Seized Mon Day

Delight in the abstract and specific joys of the world around you, for in it are hidden and revealed a constant stream of surprises that in their least provide enough energy for happiness and at their greatest allow for utter rapture.

I wrote this on Wednesday afternoon, on my phone, while sitting in the park.

It was a beautiful day.

It’s a beautiful thing to say.

I believe it.

I barely remember writing it.

I vaguely remember feeling it.

It’s easier to tell and be told to carpe your diem than it is to actually consistently do it– I’m reminded of this every day that I accomplish or feel or simply think less than I’d like to.
Which these days is pretty much every day.

Carpe‘ing all your diem depends, unfortunately, far more on brain chemistry than we’d like to admit.  Wake up adamantly enough on the wrong side of the bed and you’re unlikely to smell any goddamn roses at all, even if somebody spot-welds petals to the insides of your nostrils.

Conversely, sometimes for no good reason at all, a day just seems easier and things feel lighter.  The world, out of the blue, becomes manageable again.
Not just manageable– beautiful!  Rapturous, even.  A goddamn hootenanny!

But wait, why?  What changed?

Maybe nothing at all.

Maybe just a few stray neurons in your head that were bumping up against something ugly have now for some reason found a clear path to HappyTowne.

Maybe that happened by accident.

Maybe it happened because you took a pill, or had a drink, or met a girl.

Maybe it happened because you seized the day.

Maybe it happened to me on Monday because I seized that day.  Literally.

Which is to say: Monday, I had a seizure.  And ever since, I’ve felt a little better.  Either that or I’ve developed an emotional dependence on the 400mg of Temozolomide that I take 5 days out of each month, and am only happy when I’m feeding my chemo habit.

I doubt that.

What I don’t doubt is that ever since I seized Monday, I’ve felt a bit like somebody rebooted my brain computer.

I suspect that on some molecular level, that is exactly what happened.  Hooray for seizures!  (Un-hooray for the hole I bit in my tongue!)

Anyway, what this experience has taught me (besides the fact that I should have a mouth guard on hand when I’m feeling seize-y) is that the regulation of brain chemistry (mood, cognition) is a tricky deal, with a lot of variables.  Some of these variables are under our control.  Many of them are not.  Many of them will never be.

The best we can do is to continue to try:  to try to enjoy and to live and to love and to feel rapture.  And– this is the most important thing– to try not to beat ourselves up if we’re not feeling it on any particular day.

Because as long as we have another day, we have another day to seize.

I hope I seize today.

I hope I don’t seize, today.

I’m getting a lot of legs out of this pun, for a guy who who hates puns.

But while we’re on legs (and jeux de mots), that brings me to my final point: the “Hakuna Matata” of the early 21st century…

OFIFOTO.

One Foot In Front Of The Other.

Seize the day, if you can.  If you can’t, OFIFOTO will do.

3 thoughts on “Seized Mon Day

  1. I’ve just found your blog. Glioblastoma is not a stranger to my family, and I was drawn to read the experiences of a traveler on its twisty path who can describe the journey. Reading your words and seeing clearly that you are there, thinking them and putting them down to share with the world was a wonderful thing. I wish you many days to seize, and that that if you must have seizures, they are gentle and give enough warning to guard your soft tissue, and provide needed reboots.

    peace.

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