The Absence of Disease

This was a rough weekend for me because the cough which reared its head about fifteen days ago mutated into a full-blown fever complete with sore back, loss of appetite, and bizarre nightmares.  I tried to sweat it out.  I fought it with Theraflu and Advil.  In the end, I brought it down with a combination of chicken soup and two Aspirin.  I can’t tell if this was the elixir I needed, or if the thing had just run its course.  Regardless, I have always thought of Aspirin as kind of a wonder-drug, and that’s just been reinforced.

So what have I learned?  What was the overall effect of being sick for the bulk of a holiday weekend?

1. Surround yourself with loved ones when you’re ill.  My fiancee was so helpful and generous during this sickness.  That soup never would’ve made it to my bedside without her.  She understood when I wanted to stay home on Saturday, and then she understood again when I dragged her out on Sunday only to ask her to take me home.  She fussed over me.  She didn’t mind that I hadn’t cleaned the apartment since Monday (I can blame the fatigue, but the truth is I just hadn’t cleaned).  She was my hero.  I’m sitting upright and typing today because she sacrificed her weekend just as much as I did.
2. Sometimes when life hands you a holiday weekend, you should capitalize on it by just doing nothing.  Granted, that was an easy choice for me to make.  But I’m staring down a long summer of weekends that have already been planned for me.  Shows, weddings, birthdays, trips, and a thousand other Facebook invites are going to make it hard for me to justify laying in bed watching kung fu movies for a little while.  So in a way, I should be thanking the fever.  But, no, still, fuck that fever.  That fever was a dick.
3. Health is more than the absence of disease.  This morning I woke up and instantly knew this bug was out of me.  And  I was glad because the coughing was hurting my head and chest.  But I was also glad because that meant I could finally do the pile of dishes in my sink and clean the clutter up in my living room.  It’s hard to call yourself healthy when you have to step over things to reach a book or you can’t walk through your kitchen without being reminded of a chore in your future.  I like the lived-in look as much as the next slob, but when you get over a sickness you tend to want full health so it doesn’t happen again.  Right now I want clean rooms and smaller portions.  And about one shit-ton of blue Gatorade.

Now then.  Happy Memorial Day.  Remember vets like my mom and dad today.  And if you’re invited to a barbecue, be thoughtful and bring something.

#farlowfriday

Hangin’ with @farlow all afternoon and night.

Twitter, blog. Blog, twitter.

If all goes according to plan, this blog post will be automatically linked from my twitter account @thephilwells. Synchronocity!

Also…

I got my new Jeffrey Dahmer glasses in the mail.

I Think I Figured Out How To Blog Via Email

If this post makes it up to the site, I’ll know it worked.

I like gadgets. I hear people say that the problem with all these connections to the web is that everyone pushes to corner their own little chunks of fame. I’m not under the illusion that a blog and a twitter account are going to carry me to bigtime stardom, but I get why people feel that way about people like me. It can come off as vain and, in actuality the Internet is chock full of vanity projects.

But remember that this is still communication, not entertainment. I post trivial and not-as-trivial thoughts to the www because I want to converse with people out there. And twittering from my blackberry or shooting an email post to my wordpress blog just make it easier for me to push content.

The secret is I’m saving the real entertaining stuff for the stage and the books.

If this post has any typos it’s because my thumbs are dumb and my phone’s qwerty keyboard is wee.

Dear TwitterBerry,

STOP CRASHING MY PHONE!

What phone do you think you were coded for, the fucking iPhone?  I installed you on my Blackberry because you’ve got -Berry right there in your damn name.

I hate you.

-Phil

Improv Auditions and Zen

I’m almost out the door to get to an improv audition, but I wanted to get down a few things rattling around in my head about the Zen in this whole process.

He who must play, cannot play. That is, if you’re doing a thing (say, an improv scene) because you’re obligated to do it, then you’re not really playing with the full spontaneity of your full freedom. If you have to get out there and impress that panel of auditioners (or the audience, or your heroes in the crowd) then you’re playing toward that end and necessarily judging some of your options as too inferior to be of use in this case.

You need to let that go. It is counter to the spirit of improvisation. Do not give the panel, the audience, or your heroes the responsibility of judging you. In the end, all they want to do is enjoy what you do naturally. Drop the placating tap dance, forget that a goal even exists, and just play for the sake of play itself. Win or lose, they can’t take this moment away from you. So enjoy it.

Writing the Song – Progress Report

I’m coming up on 500 lines written for this epic poem project I’m working on, which has a working title of “the Song”.  The title will change.

I started this project as a preamble to itself about two years ago, after the publication of my first book, Try the Veal.  I took months and months off from the project.  I considered it a false start.  But false starts, once tucked away into drawers, can have a way of nagging at a guy until he picks up the pen and gets cracking anew.

I worry about it.  I don’t know if it’ll be long enough to be published like a novel would.  I don’t know if I’ll even get permission to publish it, as it is a parody of sorts, and the rules regarding parody in literature are inconsistent to say the least.  I write 23 lines or so before my brain demands that I stop and I worry that this is too slow a pace to complete the thing.  Maybe I’ll get better at that with practice.  Maybe this is just what writers go through and it’ll be done and great before I even know it.

Anyway, 500 lines of poetry.  And I used to hate poetry.

Resolved

I came out of January 1 this year like a bat out of  hell.  I joined a gym, found a new job, proposed to my lady, and dropped 10 pounds.  Since then, I’ve let things slide a little.

Project managers have this thing called  scope creep.  At the beginning of a project the purpose of a team’s work is defined and their schedule is outlined according to the results everyone expects.  Naturally over the course of a long project, other teams will interject with tiny little demands that seem acceptable piecemeal, but can threaten to distract the team’s resources from the vitally important central mission of the project.  The scope of the project becomes compromised in a way that no one saw coming, though everyone watched as it happened.

Similarly, I have let my own steadfastness creep away from me in drips and drabs.  I had dedicated myself to no meals after 6, but I have let that slide.  I’d pledged moderation and less nights at the bar, but I feel like I’m a worse imbiber now than ever.  I rarely exercise.  I stay up way too late, and it’s starting to affect my work.  I smoke, and that’s the last thing I need.

This cannot continue.  I am too strong to let myself be affected by the workings of my addicted brain, by the siren call of advertising and seasonal novelties.  Starting tomorrow I end meals at 6.  I cannot afford to drink, so I just won’t.  The television will stay off and I’ll sleep early enough to wake up before the alarm.

I hear the detractors already in the chasms of my imagination.  They’ll say I don’t enjoy life.  They’ll say I’m not friendly because I never hang out anymore.  But the fact is that these voices are just my own doubt projected onto the people I know and love.  Truthfully, anyone who would stand in the way of my rehabilitation, my renaissance, doesn’t deserve my patronage.  My Booze Brain will tell me I’ve gone soft and that they’re all saying awful things about my weakness behind my back.

But I know better.  Whether Booze Brain is a liar or telling the truth is inconsequential.  I just can’t afford to listen to the addict in me anymore.  And so I’ll say in a voice louder than the voice of my demons:  I am Phil Wells, and I don’t play that shit.

If you’re reading this and you’ll miss my face at the bar, well, I’m flattered.  We’ll just have to learn to enjoy each other without a drink in my hand.

Having No Cash Is Stressful

I’m out of cash again, and that’s always sad.  I’ve been accused of stoic coolness in the face of adversity as well as in times of abundance.  Like the book says I’ve got two settings: Off and Super Cool.  But when money gets tight, that’s when I really start to feel the pressure and it affects my emotions.  I’m sure I’m not alone in this.  Everyone has heard the statistic that most fights in relationships are about finances.  I’m willing to bet most of those arguments are based in not enough to go around and not in the misappropriation of large chunks of money.  No one likes being broke.

Today I’m taking mom out to a movie and dinner, but my cash is at zero, and so I’ve had to swallow my pride and resign myself to charging the day’s activities to my credit card.  I hate this.  Charging meals and entertainment stirs up such visceral bile in my gut that I need to sit down and breathe deep just thinking about it.  Hate hate hate.

However, I’ve just looked at my credit card balance and I am crushing this thing.  It’s lower than I’d imagined because I’ve been automatically clobbering it in addition to all the little snowflakes I’ve been tossing its way.  I’m not out of the woods yet, but I’m clearly catching up.  So I’ll charge a little today and pay it off right away on payday.  Just this once, for mom’s sake, it isn’t the end of the world.  The money’s  taking care of itself, and my stress level is less  affected than I’ve let it get in this situation before.

The truth is the credit card company doesn’t know me, and that will be their downfall.  They mail me slips of paper with their recommended minimum payments because they think I’m just another simple consumer who’ll pay the minimum.  But that’s not me.  I know that isn’t how you claim victory over the vultures.  You pay big.  You pay quicker than they’d accounted for so their interest rate can’t work its treachery.  I’m a savings-snowflaking, quit-drinking-till-it’s-paid, lunch-packing force of willpower and patience.  I’ve got a family to start and a home to create.  I don’t have time to trifle with some loan sharks out of Wilmington.  My plan has accelerated.  What I had aimed to achieve in three years, I now will achieve in one.  By 2010 I will owe zero dollars to Visa, to Chase, and to the government.

Hunger, which yesterday was my enemy, shall be the tip of my spear.