Exalted

This morning I woke up at 3:30 A.M.

To menstrual cramps and menstrual blood and cravings for toast and peanut butter.

James Altucher loves waking up before 4 A.M.  So today, I get to be a little bit like James Altucher, but with menstrual cramps.  I don't know if James Altucher likes toast.  

At 3 A.M., I was dreaming.  In my dream, I was sending a free copy of  my exceedingly helpful self-help book to Tim Miller.

In real life, I don't have Tim Miller's email address.



Tim Miller. In my dream, he desperately wanted a copy of my self-help book, I Let Go.
In real life, he probably doesn't need it.



In real life, there is water in my ear.  Especially the left one.

It could also be curly-haired conditioner.

Or some cerebral spinal fluid.  Must be time for some brand name Q-tips, purchased with the Boatman during our Drugstore Date.

These brandname Q-tips come in a package of 54, which 108 divided by 2, which is a very auspicious box to come from when you are a brand-name Q-tip.

The Brandname Q-tips really hit home with folks from Perth Ontario.   Perth, Ontario is the prettiest town in Ontario.  What's more, in 2008, we had four Olympians.  3 of them were born in 1984.  Since I was a gifted child, I got to be in their classes, even though I was born in 1985.  Oh look!  Here's Mike Brown:

Mike Brown. What I think in my head when I look at this photo:
What a babe.

A real champ.  I used to swim in the lane beside him.  Then I was his lifeguard.   Once I helped him with his English Essay.  Now Mike Brown has huge pipes.  Mike Brown is preparing for the Olympic Trials at the end of the month. Wish him luck.  Good luck, Mike Brown.

Mike Brown and all the other people from Perth Ontario know that you shouldn't stick Q-tips up your ears, not even brand name q-tips.  I used to know this but some conditioner or cerebral spinal fluid got stuck in my ears, especially the left one, and it has been so long since I lived in Perth, Ontario that I forgot.  So this morning I stuck some brand name q-tips up my ears.  Especially in the left one.  What I found there:  It wasn't conditioner.  I do not think that I will do that again.  Not with the brandname Q-tips.

There are 20 more days left of Lent.  Lent is 46 days this year.  Last year at this time, I started a post entitled "Lent."  It seems I didn't have that much to say about it.

Yesterday the doorbell rang and the Big Black Dog barked so loudly that the man with the pamphlet couldn't come in.  He slipped his pamphlet into my hand through the crack in the door.  On the pamphlet Jesus was standing on a cloud.  He had white hair and a crown.



Jesus says, "Where is my crown?"



The pamphlet said:  "Jesus is an exalted King.  But what does that mean to you?"  I don't know what it means to me.  Neither does the Boatman.  We can go find out at the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's witness on Holy Thursday after the Boatman washes my feet.  I am not allowed to talk about my toenail fungus ever again.

26 days ago, more or less, the Boatman and I were sitting on the couch.

 "What do you want to give up for Lent?" I asked

"What's Lent?"  asked the Boatman.  

Last year for Lent, I tried to give up an hour of my time to meditation.  I wanted to be Zen, like the Buddha.  And exalted, like Jesus.  I made it eight days.

This year, the Boatman resolved to give up eating all meat except for seafood.  Since I already never eat anything with a mother or a face, I decided I would try to give up 20 minutes of my time to meditate.   I thought that it would help me become Zen and Exalted.  As the Boatman and I observed, I became increasingly neurotic as the days and the 20 minute chunks of exalted time passed.  I worried about the gunk in my ear.  And all sorts of other things.  And I had terrible dreams that weren't about Tim Miller.

While I was meditating, the Boatman ate a lot of fish and chips.

fish and chips and peas.

Sometimes with green peas, sometimes without.  Last weekend, the Boatman and I flew to Montreal.  On the airplane we decided that while in Montreal, I would not meditate and the Boatman would eat chicken.  We had a wonderful visit.  I did not worry about the gunk in my ears at all.  Which was a good thing because I'd forgotten my brandname Q-tips.

When we got back to Halifax, our housesitter had clogged our kitchen sink with Honey Nut Cheerios, and our bathtub with Johnny Walker puke.  I cleaned up the Cheerios and have not started to meditate again.  I Let Go, like in my self-help book.  The Boatman let go too.

You too can let go, for $2.99.

Jesus is an exalted king.  But what does that mean to you?

Jesus might say:  Chicken is not the end of the world.  But watch out for the pepperoni and the French Fries.  

Dix frites ont 110 calories.  (Ten French Fries have 110 calories)  This sentence was on my grade six French Grammar class.  I have never forgotten it, and have cringed at the thought of French Fries ever since.

ONT stands for Ontario and it is also French for have, if you are more than one person, or more than one French Fry.

I was always very good at conjugation.  Mike Brown was in my class.

Seventeen Magazine.  I read it in grade six, when I was ten.  Recall that I was a gifted child and thus the youngest person in grade six.  Seventeen Magazine had a column called Ask Anything.  The question I never forgot was:  Why do I always get the runs when I'm on the rag?  I can't remember the answer, but I never forgot the question.  There are so many reasons to ask it.  Especially at this time of month. 

Runs on the rag.  My friend Fern calls it "Peanut Butter and Jam."  Gross.  I hope I sleep better tonight.  Tomorrow I will be Zen and Exalted.  Today is brown and bloody and very high in calories.  But my team spirit and conjugation are impeccable.  My memory is also rather impressive.

James Altucher says that you must always bleed in the first line.  Today, I don't have to try at all.  I have been bleeding since 3:30 A.M.  I bled in my first line, I am bleeding in my last.  I will bleed all day.

The End.

Peanut Butter and Jam, Vice Versa

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Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go, self-help book by Erica J. Schmidt

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