Free I’m Over All That by Shirley Maclaine

of longing for her.
    I had a darling boxer dog at the time, and whenever we came back to my place and the dog had pooped on the floor, she would clean it up, protesting that she wanted a simpler life. She was and is a very down-to-earth person—a woman I adore completely, a loyal and funny friend.
    I learned a great lesson in lighting from her one night. Mike had recently died in that tragic plane crash, and Elizabeth had taken up with Eddie Fisher. The town and it seemed the entire country was upset with her for stealing Eddie from Debbie and for doing it so soon after Mike’s death. There was a party at her agent’s house. She asked me to come and sit with her at a small table, which happened to be situated next to a candle-lit patio. She was drinking champagne from a sparkling crystal glass. Very subtly, she positioned herself in between me and the outside candles (they always work). She began to quietly talk about her love for Mike and why Eddie meant so much to her because of his relationship with Mike. Her eyes welled up with violet tears as she held her sparkling crystal glass close to her face. When the tears were about to fall, she subtly moved her champagne glass just under her eyes. I’ll never forget it. Her tears splashed like diamonds into the champagne as she talked about missing Mike so much. I’d never seen anything more beautiful or moving, and the entire party seemed to pause in wonder for a moment. It all worked because her words were true and because she used her extensive experience in front of the camera to accentuate her emotions. She is a great lady and the personification that All Life Is Show Business.
    I have come to the point in my life that I would rather just play a great character than worry so much how I look while I’m doing it. I’m not completely over my vanity, but the part that I am over is a relief.

I’m Over Antibiotics Unless I’m Dying
    I ’ve had sinus infections all my life. Over the years, the doctors gave me every antibiotic they could think of. They would work for a while, but the infections always came back. Then, about five years ago, I got very sick. A drip from my nose caused spasmodic coughing fits so intense that it put me in the emergency room three times. None of my doctors could pinpoint what was wrong. So I took more antibiotics. Nothing worked.
    Then one day I asked for a CT scan of my sinuses. The result was shocking: the entire right side of my face was full of pus. Long story short, I decided to have sinus surgery in L.A. The team got me prepared for surgery . . . at least that’s what I was told they were doing. The preparation consisted mostly of the anesthesiologist and nurses asking me about movies and Hollywood. They seemed disorganized to me.
    One of the drugs they were pumping into my arm was supposed to dry up all my mucus and spit. I had a severe coughing fit and I was unable speak. The surgeon thought I was sedated and other doctors came in and took tests. They pronounced me in good health. I was awake, but still couldn’t speak. The surgeon held a long, long tube up over his head like a circus performer about to do a trick. Then he proceeded to put the long tube into my nose and push it down and inside my face. It was excruciating. I tried to speak, but couldn’t. I had heard stories about people whom doctors thought were under anesthesia when they really weren’t. It was happening to me!
    I grabbed the long tube and pulled it out of my nose and sat up. I somehow got off the table and managed to croak, “I’m out of here. Where are my shoes?”
    I heard one of the anesthesiologists say that the drug I had been given produced a fight-or-flight response if the patient wasn’t out. Fight-or-flight described me perfectly, all right. Probably due to my status as a celebrity, the nurses found my clothes and shoes pronto. I still couldn’t speak very well. I became a one-person escape artist and no one stopped me. I don’t remember calling a