Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Essay on a day of MS Relapse and Limping On

When I start to worry too much about art and love and politics, I am humbled by the left leg deciding not to wake up in the morning and almost sending me crashing to the ground. It reminds me that I am an American in this hideous time of our history.  Stress feeds Multiple Sclerosis and I have allowed myself to be stressed more than even the world dictates naturally.

Since I’m financially set (Enough for one person only. Gentlemen Looking for Green Cards on Facebook...I can’t afford you even if it would be luxurious by your country’s standards. Please don’t send ‘pretty lady’ messages to me. I’m not that dumb.) I have to worry about my investments and am waiting to find out if I will be getting more payment assistance from the company making the MS medicine that is priced for the rich, which I am not. I am grateful that I am on Medicare, but it still costs around 8 grand a year if you have medicine that eats up the Donut Hole. I’m glad so many young people don’t worry about the Republicans taking away their Social Security and Medicare because it means that they have decided that they will never grow old or lose their jobs. What adorable little shmucks you are! Go on! Eat that McDonald’s burger! It will NEVER affect your health.

I’m finding reality to be quite rewarding. My friends at the Unitarian Church at Montclair are so welcoming. I’m not perfect yet as I have spent my life as an outsider and don’t always know the right thing to say that even the most leftwing and liberal UUer expects. Going to events for the Dramatist Guild and Occupy Montclair. (Yeah, I  know, 10 of us and Montclair didn’t mind, but it’s nearby!) My new Facebook rule is that I can only meet married couples and other women, never another male.

Yeah, that means you, Stress Boy. It was a mistake. And then, I went and started to worry about you. Even pity you, and that was bad. I wasn’t honest about the book or the cartoons…they weren’t that good but I wanted to be encouraging. For some reason, you thought I was lying about never seeing you again. That I wanted something more from someone who was just barely surviving, with few options left. You got the idea I didn’t know I was old and fat or that you are fixated on…well, that would be breaking confidence…but I know that you want what you want at any cost, including yourself. I was trying to be just friends, but there were too many people in the friendship. People that you don’t realize are in love with you and jealous. Still, you do want to censor me and you are extremely judgmental about religion and politics and I’m not the woman to go along with that. And you should be cautious about the ones who do…especially if they dye their hair any color you want. I will never attempt friendship with you again. You make my M.S. worse, but I will always love your genius and mourn your wounded soul.

So, I’m here, dealing with the stress of life alone, but that’s all right. I’m still alive, with enough money to pay for the food for the anti-MS diet. I’ve gotten one HELL of a play out of the last year and I have three more in the pipeline and then, I’ll quit the damned stress-filled life of the theater and maybe find a way to get a degree in Philosophy. Oh, philosophy is not stress, it’s the greatest game of all, but that’s another essay.


  1. Is this supposed to be darkly amusing? It is! I relate to so much of it. Sorry MS is being a butt! I used to hate it when my friend Joyce used to fall over spontaneously. That was how MS used to do her. No one has seen her since Katrina. Your young man isn't named Ben, is he? My friend was dating a young man of such name who was a serial killer, according to the NOPD. Your description reminded me of him.

  2. HA! No, it's not Ben and we're not that young any more, although he feels he deserves a woman thirty years younger than him. I am darkly amusing by nature, but mostly, I'm trying to be honest. I can only give of myself to people who appreciate it and try to lighten my load and not cause stress. I curse out my lobster hands dropping things but I count myself lucky as I have what I need in life. Men are no longer a part of that, but it's OK