Sunday Scribblings #36 - Miscellaneous

Ahh...I breathe the tension out and feel the relief.
Today's prompt for Sunday Scribblings , Miscellaneous, takes a lot of pressure off me.
Today I can write about an assorted mix of unrelated things,
and I do not have to feel guilty for wandering away from the topic.
Whhhhew.
What a calm and peaceful sense of liberation.

Ready for the miscellaneous monologue? Here goes....

* I'm not sure what I'm even going to write about

* The snowflakes out the window have ginormous spaces between them

* Dave, the barista at my office - Jet Fuel -
is concerned that my latte is getting cold as I write



* I need to finish prepping my Nia workshop...


... for my trip to India in a week-in-a-half.
The procrastination pain is simply just eating away at me.



* I notice that lots of people don't know about the p.c. way of sneezing/coughing in public. You know, the "sneeze in your sleeve" deal that helps prevent the spread of nasty germs...Learn more about it here, and for the sake of us all, share germs with your sleeve, not the whole subway, coffee shop, library, restaurant or yoga studio...


















* Paul wants to go shopping at Winners later. Truthfully, I don't enjoy shopping retail at all. I prefer to scrounge around for the perfect second hand treasure than to elbow my way around crowds of women looking for discounted Prada purses or CK Jeans.
However, since tomorrow is Paul's birthday, I'll humour him. I'll break my INESRA rule, just for him (I'll Never Ever Shop Retail Again).

* The coffee isn't really doing the trick today. At all. I need a nap. But I have work and shopping to do.












* Sometimes, when people laugh, I get quite ticked off. Is that strange? I hate faking laughter, but I feel obliged to laugh even if I don't find something funny. Then I get all resentful about it. New material for therapy, I guess!


* Lately I've been having dreams about a guy I dated from the age of about 18-22. I don't know why. That was over 10 years ago, and I haven't thought about him for ages. I don't have many particularly fond memories of him. But the dreams are loving, happy ones. Strange.









* Tomorrow, I go for a typhoid shot. Apparently there's a little bit of an outbreak of Typhoid (a little bit of an outbreak? an outbreak, I shouldn't downplay it) in Mysore, one of the places I'll be traveling to in India (mom, don't worry, I'LL BE FINE!).



* I don't enjoy driving. I find it frustrating. I'd rather be on my bike. It gets me places faster and is not so stressful. Especially at night.













* I've been postponing going to the bathroom for about an hour now. Why? It's quite logical. It's because I don't want to have to pack up my laptop to go downstairs. I also have been postponing going pee at night as well. Again, a logical explanation. Remember how I said I was having those dreams about the ex-boyfriend, and how loving and happy they are? I don't want to risk stopping that feeling by answering my bladder's pleadings to be emptied.


* The Columbia jacket that my sister Kim gave me a few weeks ago (her cast off) has a bum zipper which keeps splitting. This will be the 3rd winter coat this season that has failed me.....I'll tough it out with the Columbia jacket, though. Winter will be over by the time I come back from India.


Can't cross my legs any tighter...time to get up and let these 2 lattes and 1 bottle of water drain from my main vein.

Sunday Scribblings #35 - Fellow Traveler

I look over my shoulder, certain I’ll find someone cycling just behind me.
A fellow traveler.
I look left. No one. Right, nothing.
Yet the sensation of warmth is alive and the hint of a shadow tricks my eyes.
“Hmmmm….”
Eyebrows furrowed, nose leading the way, I carry on.
“Just shake it off, Jennifer. Illusions, that’s what Dr. M. said those were. Just illusions. Temporary realities that fade into nothingness.”






I reset.
I'm Coming up to that slow incline. Time to gear down.
"How long have I been riding now?”
My sitting bones dig into my flesh, I think the muscles might tear away from my kneecaps and my ribcage is heavy.

A sudden wave-like rush of air powers me forward. I recoil when it subsides.
Gush. Another swift, strong push launches my bike forward.

A fellow traveler?

It’s as if two strong hands are landing on my shoulder blades and setting my swing in motion.
And then it stops, and I am back in charge.
My senses are again deceived.
There is no one there.
A final flood of momentum rises and thrusts me forward before easing up.

I decide this is indeed my fellow traveler.
The one that nudges me along when I need Her, and reminds me the potency of my own spirit.

Touched: today I got rocked to the core...

I taught a Nia class today. Well, I actually taught two classes.
But the first class is the one that I want to share with you - it was a career first.
Yeah, it reminded me of why I strive to do what I do.
It made it all real.

I welcomed a woman into my class tonight and I made this initial judgement.
I thought she was really not happy to be there, that her presence could be explained
by one of those "New Year's Resolutions".
Before the class, I addressed her several times by name, each time worrying
that I'd gotten her name wrong (I'm famous for mis-remembering names).
I realized quickly, though, that it wasn't that she wasn't tuned in to me,
it was simply that she couldn't hear me.
A combination of my uncertainty about her name coupled with a mild hearing loss
was what left me feeling a bit uneasy about how she'd react to the class.

So I taught the class, all the while thinking I was turning her off.
Certain that I was setting the bar too high and that she would be turned off her
"I'm going to be fit in 2008" resolution.

That was until the end of the class.
When I led us out into our individual paths, asking everyone to "step out" into their evenings.

She walked over.
She took both my hands in hers.
And she cried.
Cried. Just cried.
The words came softly from me. From a place that welled with understanding and compassion.

"You've found something you didn't even know existed", I said.
She nodded, the tears of relief flowing freely.
"It must feel like such a relief for you".
The tears of appreciation intensified.
"This is a safe place to move through whatever you need to move through", I reassured her.

She gathered her words and told me, "I didn't think I could do it. I did the whole class".
Overflowing emotion caused her to pause.
"The rheumatoid arthritis...I found the door I was looking for. Finally. I could move my shoulders. I could do it!"

The welcomed emotion lasted, reminding me of this gift. This gift of health through movement that I have
been given. This gift named Nia that invited herself into my life and begged me to share her with the world.

Thank you Nia.

Sunday Scribblings #34 - Date

"It's not something I would usually do", she said, blood rushing to her cheeks in a random, blotchy pattern and drawing tingly warmth to her ears. Her heart beat so fast that it warmed her scalp , and she felt sure that it was transforming her silvery-white hair back to the carrot orange colour it once was.

"I would normally never set foot in a place like this".
Who was she explaining herself to?
Her mumbles weren't loud or clear enough to be heard by the pairs of ears around her.
And even if they were, nobody much cared anyhow.
The pairs of eyes between those ears stared blankly ahead, not at her.
The lack of judgement was strange, unexpected, welcoming.

Still, the sensation of the vibrations in her throat trying to validate her reasoning and
to justify her decision felt right.
Just right.
They reassured her and reminded her that this was indeed what she needed to do.
For herself, for no one but herself.

As she sat, she nervously swallowed the risk she felt she was about to take.
The risk that they would think her out of her rocker.
Now this didn't mean she was changing her mind or backing down.
No, no, she was determined to do this.

She had lived too much of her life by other's rules.
A sharp shooter who tended to other's needs before her own,
whose focus wasalways outward and never inwards.
The fear of rejection, criticism and disapproval stopped her from thinking for herself long ago
and dissolved her identity.
For all though years, she had taken pride in her self-sacrifice,
but now it was time to stop being a push-over and act from her own desire instead of
someone else's.

The camouflaging of her true nature by chronic niceness had put her on edge,
and she was ready to reclaim her authentic self.

"Mrs. Smith?"

She smiled, now with renewed confidence, and followed her into the back room.

"What are we doing today?", asked the young woman who ushered her to the chair and began writing on a clipboard.

"Today's date", and pointed to the tops of both her feet.

"Today's date?", she paused and peered up out of the top of her glasses. "Why today's date?".

"Well, if you tattoo today's date on my feet,
then I'll remember that today was the day
I decided to stand on my own and be my own person".

Sunday Scribblings #33 - New

On my way home I tripped on a giant new crack in the sidewalk.
Was it really new or did I just fail to notice it before?

On my way home I entertained myself by crunching my boots in the new snow.
New to me, but perhaps it had been there for awhile, possibly waiting for a little human contact..

On my way home, I skidded off my bike and ripped my new
fluffy white jacket.
Black street guck was now irreversibly ground into the purity of my never-worn white fluffy bunny coat.
"Ok", I thought, "This confirms it. Eddie, that evil and destructive
'new clothing spirit' is still trying to prevent me from owning any
new clothes."

On my way home, I made a new friend with the old man who
wobbles down my street everyday.
He hushed me and reminded me to go softly.

On my way home a tear collided with my nose when I noticed the
new arm extended towards me,
begging for change on our busy corner.
I absorb suffering like a sponge.

On my way home I felt new sensation
of calm which rode the elevator up and down my spine and swarmed the inside of my belly.
"Oh joy", I told myself, "now you can relax".

On my way home, I took a new route
to bypass the hill and the traffic.
It took a little longer, but hey,
my body enjoyed the change of scenery.

On my way home, the words to a new song
fluttered around in my soul.
The words, the ones I now owned, marched along rhythmically with my steps.

On my way home I negotiated new
coping strategies with myself.
I threw some away and tucked the others in my back pocket.

On my way home, someone shouted
"brand new kittens for sale!"
My heart blew wide open, and I was forced, by my need to connect with innocence, to scratch tiny kitty ears and itty-bitty kitty bellies for awhile.

My monster

I recently came across this piece that
I wrote in August 2004. It describes the demon that I characterized
as my eating disorder at the time. To go with this piece, I created a mascot.
One that represented my physical enemy, one that wore worn out running shoes,
had thick thighs and was an evil person. I now realize that this was also the voice
of my bipolar disorder.
My, how far I've come...

My Monster



Lives inside
Is so stubborn
Is ego centric and “better” than anyone
Brings deep despair
Chatters ALL the time
Makes me dizzy
Tells me things that aren’t true
Does not always make sense
Tells me I’m not good enough
Tells me my body should look a certain way
…that I have elephant thighs and a baboon butt
Makes me believe I need to plan everything
…what I eat, what I do, what I say
Doesn’t let me stop
Makes me weak and tired
Tells me what I can eat
Forces me to be perfect
Makes me punish myself when I’m not
Eats away at my soul
Scares me
NEEDS TO FUCK OFF