Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Fit to be tied
I almost feel sorry for the Sufi acupuncturist. I'm about to place myself on his treatment table, you see, and I'm kind of a mess.
Yesterday was one of those days when a powerful emotional storm appeared from out of the nowhere. The first signs of the impending storm centered around a foul mood. I felt angry and self-righteous, outraged. I bitched and moaned endlessly to dear friends who are always gracious listeners. Y'all know who you are. Thank you!
As the internal storm raged, I lapsed into a cleaning frenzy. Sometimes I can blow off steam this way, and the results are always pleasing. But. It didn't work. So then I decided to cook something very complicated. I made chicken korma. The process was very labor intensive - and delicious - but did not help resolve my inner turmoil.
So I invited a couple of rowdy friends over for dinner. We drank. And though we laughed and ranted and raved, ate too much, drank too much wine, stayed up way too late, I was still in a mood.
In spite of a hangover and the inevitable remorse that always accompanies the metabolization of excess, there is even now much more energy stirring around inside my heart than I know what to do with. If my body had a car alarm, it would be going off right now.
The trip to the acupuncturist is timely, oh yeah. But where will he start? Like I said, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.