Post-Cleanse, Day 2

It’s over, it’s over, lalala, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, lalalalalalalalalaa!

I just ate a cheese sandwich.

That would be half a rice tortilla, about 1 oz. of almond cheese and 1/2 teaspoon of earth balance.

Compare it to…Beef Wellington, say, or Filet Mignon with Hollandaise, both of which would probably kill me.  But on this diet, ambrosia.

Today I also ate 2 eggs and 1/2 a cup of goat yogurt.

My partner drank water from rice that had been boiled for a long time.

I hope to be able to do yoga without falling over tomorrow.  It’s a big wish, I know, but I have hope.

I hope to drive up to Endicott without spending an extra half hour in traffic on Wed.  We’re at blocking-and-rehearsing-and-hoping-we -can-get-it-all-in-and-make-it-great time.

I will meditate tomorrow.  Maybe all day.

Obviously my brain has been destroyed by kichari and ayurvedic herbs.  I suppose a cleanse lobotomy could be a reason for nothing every bothering me again.

We’ll see.  How long it takes to find another rant.  There’s always Mitt Romney, but really, why bother?  He’s doing a good job of destroying himself without my attention.  I think I’ll leave him to it.

Good night, one and all.  Much metta.  Or something.  I have forgotten the meanings of many words on this lobotomy, so perhaps something makes sense somewhere on some planet in some language.  Perhaps.  Spahrep?

Ayurvedic Cleanse, Day 5: No Really! I Surrender!

After a decent morning yesterday, I ended up with a migraine and nausea that lasted all the way through today.  I have now admitted that my low blood sugar issues, kept at bay for approximately twenty years, are pretty serious.  Migraines, nausea, dizziness, shaking, waves and hot and cold and above all, extreme homicidal mood swings add up to serious.  My brain doesn’t work well without protein.  And fat.  In some amount or another.

So, I’m doing the purgatory today, but nothing much is happening except that I keep talking about wanting a cheese sandwich (almond cheese on gluten free bread on my diet) and my partner keeps calling and asking if I’ve purged the purgatory yet and telling me a cheese sandwich of any kind would make me unbearably sick.

OKAY!  She might occasionally know what she’s talking about!  I surrender!  Beam me up Dorothy!  I mean Scotty!

Plus, I am so sick of being reduced to the world of bodily functions.

Probably, in the world of ayurveda, I should be examining these problems with some degree of mindfulness but I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT!  It’s bad enough drinking prune juice (I couldn’t face the castor oil) and feeling crappy.  (Ha-ha, get it.)

I should also mention that I went to therapy yesterday and apologized to the woman for asking her about her interpretative dancer wardrobe.  It was unnecessary.  She is a human being even if she is a therapist who acts like a therapist and wants to talk to me like I’m a patient.  I plan to fire her at the first available opportunity.  Of course, we all know how my plans go.  Up in smoke, half the time.  I am clearly not in control.

However, on a positive note, I started writing a new book today, one I’ve wanted to write since 2010.  Here’s the title:

The Ex-Catholic, Sort of Unitarian, Anti-Therapy, Pseudo-Buddhist, At –Least-a-Little Bi-sexual , Kind of Feminist, Pro-Male, WHAT?

It’s a memoir, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.

I’m a little written-out, so I’m going to crap out (ha-ha).

This cleanse really needs to end.  Now.

Ayurvedic Cleanse, Day 3: Down and Up and Down

So, I signed up for an audition at the BPT, because I love Marc and Kate, and I like black comedy and there were a couple parts in my age range.  I dragged myself off the floor on Friday, assisted a yoga class, and made it to the BPT to read the script.  Then, today, day of the audition, I got up and drank oil.  Then I felt sick.  Then I did work I had to do for Endicott rehearsal tonight.  Then I tried not to throw up.  Then I meditated.  Then I ate and my stomach blew up like a basketball.  All I could think about was whether I would ever take a shit again (sorry).  Then I took a shower.  Then I drank hot water and took some Triphala in the hopes of taking said shit.  Then I did 10 minutes of yoga.  Then I did my hair, make-up and clothes.  Two pairs of my pants are now tighter than I like, so I think I’ve gained weight on this cleanse in spite of all the hunger and suffering.  Then wished I hadn’t given up dyeing my hair so I could look younger.  I also began to wonder whether the pain and bloating would resolve itself before the audition.  I had the thought that with my luck, on this cleanse, it would all move, resolve, whatever, 2 minutes before I had to audition.

Which is exactly what happened.  I got to the BPT, sat down, and then had to run for the bathroom (or walk, acting all cool).  And get this, I was so relieved to be relieved that I didn’t care that I felt light-headed and out of it.  The world has narrowed considerably.

I came out of the bathroom at the BPT and after about 1 minute, the lovely and generous Kate Snodgrass called me in to the audition.  But, first she hugged me.  I’m pretty sure she was hoping I’d do well.  Meanwhile, I was wondering if she could smell the sesame oil from the self-massage last night.  I thought I might smell like Chinese takeout.

We went into the theatre.  I thought maybe I’d left myself in the bathroom.  The completely distant energy-less feeling of the cleanse made the whole thing seem like a vaguely bad dream.  Someone else’s bad dream, since I wasn’t quite there.  I read the side once.  The director very generously laughed on the laugh lines, even though I wasn’t funny.  Then Kate and I switched parts and she was really funny–just the right touch of bitter sarcasm.  I did better as the insane Christian, which is probably no surprise to anyone.  My energy was just about coming out of the bathroom and making its way down the hall to my body when the audition ended.

Oh, well.  All my auditions lately have been great, so I guess I was due.  And there is this–I am no longer 100% constipated.  But I will go lie down on the floor again.  Then I will consider entropy, and how it’s a new thing in my life.

I wonder if I will recognize myself when the cleanse is over.  Today Superwoman is in remission.  It’s all entropy here.  And lying on the floor.  And waiting for bodily functions to occur.  And wishing I’d gotten to audition sans cleanse, because the BPT is a great theatre doing important work and whoever did that audition was the Cleanse Queen of Entropy, a non-event all to herself.

So basically, the morning sucked.

After lying on the floor and talking to two friends to whom I can say anything at all (how rare and wonderful that is…though I wish they were local), I picked up enough to drive to Endicott College.  Traffic was horrible–I left at 5:45 and got there at 7:10.  Yuck.  But the guys!  This used to happen when I was teaching, after Don died, sometimes a class would pull my best out of me against all odds and these guys are like that.  They are so invested.  We did script analysis and their answers rocked my world–smart, insightful…they did my work for me.  Then we read the play again and a ton of notes I would have given weren’t needed.  Love, love and love again.  We started blocking.  It made me so happy.

I am now home, and my partner had set up abhyanga, the oil massage, so we could do it together as soon as I came in the door.  I tore off my clothes and went at the exfoliation, then got in the tub with her to do the oil down.  She finished first, and for some reason–mental absence, exhaustion–I put the glass bowl on my head like a hat because I couldn’t figure out what else to do with it.  It promptly slid off the oil slick called my hair and burst into a thousand pieces all over the tub and my feet.  Ouch!  Typing, I think I found another sliver in my thumb.

So, the oil down ended quickly for me, though my partner meditated naked for a while and is now in the shower.

A day.  In the life.  Of an insane person.

I am now admitting that I don’t like being on a cleanse.  I don’t like not being able to think clearly and being weak as a kitten.  But I love the men at Endicott, so that’s something.  They deserve better of me, to quote Reverend Alex, which is really quoting myself, since I created her.

I hope that this cleanse provides me with a new digestive system, because frankly, I deserve it.

Ayurvedic Cleanse: Day 1, No Drama. What?

I am not homicidal.

Neither am I hungry.

Of course, I’m mostly asleep, so that’s not particularly difficult.

I like the gruel.

I like my partner.

I like my devised theatre project.

I have micro-waveable Buckies to put on my stomach and a choice of three eye pillows.

I have already meditated once today and may do so again.

But for right now, it’s all about sleep.

I realize without something to complain about, I’m pretty boring, but I could complain about becoming boring for a while.

Nah.  Sleep it is.

Ayurvedic Pre-Cleanse Day 6: I Have Come to This

Once, a little more than a week ago, I wrote about Buddhism, and non-violence and the nature of the universe.  Now I write about bodily functions and will, no doubt, continue to do so for the next 8 days during the cleanse and then the post-cleanse, or integration period.

Oh, how low we fall.

So let me say, by way of an update, that in some ways I am a very lucky person.  I ran with the bulls in Pamplona and didn’t die, for example.  I also jumped out of an airplane, tubed down the Gila River in flood season, went free-climbing in the Alps, leapt from the top of some monkey bars into a tree five feet away at midnight (yes, I’d been drinking), hitchhiked around Europe, Japan and parts of the United States, back-packed and hiked by myself everywhere and didn’t die.  Instead, I was adopted, over and over again, by people who seemed to find me entertaining.  The nuns at my high school who took me in to live with them (and then listened to me preach atheism), the women in Spain who invited me to stay at their houses when I missed trains, etc, the family in Ireland who took me in for Christmas–I have been loved, all over the world, by strangers.  Move over, Tennessee Williams and Blanche DuBois for the queer world traveler, also dependent on the kindness of strangers (and so far no Stanley calling in the men with the white coats).

However, even given these very meaningful experiences about the benevolence of the human race (look, I am stating benevolence exists before going to bodily functions!), I must now register a complaint about the pre-cleanse experience.  Yesterday, when I finally stopped trying to do everything perfectly and ate egg whites as well as two smoothies (both with avocado and protein powder), I didn’t have headaches, mood swings or light-headedness.  Of course, today is the last day of the pre-cleanse, so of course on top of facing a whole new more rigorous phase of the diet including drinking oil tomorrow morning, I had to get my f$%^ing period.  With worse than usual cramps.

So basically, I would still like to kill someone.  Benevolence be gone.

My partner has taken to reading this blog and then texting or emailing to ask if it’s safe to come home.  OF COURSE IT’S NOT SAFE!  I AM A HYPO-GLYCEMIC MANIAC!  WHO IS NOW DMC!  (During Menstrual Cycle)

Unfortunately, the daily meditation forces me to recognize that trying to be perfect before rebelling and finding my own way is a pattern (see my blogs about yoga teacher training and attempting to live through four hours of flow without complaint…I failed miserably).  Meditation forces me to recognize that I didn’t put superwoman to bed when I learned to make fun of myself, to have humility (1 or 2 minutes of every day when I consider I may not be smarter than absolutely everyone), and to say metta.  Superwoman is alive and well and kicking my butt.

I have two words to say on that subject.  German mother.

Let it not be said that this pre-cleanse, homicidality and extreme menstrual cramps have taught me nothing.  I took a pain reliever right away, two minutes after the cramps hit.  It’s called Ecotrin, and it doesn’t work quite as well as ibuprofen, but still.  I am not trying to be perfect.  I just want to stop whining out loud about my gonads falling out and get to work for the day.

One can hope.

Everything moving down and out on this cleanse, in more ways than one.

On to basmati rice, yellow mung beans (dal) and curry-like spices.  I’m allowed to add in protein powder stuff to keep from killing people.  I’m also allowed to quit, but I’m eager to get to the day on which you drink a lot of Castor oil and purge.  That just sounds like fun.  Or at least it was fun when my partner was doing the cleanse alone and she’d yell, “Out of my way,” and run for the bathroom.  Of course on this, her third time through, she’s having no side effects whatsoever.  She’s like, “I’m not focusing on the cleanse much this time.”

I’m like, “I noticed.”  (Imagine my homicidal glare.)

Then I think sweetness and light and go stare at the Cacao Bliss.  Yesterday she moved it to the back of the cabinet.  She is worried, very, very worried.

As well she should be.

Ayurvedic Pre-Cleanse Day 5: Deprivation or NOT

I don’t like deprivation.  Which is saying something, since my investment in material things is pretty limited.  I think I’ve never gotten over 1) my German mother’s investment in financial security, wooden geese and antique everything and 2) the 10 years I spent traveling around the world, careful not to accumulate anything that wouldn’t fit in a backpack (or selling things after a year of living in, say, Japan).  Here are the things I’m attached to:

1) My computer, for writing.

2) My glass statue of a winged woman.

3) My meditation cushion and yoga bolster.

4) A couple stuffed animals (including 2 snowmen and at least 1 Snoopy)

5) Some books

6) Any clothes that make me look really hot

7) My boxer shorts and t-shirts that I wear all summer.

I’m also rather attached to my partner, but she’s not a material thing, so that’s okay.

It seems, though, I am attached to not being hungry and wanting to kill people!  I’d forgotten that diets made me crazy and that when my blood sugar gets too low it’s not pretty.  Once, in 1990 or so, I had a complete meltdown on Commercial Street in Provincetown because I hadn’t eaten in 6 hours and we couldn’t decide on a restaurant (note how many restaurants there are on Commercial street-LOTS), probably because my mental functioning deteriorates on no food.  My partner got this look of panic, ran into a store, and came out with a bag of nuts.  “Eat these,” she said.  “Now!”

Within 10 minutes I was my normal insane self rather than someone out of a horror movie.  I mean, wow!  Blood sugar matters.

So, back to the cleanse.  I have been perfect in terms of sticking to it and since I Buddhistly know that any time I’m perfect it’s a big mistake, I don’t know why I’ve done this to myself!  I am determined to cross my own perfectionist line and eat some egg whites today.  Or at least 2 warm smoothies.  Because humor aside, I am truly miserable on this f*&^ing cleanse, even if my digestion is working better than it has in over a decade.  I can’t do yoga, I can’t work out, I can’t think, I drop things a lot and objects have taken on an enormous amount of life.  Today the smoothie leapt out of the pot and kissed me.  It was not pleasant.  I’m just saying.

So, egg whites.  I kind of hate eggs, so it’s not a splurge.  A splurge would be the Cacao Bliss jar that is now speaking to me in Spanish.  “Ven,” it says.  “Ven aqui mi amor.  Come mi.”  (Come, come here, my love, eat me.)

That Cacao Bliss is an extreme pervert.  I don’t even know it that well.  My partner already doesn’t like it because it has the potential of making me homicidal.  She may take it right out of the house if she hears about this, which she will, because she reads this blog.

Here’s what I have to say about that:  Over my dead body is anyone touching Cacao Bliss.

And: I need to practice my Spanish if we’re going to Costa Rica next year, which is looking realistic on reception of a very nice tax return.  I just have to convince my partner to spend it!

Ayurvedic Pre-Cleanse, Day 4: Homicidality on the RISE!

Okay, so, I’m hungry all the time.  And sometimes light-headed.  And don’t feel like doing anything.  I find myself wanting to eat the grossest, most disgustingly unhealthy foods ever.  French fries at Cane’s, next to the Boston Playwrights’ Theatre.  The jar of Cacao Bliss in the cabinet.  A steak.  Fried anything.  I find myself getting angry at every meal (I’m up to about 10 a day now, so that’s saying something).  I’m like, what is with you, you f*(&ing green soup!?  I mean, you have a problem in that I would really just like to kill you right now!  Forget you, aduki beans!  You don’t even fill me up.  I don’t care how much chipotle powder there is in your recipe!  And as for you, avocado, you are becoming a significant disappointment in my life, since you are making me fat and not even satisfying my craving to eat a car, a house, or anything covered in fat and sugar.  Rice, oatmeal, and 100% rye bread, you can go stick it.  I used to like you, but now it’s just a bored, washed-out relationship….

Before this cleanse I was moderately insane about food, more than some women, definitely not as much as others.  I ate healthy, I watched calories, and I knew what I needed to do to maintain a healthy size 8, which I did and do actually care about.  I had passed the stage of starvation diets or any diets at all, and I didn’t get hungry much if ever, since I ate lean protein and healthy fats instead of carbohydrates and sugar.  I had accepted that since I’m Irish, with a body somewhat good for child-bearing, I was always going to have curves and my thighs would never be skinny, and this was okay with me.  Aging, not so much, but I was working on it.

Now, however, I’m probably going to end up a homicidal size 12 in 2 weeks, ready to eat pretty much anything.

And on top of that, all I have to do is think about someone I didn’t like who I knew, oh, say 25 years ago and I want to go kill him/her.  Like, I mentioned my train wreck first girlfriend in the last blog, and all day today I’ve been monologuing in my head about how she did me wrong and she was in the top three of most amoral women I have ever known, and how she voted for Reagan, twice, in the midst of the AIDS epidemic and actually used ethnic epithets.  Instead of being all Buddhist and being like, “Well, you know, she was nineteen and so were you, and who knows anything then, and unfortunately she knew less than most, and was more f-ed up…”  I’m like, “Where is she?  I’m going to X state and find her and make her pay!”

I also didn’t think, “Well, you could have left a lot earlier than you did.”  I thought, “I don’t care how gorgeous she was or talented or how much of an idiot romantic I was about those things, SHE WILL PAY!”

So, I think I need some f$#^ing food!  Preferably something protein soaked in a lot of fat.

But, I am remembering the cleanse leader saying that feelings may come up.  I’m like, Right.  I already went in this week and told the IFS therapist she dresses like an interpretative dancer and talks too much and she better get with the program on how smart I am.  I’m not having any feelings.  I am FINE!

Perhaps I will now drink some water with a cinnamon stick in it and meditate mindfully on my homicidal feelings.  I will learn something new about my dark side, as if that needed any more encouragement.

And then, sometime tonight, my partner will come home.  She slipped up today and ate Indian food with some FAT in it.  I am so jealous, I could…

I will meditate.  I will.  I will stand on my head for at least 3 minutes.  I will do a handstand.  IT WILL BE FUN, DO YOU HEAR ME?  FUN.  FUN.  FUN.

I think there are about 10 more days to this cleanse.  It is very hard for me to say die, but it might be real enlightenment to do so, if death (for someone) is the other alternative.  I am considering this.  Ahimsa.  Or flatulence.  Or unmitigated rage.  It’s hard choice.

PS–I have no back pain.  So apparently, all my rage is now conscious (read John Sarno mindbody blogs if you don’t know what I’m talking about).

Ayurvedice Pre-Cleanse, Day 3: The Scatalogical

My father used to say that my mother couldn’t breathe without Dristan and couldn’t shit without Ex-Lax.

He was a pretty inappropriate guy on a good day, but the fact is, in this case, what he said was absolutely true.

As for himself, his bodily functions included hangover farts that smelled so bad you could smell them in the attic.  I know this because my sister and I (teenagers at the time) were smoking pot in the attic when he farted in the basement and it was so gross we leaned our heads out the attic window to complain.  “Dad,” we said, “You are the most disgusting person on earth.”

My mother probably agreed with that statement, since she asked him to leave a couple years later.

Anyhow, there was no absence to the scatalogical in my formative years.  My father, the farter, burper, snorer (like an earthquake)etc.  And my mother, so anally retentive she needed Ex-Lax, as we have already seen.

I tended more toward my mother’s end until I allowed myself to be seduced into a relationship with my first girlfriend (the train wreck) at nineteen.  My ex-girlfriend’s jokes were dirtier than my father’s (which is saying something) and she told them with as much or more gusto.  She was enamored of the idea of lighting farts on fire, and once burned the seat out of a pair of white painter pants at a party.  Living with her on and off for three years did teach me to burp and fart openly at home, something I would never have done in any dwelling inhabited by my mother.

Anyhow, besides the history of the scatalogical, all only relevant because I would like to avoid talking about this cleanse and its relationship to flatulence and other similar topics, there is this–I’ve only eaten 1/2 an avocado so far today.

I got home late from my devised theatre gig last night.  I walked in the door, and my partner said, “I’m embarrassed to say I ate a whole avocado today.”

I’m like, “So what, I hate two and 1/2.”

She started laughing.  I didn’t.  I was thinking that trying to one-up me, even with food, is a losing proposition.  I was also thinking that I am definitely not going to lose weight on this cleanse.  My partner lost something like 7 pounds the first time she did it.  But I don’t think she was making out with avocados every 3 minutes.

Anyhow, I’ve been feeling pretty mocus on this cleanse (my word for mentally foggy) as well as hungry and tired, and by accident I discovered that the green soup actually filled me up and didn’t make me as out of it as the rice and beans.  So today I did the warm smoothie with avocado for breakfast, and veggies for lunch and rice and veggies for 2nd lunch (yes, I’m becoming a hobbit…or a rabbit…) and voila!  Not so mocus!  Not hungry either, for a couple hours at a time.  For some reason, I’ve never thought of vegans actually eating vegetables.  I thought nuts, seeds and large glasses of beer made up the usual vegan diet, but now I see the Light.  Vegetables are actually a significant food, not something you just eat when you’re at Kripalu.

Anyhow, the scatalogical output increases significantly when you’re eating mostly vegetables.  And I have to tell you, when I’ve tried these diets before, my partner followed me around with a pack of matches, lighting one in each room I entered.  She thought this was very funny.  I was like, “You’re hurting my feelings.  And I don’t want to burn the seat out of my pants like the train wreck did, thank you very much.”

My partner has a thing about the last word.  She’s like, “You’re hurting my nose.”

I’m like, “I don’t care.”  Then I went into some psychotherapeutic mumbo-jumbo about how she was shaming me for having a body, and which, since she buys that crap a lot more than I do, actually got her to stop.

Anyhow, I imagine the car ride out to Framingham tonight should be interesting.  I can’t decide whether to hide the matches, ride with the windows open, or bring matches and not tell her.

She subscribes to this blog.  So I have to say I can’t decide so she doesn’t know.

We’re actually getting along really well these days.  And this cleanse was her idea.  Just saying.

Ayurvedic Pre-Cleanse, Day 2

I am not hungry.  In fact, I am embarrassingly full.  This is because I went to Whole Foods and bought 10 organic avocados this morning (they’re legal on this pre-cleanse).  I figure I’ll work my way through them by lunch.  They’re $2.19 each, so that’s approximately $23 a day, but hell, it’s a small price to pay for some degree of satiation.

I ate another warm smoothie for breakfast with avocado and a ton of rice protein powder (also legal).

I may actually feel a little sick.

Before I went to Whole Foods, I ate a very small amount of the green soup.  Turns out my partner doesn’t like the soup.  She was eating it last night, making one scrunched up face after another and I said, “Please don’t tell me this means I have to eat it all myself.”

She said, “No,” rather unconvincingly.  Then her eyes both went to the side.

I looked at her.  Her eyes went to the side again.  I was like, “Yes I am going to have to eat it.  Whenever your eyes go like that, I know.  I am on to you.”

She said, “My eyes didn’t go to the side.”  Then her eyes went to the side again.

It should be said that since she subscribes to this blog, she received yesterday’s 2nd blog at work, read it immediately, then called me.

“Are you okay?” she asked when I picked up the phone.

Turns out she thought I spilled the entire pot of soup and then somehow got it into Tupperware.  She thought she’d be eating floor soup.  Maybe she imagined me lying spread eagle in the soup and aduki beans and wondered if I’d get up by the time she arrived home from work.

Anyhow, and get this, she said, “You know, you’re supposed to enjoy this cleanse.  If you’re all stressed out about it, your body will hold on to toxins and it won’t work.”

I said, “I plan to enjoy complaining about it.  Does that count?”

She just looked at me.

I said, “I mean, I’m Jewish now by osmosis.  And if I haven’t learned to kvetch after 25 years with you, I’m in big trouble.”

She said, “You may have a point there.”

Then I’m thinking, “Enjoy?  Enjoy?  I would enjoy flying to Costa Rica on the miles we’ve saved on Jet Blue and lying on a beach doing nothing or occasionally renting a surfboard if the waves are the right height.  How is that supposed to compare to eating gruel and coating your body with oil every day?”

Of course, if this cleanse performs the miracle I’m hoping for, I might actually be able to digest my food in Costa Rica without taking 25 vitamins with every meal, which would be quite a boon.

And, for what it’s worth, I’m no long embarrassingly full.  I’m only a little full.  Maybe I’ll go to the kitchen and heat up some water and sip it.  You’re supposed to do that about every 15 minutes.  By the time I’ve finished with the water, I probably won’t be full at all.  Then I’ll have to stare at the 9 1/2 avocados that are left.  And decide whether eating another one is a good idea.  Or whether I should wait 3 minutes.

It’s a good thing I work from home.

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.