C.A. MacConnell

Photo from www.flickr.com

Heya. Well, I’m no longer a camera virgin. I mean, it was my first time on camera this week. Let me back up…

The Lindner Center of Hope will be opening soon. It’s a hospital that’ll treat those with mental illnesses, focusing on recovery and integrated treatment, something that’s much needed in the area. In preparation for the opening, The Center is shooting a video that will be used as an educational tool. I was one of the people selected to tell my story on camera. I haven’t seen the finished result, but while they were interviewing me, I found myself thinking of Barbara Walters, and how she and her guests make it look so easy. I mean, in my life so far, I’ve interviewed a slew of bands and others, but it was interesting to be on the other side of things for a change. And that camera looked like a big, black hole. A scary socket.

I found myself talking about my hospital experiences (around 3 years ago and 8 years ago), and there were some things that happened that I think most people wouldn’t even believe–things one sees in the movies. Filth, danger, yeah. A woman screaming at the voices in her head. A man locked in the padded room. Skin rashes, sleeplessness, strange cuts and bruises, wrapped wrists, beds without pillows, nurses who ignore and ignore. Therapists so cold that it was the antithesis of aid. And on and on. I found myself remembering the worst of it. And I found myself grateful that there is a new Center coming, one focused on loving care. So desperately needed.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell my story. On camera, even harder. Not the speaking part, but hard still. Hard, in the sense that it makes me relive things, as if a ghost were in the room. Ghosts with feet. But on the other hand, it reminds me to keep on fighting this fight. It reminds me to keep on the path of recovery, whether or not I’m feeling symptoms that day.

After a lifetime of dealing with bipolar disorder, and 9 or so years in treatment, yeah, I still feel symptoms. The past two weeks, depression crept in like a motherfucker. Before that, I was running around anxious and wild, wanting to ditch my cats and move to the desert. But I didn’t have to act on my restless mind, and today, I feel sweetly level. I keep reminding myself that the rough spots will fade, that “This too shall pass.” And my chatterbox brain comes in handy in the art of writing.

It’s strange and interesting to be so vocal about one’s brain disorder. F’n hard to get a date after someone reads your raw story somewhere. But it’s also freeing. I mean, now I have nothing to hide. Well, I did eat a pint of cookies n cream the other day, but that’s beside the point.

Anyway, I’m proud to be on this video, and I hope it can help some people. And I’m proud to say that I’m still trucking, working on getting my memoir published. I will not give up. One way or another, this thing’s gonna be on some coffee tables.

I’ve also started teaching a yoga class at The Recovery Center of Hamilton County on Auburn Avenue here in town. That class is a relaxed one focused on helping people with various brain disorders. The people there are such brave fighters. It lifts me each week. I am honored to teach them.

Hope you are all well. I’m off to work on some articles. I’m drinking hot chocolate in the summer because I can,
C.A. MacConnell

My brother Matt played here. At the PGA Professional National Championship, Atunyote Golf Club, Verona, New York. What a gorgeous course. When he plays, I follow his scores online. Rock on, bro! And happy birthday to you!

Christine

Now, I’m not a crazy cat woman, but these guys rock. Kylin (silver tiger) and Tree (black & white) are my buds. Ky acts more like a dog — he’ll fetch and rest in my lap or sit on my shoulder while I’m typing. When ANYONE comes over, Kylin wants some loving. Tree, on the other hand, only likes me. And he likes to be touched, but only for a moment, and then he moves, shifts, talking up a storm, always coming back for more, but only selectively. Shy one. Total opposites, yet they adore each other. Hmm.

Today, I’ve spent some time reading other people’s blogs. It seems that everywhere, everyone is going through some weird spell. One guy is pissed he doesn’t have enough time for his music. Another is angry for some unknown reason, but his blog has one of those angry faces on it, so I know he’s angry. A girl is numb. Another can’t sleep. One man feels like a kid again — utterly starving for love. Is there some sort of universal angst going on? I’m feeling it too. Must be something in the warm air.

I’ve been anxious, unsettled, feeling like change is coming on, but not knowing what it is. I’ve been lost and lonely, even while in a crowded room. There are 41 CDs on my list of those I want, and the list is growing, never shrinking. I run and I run, and when I stop, I think, now what. I chew gum, spit it out, chew another piece. Again and again. I go on dates that lead nowhere. My saddle is sitting in my room, but I haven’t ridden in a long time. My memoir is sitting on my desk, finished. Sitting on my desk. Sitting on my desk. Sitting.

Everything’s up in the air. Everything feels still. Annoyingly still. See, the universal angst has caught up with me too. If it’s fucking growing pains, bring it on.

I find myself thinking, why can’t I just be like the cats? Why can’t I curl up, rest, and just be. Because I am not a house cat. I am a lion. Or a wolf. No, a horse. Unicorn? I give up.

Here are my upcoming CityBeat pieces:
June 11, Music, The Sweep
June 18, Living Out Loud, The Mother Rose
July 2, Music, Walk the Moon
July 9, Music, The Working Title
When one is in the midst of universal angst, it’s a good idea to make a gratitude list. So here goes:

I am grateful for:
1. I have eyebrows. So many girls pluck ‘em down so thin, and I like mine the way they are, even though the lady at the beauty salon wanted to pluck mine really badly. Screw her.
2. As far as I know, my body is in working order.
3. I got a new A/C unit in my apartment. OK, it’s freezing in here, but I’m not complaining.
4. Juicy Fruit gum is still around.
5. I slept last night. Okay, I woke up 3 or 4 times, but that’s nothing.
6. My girlfriends help me keep my head screwed on straight.
7. Add my doctor and parents to #6.
8. Cookies n Cream rocks.
9. My microwave is a good cook.
10. I don’t have bed bugs.

Growl,
C.A. MacConnell

For starters, Upcoming CityBeat Publications:

May 21, Music, Josh Eagle
May 21, Music, Jason Dennie
May 28, Living Out Loud

It’s been a while. And I feel the need to puke out a bunch of words here. Beware. But even though this entry might come out like a whirlwind, it all makes sense in the end, I promise. Stay with me.

What have I been doing? Lots. I feel like I need extra arms and legs. Like a spider. I love spiders.

Let’s see, for starters, I’ve been running. Running like I’m on my last legs. And sometimes, honestly, I feel like that. Other times, I feel light, floaty, you get the idea. Anyway, on May 4, I ran the Flying Pig Marathon for the first time. Now, don’t get all excited yet, because I only ran the half marathon, which was 13.1 miles. Not the full 26.2. But still, for me, that distance was quite the mother. By the way, Happy Mother’s Day. I just saw my Mom, and she rocks.

Here comes the “too much information” part: anyway, so I ran the race in 2 hours and 15 minutes, and it went well, except I had to stop to piss once, and there was a line, which knocked about 10 min. off my time…Now, I don’t know why I cared, because it wasn’t like I was one of the front runners, but I found myself thinking…a line? In the middle of a marathon? I thought that was weak. Still, I waited, feeling like an ass. I can’t help it, I’m competitive by nature. The Leo in me I guess, if you believe in such things. But, alas, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

I’ve let a bunch of things slide lately, due to having fun running and finishing up my yoga teacher training. And…I’m finally done!! Woo hoo! I’ve actually been teaching for a while now (on the sly), but now I’m officially certified, so pretty soon I’m going to try to get all of you to do a headstand, whether you like it or not. I love being upside down. Yes, I am strange. But these days, I kind of like being strange. And I like meeting strange people too.

Other than that, more of the usual…article writing, working on getting my book published, paying bills, buying cool t-shirts I really don’t need (one has a spider on it and it’s my favorite).

Keep reading, I’m getting there. Today I ran 11 miles in a thunderstorm. People were huddled together at the bus stop, staring at me like I was crazy. But for some reason, drenched to the bone, I felt this strange sense of freedom. I often like to run around in the rain. Especially a downpour. Bring it on, I’ll swim in it. I never owned an umbrella until a few years ago, when I got one as a free gift, but I’ve never used it. I’m funny that way. I used to like riding horses in the rain too. Not sure if the horses liked it, but I think some did. Who knows. I just have hunches. And I have a hunch that running is 99% mental and 1% physical. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little.

But I’m not exaggerating here — I’ve been meeting some incredible musicians lately. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’m really enjoying hearing such talent coming from our city. I realize I have some sweet jobs…yoga and writing. I am grateful.

Now, from running to walking. May 10 was the NAMI Walk. The starting line was down at Sawyer Point, and the walk was held to raise funds for the National Alliance on Mental Illness. I’ve been going to this walk for years. The first one involved a handful of people stomping around in the pouring rain. This year, the sun was gorgeous, and the numbers were huge. The biggest yet. They were also backed by Channel 9. Not to mention, there was the coolest jazz band playing. Honestly, I almost wanted to skip the walking part and watch the band, but I’m a trooper, and I walked on. I was so pleased to see all of the support. And thanks to my family members for coming out too! Go Macs! This entire area is really making strides in the Mental Health arena…

In August, The Lindner Center of Hope will be opening up in Mason. I did some writing that’ll be featured in a video which promotes the center’s many progressive features. The center should really set a new standard of care for the hospitals in this city, and it’ll be a huge step for Cincinnati and the surrounding areas. Never before have we had such a center, one that will treat the whole person, rather than just one symptom. Care based on respect, loving treatment, and yes, indeed, hope. I am thrilled to be a part of the promotion process.

Now, I’m finally getting to the point here, I promise…in an effort to combine aspects of my life — writing, yoga, and mental health — I’ve been working to create yoga classes at different recovery centers, such as The Mighty Vine and The Recovery Center. My goal is to teach classes, share my writing, and help people recover from serious brain disorders, aiding in the rebuilding process and helping to prevent episodes from reoccurring.

Isn’t it strange how life leads you to pursue different dreams? I’ve been all over the map with different interests, but one thing’s for sure — the writing has always been there. The interest in healing the body has always been there. The love for music is ingrained in me. And the passion for building the spirit has always been there.

It’s all coming together.

It’s all coming together.

Just how it should be.

Beautifully.

Unfolding, one moment at a time.

If you just keep on truckin’.

Pretty soon, I’ll be updating the blog with a time or two for some new yoga classes at recovery centers in the area. Stay tuned. Thanks for playing.

I love spiders,

C.A. MacConnell

Hi there. This is a sneak peek at the beginning of my book. I haven’t decided on the title yet, obviously. Of course, now it’s typed and all that jazz, but just thought I’d share the raw beginning. So what’s going on with the book? Well, I’m STILL making my way through the jungle of publication. I feel like Max in Where the Wild Things Are. Ah, my favorite childhood book.

Obviously, I got my ancient camera working too. And the workman fixed my sink and light fixtures. And the car is actually running. I ran 13 miles this morning. I can’t even believe I did that. Life is good and simple.

I feel awesome. It’s crisp and rainy out, and I’m glad to be well and writing away for CityBeat, as well as teaching some yoga. As soon as I finish my yoga training, I plan to continue an old book I started, one riddled with bands and music. Cool project. But first, I have to get this memoir to the public, so I’m still waiting to hear from some people on that. Arg, patience. Not one of my best qualities.
I have a bunch of music pieces coming up, so stay tuned. I’ll have some dates soon. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday. I know I will. Naptime.

Best,
C.A. MacConnell

Here is a picture of my friend Steve and me finishing the Mercy Heart Mini Marathon that happened on March 30th downtown. I was shivering. The morning was freezing, and I didn’t have enough clothes on, but once we started running, I was fine. Smooth sailing. I felt really good the whole time. I’ve been training for a while, and Steve’s been my coach of sorts. Thank you. 9.6 miles, down the drain.

I used to run when I was a kid, and I just picked it up again here last year. I tried running this thing when I was like 15 years old, but I had to walk part of it. Not this time! It was a great day for me. Next stop: Flying Pig Marathon. This year, I’m only running the half marathon, 13.1 miles. I’m not ready for the full yet. Yet.

Running is like a moving meditation for me. Helps me settle my mind. And it’s like life — sometimes it’s a rough uphill climb, and other times, it’s an easy glide home. Perhaps I’m getting too metaphoric here. I have nothing more artsy to say. I’m too distracted by the Spring.

Hope you’re all out there running or walking or biking or sitting or eating ice cream or whatever you do.
Another tattoo,
C.A. MacConnell

Upcoming CityBeat Publications:
April 9, Living Out Loud, Spin the Bottle
April 16, Music, Seabird
April 23, Music, Fizzgig
May 7, Music, Cash Flagg

I’ve been waiting for the moment to use this lovely picture. And here it is. I love the mysterious horse’s shadow, and the dark face that is barely visible. It represents how I feel, as if horses are trapped inside of me — old shadows that are galloping through me. I’ve been dreaming about their huge eyes. I’ve been dreaming about my past as a horse trainer. I’ve been missing the people at the barn. I’ve been missing the creatures, the smells. But it is a good kind of nostalgia. It’s real, tangible, the kind that lets me know that the horses are not gone from my life. Just waiting for me to come back.

These days are a time of endings and beginnings. A few years ago, I left my horse career to pursue writing and yoga, and now, after nine months of training, I’m teaching yoga around the city. It’s been quite an experience, working through it physically, mentally, and spiritually. I’m still in training, but I’m nearly through it, and I’m, well, happy with my choice.

And it has also been a time of beginnings and endings for my writing. I finished my memoir last year, and CityBeat has been very good to me. Still trucking ahead as a freelancer, making my way. Still working to get published, still pushing and shoving. This summer, I plan to make some big decisions regarding my memoir. I need to get it out there. Still waiting on a NYC agent, and depending on the results there, I will take the next steps.Spring is nearly here. A year ago, I pierced my navel. Six months back, I re-pierced my nose. I quit caffeine. Next week, I will quit another vice. I spoke all around the state, fighting against stigma. I cut 5 inches off of my hair, and strangely, no one noticed. My cousin got engaged. Another cousin got sober. My friend Morgan is coming home from Afghanistan soon. Sunday, I’ll run the Heart Mini Marathon, something that I never thought I’d do again. (I ran it when I was little, but I didn’t finish. This time I will).

Beginnings and endings.

I’ve listened to tunes celebrating old-time music, and I’ve listened to other tracks celebrating the progressive side. I’ve had the chance to listen to some gorgeous local music vets, and I’ve met some incredible talents just starting out. I’ve taken notes, started and finished music essays, and I’ve learned from them all.

And so it is. I reminisce these days, and yet I move forward. In the back of my brain, I can still hear the sound of hooves on the ground. I remember my first kiss like it was yesterday, and yet I’ve been single for 2 1/2 years. I remember my torturous first day sober back in December of 1997, and yet I’ve been sober for over 10 years.

Lately, moments seem to flash at me like photographs, as if my mind is settling things out, readying for change. This winter, I went through a dry creative spell, but suddenly, my fingers feel new as I type to you, reaching out.

Here’s to endings and beginnings. Here’s to creativity, artistry, strength, and new life.

To the shadows,
C.A. MacConnell

Yesterday, I was the keynote speaker for the National Alliance on Mental Illness Hamilton County at their kickoff luncheon for NAMI’s annual walk, which happens every spring. When I arrived at Hyde Park Country Club, I must admit that I was a little overwhelmed, as the room was huge, and the podium and mic seemed so small in comparison. Before the talk, I was able to meet with Channel 9 News anchor Carol Williams, who was quite lovely, and one of the most petite women I’ve ever met (besides my Grammie), and that’s saying a lot, since I’m not such a big person myself. Anyway, Carol was the MC for the day, and she and I talked about everything from boots to the elections. I asked her how she was holding up, considering the primaries were the night before. She said, “That’s nothing compared to what the candidates go through.” No doubt. Anyway, Carol was charming and the perfect woman to MC the day–so well spoken, obviously, and so energetic and bright. Thanks!

My talk wasn’t until the end, so I had to semi-eat and talk to my table neighbor, Sue Brammer, who was the president of NAMI up until very recently. For some reason, we got into a conversation about dentistry–I think because I asked Sue if I had anything in my teeth. Let me just say that I HATE going to the dentist, which is ironic, since my Mom’s a hygienist. I’m her worst patient I think. Anyway, Sue was funny, very down to earth, and she helped me to relax.

This talk was a lot shorter than the MHA one, but there were a lot more people there. I tried to get to the important points fast, tell part of my story, and share about recovery and hope. I was more nervous than usual, but I guess I did all right, because when I ended, I looked up, and everyone was standing up and clapping. A standing ovation. It was bizarre, and it made me kind of embarrassed, but it was also so freaking nice to have a room full of supporters.

All in all, I’m so glad I did it, but afterward, I was beat. Even today, I’m still beat. When I share from my gut and talk about such personal occurrences to the masses, it can be very draining. But I’d do it again. And again. I feel driven to keep on pushing, especially after meeting some other bipolar people after the luncheon and hearing them tell me how much my story meant to them, that it inspired them to keep on keeping on.

I’ll have some pictures to post I hope soon. I met some really incredible people. Some famous, some ordinary joes like me. It was a wild mix. And all of them were asking about my book, wanting to read it, which was sweet. I’ve only let a select few read it so far. I’d like to wait until it gets published to come out with it fully. And so I wait. And push on.

Get out in this gorgeous day
before the storm hits,
or, hell, get out in the gorgeous storm,

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. Check out this interesting article on Bipolar Disorder and workplace stigma.

Here’s a picture of me at the United Way Building after my talk there. I was chatting with one of the audience members, a lady who was a speech pathologist for school kids. She was there to learn how to better communicate to kids with mental illnesses. Cool.

Now I have to mention Sheila Sims, the Community Resource Director at the MHA who hooked me up with the talk, and “my new best friend,” as she called me. Sheila was a rockin’ personality. Her daughter, Stacy Sims, is one of my biggest mentors, and the author of the killer book, Swimming Naked. Stacy is an amazing woman who always has her hands in something, whether it be with helping teenage girls through The True Body Project, writing a play, writing a book, or networking with others. Check out her book!

Every month, the MHA has Mental Health Roundtables, when they have a featured speaker. I was the speaker yesterday. It was quite an adventure. Oh, and if you want to know what was in the plastic bag in the pic, it was a present from my sister Snook (her nickname), a t-shirt from New Jersey. Funny part was, Snook wasn’t at the talk…she was out flying all over the world…so the t-shirt was delivered to me through Mom. We always pass things around that way. Poor Mom is the “hand-off” person.

Back to the talk. I didn’t sleep at all the night before. Not at all. Not a wink. I tried, but my restlessness even bugged the cats. Finally, they just went and slept somewhere else in peace. I usually don’t get nervous to talk, but for some reason, this one gave me the butterflies. But interestingly enough, when I arrived, the nerves melted completely, and I became a cool cucumber. Strange how that works. I was 100% calm. As calm as quiet water. A relaxed ocean. Okay, you get the drift.

The talk went really well. I felt like it flowed, and it was nice to see some familiar faces in the crowd as well as many unfamiliar ones. The room was packed. After the talk, I was pleased to meet numerous people from different organizations I couldn’t keep straight. I also met a few others who have illnesses, or those who had family members with illnesses. It was very touching.

Sometimes it’s scary to put myself out there like this, because I worry about being judged or misunderstood, but I decided a while back that the importance of the message outweighed any hesitancy I might have. And when I’m done talking, I start meeting people who share some of my struggles, and it makes it all worth it. It reminds me that I’m on the right path, wherever it may lead. Wow, that sounds mega new-agey. I’m really not that much of a space cadet hippie type.

And sometimes I’m like, what the hell am I doing up here, talking about bipolar disorder. It’s surreal. If you would’ve told me ten years ago that I’d be doing this, I probably would have wrung your neck and called YOU crazy. Alas, here I am.

Did I mention I have an awesome Mom and Dad? I do. They were there, listening in and taking pictures. Of course, I had to edit my story a little since they were there. ha. Even though I’m 33, sometimes it’s still nice to spare the parents of the gory details. They know pretty much everything, but they don’t need to be reminded of me waking up from a blackout soaking wet, driving drunk up 81 North in the middle of the night with no headlights on heading to Virginia Beach. See what I mean?

Everyone was asking about my book, which was encouraging. I’m still working on a way to publish it…right now it’s in NYC getting checked out again. We’ll see what happens with that, and then I’ll figure out the next course of action. Keep your fingers and toes crossed for me.

I’m glad I had this opportunity to reach out. One talk down, one to go…I speak at Hyde Park Country Club this afternoon, and I’ll meet with journalist Carol Williams, so that should be cool. Not to mention, there are supposed to be some good eats! Always a plus.

Take care, all. Hope you’re having a lovely Wednesday. Calm,
C.A. MacConnell

Here’s what I have on the near future CityBeat plate:
March 5, Music, Pete Dressman
March 19, Music, The Tillers
March 19, Living Out Loud

Now, for a story about Dr. Kay Jamison. Jamison is a world-renowned doctor and bipolar specialist. She is a professor, an author, a gifted speaker, and an incredibly intelligent woman. She was also diagnosed with bipolar disorder years ago, and she continues to act as a passionate advocate for the mentally ill, traveling to speak. I’ve read her books, An Unquiet Mind and Touched with Fire, and I greatly respect her work, on both academic and personal levels. At one time, her memoir, An Unquiet Mind, was the only source of support I had when I was in the throes of a serious depression, at a time before I was properly diagnosed bipolar. When I heard that Jamison was coming to Cincinnati, I was thrilled at the chance to meet one of my mentors.

Last night, I had the opportunity to attend Jamison’s talk as well as a reception beforehand. At the reception, there were numerous organization heads, doctors, and other people with brain disorders as well. Jamison was tall, her hair cut in a blonde bob. She wore a long, white sweater with a patterned skirt. Around her neck, a gold watch hung down, attached to a long chain. Her look was simple, approachable, a bit nervous, perhaps shy. Her eyes were clear blue, but soft, giving her a certain character, the essence of someone tough, but a raging feeler, a mix of sensitive and strong.

While Jamison signed books, my Dad checked out the food. He brought back some testers. Small hors d’ouerves that I think were Chinese. Anyway, I passed, which was a dumb choice, considering I hadn’t eaten for a while, and I started to feel lightheaded. So I embraced my dizziness. Better than feeling sick later.

Dad nudged me into getting a book signed, but I didn’t have much time to talk with Jamison in the reception line…there were too many people and too much rush and chatter. So, I did what every other aspiring, determined writer would do — I followed the poor lady into the bathroom, where she was probably desperately trying to get some peace and quiet. Sorry, no solitude for you, Jamison. I was on a mission.

While we were washing our hands, I was able to talk with Jamison some about writing, memoirs, and the like. She encouraged me to not give up, and she told me to mail my book to her, which was cool. Although she did say she had a stack of manuscripts “this high” (using hand gestures). It was inspiring to meet a woman with my illness, and to know that she’s a bestselling author, one who put her life on the line and busted out, telling her story, revealing the nature of the illness to millions at a time when so many were afraid of the truth. Jamison is truly brave and has paved the way for us to fight stigma. It was an honor to meet her.

Thank you.

Her talk mainly focused on medications, and the general problems regarding non-compliance in patients. It was just what I needed to hear since lately, I’ve been fighting taking meds, due to some side effects and other frustrating reasons. I still do take them, even though I don’t want to, but I often want to rebel. But after hearing her talk, I realized that I was right where I needed to be, that the universe was sending me a message to stay on the path and keep doing what I’m doing. Her words were inspiring, reaffirming my resolve to fight against getting sick. She renewed my drive to reveal certain truths about these issues, to share my story, and to help others through the power of art and creation.

And it was touching to see Mom and Dad there listening and learning, supporting me.

Thank you too.

I wish I had a picture to show you, but alas, I always seem to forget my camera, which is an old school 35mm, I might add. I am so stubborn when it comes to new gadgets. I guess I hold on to things, for the sake of holding on. Plus, I was carrying my 310-page memoir manuscript around, so I really didn’t have the hands for it. At events such as this, I always take my manuscript, in the hopes that I may be able to shop it around. The darn thing’s heavy, and it gets tiresome, but I think it’s better to have a hard copy around than nothing at all. So I carry it around, like my own personal suitcase.

After watching Jamison speak, I realized that I’ll be speaking soon, next week, and I started to get the butterflies, even though I’ve spoken numerous times before. But this group will be bigger and more focused, and I’ve been promoting a lot more. So I’m a little nervous, but I’m excited too. Looking forward to busting out with my story, releasing whatever comes out. I usually just wing it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again — talking lifts me, provides me with courage, a voice, a message, some healing. When I was so ill back in 1998, I sure wish someone would’ve shared his/her story with me, to say that they he/she had this illness and were in recovery. But there was no one there, other than books. It was so hard to keep trucking. So that’s why I’m so passionate about speaking out, to let other bipolar people know that they can recover and succeed, that they can get well and stay in touch with creative fires at the same time, that they, like Jamison, can put their lives on the line and become moving, breathing, speaking miracles.

Sometimes, I still get highly depressed or too high, even after 8 years of being on medication. That part is the source of unending frustrating, and sometimes, pure fear. But we all have our struggles. We all have something — abuse, blindness, loss of loved ones, disease, alcoholism, and on and on. Sometimes, none of it makes sense. And sometimes, it all makes sense, binding us together in the inseparable way that only a painful fight can.

Come check out my talk on March 4th if you get a chance…again, it’s at The United Way Building, 2400 Reading Road, 12-1pm. And hopefully soon, like Jamison, I’ll have my own books to sign.

I have nothing profound to end on here. But I’m enjoying my veggie lasagna,

C.A. MacConnell