This Pre-Cleanse Is Killing Me, Still Day 1!


I decided to make green soup.  In fact, I’m pretty sure the soup is still sitting on the kitchen counter since I ran away from it an hour or so ago.  Besides the fact that it looks like Exorcist vomit, it attacked me mercilessly so I went and hid in the office where I now sit, with an ice pack draped around my arm (not a burn, no, this soup is smart).  I think I’ll go back into the kitchen now and see if I can do a little guerilla move and put it in the frig as revenge.

Hah!  Mission accomplished.

Of course, I had to face the fact that the kitchen is coated in green soup and aduki bean splatter (after I just cleaned the condo yesterday!), but it was a small price to pay.

Here’s what happened:  first, the pressure cooker decided it didn’t like aduki beans.  It started screaming in protest.  Then, when I didn’t respond, it started spitting at me.  It spat at me, at the stove, at the counters, at the floor.  I wrapped a rag around it’s rattling head, turned down the heat, and calmed it for a short time, but soon it started raging again.  I turned the heat down some more and pretended it didn’t exist.  I began chopping vegetables for green soup, giving that my full attention.

Did I mention I have a persecution complex?  This was revealed to me 15 months ago when I attended a meditation retreat and spent millions of minutes listening to my own mind, which was interesting if you like endless insanity.  The mind is a dangerous place to visit, and I wouldn’t want to live there except I don’t seem to have a choice.  Oh, yes, purusa, samadhi, pure awareness if I ever get enlightened, which will not happen if the green soup gets me first.

Back to persecution by food and kitchen machines.

So, I’m ignoring the pressure cooker’s assault as a tactic…and it seems to be working.  I throw every green vegetable I can find into a pot and let it cook.  Then I wash out the blender (for those of you who are interested, I ate a warm rice milk smoothie for lunch–we’re not supposed to eat cold food–which was interesting, if a tad gross).  I put the soup in the blender, spilling with every ladle-full.  And then, I’m pureeing away, because that’s what you’re supposed to do with cleanse soup, and I decide to turn the speed up.  The lid explodes upward against my hand, spewing Exorcist-like soup all over the floor, my clothes, the counter, etc.  And it was HOT!  Lucky I had my hand on the lid or who knows what would have happened.

I stopped blending since now the soup is out to get me and go back to the pressure cooker and aduki beans.  I pour the beans into the colander without incident.  I haven’t changed my clothes or cleaned up or anything, because obviously this is war, and why bother?

I look at the soup and the blender.  They look back at me.  I cross the kitchen floor and slip on the soup I decided not to clean up because why bother? (here is why bother) and bang my arm on the edge of the counter.  Hard.  It really hurt.

Have I mentioned yet that I’m hungry?  I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet that a constant state of hunger accompanies my life on this cleanse, as well as the food and kitchen machines attacking me, that is.

It is at this point that I tear my clothes off and throw them on the hallway floor, where they still sit.  I go put on something else and then scurry out the balcony door to the deck, away from the kitchen and its super powerful enemies.

I sit on the plastic porch chair and listen to the construction, which seems soothing in light of recent past experiences.

I decide if my arm hurts this badly, ice might be a good plan.  But I don’t move.  For a while.  I can sense the soup plotting against me.

But I do eventually return to the kitchen, mop the worst of the soup from floor, throw it away, and put what’s left in the blender into containers and make my way to the office, where I have been ever since.

My life is a constant adventure, obviously.

Did I mention that I’m hungry?

And by the way, this thing, with objects f$#%ing with me?  It’s not new.  It happens all the time, but not usually so aggressively.

I suppose I must now say metta for the pressure cooker, the blender, the aduki beans and the soup.  Because I am practicing Buddhism.  Regardless.

All I have to say is that it’s lucky my partner has a job.  I figure I can pretend I’m some woman from the 50’s, and answer the door in a dress and heels, saying, “How was your day, dear?  Would you like some Exorcist soup or some killer aduki beans?”

I can’t wait to see what she says.

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