Monday, October 3, 2011

Foozy Groovetrappin'

Fun little twist in my time-space continuum this morning. A new meaning to and application of one of my life's daily staples. And it's given me even more hope that I'm gonna get through the big 2-3 month stayover just as easy as this one-monther. So I just had to share.

Like every mid-morning for days now, I had been eagerly anticipating delivery of the print-out of my blood values so as to identify the precise mid-point of the 10- to 14-day post-transplant "cell trough" - from which point, I can try to reckon when the values will rise up to the magic number that = my temporary walking papers. (Sat, Oct 8 marks 10 days; Wed, Oct 12 marks 14 days post-transplant.)

Of course, it's a patient's game of patience as I can't calculate the exact midpoint until I start to see the rising trend. And of course, even if I were so mathematically savvy, ultimately, it's the docs who say who goes where when. And so, yes, granted, it's fully an exercise in futility. But I got nothing if not time to think up stuff like this. It's not the big highlight of my day or anything. Just something to do, to pass a few minutes, to look onwards.

And I've always believed, or recently overheard, or did I dream it, that a big part of staying happy is continually having something to look forward to. You know, goals and dreams toward which to strive. And you always gotta be checking your progress against those. True in work-life. True in life-life. Shoot, probably even true in Miller High-Life. Might even be the red thread woven through Pabst's Blue Ribbon.

Anyway, I mention all this not to wax philosophical but rather yak parenthetical. Really just a point/counterpoint segue to today's real highlight, via a short aside to the next daily time-taking ritual, in which I tally the chalk marks on the cell wall. Today, tossing in a little basic math (ok, a quick .xls calculation), I realized that today marks somewhere between the 2/3 to 3/4 point of getting through this first clinic gig. Daylight ahead.

To celebrate this shiny little steel-file in my nearly baked Humble Pie of roughly 30 days in the hole, I picked up a good habit that I started nearly two years ago, back when I moved into my new apartment. Goes like this: Once I've made my morning cup of coffee, I turn up some music (way up, just a notch or four above "Dude, that's louder than really necessary, you know") and then I just move and groove around in my living room. Pausing only on occasion, long enough for a sip and an ensuing "ahhhh." Yes, I proudly admit it: I'm a freak. Flag-waving, card-carrying, bonafide freak.

Witnessing it on any given day in my apartment or, today, here in quarantine, animal behaviorists or visiting aliens might simply call it "dancing." But it's more than that. I like to call it "foozy groovetrappin'," a term penned by my good friend Jon. These amusingly alliteral words and, for that matter, any and all of their derivatives (e.g., "to trap groove," "to groove foozily," "to be foozy," "to be foozin'," "to be a/the fooz," to be a fully fledged "Foozy Groovetrapper") basically in some way mean "currently very much digging, or generally being a digger of, life."

Beyond mere movement, there's a philosophy behind the daily groove-trap. I know what you're thinking, but "carpe diem" doesn't capture it. There's nothing "seizing" or "striving" or "ambitious" about groovetrappin'. For Big Lebowski fans among you, it's more akin to the line, "C'mon, f**k it, dude... Let's go bowling." It's a state of mind. It's no worries. It's feeling "laid back and soulful." A dictionary definition might read, "being fully content with and abundantly appreciative of everything, everywhere, at this exact moment in time."

Physiologically, maybe it all comes down to generating the same positive vibes or endorphins as other folks do with morning jogging, or biking, or cruising to work with the top down. Aside from just getting the blood flowing and some initial exercise for the day, even if just for 2 or 3 songs, my daily grooves serve as a reminder of how freaking great it is to be alive (and to have an apartment where I can get away with being as loud as I damn well please).

I don't know whether it truly takes a situation like mine to really appreciate what I'm talking about. I always thought that I appreciated life. That I lived in the moment. But I really do see things differently now than I did years ago. Sure, I still wake up in the morning on any given workday, my mind cranking up and shooting out all sorts of thoughts, among them the typical: "Yup, way too much more on my to-do list than humanly to-doable today" … "Oh, crap, have I still not taken care of this or that?" ... "Oh, grey and rainy today" … etc.

But nowadays, the ensuing thoughts are: "Hey, who the f**k cares?!" … "You're f**ing alive, man!" … "And most of all, you're not hooked up to chemo today, or cooped up in quarantine!" … "And anyway, rain nourishes, replenishes. So let's open up the windows a sec. Listen to the calming, cleansing sounds. That's life, man! It's f**ing beautiful. F**ing dig it! Celebrate it. Turn up some music. Let's trap some grooves and get rolling."

So that's the philosophy or the attitude. Now for groovetrappin's physical expression, the reason that it doesn't simply translate to "dance." Groovetrappin' doesn't mean flipping out, feet a'stomping, arms a' flailing and head a'banging. Nor is it in any way a coordinated, choreographed effort. It can be as simple as just nodding your head, closing your eyes, and smiling contentedly. It scales on up to shuffling your feet, gesturing with fingers, hands and arms to the sound of, say, Spearhead's "100,000 Miles" (http://youtu.be/D3KYLBuqkg4 ). That's a textbook Foozy Groove, right there. It's the one that started my morning today.

Somewhere earlier in this post, I believe that I promised or at least insinuated that there'd be a point to all this. (Oh, yeah, up top, "A new meaning to and application of one of my life's daily staples.")

And so it was today, pondering the 2/3 to 3/4 point, looking forward to being out of the now, out of the clinic, that I then thought, "Hey, dude, even here cooped up in the clinic, it's still f**ing great to be alive, ain't it?! And ain't it f**ing grand that, once and for all, we're doing what it takes to be free of the damn dinghies?! Well, then, what the f**k are you waiting for?! Celebrate, you crazy f**k! Be fully content with and abundantly appreciative of everything, everywhere, at this exact moment in time! Get it? Got it? Good. Now go trap yourself some groove!"

And so begins a new daily ritual, also here in the clinic. Although the iPod doesn't quite go to "11," and the room ain't as colorful and cozy as my pad, I'll start each day with some foozy groovin'. And the formerly random points of the fingers that typically slip into any foozy groove now take on an actual intent: Puzzled aliens and animal observers, that just means I'm shooting me some dinghies.