My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Under a Martian Brain

Yeah, so where have I been? Letís see: food poisoning, working my ass off, stupid work field day, hot stone massageÖ.yeah, that pretty much sums up the week. And, on top of it all, I really havenít had anything to say. Ever had a week like that?

So, Iím back from the massage. It was nice. I donít know. Really, what I need is a brain massage because what happens in circumstances like these is that I hype it up in my mind as being THE BEST MOST WONDERFUL THING EVER and I remember that Iím ticklish. Very ticklish. And I forget to mention this to the masseuse person (this time a guy whose name Iíve already forgotten who replied to everything I said with ďRight on.Ē At least he didnít say it with an exclamation point at the end, just a period.) so when I tense up, I begin to apologize and explain no, itís me not him, really, sincerely, and then I fret about it and tense up again and my mind wonít stop wonít stop wonít stop with a myriad of thought strands all intermingling around like ribbons around a maypole the day after the celebration.

And so I lay there and try to hard to ENJOY THIS but I worry about work and I get mad at my husband for leaving me BOTH a voicemail and an e-mail at work this morning telling me heís almost out of diapers which I cannot do anything about until later and if the situationís dire then just fucking put Red in the car and go buy some. Duh. Itís what I do every single day Ė keep long lists in my head of everything weíre nearly out of and all the places I have to go to procure them so that I have no time to do anything else. Like go get a massage where I can stew about it in peace.

Then I started musing over selfishness. How, if I had millions of dollars, Iíd do this massage thing once a week. Iíd have somebody on retainer or something. And then I thought, god what a waste of money, surely thereís something better I can do with that kind of money than waste it on myself, on a totally selfish end, with no practical, tangible outcome. And Iím really not a selfish person, certainly not since I had kids, and really Iím too poor and practical (to a fault, really; I am the ultimate in ďpenny wise, pound foolishĒ) to ever be really, really selfish. I could just never bring myself to own so many clothes or shoes, for example, that I needed an entire ROOM for them. You know those rich people with rooms larger than some peopleís kitchens? That have three-way mirrors and all kinds of specialized hanging space and drawers for things like scarves? Ick, no.

And, all the time Iím noticing heís doing that like flick! thing with his hands when he comes to the end of a limb Ė just flicks! away the bad energy or something into the air and I imagine little puffs of black smoke lingering, hovering in the air there in that tiny room. Thereís something similar to that in yoga Ė breathing in good air, breathing out bad. Which I also canít do well because of a very deviated septum (naturally occurring, if you must know) that means I do 90% of my breathing through one nostril so that ďin one nostril and out the other stuffĒ cannot be done by me. I always end of cheating and breathing out of my mouth. Because, yes, I admit: Iím a mouth breather.

But now, I have to go pick up Dusty. Maybe Iíll be back tomorrow. If I have anything worth saying to say. And Iíll try to keep it all in the same tense.

Completely random and off-topic (as if there was one):

Dusty informed me the other day that babies and toddlers learn stuff in their sleep. That when they are asleep, their brains leave their bodies and go off to Mars, get smart, and come back. Thatís how they learn, how they suddenly know stuff. I learn something new every day. And not from Mars, either. Unless Dustyís really a Martian and I somehow hadnít noticed.

Dusty also came up to me over the weekend after sheíd been perusing the book shelves and said, ďWhen Iím a teenager? Know what Iím going to read? Under The Black Flag!Ē My kinda girl.


4:07 p.m. ::
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