The Old Globe Theater

I read something before I went to bed that had the words “Old Globe Theater” in it so when I woke up I had those words in my head.

In my dream it was nighttime and I was riding a bike up a really steep hill. I was in the highest gear possible so it was relatively easy but I was moving pretty slowly. On the right side of the road was a hamburger stand, and Cindy Williams (Cindy Williams, right? She was Shirley on Laverne and Shirley?) was standing there taking orders, working at the hamburger stand. And I was passing by so slowly she had time to see the look on my face, which was, WTF is Cindy Williams doing working at a hamburger stand? She was laughing about it, and she elbowed the guy standing next to her, like Get a load of this weirdo. That guy was David Spade.

After I made it to the top of the hill, I’m there with my husband, Garry Shandling, which makes sense because I am currently in love with him even though he died 6 or 7 years ago. (Are ANY of the people in this dream currently alive?*) And Garry is telling me that when we have kids, we have to name one of them “Garry,” and one of them “Shirley.” And then he goes, Now let’s go get some hot dogs.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re wondering, I had delicious Chinese food for dinner.

(There was another part of the dream where I was driving my car in the snow, and another part where I was trying to open the garage door but I couldn’t find the right key on this key ring I had, even though it was full of a million keys. But those parts are probably about sex, right?)

*I just want you to know that I wrote this post right after I woke up, at 3:30 a.m., and didn’t check the internet until I woke up for real, around 7:30 a.m. Both Cindy Williams and David Spade are alive and, presumably well, and I apologize for implying otherwise.

Drum Lesson, RDO, The Cops

I think you can pretty much put money on the fact that if I’m writing something here, Jules must be having a drum lesson. What? Because that’s what’s happening now. Last week he had a substitute teacher, but today his usual guy is here, making him count and stuff. I know I get more excited about these lessons than the kid does sometimes, but I see myself in there, one day. He does seem a little tired, so his energy level is pretty low, but his teacher is so peppy and fun, I’m hoping he wakes up a little.

He finished up karate camp last Friday, and since today was my RDO, instead of doing something awesome and fun, I took him with me to my massage appointment and made him wait for me in the lobby. I know! What stories he’s going to have to tell on the comedy circuit someday. I also took him for a Slurpee at 7-Eleven afterward, and then we went home and had grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. THEN I made him watch two episodes of “Classic Albums” on PBS with me - the one on Dark Side of the Moon, and the one on Rumors. The funny thing is, he watched it while also watching anime on his iPad and while wearing headphones! What a multitasker. Later, I cleaned the hall closets and made him listen to Rumors, the Red Album by Weezer, and This Year’s Model by Elvis Costello. As I said elsewhere, I listen to music so loud they can probably hear it in space, so some of that probably sank in. Also, he’s heard all of it before, AND my singing.

I’ve seen both those episodes of “Classic Albums” before, but there’s something so poignant and terrible about John McVie’s sadness when talking about Rumors that I almost can’t stand it. I should probably do some additional reading. I know that was filmed a long time ago but he still seemed so broken by whatever he did and whatever was done to him. And yet the playing he does on those songs is so recognizable and so happy sounding. How did he do that?

I’ve been listening to that album for a long time - as one would have to, as it’s existed a long time - and as I get older, the Christine McVie songs grow on me more and more. I used to get very wrapped up in Stevie’s witchy weirdness, but Christine’s songs and her voice are just as good.

Oh, did I mention that someone called the cops on our flute rehearsal yesterday?

Patty moved a few blocks a few months ago, and one of her neighbors is apparently not a fan. She received an anonymous note, complaining about the music. It sucks, because she’s a flutist, and teaching and playing is her main source of income. Practicing and rehearsals all go with the territory of a professional musician. I’m sorry if this guy disagrees, but I think everyone is entitled to make a living. And you may not have noticed, Cowardly Neighbor, but there aren’t a lot of gigs for professional musicians right now. Anyway, I never saw the note, but I know it wasn’t pleasant. Yesterday, I was told (because my back was to the street; we were playing out in her back yard) that the neighbor suspected of writing the note walked by, and then a few minutes later, the police drove by. They stopped at the corner and sat there, and Patty’s other neighbor (a nice lady named… Irene) asked them what was up. They said they’d been called out because of the music, but they chose not to even talk to us because we weren’t doing anything wrong.

No shit. If playing the flute is illegal then I guess I’m in a gang.

You can do anything for X number of minutes

Editorial Note: This post was written last Monday, and posted today. I didn’t realize it’s been sitting as a draft all this time.

Since we were last together (hello there!), I have walked every day for at least 30 minutes. — This is still true! I have walked every day for at least 30 minutes, sometimes more!

I’ve also eaten more food than one person should consume, but let’s focus on the fact that I HAVE BEEN OUTSIDE IN SNEAKERS AND HAVE TAKEN SOME WALKS. — Food consumption is fluctuating. Some days I’m just not that hungry. Some days I eat all three meals, and then some. Remember in that episode of the West Wing when Donna comes back to work after almost dying in a car bomb accident while in Gaza with Andrea Wyatt and Chairman Fitzwallace (ret., RIP), and Commander Harper asks her if she’d like to talk about that experience with her, figuring that as a woman who has also been through that same kind of experience (I assume; Kate doesn’t get specific but one can hypothesis that Kate saw some Stuff) (not knowing that Donna sometimes struggles with opening up to other attractive blond females; see: Hayes, A.), Donna might be more comfortable telling her things. Anyway, Donna goes to Kate later and she says, Listen, I know I need to talk to someone but I’m not ready, and she lays out for Kate that she recognizes the Signs of Trauma.

Nobody tried to blow me up. But I do have that same feeling sometimes, and I know that my lack of patience, my frustration with people, my eating habits, are all pointing toward getting some shit off my chest, but I just don’t have time for that right now. Everything is fine. We never see Donna and Kate have that conversation, and so maybe that means it never happened, and if Donna didn’t need it, maybe I won’t either. What kind of cake is it Donna? It’s cake, Irene.

I trust in Donna’s wisdom.

It hasn’t been that hard. Seriously. Even Patrick and the kid went with me one time. Tonight my friend is coming over to take me for walk no. 2 of the day, and even though it’s 88 degrees outside, I’m looking forward to it. — My friend has been an excellent source of walks, and I truly appreciate her for this. I don’t think she realizes how great it is of her.

I’m also looking forward to hanging out with our new kitten, just adopted today. Her name is Juno, and she is very sweet. Check my Instagram for photos, which you can access by clicking on the handy “Social Media” tab on this blog. Cool beans, I mean right? — Jesus H. Christ, that kitten is adorable. Like, she is the best kitten ever. I am thrilled to pieces with her. She’s one of the best things about this whole stupid year.

What's next?

I just got off the phone with my cardiologist.

The hightlights of that conversation are:

• My heart is normal (ha! I told him he might need to call some people to confirm).

• The monitor caught some episodes of atrial fibrillation and atrial tachycardia; atrial fibrillation is more serious, which we kind of knew already. He asked if I felt it when it happened: um, yes, doctor, I felt it, did you?

He said that my options were to move to a secondary medication that works with the electrical system of the heart, but which could have "side effects that are not as benign as metoprolol" (that's what I'm currently taking). I haven’t noticed any major side effects from the metoprolol, except that I misspell the word “metoprolol” every single time. I guess being tired is one of them, and I’ve certainly experienced being tired but who hasn’t been tired lately? My general malaise and ennui has been ongoing for a long time; it might just be my natural state. Let’s not blame science.

There's also a surgical option, which is more invasive and problematic, and as he said, “Generally tolerated well by people with a normal heart structure [of which I am one; could you please write that down?] and good for people who don’t like taking medication.”

I don’t like taking medication but I’m pretty sure I like it better than surgery.

Then, I asked him what could have caused this whole shebang, and he said, "Genetics, sleep apnea, lack of exercise." But, since my episodes occur during the day and not just at night, he doesn't think sleep apnea is it.

I admitted to being basically inert for the past year and a half. He agreed that could have something to do with it, and didn’t sound too smug when he did it. (He’s a nice guy.)

So the plan is this: we are going to keep my medication the same and he “prescribed” 30 minutes of walking a day, and then he will check in with me in three months. I put voice to my fears about having a stroke (why was it so hard to talk about this? I don’t know, but it is) and mentioned my varicose veins and though he didn't say "Irene, that is crazy! Girl you are NOT going to have a stroke,” he did add a daily baby aspirin to my meds. He doesn’t think the varicose veins have anything to do with anything but was probably happy for the visual. Sir, you are welcome.

Now, if I couldn’t be trusted to write in this stupid blog every day for more than 5 days, can I be trusted to walk 30 minutes a day every day? Honestly, I don’t know. But I kind of have to do it. So? Let’s go. To quote Abby Bartlet (and if you read the last post, you know that I can): Game on, boyfriend.