How I spent spring break 7: Not an impossible dream

I'm gonna see my counselor in a couple days, man. Friday, to be exact. 10 a.m. I'm getting a ride from this place my physical therapist turned me on to called Ride Connections. There are a lot of good people out there, man, all these volunteers and medical professionals and, well, just the staffs in general. But I digress.

I don't think of you as someone who would say things like "but I digress," farmboy.

You know, I wasn't even conscious that I was saying it when it came out. It is pretty fuckin' stupid, ain't it?

But, anyway, I'm gonna go see my counselor on Friday morning. I'm looking really forward to it. I've needed to talk to him about this whole accident and recovery thing for a while now.

Have you thought about what you're going to discuss with him?

Yeah. I'm gonna tell him about how there better be a reason for all that's happened. I can give it a reason. It's about me gaining possession of my own life, my own future. 

I was thinking about this thing I heard on the radio about this elderly woman who was trapped on a floating mattress during hurricane Katrina. All the time she was floating she thought about how she was going to furnish and design her living room after the flood was over. I think it was on This American Life.

That sounds like something that would be on that show.

So that's kind of been my situation in a way. The whole time I'm in rehab I'm fuckin' planning my future. And that can't be in vain. My life is not an impossible dream. The worst fuckin' thing that could happen would be for me to go back to the same old fuckin' life I had before the accident.

I totally agree, farmboy.

I want him to help me. I want you to help me too. I need you guys to witness. There are times when I'm gonna lose hope, and I'm gonna need you two to remember who I really am when I can't remember myself.

So I'm going

So guess what I did?

You ran the New York Marathon? You dreamed of Africa? You walked to the market and back home again? You felt like a seed on the wind? You swam…

What the fuck are you talking about?

I don't know, farmboy. What did you do?

Now I don't want to tell you.

Please, farmboy? I really do want to know.

So I bought a ticket to see this comedian whose work I really love. His name is Mike Birbiglia, and he's kind of a storyteller in a way. He's on This American Life sometimes.

Can I ask how much it cost?

$32.50. Well, plus fees, but I ain't gonna talk about that. This is something I know that I would regret if I didn't go. So I'm going. I never go fuckin' anywhere and I've been working a lot. This is my Christmas present to myself.

Well, then, merry Christmas!

Thanks. You too, man.

The daily panic

It's starting to happen, man. The daily panic.


How can you diffuse it, farmboy?


Well, I can't go smoke any weed, that's for sure. I need to change the fuckin' channel somehow. I've been busy today, doing the things that I'm supposed to do. This kinda happens -- this panic, I mean -- when I've been busy and then it's over and I should feel a little good about myself. That's what I've noticed.


So what I'm gonna do is eat something and then maybe I'll listen to the This American Life podcast. That's always one of the highlights of my week. Seriously.


That sounds like it's worth a try, farmboy. Remember, I'm here if you need me.


Thanks, man. If this doesn't work, you may be hearing from me.

Just fuckin' buzzing, man

It's happening, man, the obsessive thinking I was telling you about. It's like this kind of torture, a kind of war going on in my mind. You know, two fighting sides. Which, of course, is the way my life's always been like. It's just a whole lot more fuckin' pronounced during this kind of time.

So, basically, I don't know what to do. My mind is just fuckin' buzzing, man. I mean, it has, like, a charged-up battery. I've already called the coffeehouse and asked, you know? I mean, there's not much further this stuff can go, right? So I'm just dealing with hurt feelings and a fuckin' mind that obsesses over every fuckin' detail.

I mean, now I'm feeling like I'm not a good musician and that's why I'm not on the show. And that may be true...

farmboy, stop...

(starts to cry) Fuck, man, I don't know...

Have you taken a clonazepam?

Yeah. I did, about ten minutes ago.

Give it some time, farmboy. Try to find something to get you out of your head. One of your podcasts or something to read. A TV show.

I don't have a TV.

You can watch shows on the internet. What I'm saying is see if you can find something that holds your attention.

Okay. I'll look. Maybe there's a podcast I can fall asleep to. I haven't listened to This American Life yet this week.

Low-key is okay with me

Feeling any better, farmboy?

Right now I feel fine, thanks for asking. It comes and goes and I worry about it, 'cause that's what I do. I'm good at worrying.

If it's having to do with an ulcer, you are good at worrying.

Har har. Funny guy.

Hey, you know what?

No. What?

It's my birthday!

Really?

Yeah.

Happy birthday, farmboy!

Thanks.

What did you do?

Not much, but I took the day off work and I got some nice phone messages from people. I smoked some weed and bought Thai food takeout and went CD shopping, but I only bought this EP by Telekinesis. I played guitar and ate foods I like. I listened to This American Life. But I really didn't feel good physically for most of the day.

But it was still a good day. Low-key, but good. Which is just fine with me. Between work and company and gigs, I haven't had the alone time that I need. So I got that plus the cool messages and Thai food and shit. I don't need to fuckin' party or fuss or anything. Low-key is okay with me.

What are you going to do now?

Eat some Thai food. Happy birthday to me!

Solitary confinement

Saturday. I bet that's a good day for you.

It's generally good. I mean, it's good, you know, it's Saturday. I'm in a bit of a rut, though. I do the same thing each Saturday, and they're good things. I smoke dope, I play guitar...

You get on the internet...

I look at porn and end up in bed, jerking off. Then I lay down and listen to a podcast or something, but usually spoken, the human voice talking or telling stories. The best one is that Ira Glass show...

This American Life?

Yeah. That's how I'd like to write some songs, you know, like the writing on This American Life. Anyway, I listen to something then I usually fall asleep an have a nice, long nap. Then I take a shower and get my dirty clothes together and go see my brother and his family. So I have supper with them, wash my clothes, and spend the evening with them. We'll watch a movie or something. I get to see my niece, who is so precious that I can barely believe it. She's one of my favorite people in the whole world.

Anyways, that's my Saturday. All of them.

Not bad. You just want to mix it up a little?

Yeah. I feel like I want to get back to the land of the living. I've been under such solitary confinement for so long -- self-sentenced, of course. Oh, and self-enforced. It's a hard thing to gauge because I need a whole lot of solitude, anyway. I have to have it. I need to be alone more than most people, I think, but you know that being alone, stoned, all the time is not a good way to live. And I feel alienated enough from my fellow species as it is.

I just realized that "species" rhymes with "feces." So it's a songwriting opportunity. Just thought I should share that little tidbit with you.

Gee, thanks.

How are you?

I'm good. But listen...I don't want to seem rude or ungrateful, but this whole interview process is about you. But thanks for asking.

Wait. Now I can't ask how you fuckin' are?

I was afraid of this...

No, no, let's get this out. What the fuck can I ask you? Shall I fill out an application for our friendship? Wait, wait, I forgot! We don't have a friendship. We have an fuckin' interview. We can be so fuckin' appropriate and professional here.

Wait, farmboy...

No, no; let me escalate now. And then I'll be really tired and embarrassed...

And you'll feel beat up...

Yeah, a kid on the receiving end of a leather belt, yeah, yeah, you can see the welts and shit...

Jesus, farmboy! Take a breath. Breathe. What the fuck are you talking about?

(farmboy closes his eyes and breathes deeply several times, then puts his head in his hands. Removing his hands, farmboy looks at the interviewer directly in his eyes, as if daring the interviewer. Then he turns away, and then turns back.)

Save me. You need to help me.

I will.

You really need to be with me in this, you don't know.

I'm with you. Trust me.

I will.