Watch out! The Cranky B*tch is back!

So the euphoria and tryptophan of Thanksgiving wore off, and left in their wake a horrible stomach flu that is spreading like wild fire to all of our friends and family. It also left behind a rather cranky, bloated, and easily annoyed b*tch.... Whoops, at least that positivity lasted about .2 seconds. I do what I can.

Though I am back to bitchy (that would be an excellent name for a song)I am not entirely hopeless. Cranky and hopeless exist on vastly different planes, so you can be simultaneously hopeful and excited while becoming very easily annoyed at every well meaning person struggling with the flu. Tomorrow I start a detox with a group of friends, propelled by a lovely woman I know from high school (she writes a FANTASTIC blog - check it out! http://msmorphosis.com). I am excited about that. I am excited to find a way to take back control of my body and have some people to be accountable to. It should be really fun, though I say that now and I am well fed and have easy access to candy, sugar, and endless amounts of meat. Take that away, ask me to add two shakes of discipline and willpower and maybe my hope will go out with the candy. We'll see. I'm really looking forward to the whole thing... call me crazy, but I am. I'll keep you posted how the whole thing goes. When you see a fit, skinny, cranky lady walking down the street, it's probably me. Wave at your own risk.

A lot of stuff went wrong today. Everyone is puking. So there's that. My brother in law collapsed at work from awful back pain. So there's that. I cried spontaneously while working out because someone made a comment about how my movement made them upset in their peripheral vision. So there's that. And it all seems so dramatic. SO DRAMATIC. It really shouldn't. What's the big deal, it's just some puke, pain and inability to control one's raging hormonal emotions. NO BIG DEAL. NBD. NBD for sure. I do some of my best thinking when shit goes bad. I was thinking today about how much of the things I'm mad about today were with me all along but I failed to see them. I didn't recognize that people had small amounts of pain, I didn't see them building until it was too late. I didn't notice people getting irked until they were mad enough to explode. I didn't notice Herbert until he built a high rise next to my brain, even though he made plenty of noise in construction. I just didn't notice.

There is a This American Life episode, a live show they did in theaters, called The Invisible Made Visible. It's a series of stories about the things we just don't see. Here's an excerpt "And today on our radio show, we have all kinds of stories of people trying to take things that are normally invisible to them and make them visible. I'm talking about unspoken feelings. I'm talking about people's secret lives." There is SO much that is just not visible to us. Things we choose to ignore, things we see but fail to acknowledge and the things we don't have space to see. It's interesting to think about when we choose to see those invisble things. When do they find meaning for us? Are we waiting to be ready for them? What made me see Herbert? What made me see someone in pain and give them a hug? What makes the scores of strangers who share intimate life details with me, from the woman at the gym, the man at the nail salon, or the mom in the grocery store, feel ready to share? Why now? Why with me? What makes the invisible visible to us?

My favorite part of the This American Life episode was David Rakoff's piece. Rakoff was a famous author, known for his sharp wit and cynicism. His ability to weave a story was without compare. His vocabulary was unmatched, he was a true wordsmith. I say was because he has since passed away. But in this episode, he was very much alive. He tells the story of what happened to him after a surgery that was part of his life long battle with cancer left him with a flail limb, a dead arm. He talks about how daily tasks that were so frequently taken for granted became tiresome and annoying. In his own words "Oral hygiene. Hold the handle of the toothbrush between your teeth the way FDR or Burgess Meredith playing The Penguin bit down on their cigarette holders. Put the toothpaste on the brush, recap the tube, put it away. You really have to keep things tidy, because if they pile up, you'll just be in the soup. Then reverse the brush and put the bristles in your mouth, proceed." Not impossible, just annoying. But in his dreams, in his dreams he can dance, like he used to. His movements are not methodical and calculated, but free. He describes this dream and then, just when you think he is going to walk off stage, just when you think he's had quite enough, he's awoken from the reverie of his dream and back to his reality, he dances. He gracefully owns the stage, moving back and forth, elegantly, stylishly. It was a performance that certainly brought me to tears and I had no handicaps to speak of when I saw it. It was beautiful. David Rakoff died shortly after this performance. In a This American Life episode dedicated to David, they play a story where he recounts his first experiences going through radiation, his first bouts of cancer induced anger. He describes it here, "They say that times of crisis are the true test of one's character. I really wouldn't know, since my character took a powder that year, leaving in its stead a jewel-bright hardness. I was at my very cleverest that year-- an airless, relentless kind of quipiness. Every time a complex human emotion threatened to break the surface of my consciousness, out would come a joke. Come on, give us a smile." I related to that. Rather than address any of the boiling emotions that bubble right below the surface I tell jokes. So dedicated am I to my humor that I tattooed the word laugh onto my forearm, neglecting to realize that strangers will look at my body and be compelled to laugh, at me, and my body. For no reason. Perhaps it may not be the best way to deal, but it is my way to deal. It is my way of making the invisible visible. I am seeing what my illness is, it is inscribed on my arm, permanently. So I don't see it how I should or how many might want me to. So I can't address my emotions with any degree of sophistication. Who needs that? Who needs sophistication when you are laughing so hard milk comes out your nose and you think, "hey, I wasn't even drinking milk!" That joke must have been really funny. I don't deal, I quip. When I try to deal it brings this terrible lull over the room.

Take my thanksgiving toast for an example. My dad starts us off with a cheers and thanks to all for being here, blahdy blahdy blah... No one is more excited to eat than me but I stop us. "um...er, um hey, I would like to say something..." My father gives me the go ahead, I wasn't really asking for it, I was going to say my piece whether they wanted me to or not. "Um, so this year has been weird," Oh crap, that wasn't how I wanted to start. I should have written this down. I have some solid one liners in my phone, I should pull it out, meh, too much work. I continued, "a lot has changed..." I wasn't exclusively talking about Herbert here but to list anything else seemed to cumbersome as my audience and myself were already beginning to cry. Except for the more awkward of them who seemed they either had a joke on the tip of their tongues or they were going to crap their pants from their discomfort (or their flu). "So with everything changing (SOB), the one thing that hasn't changed is our family and the love we share. I just wanted to urge you all to take in these moments, to be present, because we can't ever get them back. This, here, this is all we have. Cherish it." Then it got incredibly awkward, my sister made a joke that our tears would oversalt our turkey and my mom's bestie (yea, mom's have besties too) decided to raise a glass to my health. Well that certainly was not the point of that toast. Epic fail, now it was awkward. I nervously set about eating as much as I could, as fast as I could. So sincerity and emotion, while one of my strong-suits only serve to make things too real. More real than anyone wants them to be. So I veil them under jokes and rather bitchy mannerisms that admittedly take getting used to from the peanut gallery. It's not much but it is all I can do to make Herbert, in all his invisibility, visible. Because, afterall, you can't face something that you can't see.

Peace and love

Samira

This girl is awesome

http://www.everywhereist.com/2012/06/
Check out another very clever woman facing up to her BT, Steve.

One month out

Tomorrow it will be one month until my surgery. This time next month I'll be pretending to relax in a house somewhere in Phoenix while everyone nervously flutters around me. I will be in a panic. Today, I am already likely panicking. Or maybe not. I spent most of last night and today sick to my stomach. Is it Herbert? I'm not sure, his pushing on my brainstem and relentless commitment to my vestibular nerve could be the culprit because the incessant spinning I thought I had mastered has returned full force. Maybe I have the flu, maybe I was poisoned. Who knows. Either way it has been a less than ideal way to start my Fall Break. Not much of a break really, the looming weeks of finals ahead are weighing heavy over my mind. Then it occurred to me somewhere between the Netflix I was watching while lying in fetal position and my trips to the bathroom where I laid on the floor in fetal position, that it's almost time. It is almost time to face what is happening. Ouch, the stomach pain gets infinitely worse when I think about it.

I started being scared less of the outcome and more of the process. I had been so concerned about the endgame that I failed to think about what it would be like to be there, to be put under, to relinquish control of your body and give yourself over to an "expert." I am not so sure I want to do that. I am not so sure I have a choice but if I did I would chose to not have this in the first place. I know, wishful thinking, right? Wasted time is what that is, we can't live in what ifs, it's just wasteful. Just torturous. I am terrified of going under. Starting a day in one way and ending it in another. It's strange. It's like flying, you wake up in one place, go sit on a place and go to bed in a new place. It's strange, it's often disconcerting, isolating, you can become wholly disembodied through the process. How can you find solid ground when things keep changing?

So today I mostly slept and then got irritated when people told me that, no, you feel fine, you are fine. The incessant desire to glaze over what is happening with some kind of faith in something unseen to me is just annoying. You don't "know" that I will be fine. No matter what you have been through there is no undeniable truth to what you have to say. You don't have a guarantee, you don't have a good answer for me, bring me an expert, maybe then I'll listen, but you? You don't have an answer for me. AND PLEASE, stop regaling me with stories of all the people you knew that had ear infections and couldn't hear and got their hearing back. Is that what is happening to me? Oh, is your friend's wax buildup equivalent to the growth that is systematically finding ways to demolish my brain to make room for it's new condo complex? Herbert is both squatter and real estate developer. AND HE IS NOT GOING AWAY. You can will me better all you want, and I appreciate the thought and gesture behind it, but fundamentally denying the truth of my situation, building me up with a false sense of security and hope? That is not optimistic, that is unrealistic. I've spent weeks preparing myself for the various REAL outcomes and refuse to back track. I am moving forward, with Herbert, with my new normal. THAT IS OPTIMISM. Accepting your conditions, you life, your fate (if you are dead set on having some kind of certain reliance on the spiritually unseen) and living with them. Living a full life whether you can hear about it on your right side or not. That is belief, knowing that you can make it despite the insistence from your body that it is tired. I can live with this, hell, I can confront this, but that doesn't mean it is not real. Pretending it's fine will get me NOWHERE. Stop pushing me to change my attitude. My attitude is fine. I laugh daily, I cry seldom. I try like hell to be self reflexive. I am facing life HEAD ON, I am not skulking around, I am not giving up, and I am not pretending that nothing will change. I am owning my future, whatever it may be. I invite you to do the same for your life. Own it. Face it. Be who you always wanted to be.

My blogger profile begins with the quote "here she lies where she wanted to be." where she wanted to be. Not where anyone wanted her, not where fate placed her, not where Herbert thought she would be. HERE I STAND, WHERE I WANT TO BE. I am taking my power back bitches, and ain't nobody going to stand in my way. And no, don't correct the grammar in that sentence. I know, I did that for effect. Seriously.

I don't know more than I did about my future this week versus last, I don't understand my diagnoses any differently but I do know a few things. I am strong, I will fight for me and I will be amazing. I am committed to myself, my family, my friends and my health. I am committed to you if you are committed to me. I know that when I go into surgery I will be surrounded by so much love that I won't be able to give up when I feel scared. I know that I have a lot of people who care. I know I care about them too. I know that people mean well when they use their various tools for coping to change what this means to them. To argue my future, my present, my condition. So I know I don't fault them. I know that this month will likely be hell. I know that I will have good and bad moments. I know that in the end, it is out of my hands. It is in the doctor's hands. Maybe acknowledging that I can't do much now would be relaxing but that is not really my style. You know, relaxed... I'm more the compulsive worker outer, organic eater, and workaholic type of coper. But can you blame me? I am owning the only things I can. I hope my six pack makes it through the surgery. I wonder when I can work out again after it's over?

One month out you guys, home stretch. Or is it just the beginning? I guess we'll see.

Peace and love

Samira

Headaches and Smiles, who would have thought

So last night as I sat down to watch the pretty awkward and somewhat disappointing debate, the headache I had been fighting off through class came on full force. Not even witty remarks flying back and forth from Mittens and Barry were enough to keep it at bay.

I took 3 advil in the car on my way home from class and 3 more at home. Welp, it did nothing. Then I drank some water and quietly whispered, "Herbert, lay off, I am trying to tweet for the benefit of our country..." He didn't listen so I tweeted anyway (shameless plug, find me on Twitter @srajabi). About half way through my charming Twittering, I had to stop, the pain was just too severe.

I have become accustomed to headaches. Lingering, long term persistent headaches. This one was particularly bad. The throbbing was no longer isolated to the right side of my brain and had taken over my whole head and face. OUCH. I got the work I needed to for this morning done and abandoned any ambitions of working on my chapter or any further work I had planned. Somehow, between that and ordering perishable birthday gifts for someone online (you know who you are!) it was midnight. I had no idea what had happened. I got ready for bed and laid down. I set my requisite 16 alarms and hoped I would get up early enough to tame the moose nest on my head that I call my hair.

Well I did, and I even combed it a little. How is that for a success story?! Then I put on the nice dress in my closet that I have been saving for something special for almost two years. It dawned on me that nothing was apparently special enough for me, in my mind, to warrant risking my beautiful Leifstodder silk dress. So, I decided, today would be special. I would razzle dazzle my students today. I even put on my pink tumor lipstick (I dubbed it tumor lipstick because it was one of my many coping purchases)and I felt pretty darn cute walking out the door.

Class was really fun today, while I am not sure if I am getting through to anyone the class period was the first time since yesterday my headache had faded. I couldn't even tell that I had a weird, creepy, old man squatter named Herbert in my brain. We talked debates, we talked social media and we talked books. Given that their text book talks greatly about technology convergence and Amazon I felt it necessary to regail the students with stories of my obsessive Amazon purchases, from Quinoa to TP, I get it all. Since the book also talks greatly about the Harry Potter phenomenon of books, movies, and merchandise, I also felt it was necessary to let them know I waited in line for all the books and spent my glamorous new years at HP Land. In essence I embarrassed myself so that they can see that we are all products of our media environment but that doesn't mean we can't be critical of it. They laughed with me. They made really smart commentary and they participated. Even the folks that usually don't. It was great.

After class there was a man lingering by the front of the room while I tied up some loose ends with students who have been sick. I saw him lingering, I smiled at him and turned my attention back to my students. He had a CU hat on, he probably belongs here I thought to myself. Well he did, he is in charge of checking in on our student athletes but he really checked on me and made my day. He said he LOVED my class and wished he could take it. He had a refreshing personality and an excellent outlook on life. He understood the point of what I am trying to get across. We can simultaneously be inside a structure but choose to try and get on the outside to criticize it. He was so self-reflexive. He was so kind. He was a delight to talk to. It was one of those moments where we crossed paths on our life journeys at exactly the right time. He made me feel hopeful, and we weren't even talking about hope.

So I came to go to office hours, my extra vanilla latte in hand and I found my self laughing. I was laughing at the funny message I left for one sister and the funny text I was about to send for another. I was laughing that my dress, this coveted, special, gorgeous dress, was riding up my legs like nobody's business. I was laughing at myself. Laughing at everyone. I was elated. High on life.

Either that or Herbert has cut off some kind of vital blood supply to my brain rendering me goofier than I was, even before. Either way, it felt good to be my goofy old self.

My head ache is back. I'm choosing to ignore it. I am also choosing to ignore the tingling sensation on the right side of my head. Whatever. I look way too cute today to worry. We should never waste a good outfit on worry. And we should never just save them for a special day. Every day can be special if we just give it a chance.

I might just be in a good mood because the last thing I saw before bed was an Old Spice ad that told me to "Believe in my smellf"