Just one tiny week ago I had my first, honest to Bast, actual good day since The Amazing Bob and I entered MGH Land for, what we thought would be a scary BUT quickie, not-really-a-big-deal checkup, on Monday, June 27th. For those of you playing the home game that’s 128 days ago. Four months.
I’m struggling to have both my monster sorrow, my Godzilla sized heartache and, at the same time, cheer myself a bit. Balance – I need some motherfucking balance, mon ami! All woe all the damn time is hard fucking work. I’m tellin' you, it’s exhausting! Also too, this emotional heavy lifting? Doin’ the Misery Mambo 24/7? It does NOT burn calories. Did you know that? How fucked up is this?! (answer: VERY!)
And yes, I’m impatient with myself (want balance NOW!). Très. I knew, even as I floated in a wistful bliss state in that pool of silica infused warm water, that I would crash back to planet earth. And I have.
Lush and pick up a few of their “bath bombs.” No, I can’t float in my tub BUT nice warm, mineral and smell-good infused soaks might be just the thing.
As I was motoring home from a visit with Janice yesterday, the Stones’ song Emotional Rescue began playing on my internal jukebox.
I will be your knight in shining armorThe lyrics are, generally, pretty creepy but I LOVE this tune. I’ve never been a Jagger fan. Nope. While I was real keen on his voice, I HATED his praying mantis-esque jangling, strutting, rubbery mouthed, over-the-top theatrics. Nope, didn’t find him hot stuff AT ALL. Much like the undeniably beautiful Roger Daltrey swinging the damn microphone – it was a distraction from the amazing music, NOT a hip, seductive embellishment.
Coming to your emotional rescue
But that’s just me. I know. All my friends were utterly entranced by Jagger and Daltrey’s stage antics. Thought they were a thousand kinds of dead sexy. Meh and a half.
Also too, I'll be my own knight in shining armor, thenkyouveddymuch.
Me? Keith Richards, (KIEF!), was my preferred rock god. In the Stones’ universe, at any rate. Yeah, he swaggered while he played BUT that seemed, to me anyway, all about channeling the music. When you’re playing and really truly ON FIRE, the music you’re creating possesses you. It does. Yes, this is a memory from way back when I used to play flute and NO, I’m not saying I was ever in the same zip code as Richards' chops.
Painting does the same thing for me.
But where was I…?
Oh right, trying to survive The Amazing Bob’s last out. Bath salts, possibly the Y and, ya know, I’m thinking of breaking out my old flute. Yes, I know that I’m deaf now – hard to miss that. I’m thinking of just, in the privacy of my own home, with only the cats to complain, playing scales. I remember that being meditative. Sure, I won’t hear if I’m flat (I always went flat versus sharp) or if my tone’s lovely or no BUT it could possibly be an interesting, focusing, contemplative thing.
OR I could zip back to the lagoon – move in and just float for the rest of my TABless days.