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September 2002

Tuesday, September 03, 2002

Here I am: all settled back at school. Moved back, sheets folded, clothes hanging, and a desk drawer filled with the same junk it's had in the last three years. And I'm a senior.

What blows me away is how quickly the time has flown by. I was just a little freshman, granted a little hairy freshman, three short years ago. Now I'm a senior, supposedly smarter, more experienced and a lot more grown up. I don't believe that for one second. In fact I feel more like a freshman than ever. Because it's not so much school I'm going through, but now it's life. I don't know anything about anything, and I feel the same way about life today as I felt about school when I was a freshman.

Stupid, out of control, and completely optimistic for better times with better health.

So to a new and final school year I say this: may my grades be as high as my new-found tolerance for alcohol. Only kidding, of course.

Friday, September 13, 2002

What a beautiful day! I don't care what anybody says about actually being sick and thinking you're sick and what the weather has to do with it. When it's beautiful out, I feel better. When the weather stinks, I feel crummy. The last three days I have felt great. The weather was beautiful...sunny, cool but comfortable, and there was a slight breeze -- just strong enough to move your hair.

So I did what any other college student sans class would do this morning: packed up and went downtown into Boston to spend the day walking around. There I strolled down Newbury street, wishing I had more money than I really do. Pretending to be someone I'm not. And just enjoying my afternoon all by myself.

Nobody to bother. Nobody to talk to. Just looking, listening and smelling. I listened to the sounds of the street. I listened to the 4 seconds of conversation that would pass as two ladies walked by. I watched how the sun hit the trees and shaded the sidewalk. I listened to my body and it told me one thing: it's too nice out to feel sick.

Our body tells us stuff. Sometimes it's an uncomfortable itch when you walk into Burberry and you feel really poor. Other times it's an ache when you're walking up an ever-so-inclined sidewalk. But every now and then your body tells you how much it appreciates being outside for an hour or two, enjoying the nice day.

Today my body told me that.

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

I guess I'm just distracted with life to worry about how I feel. Someone asked me yesterday how I was feeling, and I was taken back because I hadn't been asked that in days. Maybe even a week. I immediately began daydreaming, and instead of responding to her, which would have been the polite thing to do, I thought about what my reaction meant in terms of my life and what was going on in it.

This is what I came up with. By not focusing on how I felt and the pain I had, it didn't exist to anyone else. In other words I didn't wear on my sleeve -- or more to the point an expression on my face -- that I wasn't feeling well. It hasn't been a particularly great couple of weeks, but then again there have certainly been worse ones. But I'm just wrapped up in so many other things to let it become a part of my identity. There are times, usually when nothing is really going on, when my pain is my identity. By focusing on school, CreakyJoints, friends and family, and all the good stuff to come of them -- like my niece-to-be in November, thanks to my brother Brian and his wife Becky -- I don't have time to get carried away with how I feel. And that is certainly nobody's business these days.

Then there are the less important factors in life, but nonetheless things that tend to distract me. Like how I dyed my hair the other day. Don't worry, I didn't change the color, just the texture. It's "glossy" now. Whatever the hell that means. Or about how I really want to get an earring. What's going on with me? Straight-laced guy who never paid more than $8 for a haircut goes to a salon, dyes his hair, and considers getting an earring. And some pet fish. Life is changing, and if we don't stop to enjoy it and maybe pierce it, what good are we doing for ourselves?

Sunday, September 29, 2002

Ever talk yourself so far into a lie you can't stand it anymore? What starts out as something you give little thought to turns out to be a major production that causes you to lose sleep. About a week ago I met some new people at a neighboring college, and when we got to talking about what we do and what we're studying, I just went off. I mean so far off into the deep end it was a disaster. I just didn't feel like getting into it. We all have those days -- especially with something like arthritis -- when we don't feel like going into too many details. Because then the incessant questioning starts, like you're at a breaking news conference. So instead I quietly said I already have a job, except I work for a P.R. firm. Which is 15% true. And as for sports, I don't play them anymore, though I used to and have been suffering from injuries in both my knees and my back, which is the reason for the slightly stilted walk. Anyway, that, too, is about 15% true, depending on who you ask. One of my 8 doctors could probably vouch for some kind of injury as cause for my pain, but not likely.

The more I think about it -- and don't really care about the lies themselves -- the more I worry about what I'm doing when I misrepresent myself like this. It's not that I intentionally want to mislead people. And I'm certainly not ashamed of who I am or what condition I'm in. Plus, I'm always proud to tell people about CreakyJoints. Is it laziness? Is it arrogance? I don't think so. I think it has to do more with my condition, the simple fact that in my lifetime I have explained my disease more times than a cabby honks his horn. And I'm tired of it. Besides the fact that I'm tired in general, I'm especially tired of being the center of attention because I take the most pills in a day. Or sometimes it's because I have the most number of doctor visits. Ever. Instead I'd like to fit in, have an ordinary story to tell and the ability to just blend in like every other kid.

Lately that's how I feel, and it's more and more apparent when I get this good at telling these elaborate lies. I need to work on being more true to myself so I can be more true to the people around me. I owe them at least that much, right?