Sunday, March 3, 2013

My Voyage Out of Lilliput


  
Exhaling with ecstatic relief at the publishing of my recent post here, shaking off the ghosts of my “sit-com past” and everything about it which had haunted me on that particular journey, I felt as light as a feather to have written from the heart, addressed my personal personnel issues, and worked through my big old emotional bag-o-crap to finally become unchained.

The experience was actually quite liberating!
And sitting down to formulate my usual mass email to approximately forty friends and family members who would rather know when there’s something new on this blog - as opposed to feeling obligated to pop by willy-nilly (what can I say, this isn’t the Facebook) - I double-checked the usual link to make sure that I had entered it correctly.  (Lord knows, I forgot a forward slash ONE TIME, and all email hell broke loose on my ass!)  

But upon being redirected to my page here at Blogger, I gasped in terror.
Yes the link was correct, but what I’d neglected to comprehend was the fact that having published my post at 12:33am, the calendar date was actually February 22.

And let the mind-fuckery begin...
Whilst I’m loathe to call it an “anniversary” (as the term connotes some sort of jubilant celebration), it was indeed a date that I commemorate. 

Flash back with me if you will:
As if it were only yesterday, I recalled every single sight and smell in the courthouse over half a decade ago.  I’d been charged with a misdemeanor offense, had worked as a (world’s WORST!) receptionist in trade for an Attorney, and had essentially become a prisoner in my own mind... 

I immediately recalled the eerie florescent glow of the room (well, I AM an Actor (where was my key light?), and quite frankly EVERYONE looked like a criminal under such conditions!).
I also recalled the guy who had had a bench warrant out for his arrest, who was hoping to negotiate surrendering himself at a later date, and who was immediately strong-armed, wrangled, cuffed, stripped of his belt buckle and shoe laces as he was hauled out kicking and screaming through a side door.  (EEK!)

Oh, and let us not forget!  As if The Universe itself was growing weary of the on-going “guilty – pay this fine/no contest – pay this fine” lengthy list of misdemeanor citations and needed a bit of cosmic comedic entertainment, I witnessed the world’s largest (Uck, I can’t even type it...) um, ‘hard-shelled insect’, the size of a ripe lime lumbering its way down the courthouse aisle like it OWNED the joint; the sight of which sent me and a few other females screaming as we clambered to crouch acrobatically upon the tops of the backs of our chairs – NOT a physical reaction that I would generally recommend in front of armed Officers who are trained to Taser and subdue at the first sign of trouble – but as we weren’t NEARLY as aggressive as the ambulatory “lime”, we luckily didn’t find ourselves at the wrong end of a swarm of quick-thinking policemen wielding batons!!!  (Again:  EEK!)
Flash forward with me now, if you will:

As sense memory can be a powerfully debilitating experience, I made a deal with myself.  I’d attempt to get some sleep (rough waters ahead as they may be for the night); face whatever the daylight of February 22 had to offer, and if I chose to commemorate the date by staying in bed for the next twenty-four hours with a blanket pulled tightly over my head, well by golly, I had every right to do so!
And thus I gave myself permission to do as necessary, sans judgment of any kind.

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Meanwhile (unbeknownst to me until days later), somewhere in the Midwestern states, my friend (and Federal Agent for the Department of Justice), was battling her own sense memory.  Having successfully conquered breast cancer (WOO-HOO!), yet cautiously continuing her on-going quarterly check-ups, she was DEVASTATED to find out that out of the blue, her blood-work had changed dramatically for the worse within the last three months.

And let the mind-fuckery begin...
“Here we go again...” she thought, anticipating treatments, surgeries, etc., etc. etc., ad nauseam.  And making a deal with herself to challenge the test results – she knew inherently that she was absolutely fine – she endured twenty hours of her own personal hell until she was able to confer with her Oncologist.

As it turns out, the highly respected University of What-The Fuck had inadvertently given her someone else’s test results.  Sure, their last names were the same, and their first names both started with an “A”, but their birth dates weren’t even close!  (And yes, kind readers, I can feel your fury building out there!  Feel free to be up in arms over this injustice, but trust me, my Federal Agent friend has this particular situation well in hand!)  And whilst I’m grateful that my friend is absolutely healthy, our hearts go out to that dear lady, who for twenty hours, hopefully enjoyed at least one day to the fullest extent before getting the horrific news of her illness...
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Now, generally, I wouldn’t include the above story in one of my posts, as I prefer to explore the absurd, the peculiar and the idiosyncrasies in The Universe that make me snort when I laugh.
Yet, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to the beneficial therapeutic side effects of writing...

And catching up on the phone with my Fed friend a few days afterward, I listened patiently as she related the tales of her previous evening, appearing as a guest speaker at a cancer support group, wherein she was prompted to share her story as well as the impact that that particular organization had had on her recovery and personal well-being.
“That was great” one of the heads of the society apparently told her afterwards.  “But you made a little bit too much eye contact...”

Well, there’s your “absurd”!
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As for me, I think I covered the “peculiar”, as whilst I slept very hard and vampire-iffically immobile in my bed until midday of February 22, my pea-brain recalled (in my dreams) the Judge blathering on and on in legalese about my obligations and restrictions; one of which included a strict admonition that should I fail to comply with the orders of the court, I could be subject to deportation. 
“That means that he can send you back to Indiana” my Attorney whispered with a grin.

(EEK!)

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And as far as idiosyncrasies go, I’m kinda sure I nailed that too...

“Welcome to McDonalds.  May I take your order?” the voice on the squawk box asked cheerily.
“Yes!  I’m celebrating today, so may I please have your Number Six Angus meal, but without the mushrooms on it?” I slobbered, undeniably proud that I had chosen to face the “anniversary” with a hot shower, an attitude of gratitude and a hearty appetite to celebrate how far I’d travelled.

“Of course,” the gentleman replied professionally; “Diet Coke, right?”
“Guilty!” I beamed.

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Wishing “Fair Winds and Following Seas” to all of you navigating your own journey through life,

~Gulliver P

 

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