Life In The Slow Lane...
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San Diego, CA, United States
This is a commentary about the slow lane, about the slowing of time since I suffered a severe brain injury while skateboarding with my dog. This is a blog about recovery; about our '82 VW Westfalia. It's about writing, surfing, camping, married life, bleeding ulcers that make you feel old at 32; about family, friends, and my dog Artie; it's about cruising in fourth gear, getting passed by every car and learning to appreciate every second of it.

Saturday, November 28, 2009


"You should go out, have fun. I'll be fine alone," I said. Truth is, I didn't want her to go. I wanted her by my side, sitting on the chair next to the couch. I wanted to see her sip on a glass of wine as we watched a movie. She is one of the few solid things in my life, always has been, but is more so now than ever. I didn't want her to stay because I felt like talking. I especially didn't care for her having to go through a lengthy discussion on my state of being, I just wanted her there. It had been a trying day, a depressing day, when thoughts, morbid thoughts, circulated my mind; thoughts about my own existence, fleeting wishes about not making it out of the coma, not having to tiptoe through an insecure and unsure life.

I hated the thought of dragging her through another dark conversation, one she would spend repeating how lucky, how strong, how amazing I am. I knew she needed a release and I know I don't have a chance at the same. And so, she left, dressed in tight black jeans, her amber-colored, thick hair pouring out of a knit wool cap. I could barely look at her, I can barely describe how pretty she looked, there are more tears than ever, more love than I thought imaginable. I felt ashamed for sending her off alone, I feel remorseful for shoving her into this.

In seconds, months in my time, she was gone and I held on to the remote control in one hand, a cup of hot tea in another. It's my version of a party, unfortunately, it's my new release. I scrolled through the movie channels. They were filled with Shia Lebeouf movies and cheap, softter than soft-core porn. I settled on Showtime's, Californication. Aimee and I had watched the first season, or should I say we laughed at the first season. It was horrible, another story about a struggling, over-indulgent, misogynistic writer, a misunderstood genius who never says anything clever or enlightening, it's like a sequel to Juno but geared more for aspiring non-original novelists like myself, people who have had their novels rejected by dozens of publishers. A show that is so vapidly cliche that I spent the entire night watching the complete third season.

As I watched, I was reminded of one night in Atlanta, more than a year ago. I was at a bar, my friends were chatting off in the distance. I sat sipping on a beer, smoking a cigarette. Some drunk, bearded dude in his early thirties sat down next to me. I said hello. He responded by asking what I did for a living. I told him I write, I'm a journalist, and I am in the process of trying to find a publisher for a novel I completed a few years back. He responded, speech so slurred I felt trickles of spit on my left forearm, that he too is a writer. He told me he was a writer for Californication. I then told him how poorly written that show was. He stumbled off shortly after.

That was who I was before and watching the new episodes of Californication brought me back and I was once again a critic; for a guy who shortly after the brain injury sat down for hours and was entertained by Transformers 2 and G.I. Joe, it's another example of my recovery, quite possible an unfortunate example, but an example nonetheless.

1 comment:

  1. Hey Dorian, it's Erny. I just wanted to tell you this was the first blog post I've read of yours and it put me to tears, yes because of your situation, but even more so, the way it was beautifully written. Anyone can tell another person how they are feeling, but there are only a few gifted people who can 'portray' it allowing the reader to feel it as well. You are one of those gifted writers that can do it. It's an inspiration. =)