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The Truth
Casting about for that elusive ideal
The truth. The truth. The truth is…, I keep hearing in my mind. The truth is… The truth is, I’m pissed. And by pissed I mean the North American meaning of the word. I’m not drunk (though I may be slightly tipsy from the 10% alcohol sparking wine I opened a short while ago), but I am pissed. As in angry. As in furious.
What is the truth?
The truth is, I need to be writing an article right now about self-soothing. Because, aren’t we supposed to be writing about what we want to learn? I need to self-soothe. Stop stalking around Berkeley with my dog Daisy. Stop avoiding kind peoples’ eye contact. Stop stewing. Start breathing. Deep, liberating breaths of AIR. Air that expands the chest.
That is self-soothing.
Meditation. That is self-soothing.
Yoga. Stretching. That is self-soothing.
A bath. I took a bath yesterday. I fell asleep in it. It was kinda luscious. It was kinda perfect. I read exciting, entertaining New Yorker articles with suggestions for exciting, titillating books in them and excerpts from Patricia Highsmith’s journals detailing her lusts and longings. It was fun. It was good. It made me feel slightly alive.
Then, I conked out again.
