And a lengthy, flowing narration to kick off. Why the hell not?
Theme 1 – The Creative Epiphany: I must find a way to make money doing something that I love. Just the other day, I read the line “If you are not making some mistakes, you are not doing enough.” Seeing as I am an expert at mistake-making, these words brought me some level of comfort. Of course, they were in a quote of the day calendar that is given to people when they leave rehab.
Today, while in the midst of trying to finish this movie, and work on several other things that demand my attention at the same time, all the while worrying about money and how I can make some of it, preferably a lot, I stopped and read Mayakovsky’s “Conversation with a Tax Collector about Poetry” aloud to myself. It is my favorite poem in all of the world. And yes, I do often read poetry at the top of my voice when I am alone.
“Citizen tax collector, honestly, the poet spends a fortune on words…Suppose only a half dozen unheard-of rhymes were left in, say,
Irresponsibility. This attribute, or dis-attribute one might argue, is what those of us who make the choice to pursue our creativity, find ourselves saddled with. Jobs, residences, credit scores - these things are temporary and disposable. They don’t mean anything. So how do we explain ourselves to those people for whom these things mean everything? We are not necessarily irresponsible. We just care about different things. We find meaning in things that they don’t, and we have difficulty finding meaning in the things that they do. Yet, it is their world and everything that they take as important wins out over those that we do. Imagination is not a survival instinct, so it is very difficult to defend.
How I would love to, for once, have enough money that I don’t have to worry about money! But even in my desire for financial security, so many things still seem so foolishly important. And to this end, I pray.
Ye gods, hear my prayer. Turn my girlfriend invisible and bring me a gay actor. Give us a lavish wedding and help us to conceive a beautiful bundle of PR.Grant me mad flirting ability so that I might trip the radar of someone who is only in the entertainment industry in the hopes of seducing young, nubile, wannabes. Please place my artistic integrity in coat-check and allow me the ability to Nelly Furtado myself, delving into promiscuity, just long enough to become a multi-millionaire. Amen
Theme 2 – The Spot: I have always said, right out loud and with enough volume that passerby could hear, that I would far rather die young than get sick. So, of course, in making such a stupid proclamation, it is only perfectly logical that I now have a spotty brain… and a neurologist. Twenty migraines in two months. Go to doctor. Doctor scolds me for not seeing a doctor about migraines before. I shrug. (Translation of that shrug: I am completely uncomfortable with having strangers touch me and I honestly don’t think that doctors know what in the hell they are doing the majority of the time, so what’s the point?) CT scan, MRIs, lots of pretty pictures, white spots. Several little ones = migraine scarring. One big one = ? Rescan in July. And then another six months after that. And then another six months after… and so on.
Spot does nothing = hooray.
Spot grows, changes, or disappears = well, balls to that.
So, now, I am going to use the psychic ability granted me by my brain spot and engage in the age-old pleasure paradise of self-diagnosis. The following are my options:
1. It’s nothing. Well, it’s something, but it may be something old from childhood that has gone undetected. Like too much Fraggle Rock or Today’s Special eroded my brain.
2. It’s MS (Multiple Sclerosis for those of you bad with acronyms). MS is an autoimmune disease that comes right in, fucks with your myelin, and sends your brain misfiring in all directions. For instance, you think you want to walk up some stairs, but your brain decides you should fall down them instead. This was thrown around a lot during my fun-filled doctor’s appointments.
3. It’s Temporal Lobe Epilepsy. This gem of a disease is the home of Simple Partial Seizures. They are not your run of the mill, down on the floor, dancing it all out seizures. They are characterized instead by sensation. Smell, taste, sound, that sort of thing.
4. It’s Lupus. Also an autoimmune disease. It’s possible, but included mostly because I want to keep my options open.
My prognosis: While there are signs pointing to MS (childhood illness, weakness, loss of balance, that sort of thing), I am going to play the long shot here and diagnose TLE. It’s an acronym. See above. Here’s why:
Hypographia: the overwhelming urge to write. I had no idea such a ridiculously accurate symptom existed, but apparently it does.
Selective mutism: I can scarcely believe it, but apparently the fact that I am normally quite loquacious, yet can’t seem to utter a sound at the post office or grocery store, actually has a name. This is it.
Hypnopompic hallucinations: hard to explain and rather unfortunate. The Old Hag. Look it up!
All of these things have been known symptoms of Temporal Lobe Epilepsy, and that’s why I am right now, in a public forum, declaring that I have diagnosed myself before my doctor. So now we shall see… in six months… or six months after that… or six months after that.
