The New Policy

Note: this particular entry will involve some swearing. If that is going to bother you, then skip it; there'll be sunshine a-plenty soon enough. I am in no mood to filter or edit anything right now-- I don't care if you think I should watch my language, I don't care if you think it makes me seem somehow less intelligent, and I don't care if your opinion of me is somehow diminished because of it. (In fact, if that's the case, why are you reading this in the first place?) I know that my recovery is going to be up and down, and I'm being patient, and I'm following directions, and I'm trying to exhibit all manner of grace and guts at each turn, but today, I am uncomfortable, scared shitless, exhausted, confused, angry, and completely overwhelmed. Raw. I feel very, very raw.

So, how to begin this next thought...hmm. Going through something significant will yield significant reflection in any sane, relatively self-aware individual, right? I mean, a little over a week ago, I sat in a room with my mom, and had to tell her my wishes for the ugly side of major surgery. I had to sign documents, and name agents, and decide who of my loved ones would have a say about me should I not be able to speak on my own behalf. I had to use words and phrases like "permanent vegetative state", "cremation", "organ donation", and essentially participate in the worst, but most important, conversation one can have as an adult. Having that dialogue on Friday, signing papers on Monday morning right before anesthesia was administered, and then waking up later on Monday with what is basically a new lease on my life-- yes, you can bet your ass that I'm seeing things a little clearer.

This isn't the proper venue to completely spill my guts-- I don't see a blog as a replacement for the open ear of a trusted friend or for the promising pages of a private journal. However, this recovery process has been intense and I'm just gonna let it rip today. Prior to my surgery, prior to learning about this lingering threat in my nervous system, prior to the shitshow, I had some obstacles. (I guess "inertia" is a good descriptor.) Putting it plainly, I wasn't living the life I'd set out to attain...I wasn't being the adult I'd planned on being. I guess there were points along the way since graduating high school where I had some forward momentum, made some good decisions, etc. But, on the whole, there was a lot of treading water, biding time, making excuses, and watching my nearest and dearest make their way into young adulthood while I sat back, supporting and congratulating them, and feeling like I'd never be able to make up the ground that I'd lost from mistakes I'd made. (I might've mentioned this already, but Katie really put me in my place: "You've been banging your head against a wall for nine years, and now your spine is fucked." Love that girl. Seriously, I dare you to find someone who can say something so cutting and resonant, while never for even a second doubting that it comes from the warmest and kindest heart.)

Anyway, now that I'm on the other side of things, it is really difficult to understand what the FUCK I've been doing all this time. I have so little to show for the life I've led for for the past 9 years. I mean, I have wonderful friends (OMG, I could go on for pages and pages about how fortunate I've been in that capacity-- and I probably will in future entries-- in fact, funny sidebar:

I recently became e-penpals with my friend Ben's parents, and in sharing little tidbits about the side of their son that I don't see, I was inspired to write to Ben directly a very smushy and teary e-mail about how much I love him and what he means to me and blahblahblah-- and I developed a term for this: lovesmacking. I like that particular terminology because it indicates a certain level of discomfort on the part of the recipient...like, "Thanks, Dana-- I love you too but I really feel awkward now." I mean, regardless of mutual love and affection for a friend, my heightened emotional state gives me an unfair advantage to spill my guts and not be met by criticism. It's not a fair game. But anyway, I lovesmacked the crap out of Ben. He handled it well. There's going to be more lovesmacking going around-- Katie's gotten nailed a few times and it's going to continue for a while, Molly is due for another one like any hour, my Atlantans are certainly at risk-- no one is safe.)

But, what else do I have to show someone for how I've spent the last near-decade? I worked on a political campaign and was completely lit up from it. (However, that was more luck than anything else. I had no idea I'd love it so much.) I wrote a few things that I wouldn't mind seeing published. And that's really about it. Basic character aside, what do I have to bring to the table? Let's explore.

One thing that's striking me is that my interests have changed. I will give a specific example: pre-shitshow, I was an absolute fiend for celebrity and pop culture gossip. I would read PerezHilton.com, JustJared.com, TMZ.com, and about a dozen other sites at least once daily. I was absolutely the go-to girl for that crap. It has now been over a week since I looked at a single one. This may seem insignificant, but it's really not. Consider the time I've saved! I see the links on my browser, and I just cannot bring myself to click them. I just don't care. I'm keeping up with real news, and I'm reading about film and music and literature, because at the end of the day, that stuff actually matters-- but the rest of it has completely lost its appeal. Like I told my Aunt Lea: I have lost my tolerance for bullshit. I hear my sisters bickering with my mom about something trivial, and while in the past I may've participated or tried to mediate, my instincts now are just "Please take this dialogue elsewhere because I just can't hear it."

Another instance without any specifics: I held my tongue for months about something, trying to curb drama, stemming from a situation that I should've handled with some backbone from the very beginning. On Saturday night, with my new zero-tolerance policy in full gear, I made some demands-- and I reaped the benefits of it the very next day. And it is very difficult for me now to picture ever being put in that situation again.

Ok-- that's it for now. I guess that wasn't as incendiary as it could've been. I may or may not have taken a painkiller and a muscle relaxant in the interim between the start of this post and the end. It's a possibility. Oh, and it should be noted that these crying jags I get on lately have an incredible palliative effect. Whatever. I've got a lot more to say about this new policy-- but for right now, I just want to sit quietly and be grateful.