My Motherboard is Fried

Yup.  My brain is frying itself.  Again.

When I consider this, in the light of day, I think about the book, My Lobotomy.  It really is a "must read", even if your brain is doing just fine.  And the moral that I'm taking away from the memoir today is that he wrote a book, even after someone jammed ice picks into his brainses.  So this is probably no big deal.  But my brain is frying itself.

It's happened rarely before, but last night my brain sent a jolt of lightning through itself which caused me searing pain, tingling (like my big sister made me grab the electric fence again kind of tingling), a massive headache (which I still have today) and utter exhaustion.  So this morning, I decide to be a responsible adult, and call the doctor's office.

Receptionist: Your doctor is not in until tomorrow.  Can I leave her a message?

Me: Yup.  My brain is trying to kill me.

Rec.: [Pause]  Is it talking to you?

Me: No.  Yes.  I don't know.  How do you tell?  Aren't you your own brain?

Rec.: I suppose so.  Are you trying to tell me that you're trying to kill yourself?

Me: I guess so then.  Oh!  Well, no.  Not like that.

Rec.: Then like what?

Me: Well, I wouldn't slit my wrists, if that's what you mean?

Rec.: Where are you?

Me: I'm home.

Rec.: Hang on.  I'm going to send someone to help you.

Me: Do you have a neurologist that makes house calls?  This is so confusing.

[Muttering and shuffling on the other end of the line]

[The PA comes on]

PA: Alessandra?

Me: Yup.

PA: Quit freaking out the new girl.

Me: What?!?  She's freaking me out!!!

PA: What's wrong?

Me: My brain's electrocuting me.

PA: Oh, it's probably just partial simple seizures.

Me: WHAT?!?  Wait.  You're not a doctor.

PA: Now you know what the receptionist feels like.

Me: Fair enough.

PA: But seriously, it could be partial simple seizures.

Me: Well, that doesn't sound good.

PA: Yeah.  We should probably check that out.

After I thought about it some more, I realized that I think about being dead at least twice by lunch time.  Not really killing myself, but just being dead.  It would be easier.  I wouldn't be in pain.  I'd insist on a pretty bitchin' funeral.  Have I mentioned that I wouldn't be in pain?  And theoretically, it seems reasonable.  Then I start thinking about other things.  Like breezes.  I'd miss breezes.  And sunshine.  And flowers.  And autumn.  And christmas.  And my ridiculous family.  And my nephew.  But I don't even remember what it feels like to be pain free.  Or even pain less.  But I'd never get to eat chocolate again.  Or squish sand in my toes.  Or hug puppies.  Plus Marge would poop on the floor for all eternity, if I left her.  She'd probably even ghost poop on stuff.  How do you even clean up ghost poop?  Maybe ghost poop is just a whiff of poop air that you can't find the source of (I hate it when that happens).  Plus, I think it's really rude when people leave their bodies lying around for people that they care about to find.  I don't think there is anyone I could wish that on.  Lice.  I could wish lice on a few people.  Oh.  If I was dead, I couldn't wish lice on anyone.  And that would be a shame.  Also sledding.  If you ghost sled, it takes away the death defying element of the whole endeavor that makes it worthwhile.

Anyway, you see my point.

And as my Dad would say, "You're a weird kid".  And I'm all yours.  You're welcome.

Letting Your Light Splatter Around

I have always believed in letting your little light shine.  

In my mind, this light it always a gentle glow.  It's symetrical and easy and beautiful.

Here is the shape of my life in my heart:

I spend a career acting in Shakespeare on Broadway, meanwhile I become a UN Goodwill Ambassador focusing on education for girls and women and ending childhood hunger.  Obviously after that I get elected to the Senate where I make real and sustainable change for the good of people, while donating my pay to charities.

I get that there are several issues with that.

First, Shakespeare on Broadway?!?  HA!

Second, Senators making real and sustainable change?!?  Ho ho!

Third, and probably least pertinent is my inability to routinely get out of bed before noon.

I have always been someone who won't do something, if I can't do it perfectly.

P.E.R.F.E.C.T.L.Y.

I won't do community theatre.  I've never been bowling.  I don't draw.  You get the picture.  

If it's not going to happen with a graceful, beautiful glow, I'm not doing it.

And you can't make me.

However, you may have noticed that some events have come to pass that have taken me from this:

to this:

Which brings us to quilting.

So, here's the story:

The brilliant woman who gives me massages (Laurie Swenson, Soothing Elements, Putnam, CT) has known me for quite some time now.  She does the most remarkable energy work, and is most of the reason that I can occasionally walk and talk.  

About a month ago, I had gone to a friend's wedding where there were copious amounts of handmade quilts given as wedding presents, and I left with a serious case of quilt envy.  Shortly after that, I had my usual appointment with Laurie (who is also a big quilter).  We had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: All of her quilts were to-die-for!

Laurie: Well, what have you been doing lately?

Me: I can't tell you.

Laurie: I'm pretty sure that means you should.

Me: It's too embarrassing.

Laurie: I won't judge you.

Me: Okay.  I'm doing jigsaw puzzles.

Laurie: That's it?

Me: No, I'm doing jigsaw puzzles on my iPad.

Laurie: (trying to hide her laughter) So that's it?

Me: No, I'm doing jigsaw puzzles on my iPad with all of the pieces already right side up, so I can feel like I'm accomplishing something.

Laurie: (crying, because she's laughing so hard) Oh, that's sad.

Me: Hey!

Laurie: No seriously, even the nursing home ladies would make fun of you!

Me: I know.

Laurie: You should really try quilting instead.  It's kind of like jigsaw, but you actually have something useful when you're done, AND people won't make so much fun of you.

Me: How do you know people are making fun of me?

Laurie: What did Sosanna say when you told her?

Me: Point taken.  But I can't even draw a straight line with a ruler.

Laurie: iPad puzzles.

Me: Okay.  I'll try.

As usual, I dive right in to the quilting experience.  And I've made some revelations:

There are more people quilting that you realize.

Most of them want to help you, because they all love quilting.

Laurie was right, you can't stop buying new and adorable fabric.

So, here's the great thing.  I only have to stitch straight for maybe 6 inches at a time.  Also, I can just stitch 6 inches of something, and still have accomplished something.  And my seams definitely don't line up, but I've also discovered that doesn't REALLY matter.  Well, unless you ask my mom (you know what I mean, for those of you who know her), but I've decided that I just don't ask her, and even she seems pleasantly surprised by what I have accomplished so far.  Also, I'm sticking to kid's quilts, because, let's face it, they're not that critical!

And so it was sitting at my sewing machine last night that I had this realization: Letting your light shine doesn't necessarily mean doing what you're great at, or polishing and perfecting something to offer to the world.  Letting your light shine is offering the universe all of yourself -- just do you, as the kids say.  And that light can be messy and splotchy and dim and overwhelming and colorful.  You are the only person who has your specific light.  Don't hide it, because you think it might not be good enough.  Make all your seams crooked, and all your hugs big.

And then take a nap.

I Am Not Surviving

It turns out that I never got smarter than I was my senior year of high school.  Sure, I had more years of education - more facts shoved in my brain - but it turns out that the smartest I ever got was in high school.

My school's yearbook had senior pages designed by all of the graduates that were full of hopeful quotes, inside jokes and song lyrics.  On my page, I wrote the quote,

"Make sure when you find yourself, you are someone you want to meet".

This has become more of a challenge with each obstacle that has come my way.  Choose to react positively.  Choose to be happy.  Choose a good life.  Choose to give yourself grace.  Choose...

The problem is that I woke up, and I don't like me today.  I feel unplugged, useless, absent, unheard, exhausted, in pain and hopeless.  I have been poked, prodded, bled, scanned, discussed and summarized.  I have not been cured, relieved, soothed or fixed.  And it is exhausting.

"The only known patient to survived septicemia caused by Rhodococcus Equi" is the title of my paper.  But I haven't survived.  I don't know who I am now, but I'm certainly not who I was.  I haven't survived.  I'm as much of a casualty as the rest of the dead mammals.

My nephew, who is four, came to visit me last week.  We had a great time, and as I was packing him up in the car to leave, he said,
"Auntie, it's really sad that you don't have your own kid to stay here with you all the time."
"It's okay, I have you."
"But Auntie, what do you do while I'm not here?"
"Oh, I nap."
What was so painful, was not its sharp truth, but knowing that a four year old sees me more clearly than anyone else.

And yes, I've reached out to my clan of medical professionals for the help that I need.
But I felt like this part needed saying too.

For all the people out there feeling like this: you are not alone.  We are not alone.
And for all the people out there not feeling like this: Listen.  Be present.  If someone reaches out to you, make sure you are worthy of their trust.

Oh, and sorry, some days there just aren't any funny twists.