Keeping It To Myself

"I keep a lot of shit to myself because in reality, nobody gives a fuck."

-- Unknown

Self portrait 9-17-14

"I have torn to pieces my robe of speech,

and have let go of the desire to converse."

--Rumi, 

Hush, Don't Say Anything To God: Passionate Poems of Rumi

I was at the corner store yesterday, headed for the checkout, when I ran into someone I knew.

He's a real chipper, cheerful guy. Nice enough. 

At another time, under other circumstances, I'd have called him a friend. Now? An acquaintance. Just some guy I recognized at the grocery store.

He was all smiles and "Good to see you!"  He reached out and grabbed me and hugged me heartily, right there in the grocery store, my arms straight down at my sides holding onto my celery and bacon, giving no indication that I wanted to be hugged at all.

Was I glad to see him? 

Meh.

Honestly? When he came around the corner I kind of shrank back and scanned for the quickest getaway, like I often do when I run into certain people from from a certain painful chapter of my life. Which he is. This guy didn't personally inflict the pain. But through no fault of his own, he is guilty by association. My mind and my heart automatically lump him in with the rest of it.

And so I went into self-defense mode.

I pulled back. I threw up a shield. I armored up.

After he monologued about himself for a few minutes, he asked me breezily "So what's new with you?"

There was a time when I'd have "shared," as they say, what's happening in my life. I'd have let myself get sucked into a long, time consuming, nowhere conversation. Not because I really wanted this person to know stuff about me, but because I was insecure enough to think I had to impress him, or prove that my life was valid, or important, or good enough or full enough of what I thought he thought it should be good and full of. I'd have confused a superficial, spontaneous, empty exchange with something real.

Not anymore.

I don't waste the energy.

All I said to him was "Nothing. I live a pretty quiet, simple life these days."

He looked a tad befuddled and said "Well, I guess there's value in that, too."

And the conversation was over.

I'd successfully barred the door.

I paid for my celery and bacon and headed home to my very happy, full, valid, good life which I was happier than happy to keep all to myself, lest I dilute its goodness by spilling it out all over the grocery store floor at the feet of someone who acted like he gave a shit, but who very probably forgot all about me the second we parted.

Which is perfectly fine with me.

Maria's Thumbs

"If you're feeling out of kilter,

don't know what or where,

find the sore spot and work it out."

-- Eunice D. Ingham

My footprints, with thumbprints 5-23-14

If you are lucky enough to have a good massage therapist, then you have a good thing.

If you are lucky enough to have a good massage therapist who is also skilled at Reflexology foot massage, well, then I don't even have to tell you what a good thing you have, because you already know it full well.

Maria, my massage therapist is all of the above.

I struggle periodically with some chronic health problems that nobody seems to know what to do with. But Maria can take one look at my face, and then get to work on my feet, and the problem at hand. 

She did it yesterday. She didn't fix the problems, but she was able to temporarily relieve my pain so that I could catch my breath for at least a little while, and that was all I could ask for.

Reflexology is more than just foot massage. It's the art of applying very specific types of pressure to very specific points on the feet that correspond to different parts of the body. So by working her thumbs across my soles, toes, ankles, etc., Maria can trigger a healing response in my stomach, my eyes, my liver, my intestines, my lungs, my shoulders, my hips, my sinuses ... pretty much anyplace.

And I don't even have to tell her where it hurts. Her deft little thumbs are like super-sleuths that search my feet for clues and apprehend the little culprits that are causing all the trouble.

There are nay-sayers out there who pooh-pooh Reflexology as hocus-pocus, or pseudoscience, or a psychosomatic placebo. Frankly, I don't give a fuck what they think. Science has failed me time and time again with its pills and potions and practices, which quite often have unpleasant side-effects that leave me feeling even worse than before. In fact, Maria's had to get me over reactions to medications that were supposed to "help."

Pooh-pooh if you want.

But I'm a believer -- in Maria's thumbs.

They're 2 good things.

Tiger Balm

"Take a look at my stripes, chest looks like a tiger arm

And I'm hot as Tiger Balm, fire like a five-alarm

And it's set onto ya barn, get ya fire-fighter on."

-- Lupe Fiasco, "All The Way Turnt Up"

Tiger Balm jar with letter beads 5-17-14

"Tiger Balm aims to deliver health and well being through proven oriental wisdom.

Our belief is that no one should be constrained from leading a full and active life

because of aches, pains and everyday discomforts."

-- Tiger Balm philosophy,  TigerBalm.com

Tiger Balm advertisement

Two days ago I strained a muscle in my calf. It hurt. That's a bad thing.

So I put Tiger Balm on it.

Now my calf doesn't hurt. That's a good thing.

Besides, why wouldn't you want to use something with "more striking power than a flying tiger?"

It just makes good sense.

Use Tiger Balm.

The shit works.

Ice

"I used to jog but the ice cubes kept falling out of my glass."

-- David Lee Roth

Vintage ice trailer 5-10-14

"Ice burns, and it is hard to the warm-skinned to distinguish

one sensation, fire, from the other, frost."

-- A.S. Byatt, Elementals: Stories of Fire and Ice

I ice my feet a few times a day, every day. In fact, I go to bed every night with cold packs on my feet.

Sometimes I ice my ass.

Sometimes I ice my legs.

Sometimes I submerge my whole lower body in an ice bath.

Sometimes I even ice my eyes. Yes, my eyes. When they are all itchy, red and inflamed from allergies, an ice pack is the only thing that shuts off the histamine reaction and calms the irritation and swelling.

The pull-out drawer in our freezer is filled with frozen ice packs of varying sizes, shapes and uses, so there are always plenty to have in rotation. When one gets warm and melty, I can just switch it out for a freshly frozen ice-cold one. And they all get used. All the time.

It may sound unpleasant, and for someone who doesn't particularly enjoy cold it definitely can be, especially at first. (I once gave myself frostbite, actual for-real second-degree frostbite that peeled and everything, from falling asleep with ice packs applied directly to my sore heels. It was painful afterwards, but while it was happening, my feet were blissfully numb and I was asleep, so I never even felt it.) 

Lesson learned.

But used correctly, applying ice to what hurts can be an incredibly effective pain reliever. It even has a smart-sounding science-y name, cryotherapy, which means "cold cure." 

For me, applying ice where it hurts is like hitting the off switch, or the reset button. 

And when it comes to pain, off is the best possible thing. 

Getting Back Up Again. And Again. And Again.

"Life has a way of taking its toll on the person you thought you were."

-- A.S.A. Harrison, The Silent Wife

Joe and the weight of the world 2-11-14

 "You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down."

-- Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon

I have to do something very difficult today.

I have to go someplace that was once an important, vibrant part of my life, and which is now a painful memory. 

I have see people I haven't seen in a long time, who were once some of my closest friends, who are now bitter reminders of profound loss, and shame, and abandonment -- people I have worked hard to forget.

It's like returning to the scene of a crash.

I don't want to do it.

But it's one of those things. Not a good thing. Not a bad thing. But in this case, the right thing. It's a thing I could avoid, but because it matters to someone else that I show up, I will, no matter how difficult.

I've tried hard to forget this painful time in my life, to bury the memories and the feelings. For a long time it felt like I was endlessly trying to bury an angry alive thing that kept clawing and scrambling up and out of its grave while I feverishly flung dirt at it and whacked it in the head with a shovel.

It's better now. I'm getting there. It still lingers in the margins. There are occasional shadows, ghosts. I still have dreams about it now and then. But it is no longer the incredible weight and terrible burden that it once was. Mostly, I barely think about it anymore. Unless something reminds me. And that's the primary trouble with today. I have to return to a haunted, crowded place crammed full of reminders.

It feels like someone has handed me a stinking load of the old shit, saying "Remember this? Try it out again. Carry it around some more. Feel its weight. Remember its heft? Put your back into it now!"

You might be asking where the good is in this not-so-good thing.

Well, the good thing is that fortunately I developed some muscle from carrying the shit around the first time. I am much stronger now. I have much better balance.  

And even though I don't want to hoist it again, I know it won't crush me this time. I won't crumble under it. It can't knock me down anymore.

Plus I have a strategy -- get there late, sit in the back, and leave as soon as possible.

I have someone to run interference -- my husband is all over it.

I have a getaway car -- so as soon as it's over, I can get the fuck out of there.

And so I'll go. 

And when it's all over, I'll move on, again. I'll walk out the door, again, relish the sound of it clicking shut, again, scrape the shit off my boots, again, jump into the getaway car and ride off into the sunset, again.

I've done it before, so I should be getting pretty damn good at it by now.

Heating Pads & A Fuzzy Blanket

"If your stomach disputes you,

lie down and pacify it with cool thoughts."

-- Satchel Paige

If your stomach disputes you, lie down and pacify it with cool thoughts.
Satchel Paige
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/stomach.html#JxL0KYUm6KxUbssa.99

If your stomach disputes you, lie down and pacify it with cool thoughts.
Satchel Paige
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/stomach.html#JxL0KYUm6KxUbssa.99

If your stomach disputes you, lie down and pacify it with cool thoughts.
Satchel Paige
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/stomach.html#JxL0KYUm6KxUbssa.99

Deflated smiley face balloon with push pin 2-4-15

"Peace in the head, peace in the stomach."

-- Jean Bertrand-Aristide

Peace in the head, peace in the stomach.
Jean-Bertrand Aristide
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/stomach_3.html#SO6fxu4p0zazbrhq.99

I had a really bad tummy ache yesterday.

I felt flat.

Like someone had let all my air out.

I spent the better part of the day lying on the couch with heating pads on my belly under a fuzzy blanket.

I ate toast and a very tiny tangerine, and then wished I didn't.

On a typical day, heating pads and a fuzzy blanket are just, well, heating pads and a fuzzy blanket -- ordinary household objects stored in a linen closet down the hall.

But when you're feeling all-over deflated and your tummy hurts and everything else hurts, too, some heating pads and a fuzzy blanket can be very comforting, like warm, quiet friends gently whispering "Sssh. There, there." They didn't take my tummy ache away, but they did relieve it a little. They made it easier to bear.

I know that in the grand scheme of things, a tummy ache isn't a very big deal, even a bad tummy ache. And truly, I'm grateful that a tummy ache was the worst problem I had yesterday. It's a lesser and more transient discomfort than the bone-deep pain of heartache, or soul-ache, or brain-ache, or mind-ache, or emotions-ache, or I-don't-want-to-be-alive-ache. I've experienced those, too. And you know what? Heating pads and a fuzzy blanket didn't take them away either. But they did make them ever so slightly, easier to bear.

Sometimes good enough is good enough.