Tag Archives: braiiiiins

“An Epistolary Tryst”

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I’m going to lead with saying I’m on day three of a headache and two off nights at improv class. My last Hideout elective class was Monday and I just couldn’t get it together. Timing, relationship, game, characters — it felt terrible. Last night at Coldtowne we met our new teacher (ladies and gentlemen, we have an official instructor) and class (for me, anyway) didn’t seem to take off. I don’t know if this is because we only have three people in class, or because of all the reasons I gave for Monday night’s Hideout class, but still — no good.

I’m not going to blame the headaches. The subsequent large doses of Vicodin and knock-out-a-bull potent ibuprofen that I had to keep swallowing to feel stable enough to participate? I’m not going to not blame that either.

Essentially, I’m responsible for the consequences of my actions, regardless of the control I felt I had over them.

Whoa. I just explained in a missive I just sent that I was going to keep this construct top of mind to see if I could find everyday occurrences in my life to tie this awareness to and I JUST did.

Mind. Blown.

A friend of mine sent me a Facebook message saying she woke up worried about me because of a dream she had the night before. I knew her very well a million years ago in junior high and high school (more so the former) and it was really very unsettling to spend the whole day wondering what shift in the cosmics tapped her shoulder in dreamland. Whatever it was, it was a strong enough push to make her reach out.

Waiting for signs always freaks me out because I look at everything as a possible portend and walk around touching life with kid gloves. No good.

You know what is good? All the other things in life that are making my lights on the inside shine a little brighter.

I’ve got lyrics where the words go.

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I haven’t been sleeping well. I need to get out of my head and back to my regular-scheduled programming.

I want to talk about Arcade Fire tomorrow night and Jazz Fest in New Orleans in four days and the ways I’m trying to twist my brain around thoughts of content and strategy and other particularly interesting endeavors like making with the funny and little calculators that say when to go and when to stay really, really still.

But instead, I ramble and hem and haw. I’m scattered. Disconnected just a notch to the left of where I should be. My brain is misfiring and I’m forgetting things and dropping things. My words aren’t working. If my words don’t work, neither do I.

Food Porn

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I’ve really, really got to stop cruising food blogs like a lusty old perv wearing a trench, hanging out by the back racks in a XXX store. I mean, really. Last night I ordered this gem by Kim Boyce, all about baking with whole-grain flours simply because I LIKED THE WAY THE WEDNESDAY CHEF TALKED ABOUT A CAKE.

A couple of days ago I salivated on several food magazines at Book People the other day before bringing home America’s Test Kitchen 10-Year Special Issue, because the pictures were pretty. The pictures. I’ve flipped through this magazine several times since then, furtively getting a thrill, but not actually cooking anything.

And about an hour ago I bought two tickets to see Anthony Bourdain talk about his new book, Medium Raw. Just, you know, because. I seriously need to step away from the computer and put my check card back into my purse before someone gets hurt.

To be fair, this probably has a lot to do with that teeny, tiny little side effect of the brain medication that has completely taken away my appetite. I mean, in context, if I didn’t have nails I would probably pine for nail polish. So it goes, I want food — gorgeous, stunning, fabulous, amazing food — because my body doesn’t want food.

Am I cooking through all this? Not really. I baked one thing. Okay, I baked it a couple of times. I have come close to perfecting this fabulous recipe for Old-Fashioned Chocolate Cupcakes. They are seriously the most amazing cupcakes I’ve made, and I’m not even a fan of chocolate.

I need to branch out from cupcakes though. I’m turning into a one-act play. Wait, that’s not the analogy. It’s something else. A one-tune Tony? A one-trick playa? Oh that’s going to drive me mad.

What food blogs are making your stomachs rumble with gastronomical glee?

The BIG Update

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So it turns out that if you take being SO AWESOME to the extreme that I do, it’s bound to have side effects. All that testing — the MRI, MRA, CT and Angiogram all show with all certainty that I do, indeed, have a brain aneurysm hanging out in the left side of my chock-full o’ awesome brain.

And since I can’t do anything easy or normal, it just so happens that this aneurysm is not only a wide-necked little bugger (making coiling f’in impossible), it’s also nestled WAY DEEP in there and resting in my opthalmic artery. Making it difficult to get to, and worrying just about every damn medical and lay person I’ve come in contact with.

I haven’t been to work this week, and missed some of last week. I miss my work peeps like WHOA but even though this whole thing sucks ass, I’m doing surprisingly well. This must mean the sedatives are doing their job or I really am a hopeless optimist.

I’ve got people praying and sending good vibes and all of that wonderfulness. If you read this because we cool or if you read this because we ain’t, I could still use your positivity. The bigger committee I can get to lobby to God on my behalf, the better.