Guatemala, Oct ‘22

“Ahora si puedo ver porque le llaman ‘el país de la eterna primavera’”

Cadillac. Pink. Tomato.

I’d love to say that I’ve been out on some grand tour and too busy to keep up with all of life’s regular responsibilities. Or that I found a passion that took up all my time, effort, and energy.

But I haven’t and I didn’t. I really haven’t been doing much of much.

I have however, done some thinking (perhaps too much) and convincing myself (perhaps too little) that doing something doesn’t mean that I must be doing it successfully. 

It just means that I should be doing it. That I should be present, even at times when I don’t want to. That I should be trying, and trying well.

Because time, effort, and care are apparent.

Success? Well, that’s subjective.

So when things don’t turn out how I’ve envisioned them (which happens more often than not), I have to remind myself that im still doing it and that im still trying. That my effort is still there. That despite it not materializing how I imagined, I can still feel the devotion.

And hey, it’s only been a few years since my diagnosis, but I still remember the three words. It’s an oddball group of words to test someone’s memory, for sure,

but it’s still my subjective success.

Dotted I’s, Crossed T’s

Kaiser Medical - Sunset

I get stuck quite often. Sometimes it lasts for a few minutes. A small mental glitch. Other times, I’m not so lucky. Days, weeks, and months seem to go by. I think very little, if at all. I’m automated.

As far as I can identify, the blocks aren’t so much a neurological thing as much as a me thing.

But what the hell is a me thing? Does it have to do with any of my surgeries? Or do I just forget things, because I forget?

Maybe it was way too much information for me, or maybe I just wasn’t paying enough attention.

Maybe it’s all of those. Maybe it’s none of those. Maybe I should just get on with my day.

Now if I could just remember what I was doing.  

33 1/3

Have you ever seen a radiation mask? They look like old hockey masks, like the one Jason Vorhees wears, except these are custom molded and have latches on the side that lock into the bed of a radiation machine. I suppose its important to restrict your mobility when the room is turned into a life-sized microwave.  

The rays in there weren’t physically visible or painful, but I could still feel and hear them. I swear I could. If I closed my eyes at just the right moment, I could even see little flashes of light escaping my eyelids. But this was the extent to which I felt the therapy. 15 minutes later, the Megatron had finished its daily orbit around my skull and delivered its dose of radiation.

I could lie and say that I made use of the time. That the flashes of light under my eyelids were inspirational. That I used the Megatron’s time in orbit to meditate and ponder life. 

Its not that I didn’t try. I tried insanely hard. It just didn’t happen. 

All I really wanted was to be somewhere else. That’s where all my thoughts went to: somewhere else. And before I knew it, the session was over, saved by the clock once again. 

Every now and then, I close my eyes and wake up inside the microwave. A masked reflection laid out across the Megatron. Locked, motionless, thoughtless. 

Admittedly, I tense up a bit. I clench and freak out about not making the best use of my time. Painfully ironic.