“Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens.” – Kahlil Gibran

Inside the box was a book:

And behold! 42 spoons, some bearing quotes of imagination, wonder, and inspiration. Someone out there knows of or shares my fondness for Kahlil Gibran.

“A friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand. Is not the mountain far more awe-inspiring and more clearly visible to one passing through the valley than to those who inhabit the mountain?” – Kahlil Gibran

Whether or not you write well, write bravely. – Bill Stout

Anyone who loves within their means suffers from a lack of imagination – Oscar Wilde

Emergency Spoon. In case of emergency:
1. Remove spoon from wrapper. 2. Exchange spoon for towel. 3. Don’t panic.

“To be great, we must attempt so much that we not only are in danger of forever failing, but that we do fail… and in the failure create something greater than if we had set our sights lower.” – Jeff Vandermeer, Booklife

The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp.

You cannot fail Clarion — you can only succeed after you’ve left. — Emma Bull & Will Sheterly

In the depth of my soul there is a wordless song. – Kahlil Gibran

For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love. – Carl Sagan

Finish Things

There aren’t many things happening these days that I’d consider easy. Being separated from Andrea is just about the hardest thing I’ve had to deal with. It’s a daily stress that weighs on me every day, and the uncertainty of when we will see each other again makes it almost unbearable. Having Clarion ahead is almost a guilt to face; a giant what-if. If I hadn’t gotten in to Clarion, all of my excess energies would be spent on getting home to her and that’s hard on the both of us.

I bear the guilt alone. I chose to apply, knowing the possibilities, however remote I thought they were that I’d get in. I knew that six weeks separation would be difficult for us but that it would be for our greater good. I didn’t expect for it to balloon this much. With the time away helping my mom after her surgery, we’ll have spent at least three months apart this year.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful then the risk it took to blossom. – Anais Nin

I dream of a day, hopefully not too far off, when all of my debts are paid and behind me and Andrea and I finally have a place to call our own. The yard is fenced in so the dogs can roam freely and play. There’s a gazebo out back where we enjoy the summer weather and a grill where we cook, and a hammock where I nap when the breeze is just nice.

Inside, we have adjacent offices where we work during the days. We’ll break for lunches together and share kitchen duty, and enjoy relaxing evenings together. If there is any travel to be done, it’s either a very short work trip or something planned that the both of us take together. There’ll be no more of this separation bullshit. If health, genetics, and luck are in our favor, we’ll litter the place with kids and turn them into geeks and nerds to plague the earth.

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
– Bene Gesserit litany against fear, Dune

Thank you, friends, for your spoons and your thoughts. They bring me comfort and peace.

• I owe a bunch of money I don’t have
• I don’t have a lot of time to pay it

I’ll be figuring out a plan of action over the next week, but I’ll find a way of pulling it off and put that bill behind me. It may be time to say goodbye to my desktop computer and monitors, though. Anything I can do without, I will. I’m pretty accustomed to life on the laptop now anyways. Frankly, the more I can get rid of, the less I have to move and the sooner I can do it.

Health-wise, it’s been an odd week. I had a theory about all of the symptoms I’m having. Between the autoimmune and similarities between Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue, and Lyme Disease, I decided to get re-tested for Lyme. I spent last summer taking care of Dad in Wisconsin and had more than a few tick bites for my efforts. The good news is that test came back negative. The bad means we’re no closure to figuring out what’s wrong. Next week, I hope, will start bringing some answers.

I’ve also had three nights this week where I’ve been in bed before 10pm and slept more than 8 hours. That’s highly unusual for me. It felt good while it lasted. The insomnia and restlessness seems to be back tonight, but hey, I also wrote 300 words of a new story so I won’t complain.

Tomorrow I’m off by train to Chicago for the day. I have a meeting for the day job that will hopefully lead to bigger and brighter things for the company. More resources means more time I can spend doing the things that make money, which takes care of many of our current worries.

My friends and family, you are all awesome. I miss being home with Andrea and the menagerie dearly but this is turning into a life lesson about getting things done that need doing and not procrastinating. Summer will fly by, debts will be settled, and life will move on together.

The paperwork portion isn’t difficult, just painstaking. Most of it is filled out already. It boils down to money, the main reason why we hadn’t filed sooner. Until the house in Illinois sells, I’m stuck paying it’s mortgage and basic utilities and upkeep. On top of the maintenance I’m paying from the divorce (only 15 or so months to go), that leaves little in the way of extra cash.

There’s also a criminal background check that I need to order from the FBI, as part of the immigration process. No worries there; I have an unblemished record. The painful part of that is the big bold “please allow thirteen weeks for processing” on their website.

The plan:

Send off the request for my background check, since that may take up to three months. Get all of the paperwork filled out, get my fingerprint card, and find a local doctor that can do the immigration exam. Hurry up and wait.

The house here is mostly empty. Most of the furniture was sold to pay bills. I’m going to spend the next couple weekends packing up what remains in the garage and basement, getting the house completely empty, and selling the last few things that I won’t be taking with me or can easily be replaced. That way, the only thing left to do when we get an offer is to sign the papers.

With the summer coming, anything I can do to make the house look prettier will help. If I need to muck around the lawn on my hands and knees to pluck dandelions and plant flowers, I will. At this point, I’m willing to go door to door and ask if anyone’s interested in buying a house.

I’m not sure what more I can do to sell the house faster, other than lower the price below my break even point. That’s an option I’m looking into, if I can work the logistics. People have been coming to look at it but no one’s been interested enough to make an offer. The high property taxes are not helping, either. I’m open to creative suggestions. A short-sale or going into foreclosure aren’t an option, by court decree.

My weekdays (and nights) are filled with work. It’s the one thing in my control that I can do to bring in more money. It’ll come, but it’ll take a bit of time. Between this and Clarion, the odds of me getting home before August are slim. Possible, but unlikely as much as I wish it so.

The next couple weeks will be filled with the day job, trips to various doctors appointments and tests (trying to pinpoint what’s wrong with my autoimmune system), house work, and paper pushing. In between I’m scrambling to read for Clarion and keep up with the writing. Hopefully this summer brings the end of the outstanding divorce issues that have been hanging over us like a storm cloud and we can start the process of getting back on our feet.

I went to my primary care physician (PCP) on Monday to have a few persistent issues looked at. What started as a simple checkup turned into a week long ordeal in which I was poked, prodded, and gently cupped by the warm hands of two upstanding gentleman.

The first issue was a lump on my right testicle, now affectionally know as the double-yolk. It has been there for fifteen years or so. I saw a Urologist when it was first discovered and he deemed it benign. When I noticed blood in my ejaculate recently, I knew it was time to get it looked at again. Gentlemen, be sure to perform regular self-exams.

The second issue was for continued, persistent nerve pain. It started with a bang last July and was diagnosed as a pinched nerve in my shoulder by an ER doctor. That pain comes and goes, but the nerve pain has spread across my upper back, lower back, and from my hips to my knees. Additionally, I have some confirmed but not identified nerve damage causing the left side of my left foot to be numb. A history of balance issues and ringing in the ears going on two years now, both concentrated on the left side of my body, with chronic nerve pain, sets off some red flags.

Additionally, I’ve been having issues with temperature control. For a several weeks my normally warm feet were freezing. I took to wearing socks around the house, even if I was wearing shorts. I was also breaking out into a sweat just sitting and watching TV, no exertion required. The doctor was concerned that something autoimmune was at foot.

I peed in a cup, gave up a few vials of precious blood and got referrals for a Urologist and Neurologist. On my last appointment, my PCP told me to make an appointment with a Neurologist but the one I wanted to see was booked solid for two months. I called him late Monday morning and lucked into an open spot the next day.

Tuesday morning I head to court to find out how much of my ex-wife’s lawyer I have to pay. There end up being scheduling issues and the hearing is postponed til next month. From there I head to the Neurologist, Dr. Echiverri. He looks over the medical records I brought with me, tested my reflexes and eyes and listened to my symptom history. This is where things get interesting.

Four years ago I went through a period of six or nine months where I randomly lost my balance, but only to the left side. My doctor at the time suggested a handful of possibilities, including allergies and Multiple Sclerosis (MS). After lots of trial and error with allergy medicine, my balance improved. The doctor chalked this up to successful treatment and sent me on my merry way. For my part, I was just happy that I wasn’t listing like the Titanic.

Dr. Echiverri stopped me and said that I should have an MRI as soon as I had balance issues without dizziness. He agreed that there was some concern about the possibility of MS and literally escorted me to the scheduling department and told them to get me in that day. Ninety minutes later I was a human tampon wedged into an electromagnetic vagina.

Wednesday I went to the Urologist, who agreed that the lump doesn’t seem to be an immediate concern and that the blood I saw can happen occasionally. Because of my family history of kidney problems and my Diabetes, he ordered some tests.

I had an ultrasound and X-ray of my kidneys Thursday morning, and on the fifth day I rested.

Yesterday I called my primary doctor to check on the results of my blood work and ask them to fax me a copy. An hour or so later I get a call back from his nurse, a very nice lady named Cookie. Whenever a nurse starts off a conversation with “Now don’t panic when you read this” you know your day is about to take a left turn. The “Anachoice (R) Screen” and “RNP Antibody” tests came back positive. From the diagnostics lab:

RNP antibody is found in patiences with mixed connective tissue disease in high titer. This antibody may also be seen in systemic lupus erythematosus and other connective tissue diseases. A positive result at this stage of testing stops further testing, and does not preclude additional positive antibodies. Clinical correlation is required to access the need for testing other analytes.

The first time I read this I stopped when I saw Lupus. Some armchair research shows that these positive tests can also be an indicator for MS. So now I have an appointment with Rheumatologists, who will continue the diagnose why my body is being emo, and a follow-up with the Neurologist to see what my brain looks like. I have to wait a month for both appointments, though.

This morning, I went to the Cardiac Clinic for a nuclear stress test. The nurse injected me with saline and a tracer, ran me through a machine to take pictures of my heart, forced me to hustle on a treadmill at needlepoint while injecting more tracer and stuck me back into the machine.

As they were explaining the procedure to me, I asked how long the radioactive dye would stay in my system. I was planning to head home to Canada afterwards. I got a wide-eyed stare, and she called the nurse who would make my roll for gaining a superpower. She told me that Friday would be the earliest I should go. The radioactive tracer is externally detectable and she had a patient that was stopped and had their truck torn apart, including the seats removed, at the border and that with a note from the clinic detailing the procedure and elements used.

Look — crossing the border is already a stressful experience. The very last thing I want to do is trip someone’s geiger counter and get flagged as suspicious or turned away. As eager as I am to get home and see my better half, our pets, John, and Mom R., I want to do so with the least chance of being jellyfingered by a burly guard.

A lot of things are running through my mind these days. I am blessed that none of my symptoms point to anything immediately life threatening. Still, it does make one reevaluate their priorities in life. I’ve already spent weeks apart from my loved ones this year with more on the horizon, and too much of the time we have spent together has found me wasting time online. Priorities need to be adjusted from time to time and this is one of them.

I’m cutting out games that can’t simply be put down or away. If I can’t logout and pick back up where I left off another time, I’m sorry but we can no longer see each other. I’m going to force myself to get away from the laptop every day. Andrea and I will walk the dogs or go to the park; disconnecting will be good for us. It’ll help me focus on losing the excess weight that, while not the cause of all of my problems, certainly doesn’t help them.

One of my friends asked if this was going to impact my plans of going to Clarion this summer and I didn’t have an immediate answer to that. Clarion is a unique opportunity. One thing I’ve asked myself is if I could put it off a year. Sure, it’s possible, but next years instructors might not be ones that I feel a connection with. Or work might be different, living situations changed, etc. Putting it off is a slippery slope that can lead to a lifetime of regret. I guess the long answer is no, this is’t going to impact my going to Clarion.

I have very few answers to the medical puzzle that is my body. I should have more test results this week, and several follow-up appointments next month. I don’t know if I have MS or Lupus (Dr. House says that it’s never Lupus) or something else unconsidered. I’d rather know what is causing this rather than treating symptoms at random and I think I finally have the right doctors for that.

My tribe is awesome. The outpouring of support has been overwhelming. If you’ve tweeted or emailed me, thank you. I’ve often felt like an outsider in this wonderful extended family of ours but this week has shown me that is not the case.

Last year when my Dad needed surgery, we packed up our dog and cat show and headed north to take care of him. I worked my forty plus, ran errands, made sure doctors appointments were made and kept, and did the occasional shuffle from Tomahawk, WI to Minneapolis, MN for check-ups with the surgeons. Three months later, Dad was healed up and I was falling apart, freshly diagnosed with at least one pinched nerve and Diabetes.

My body had been trying to tell me something and I finally had to stop and listen. “Only human.”

Tomorrow I’m heading back to Illinois. There’s one more post-divorce court date to attend to. More importantly, I’m *cough* getting to that age when it’s prudent to get ones pipes cleaned and tubes checked. I can’t ignore the aches, pains and lumps any longer. The doctor awaits my arrival Monday morning and there I’ll stay until we get things fixed.

I have a lot of things to look forward to: an awesome wife and best friend, adventures living in a new country, writing. Who knows, maybe kids will be in our cards, too. I need to be as healthy as I can so I can enjoy that life.

Six and a half years ago I had a pretty good bout with depression. I recognized it and, most importantly, sought help for it. One of the unintended side effects of anti-depression medicine is that it’s used to treat a number of afflictions. When the depression had been treated I was weaned off of the medication and things were fine — for a while. I was pretty sure that the old blues were back again and a trip to the doctor today confirmed those fears.

There’s more to how I’ve been feeling than just depression, and it’s probably my bigger concern. I’ve suspected it for a while but it’s been all but confirmed now. I have social anxiety disorder. I imagine there will be two types of reaction from people that know me — disbelief and confirmation. With some people I am more or less at complete ease but in other situations I fall all over myself. When the anxiety kicks in, I either stutter or start talking fast and can’t stop myself, or stop talking all together.

Imagine living inside of a glass box with a one-way speaker, so you can see and hear everything going on around but no one can year you no matter how loud you scream or shout. That’s a little bit what it’s been like dealing with this anxiety. I try to talk, I want to talk, but the words won’t come out. It’s frustrating. It’s embarrassing. It’s demoralizing.

I’ve had this for a long time. Probably before the first bout of depression. I remember the first time I had a panic attack, close to a decade ago and the anxiety I feel every time I go to a convention or to any place where I have to interact with people. Trying to talk to a well-respected writer at a convention, only to end up mumbling and walking away? I’ve been that guy, on more than one occasion.

One of the reasons why I suspected there was something more than shyness or nervousness happening is that I want to interact. I want to walk up and talk to people, to ask questions, participate in conversation, and be normal. On rare and special occasion I meet someone that I feel so at ease with that I can talk and talk and talk. Online conversations are also something that comes easier than face-to-face but even those I sometimes struggle with because my lack of social experience makes it difficult to how to respond to some things.

Some people don’t like social interaction. I do. I want to be a part of the conversation and not just a witness to it. I have a voice but cannot speak. The words fail to materialize, a spell broken before its even cast.

It’s been a long and stressful day and I’m rambling a bit. Treating the depression also treats the anxiety. The roots of the anxiety need to be exposed so they can be chopped away so that I can be free of it once and for all. I need this for me, and I need it for my family. They deserve me at my best so we can enjoy life together instead of watching it pass us by.

Hershel posted his list of stuff he can’t live without the other day and it got me to thinking. I’ve learned a lot about myself and materialism over the past two years. I found that I don’t need a lot of stuff to be happy. Not that I’m a monk or anything but I’ve come to understand the “less is more” mentality. There’s few things outside of the obvious food/shelter that are must-haves, but I do have a list of things that I wouldn’t fathom being without.

Some might say it’s cliche, but my list starts with Andrea. Without her, I might still be in the dark place and that wasn’t good for anyone involved.

The tools of my trade

• My Moleskin notebooks — they go where I go.
• A fountain pen. Right now it’s the Azure Blue Regatta by Monteverde that my Mom gave me for Christmas. I have a different pen, my first real fountain pen, given to me by the awesome Kyle Cassidy, awaiting repairs.
• I suppose I should claim my Macbook Pro as a necessity. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to work from a desktop.
• Friends. As introverted and socially awkward as I tend to be, my friends bring me more joy than I can express.
• Twitter/Facebook/Email/LiveJournal – how I communicate with most of my far-flung friends.
• My iPod – Music is a very important part of my life that I don’t seem to talk about that often.
• My iPhone – I deliberated leaving it off the list, because I’d rather use it to text or twitter than to talk.

Maybe what this says about me is that I’m an extrovert trapped inside the mind of an introvert. Pretty much everything that I consider important to keep near and dear revolves around communicating with the world.

I believe the next year will be a turning point. There are many fine tendrils weaving their way towards good things. A brilliant, talented wife that tolerates my eccentricities with grace and snarky comments. Many fine people, met or imagined, that I now call friend. Writing that improves with each passing day. A job that, despite some rocky months this past year, continues to give me the freedom to craft my own future.

I’ve set many goals for the next year, personal and professional. Getting debt from the divorce paid and forever behind me. Getting personal finances in order. Deciding where we want to live and finding a house. Writing and editing many stories. Submitting said stories. Get more physically fit. Start walking again. Maybe take martial arts again. Things I, more or less, have control over. No more stressing over the things I don’t.

In like a lion, out like a lamb. A pretty apt description of this decade. Ten years ago I was working in New York City, a consultant for NBC. Working New Years Eve, armed with a special security badge (which I still have somewhere) allowing me into the building on the eve of the new millennium. Y2K fever spread rampantly, with security precautions and stockpiling. Much ado about nothing. Follow that with 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina. As we bring this decade to its close, this era of ineptitude, insecurity theater, underwear bombers, Jon & Kate, and the Octomom, I say good riddance. Bitterly. Let’s have some forward progress and substance in the next ten years, eh?