How am I?

Answering the impossible question.

I’ve been where you may be now, wanting to ask someone enduring something, “how are you, but like, really?” Everyone asks and everyone answers and everyone knows that, in an awful circumstance, asking is a way of caring when there is no other way to care, and answering is a way of saying thank you for caring.

In these circumstances the question doesn’t mean what it appears to mean—rather, it’s a polite way of asking “how the hell are you putting up with this shit and not going Unabomber on the world?” And we all know that the answer is rarely what it seems, even in normal circumstances.

So. It’s been a while since I wrote. I’ve been wondering how I am. It’s hard to know, minute to minute. Here I’ve come up with a few answers to the question that are all true, in case you were wondering, too.

How are you?

Not bad! Hanging in there! Not dead yet, haha!

How are you?

Oh, you know! *shrug*

How are you?

I have no idea. How is it August.

How are you?

Ragged. First the side effects, then there was a seizure. I was ready to write about the seizure. A whole thing about how names of illnesses no longer have an emotional tenor, except perhaps for “seizure.”

But then he got some bad labs and had to head to the ER. I was ready to write about the ER and its parade of human misery in all its forms, and how, just by existing in its current form, the ER makes an incontrovertible argument for national healthcare.

But then he got admitted to the hospital. And that’s where I am now. The sun is setting. The window faces west, over fraternity row and the hills of bel-air. We can’t see the ocean. maybe he will get out tomorrow, I say for the third day in a row.

How are you?

I’m wearing new shoes that were a present. More people should give shoes as a present. They are very comfortable! Even as I sit in a broken hospital recliner on top of that paper they lay down to protect things in medical offices from all the butts passing through.

How are you?

I only cried twice today!

How are you?

I watched an SVU a few nights ago in which Lt. Olivia Benson responds to ADA Rafael Barba, when he asks this question: “I don’t know how to answer that.”

How are you?

Please refer to the more depressing answers found here.

How are you?

Did you see my new bumper sticker?

How are you?

Still not sure how or why it is August. Short term memory loss affects one’s sense of time. If you don’t know what month it is, it’s unlikely you know the name of the sitting president. But you remember your kid and your wife and the small jokes and invented idioms you share. So I’m basically fine.

How are you?

If you’re learning English, your teacher will tell you to always answer this question positively, no matter your actual state of mind.

How are you?

In high school, instead of how are you, my friends would ask each other “What’s shakin?” And the correct answer was “Francis Bacon.” Because we were nerds.

How are you?

The way I like to ask this question in Hindi literally translates to, what is walking? Sometimes, with family, we don’t even say what is walking, we ljust say the word for “and.” Like so: “And?” The answer to that might be “Things are walking.”

How are you?

My eyes are dry. My feet are cold (see shoes above). My thumbs are sore from phone typing. I squint more these days but the eye doctor said I’m fine, so, yeah. Could be worse.

How are you?

Not dead yet motherfuckers.

How are you?

When I was pregnant many people would ask me with great sincerity “how are you feeling?” I loved that so much. I can’t recall ever feeling so cared for by so many, even if it was just a polite thing to say to a pregnant person.

How are you?

Bewildered. Chaotic. Enraged. A deep well of sad. And a deep mine of grateful. Ceaselessly tired.

How are you?

I have eaten!

How are you?

I’ll never be normal again.

And you? What’s up guys? How’s it going?

Image: Francis Bacon’s Head VI.