The mad woman in the waiting room

The Mad Woman by Chaim Soutine

So, this morning when I stopped to get gas the twenty-something station attendant greeted me with, “How ya doin’ kiddo?”  He seemed a little on the slow side, and very sweet, and while my car was filling he told me the story behind the

fight he and his (“wasted”) buddy almost got into last night, and that he’s in DUI class so he has to be careful, and he was settling in for a good old long talk even though the gas was done and I had to go. I left him with “Don’t go getting into any fights now!” and he promised he’d try not to. I always consider it an honor when people, especially strangers, open up to me, and that little conversation this morning made my day. Also, Torie cut my hair, wonderful girl… even when it was still wet from the shower I could tell I looked at least 48% better.

Sundays and Mondays are always a little different for me, regarding my spiritual practice. The other days I wake up in the wees and have gobs of time in the morning to sit with my tea, read, pray, dance, and meditate, usually in that order, since Scott leaves for work at 5am. But Sundays and Mondays are his days off so I don’t have the same kind of privacy. Also, with Torie being here, she’s up at odd hours (jest like her mudda)… like this morning, when she came traipsing into the living room around 5:30am, while I was in the middle of praying/reading. It’s okay, though; I’ve been learning that it’s far easier to be flexible than intractable, and we’ve had some good conversations because of it. I’m really going to miss her, as I’ve said a thousand times before. She’s become, to my great surprise and pleasure, my very best friend.

Thankfully, I was thinking this morning, it’s good timing that I have my first and best ever BFF back now…. Those of you who know me from a few years ago will remember this aspect of me, but, I’m back to having long-winded conversations with God – conversations, not monologues, to be perfectly clear – and man, does it feel like old home week around here. [Oh, kind of an important aside… I’m using the pronoun “him” because “her” is just as incomplete, and “it” feels impersonal; there just isn’t an adequate pronoun and trying to combine them doesn’t work for me, as obviously, “shit” and “hit” are out of the question when you’re referring to God. So, I’ll use the masculine because it’s what I grew up with and is the most comfortable for me.] Every mystic since the dawn of time has been thought to be a whack-job, and it’s more exhausting to be apologetic for the way I am and always have been than it is to actually BE that way. I’m happiest lollygagging around with God, holding his hand, making goo-goo eyes at him, and doing whatever he tells me. It’s only when I stop talking with him that I go all askew. This time around I’ve decided to get crazier, not sedater, because the crazy road is the only one that heads directly toward sanity. Everyone reaches sanity eventually anyway, but I’d like as direct a route as possible. I’m not messing around anymore, and that’s a threat. I love you.

I’m sitting at the hospital right now, aren’t we having fun… My mom has been confused and even delirious this morning so won’t be home today after all, which is disappointing, to say the least – BUT – the docs seem to think it’s probably nothing to worry about, so that’s my plan. Me and my ol’ haircut are just going to hang around the hospital for awhile and mess around online and read my book Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. I’ve decided it’s going to be as gorgeous inside as it is outside. Love you guys! xo

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