I'm sitting here drinking a cup of what-shall-not-be-mentioned (it's Black and GOOD) and mulling over what the heck to blog about. Should I write about the orange salamander I hurt while gardening? How I sat in a Greenwich Village cafe counting the gladiator sandals walking by, and lost count at 100? My meetings in NYC with TV execs and investors? (Ya wanna see me on the tube? - well, that just might happen. Ya want the best wellness programs designed and delivered by our Crazy Sexy non-profit - well that just MUST happen). Should I blog about what I ate in the big apple? Breakfast and lunch both days were clean, divine, and vibrant. Dinners both nights were sinful and belly-achingly explosive! OR....Perhaps I should blog about the colonic I had before leaving for the City. Let me rephrase that, the colonic MISHAP!
Since I'm in purge mode, I thought: the house is clean, the office is clean, the plants are watered, the bills are paid, now it's time for me to work on the inner landscape. Yup, time to call my colon therapist and get down! I've had zillions of hosings and as you know I highly recommend them, refreshing! However, nothing always works always. Maybe the universe wanted to send me a message, "You can't control the time it takes to process loss by losing the extra chow caught in your colon, Kris".
Since my little monkey died (thank you everyone yet again, you are such love troopers), I have been re-introduced to... french fries. Before sundown I am an alkaline angel, but when night falls I hear that eerie spaghetti-western music in my head. You know, the tune that plays when the outlaw rides into town. I sprint to the windows to lock them, I slam the door and shove a rag under it to keep the draft out. Useless! The french fries are like supernatural entities that attach to my lips and slide into my arteries creating that numbing effect that lobotomizes my rational mind and makes me a Vegas junkie!
Back to the colonic..."I will go, press re-start, clean out and begin again".
Let me teach you about the Catskill Mountains. In the Catskills there is much rain in June. MUCH rain. And everyone has a septic system. Well, apparently the rains backed up the filter that controls the pump that pulls out the poo. There I was, stuck and stopped-up right as it all went to shit... I will make the rest of this paragraph appropriate because my mother reads this blog. I imagine that she lights a little candle daily, praying for me to be more lady-like. "I tried" she might/must say. "Lord, if she ever gets an invitation to visit the Queen, please stop her from inquiring about Her Majesty's royal regularity. Amen."
The colon therapist left the room for quite a while. My stress level rose. I saw shadows of workers, plumbers, and buckets outside the shade-drawn window. Wrenches clanged as the concerned whispers hit a crescendo. Nothing would flush and I was FULL of water and shame. "Can I come back another time? Can you get me off this table and can I go home (if I can make it?) HELP! SOMEBODY, ANYBODY! MOM!!!!!!!"
Lesson: don't push the river (so to speak). Miss-virgo-neat-and-tiddy-sew-it-all-up girl, be patient you healthy lovely patient.
PS. I'm getting another one Monday!
Peace and flow,
Oh, wait... the whole point of this blog was to celebrate my 100th post and to thank you for sticking by me. Sheesh. Thank you friends! Thank you. Deep bow, thank you.
My 100th Post!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Posted by cancer cowgirl xo at 9:44 AM