many endured.
reading David’s words helped.
and, just for a moment, we felt like he walked into the teamgloria boudoir, climbed onto our bed, snuggled up and picked up a tea cup, took a sip and nudged us to keep reading.
so we did.
and we told him how grateful we are that he wrote.
and, just for a moment, we told him how lost we felt in this stage of recovery from you-know-what, and he got it. and then, back on the page, he told us a naughty joke and we burst into a peel of giggles.
sometimes a change of perspective is hidden in the pages of a book that seemed to jump off the shelf at housing works when one least expected it.
thank you, David.