It’s one of those days when I forget to tuck my tampon string to the side before I take a poop.
But the good news is always, for me, pooping at all.
Looking at the Brightside.
I had an interesting conversation with my friend (who’s name I forgot last week during an attack of Alzheimers). Never considered him a spiritualist but he became involved with a shaman who “shattered” his third eye and since then, he’s Snow “fucking” White with butterflies perching on him and birds and mice helping him get dressed every morning. Okay, not exactly like that but close. When he first told me about it, I was like a kid jumping up and down, waving my hand in the air begging “ooh! Me next! Me next!” But upon further thought and discussion, I wonder if having my third eye “shattered” or even having that window polished is a good idea. Most of my life, I think I’ve ignored that locked room inside me because I’m fearful. I’ve mentioned before how uneasy I am with the theory of reincarnation or “soul recycling” as I call it. It makes me feel less in control of my destiny and less “Christian” although I feel ignorant for even admitting either thought. I don’t think I have demons so much as ghosts. And I’d like to learn to live with them in peace but perhaps that starts with acknowledging them. If I have spirit guides or guardians, they must be laughing at how often I talk to myself in foreign accents.
And where were they last Friday when I SAT in a fire ant bed during my lunch break at work? Asking “Why, G-d, why do you hate me?” as I hurried back inside, sweating and gritting my teeth through the security screening, up the stairs to strip down in the public bathroom and pick hundreds of fire ants off my clothes and body? Not the least had attacked my back and butt all the way down into my ass crack. CK, a good sport as always, came over that night after work and helped out with tweezers and peroxide.
Another friend laughed and commented, truthfully, “Only you…”