Perforation

Compulsion:  An irrational need to perform some action, often despite negative consequences.

Long ago Spandex told me a story of a visit he made to a mental health professional because he was worried about his tendency to what he imagined were unhealthy obsessive-compulsive thinking patterns.  Spandex is no more and no less OC than I am - sort of a normal worry-wart in my opinion.  My recollection is that the MHP told him pretty quickly that he wasn't obsessive compulsive.  My recollections are frequently wrong but I like this story so I'm going to present it as fact.

When I was talking with my dentist about a plan of action for my troublesome teeth I urged him to try to double up on the work.  If he was going to numb one side of my face I figured drill, baby, drill - get as much done in that general vicinity as possible.  In fact, I'm not adverse to a threesome which, in my experience, has never come to pass.  A twosome is hard enough to accomplish.

The dentist said that he had plenty of patients who were so consumed by anxiety at the prospect of a high speed drill burrowing dangerously close to highly sensitive nerve endings that he would never suggest more than one tooth at a time.  For me the real battle is worrying about what may happen, something that is almost always not as bad as what actually happens.  I'd rather think about two teeth being fixed once than one tooth at a time being fixed twice.  It's the anticipation, baby

My dentist calls on his drive home after an invasive procedure.  It's really cool.  I like the guy anyhow but knowing that I'm going to get that call is calming.  After one particularly invasive procedure I told him that my mouth hurt - I was mildly worried that this was a sign of mouth cancer!! or something worse!!! 

"Based on what we did today I'd expect that," he said.  "The important thing is that we see some steady improvement over the next few days.  You let me know if that doesn't happen."  KK always says it hurts because you're healing.  I figure: fuck that, it's some kind of invasive cancer.

I have been reflecting on the aftermath of the oral surgeon affair.  Don't get me wrong - this guy was great, he got me in to deal with my aching tooth on an hour's notice, and I'd recommend him to anyone unequivocally.  And after the procedure he mentioned something about the oral cavity to sinus perforation, that it was a possibility and that if something happened we'd have to do something about it.  It was a pretty brutal procedure and I was a little . . . not traumatized . . . more stunned is the word so I didn't ask any follow up questions and I was probably a little lacking in my post-op fact retention.

Now if this guy had taken two minutes to go over the symptoms and the solutions and the possibilities of a perforation he would have saved me a whole hell of a lot of mental anguish.  I knew the perf might happen and that it could be addressed but I didn't know how I would know  there was a puncture and how quickly it needed to be addressed and if I could fly on a plane, stuff like that.  Frankly, I would have gone through the procedure again rather than endure the anxiety of imagining something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Perforation would be an excellent name for a rock band.

Influenced and Controlled by Evil Spirits

Obsession:  A compulsive or irrational preoccupation; an unhealthy fixation; influence or control by evil spirits without possession.

So I'm hanging out this morning with my favorite and most popular obsession - the dire state of my body, and I'm not letting the fact that there isn't anything really dire going on stop me from obsessing.  God forbid I ever have anything truly serious happen to me.  Yet, if I live long enough something dire is surely going to happen.  I'm one of the few people alive who hopes that a large truck plows into me today so I don't have to face my mortality in a slow, thoughtful way.  My general synopsis of anything that has to do with my physical plant is that it's cancer, it's terminal, and it's going to take me out slowly and with great malice of forethought.  Makes the truck fantasy look pretty attractive, doesn't it.

I've been on about a week's run of sinus to oral cavity perforation.  This is a real thing, believe it or not, that is occasionally associated with the violent and forcible removal of an upper molar.  At least my obsession du jour has a damned cool name.  The fact that it's pretty rare isn't stopping me from obsessing about it; neither is the fact that when it does occur it usually resolves on its own.

Because I'm irritated that I'm once again focusing on my health I decided to pull out my old journals, all of which have thoughts logged into my ongoing Anxiety List, where I jot down whatever is troubling me during the course of a day.  Thankfully, the log is often empty and when there is an entry it's usually some topical problem that gets taken care of quickly, either by an obvious action or by a little patient waiting.  And unsurprisingly, health worries dominate the list.  Irritatingly to the Nth degree I see that most of the things I worry about do not come to pass and that they resolve of their own accord, after the passage of some time.  Waiting is called for and I wait for no man.

I'm the kind of guy who expects an injury to heal the next day.  I'm not thrilled with the tendency of my body to take its fucking time to get better and I'm incensed that the amount of time is increasing as I get older.

Old:  For a living being, having lived for most of the expected years; of a perishable item, having existed for most, or more than its shelf life.  (Ed Note: there are a ton of nuanced usages of the word "old."  I say checkitout).

"So how's the tooth?" my dentist asked at my last sitting.

I paused, delivered my well-rehearsed line: "I'm battling the reality of the tooth with my tendency to imagine the worst possible outcome of anything that has to do with my body."

He chuckled: "I think we all have a tendency to do that to a certain degree."

A few days later, tired of the anxiety, I called the oral surgeon to give him an update and solicit any emergency instructions.  The medical tech tried to reassure me with some facts and figures, said that the doctor was with a patient but that she would talk to him and call back if there was anything of concern."

"Oh, c'mon," I teased.  "You're not going to call me back irregardless of what he says?"  I figure even if he delivers a hammer blow of devastatingly bad news she still might forget to keep me in the loop, leaving me to interpret a non-call as confirmation of disaster.  Not being solicitous of my well-being is all part of the universal conspiracy.

I assured her that wasn't necessary, that I would see them in a few days unless something was going on that needed to accelerate the appointment, sharing my tendency to imagine cancer! terminal cancer!! terminal incurable cancer!!! to every ache and pain.

She tsked and clucked and giggled: "Yeah, I know, I'm like that, too."

I always imagine that all of my free-floating fears and anxieties are unique to me, that I'm some kind of obsessive-compulsive freak.

I Mentor People Alright

This morning I got up at 4:30 so that I could have my yoga/devotion time before heading over to the morning meeting - good even though I didn't speak - and came home for breakfast.  Then off to the pool where I attempted not to drown for about 35 minutes.  I stopped by my regular coffee shop afterwards where one of the young people that serves me my overpriced specialty coffee drink followed up my inquiry as to his well-being with this response:  "And how about you - are you just getting your day started?"  

It was almost noon.  I chuckled to myself before ticking off my activity line-up.  I always tell people when I've been to a meeting.  It's what I did and I don't really care what anyone thinks anymore.  Most people make some positive noises or treat the comment as if I said I'd been to the farmer's market.   Who knows?  Maybe it'll resonate with somebody at some point.

"Good for you," he said.  "You should be proud of yourself."  He looked to be about 22.

I stifled another chortle.  

"I've been doing it for almost 30 years," I said gently with what I hope was a total absence of condescension.  I didn't want him to think that I was just hanging on for dear life even though most of the time I'm just hanging on for dear life.

"So do you like mentor people?" he asked.

I laughed this time.

"Really, we're all kind of mentoring each other," I said.  "Although I'm somewhat more . . . ahem . . . mature than a lot of the other members and I've been at it for a while so hopefully I can share some of my experience to anyone who's getting started."

I liked the whole exchange.  I always wonder what your average Earth Person thinks when I say I've been to a meeting.  I like looking for the reaction. It's similar, I think, when I say that my favorite band is Black Sabbath.  I'm in my little suit jacket, kind of calm looking and pleasant in mien and expression, not an image of drunken, wasted, Sabbath-blasting ne'er do well.

The Sounds of Silence

Silence:  The lack of any sounds.

A couple of weeks back a friend of mine from The Program invited SuperK and me to accompany his wife and him on a day trip to a large botanical garden/art museum complex about an hour away from our house.  It really sounded great.  We like to do this kind of stuff and it's helpful to have someone with experience navigating the bizarre network of 10 lane freeways that strangle the Vacation City area.  It also, alas, sounded like a long day for an anti-social, introverted, malcontent like me.  These people are really nice.   Really nice.  Smart, well-read, well-traveled, people that we have lot in common with.  And as a general rule people in the great state of Vacation City have a well-earned reputation for being laid-back and really nice.

Meh with the really nice.  I'm not all that enamored with really nice.  I tend to get along better with mildly sullen, somewhat cynical, less-than-enthusiastic people.  If you're sort of pissed off about something that you can't put your finger on then I'm more likely to want to hang out with you.  Not so much  if you're one of those people who think everything is great! just great!!

I thought I did pretty well.  I enjoyed the hour drive to the gardens and I enjoyed the first couple of hours walking around the vegetation with three other very chatty people and I enjoyed about half the lunch, sitting on a patio overlooking a lake that divided the Chinese gardens from the Japanese gardens.  Again there was no dead air.  Talking, talking, talking, I was ready to scream if someone said one more thing about anything.  It didn't have anything to do with who was talking or what they were talking about - I was tired of the sound of other people's voices talking about anything.

With me it's like flipping a switch, this change.  I'm OK and then I'm right on the verge of killing the next person who opens their mouth to share some wonderful, quirky anecdote.  I don't want them asking me questions, either.  I want to wander off and sit quietly, looking at the lovely scene spread out in front of me, with no voices, zero voices, bouncing off my tympanic membranes.

I was adrift and bereft for a bit, then rallied over a late afternoon cup of coffee, with more non-stop chatting, before completely, utterly flaming out for the drive home.  I was considering opening the door and throwing myself into oncoming traffic just to stop the voices in my head.  I wanted to ask: "So . . . what do you think of the phrase 'companionable silence?' " but I was already in the shit with my wife.  Asking everyone to name a sum of money that would buy their silence was right out of the question.

That car ride home still gives me The Shivers when I think of it.

Toss In The Towel

I want to reach out and touch the sky.
I want to touch the sun but I don't need to fly.
I'm gonna climb up every mountain of the moon,
And find a distant man a-waving his spoon

I've crossed the ocean, turned every bend.
I found the crossing near a golden rainbow's end.
I've been through magic and through life's reality.
I've lived a thousand years and it never bothered me.

Got no religion, don't need no friends,
Got all I want and I don't need to pretend.
Don't try to reach me, 'cause I'd tear up your mind.
I've seen the future and I've left it behind.

Hey, what can I tell you?  Instead of thinking up something to write I decided to cut and paste some Sabbath lyrics.

More About Me, Or What Did You Expect?

I'm sorry to keep harping on this INTJ thing.  SuperK shrugs and walks away when I bring it up: "You've really got to stop thinking about yourself."  She has not been impressed by my insistence that the whole point of the blog is to write about myself.  Why would I write about someone else unless that person is annoying me in some way?  

I think the whole issue came to the forefront when I was listening to the Bookstore lady, the one who misinterpreted my listening look as deafness.  I am definitely not getting cooler as I age.  Believe it or not self-knowledge can serve a point if one uses the information to change oneself. It's not as helpful if it's used as a defense for bad behavior; as in, "well, that's just the way I am."

I keep going back to the idea that I'm part nature, part nurture, and part the result of conscious decisions that I make each and every day.  If I use this info to become better, that's got to be good.  For example, I now catch myself listening to someone I don't know well with furrowed brow and squinched eyes, leaning in, head cocked, and wonder if I'm coming across as a little too intense.

So I ran across this info . . . 

"The INTJ Stare - also affectionately known as the INTJ Death Stare - is often misinterpreted by others.  The INTJ may be seen glaring in someone’s direction, or off into a random space in the room.  Their expression may be rather intense and even like they are angry about something. They probably have people continuously asking them if they are okay when this stare occurs.  The INTJ is often perplexed when someone asks them this, since they are usually perfectly fine when they are giving this intense expression.  The INTJ often does not realize that their face appears angry or rather intense to others, since this is not from anger.  The INTJ often delivers a very piercing look with their eyes, which can make others feel very uncomfortable.  This is often an expression that feels intense to others, almost void of emotion.  For some INTJs it may appear like a deer in headlights look, while with others it is a rather intense piercing stare."

To Solve A Mystery

Solution: An act, plan, or other means, used or proposed, to solve a problem.  

One of the greatest characteristics of The Fellowship is our relentless pursuit of The Solution.  No matter what we're going through, no matter how bad it seems, we're always striving to look on the bright side, to admit that we don't know what's best for us in the long run, and that stuff that seems to be bad often ends up being good.  We are reminded that our total, single-minded focus on getting what we want and avoiding what we don't want hasn't worked out very well.

I was in my late 20s when I staggered, stumbled into The Rooms, still completely unwilling to cede any control of my life to anyone or anything else.  I was convinced that I was right on the verge of turning it all around.  That there was not a sliver of evidence that this was so deterred me not at all.

"How old are you, Seaweed?" someone asked.  "And how are things working out for you?"

Not very well, I had to concede.

"Maybe you should try something different then," was the response.  "Maybe you don't know what you're doing.  Maybe you should take some suggestions from people that have - you know - jobs and cars and shit."

At that juncture I was still a member of the Problem People clan.  I didn't do solution stuff.   I could find the dark cloud in anything.  Nothing was ever enough with me and today I still have a tendency to head right back to the Down escalator.

When I was lying in the chair at the Oral Surgeon's office, looking up at four people in scrubs, wearing face masks - it's never a good thing when there are more than two people getting ready to work on you and god forbid you see one of those elevated galleries ringing the room, filled with observers saying: "Did you hear what they're doing to Seaweed?  I gotta see this for myself" -  I was able to channel some inner gratitude that I had people who knew what they were doing ready to fix my tooth problem and I had the money to do it. 

That was no small accomplishment.