My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

My TVC-15; He Just Stares Back Unblinking

If you were wondering, it’s officially official: I have lost it, gone off the deep end, misplaced every marble. I’m starting to understand the whole nervous breakdown thing. I mean, it can’t be a good sign when you arrive at the sitters, with the baby, but without her milk. It can’t be good to join friends for lunch and discover you’d left your car door OPEN the whole time. Fortunately, either because it was 10 degrees out and the thieves were hanging out at the malls, or I was parked in a “good” neighborhood, but nothing was stolen. And those are only the two fuck-ups I can recall over the past week. There were many more.

I may appear to be a fully functioning human being because: I haven’t left my children in the car to slowly die in the cold, strapped in their seats; I did mail Xmas cards to friends and relatives; I make it into work every day by at least 9:00am; I haven’t purchased a weapon and exercised my American right to use said firearm; I haven’t forgotten to feed and clothe the children I gave birth to; I haven’t yelled at Dusty so much that her head exploded – only enough to make her sulk but what’s new; I didn’t crash into anything when, while attempting to take Red to the sitter on Monday after the snow/ice storm, we fishtailed all over the road because traffic was stopped for an accident; We got a tree (now dead) and decorated it; I finished my Xmas shopping but am still waiting for 3 things to arrive that I ordered on December 3rd. Where the fuck’s my stuff??????

I don’t even care that some poor woman crashed into and tore apart one of our fences when she careened out of control on the ice (I care about the woman, who was unharmed, just not the fence). No horses are currently residing in that pasture anyway because the fence on the other side is already down, all the posts being rotten.

What I need is to be transported back to 1880 where I can be taken off via stagecoach to Hot Springs for a Rest Cure. My god, are there not two more lovely words? Rest (yes). Cure (mm hmm). I now understand what all those “female problems” and “nervous disorders” were all about: stress. Oh, how I wish I could take to my bed and allow the servants to handle the details for a couple days. Servants? Oh, that would be me.

Instead, I get assaulted by Christmas Letters. What is about these things that I hate? What’s not to hate? It used to be, the annual Letter would detail all the wonderful things that had occurred to someone other than me during the year: new brilliant children, fabulous new job with mega-bucks salary, long vacations skiing or on a cruise or hiking in the mountains. They would make you feel inadequate and seethe with envy – why are you telling me these things? If we were close, I’d already know about it. Since we’re not, why should I care? I received four letters this week, disguised as Christmas greetings. Every single one mentions Death and Disease. One goes from knee replacement surgery to 12-day Mediterranean cruise. Thanks, I needed that. I’m up to my eyeballs in toxic used Kleenex and preschool defiance and you’re visiting the ruins in Greece.

Lots of people lost their fathers, aunts, best friend’s cousins, and cats this year. Are they truly “sharing,” trying to make me feel bad that my pain is not greater, or is this therapy – spread the pain, disperse it into the universe and be free!! I don’t know. I don’t mean to be entirely flippant about it. Obviously, bad things happen and the majority of these letters are coming from people my mother’s age so you expect things to go a little downhill in the health department. And, I guess this journal is just one long complaining Christmas letter. So I’ll leave you to your holiday enjoyment with this very odd bit of information. It comes from a stupid thing I subscribed to (see paragraph #1 for why) called The DailyOM:

“Breatharians believe that human beings can be completely sustained by light energy, known as prana which can be harvested most efficiently by simply breathing clean air. Many Breatharians abstain from most or all liquid and solid foods and choose instead to rely on fresh air as the substance that builds and nurtures their physical bodies. Becoming aware of the power of breathing to lend energy to our lives can bring many benefits, including an increase in spiritual vigor and a vibrant feeling of overall health.”

Um, yeah. I’ve tried that not-eating thing, unintentionally? And, it doesn’t work so good. Here’s more:

“Human beings came into physical existence completely dependent on the breath of life to sustain them.”

Uh, no they didn’t. They were hooked up to their mother via an umbilical cord which funneled nutrition into their growing bodies. Breath of life? Well, once born they took a breath but they had a physical existence prior to that and, if you’ve been around a newborn for any amount of time, you know that those cries aren’t for air, they’re for food.

“Bretharians believe that the body doesn't require physical food and it has only been forced to adapt to conventional methods of nourishment. In order to be nurtured purely through air, our brain has powerful energy receptors, known as the endocrine glands. These join with the lungs to bring a serene but powerful life force to breathing humans. In order to glean prana from the air around us, it is important to consciously tune into the energy supply and willfully withdraw the sustenance you need.”

So, clearly they’re insane. Insanity I can understand but, seriously. I’m all for breathing, don’t get me wrong, but……..just………no. No. Have a good holiday and eat as much as you can!


10:17 a.m. ::
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