Journal of Fear and Hope

Mr. Twitch
February 28, 2019

The human body can go wrong in an almost limitless number of ways. Mine has developed a glitch. Or call it a twitch, or a tremor, or a tick. But somewhere in my nervous system, something has gone wrong.

My left arm, when it has nothing else to do, will spasm like mad for a few seconds, come to a rest, then repeat if not given further instruction. There’s something called a resting tremor that seems to match what’s happening with me, and that’s often a sign of Parkinson’s Disease.

It ain’t easy, staring down the barrel of that possibility. I admit I’m worried. Maybe even frightened. I’m good at keeping busy, at keeping it mostly hidden. But as the day wears on, the twitch builds strength, and by nightfall I look like a maniac way too overjoyed with his bowling score.

There are other symptoms that tag along with Mr. Twitch, like the yippy little dog that scurries around the big dog in so many old cartoons. Muscle Tension is part of the gang, and he likes to pull my arm back and hold it till I say uncle. Sometimes he hangs on my shoulders and pulls taught the tendons in my neck. When he does that, it can be difficult to speak confidently. I went up on stage a couple times recently, and he was there, making me trip over my words, though I was still agile enough not to let anyone notice. I think.

I try not to think about it. But I had to write about it. Putting it down in prose or poetry makes it less powerful. If I keep focused on a task--washing dishes, playing guitar, typing, reading, teaching--the twitch goes away. That’s my superpower. But this shit is some strong kryptonite.

Someone I Know Is Now Someone I Knew
February 1, 2019

Her name was Tammy. She worked with me. I only know a little about her. She was a kickboxer and taught kickboxing as a side gig. At orientation, we all sat around a table and shared interesting things about ourselves. That was the one that stood out the most. Such an unusual combination of jobs: software trainer and fight trainer. She kept a punching bag at her cubicle. She had grandkids and was a big part of their lives. She always asked me about my daughter, and when I said she kept me up till three in the morning, Tammy said her grandson would do the same thing. She laughed a lot. That's all I know about her. Others were closer to her and know more. Last year we all learned she had cancer.

She went through chemo, and we celebrated the end of that at the office. A card and cake, a big canvas with all our pink handprints and scribbled slogans. All seemed to be well. After a few months she stopped coming in to work. When I asked about her, someone told me they heard she had a mastectomy. I said I hoped she would be able to come back, and that person said the same.

Tammy didn’t come back.

I left early on a Friday, and fifteen minutes later the word came in. Everyone was devastated. One guy who was tight with her stormed out angry and didn’t return. I found out by text on Sunday when our manager said it would be okay if anyone needed to take the day off to mourn. I found out by text.

Last year a friend of mine died. We actually were close, had done hundreds of comedy shows together, hung out, shot the shit. We were pals. He used to call me brother, and maybe that’s how he referred to all fellow comedians, or maybe not, but let’s go with that. We were brothers. I saw on Facebook one day that he was in the hospital. He eventually revealed he had a stroke. He made jokes about it. A few days later he was back in the hospital. And then he wasn’t. I found out in a Facebook post.

A friend complained of an abdominal pain, thought it was related to their diet, asked if anyone could recommend a reason or solution. I don't think anyone suggested cancer. That, of course, was what it was. Less than two months later they were gone. I watched the whole process on Facebook.

There’s no hiding from it. Death will find you and hand you the black memo that reads, “Your world is different now.” One moment your friend is alive, and there’s a place in the universe for your plans and dreams. You’ll meet up at that place. You’ll call. You’ll joke. You’ll make good on the promises passed between you years ago. Then 160 characters later, they’re gone.

Simple Gods
January 21, 2019

We like easy gods. They hate or they love. They kill with furious anger or cradle with infinite kindness. The good people get the good face, the evil people get the snarl. We say, “God moves in mysterious ways.” We say, “God is unknowable.” Then we swish to the other side and claim to know exactly how to appease god. We say, “God has a plan,” and assume to know it’s a logical plan meant to benefit us.

If god were more complicated, we couldn’t handle it. What if there is no plan? What if it's all dice, and god sucks at gambling? What if cancer exists because god couldn't spell canker? What if god hates every single one of us because we improved his banana design?

It's easier to assume the god we remake every night in prayer is the same one that made us. It's either that or assume every kick in the shins delivered by the universe is a direct smite from the creator.

Do Over
January 13, 2019

There's a scene in City Slickers in which Billy Crystal's character comforts his brother who has just gotten divorce papers from his wife. He reminds his brother of the term they would use when their kickball landed on the roof: "do over." They would shout the phrase, and that wayward kick wouldn't count. "Your life is a do over," Billy Crystal says.

But it isn't that simple, is it? You can't erase the pain or the guilt you've accumulated over time. You can't unsay or undo the dumb or hurtful things you birthed into the world. But is there a way to carry it and not let it crush your spirit? Do you try to balance the harm you've caused and the harm you've suffered with some measure of goodness? Does a unit of pain and a unit of joy weigh the same?

Sorry for the harsh and heavy thoughts here at the start of the year. But it'll be all right. There are daffodils already sprouting in the yard, and my daughter tells the playground equipment she loves it. I fell better already.


--More Journal Entries--

"Too many flames with too much to burn, and life's only made of paper" --Ronnie James Dio

"Words are flowing out
Like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away
Across the universe" --John Lennon

"Bow to the paper Gods in a world that is paper thin
The fools in town are ruling now" --Duran Duran

"Here I sit writing on the paper
Trying to think of words you can't ignore"
--Alice in Chains

"Working for paper and for iron
Work for the right to keep my tie on
Working for paper and for iron
Work for the unicorn and lion" --XTC