Dear Vincent, Some things we might just have to deal with for the rest of our lives.

Dear Vincent,

Some things we just might have to deal with for the rest of our lives.

It’s possible I will always be

A relatively terrible cook

Someone who struggles with lunch choices, livelihood, self-confidence,

And the phrase, “This is supposed to be fun.”

And maybe I will forever long for how safe I felt when I was with my first true love, the Boatman.

When I was four years old, I remember crying so hard that I gave myself a headache. The reason for the meltdown had something to do with tobogganing. Only one of my parents was coming and it wasn’t the one I wanted.

“Why does your head hurt?” my sister had asked that evening.

“I was screaming,” I replied, and in that statement, I had the distinct realization that such displays of emotion were not going to be permitted for my entire life. Crying until your head hurt was moderately acceptable when you were four, but eventually you had to grow out of it. And yet, despite my young wisdom, the big tears followed me to grade one, grade eight, first-year university, the first day of many jobs, walking home from therapy, and remembering the wrong memory some moment between two and four o’clock in the morning.  

Maybe you have chronic pain, maybe you struggle with depression, or disordered eating. Some of these things you may have to deal with for the rest of your life.

When I heard this, I was cleaning my friend’s shower. The speaker was Michael Stone and he is now dead. Last summer, he took fentanyl by accident. Once a week for almost six years, I listened to Michael Stone’s podcast about yoga and meditation and how to wake up to your life. All the questions were so enormous and yet the answers were so simple. Intimacy, relationship, taking care of things. Laundry, your body, the cashier at the grocery store. You could become intimate with anything. Even a terrible mood.

Michael Stone

I was in a terrible mood as I cleaned my friend’s shower and considered all the things I’d need to deal with for the rest of my life. My friend and I had met at my roommate’s party. He’d brought his girlfriend who sat on the couch across from us as I blabbered on and on about transcending the side effects of Prozac, and victoriously humping my pink and purple polka dot duvet two times a day all before 9 a.m. When it got close to my bed time, I invited my friend to join me as I flossed. As fate would have it, his relationship was sexless and open, and because I’d so elaborately described my masturbation practice, my friend thought that flossing meant precursors to humping his thigh and/or other body parts.

Months later, although we’d transcended the flossing misunderstanding, I was pissed off because I’d explicitly told my friend that I no longer cleaned with toxic products that dried out my face and inhaled poison. But instead of buying vinegar, my friend had gone to the Dollar Store and spent fifty dollars on Clorox, Vim, and similar items whose odours evoked hospitals and cancer.

One more time, Mood Sports. Some things in life, we will not and do not transcend.

And yet, knowing this is not necessarily bad news.

In fact, no more fighting could be a fucking relief.

This is just me

And I suck at lunch,

Professional boundaries,

Closing cupboard doors,

Lighting matches,

Staying up past 9:30 P.M.

And punctuating bulleted lists.

But I’m really good at

Morning Routines,

Folding laundry,

Walking obscenely long distances,

Mopping, and cleaning up other people’s messes

Taking out the recycling,

Buying toilet paper before it runs out

And

I’m the best pen pal you’ve ever had.

January 1, 2018
(written on the wall in smelly markers)
My goals in life are Creativity
Service
deep love for all of my cells
Buy a new roll of masking tape
A cleared and clear and generous heart
What is a cervical orgasm

Using Clorox only once will not give you cancer.

Some things, we might just have to deal with for the rest of our lives. On Wednesday, the temperature goes up to minus 9, and I get to see you and I can’t wait. Happy New Year, Vincent.

Love, Erica.

Send your letters to me and/or Vincent to ericaschmidt85(at)gmail(dot)com.

Happy New Year
Love, Erica


Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:

Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
Montreal Hippie Threads (@mtlhippiethreads)
Instagram: montrealhippiethreads


Dear Vincent, This letter is about saving a begonia. Love, Erica.
What does it mean to be home.
Mourning, Wailing, Yearning, Wake up

Recycling Day

Monday, February 23, 2015

This morning I was vacuuming the living room as the Boatman was getting ready to leave. I turned off the vacuum cleaner so that he could get ready in peace. He kissed me and said I love you. Then I finished  vacuuming. I went upstairs to hump our rolled up duvet. We haven’t had much sex over the past couple of weeks and it is one of my several complaints. After a few minutes of humping, likely less than three, I arrived at my usual orgasm, whatever that means. And then I sobbed.  And I thought that somehow this sobbing orgasm masturbation scene could begin my next excellent book.

Now I am at a coffee shop called the Smiling Goat. In Halifax, they like naming things after goats. The Stubborn Goat. The Smiling Goat. The Smiling Goat has the most expensive coffee in the city. I came here during my first weekend in Halifax. In the Smiling Goat bathroom, on that rainy Saturday, I discovered that my period had arrived. Since I was on a sex trip, this was somewhat inconvenient. Oh well. We managed.

I am drinking my expensive latte and looking out the window. It is garbage day.  Also, recycling day. Some guy parked a recycling truck in front of the café. He looks a little bit like Simon would if Simon were a little bit fatter and a little bit taller. And alive.

I am not particularly good at seeing or describing what people look like. The Boatman says that I have Face Blindness.

The Recycling Guy is shoving long cardboard boxes into the side of the recycling truck. I open my Linked In profile to see if some sort of magnificent opportunity will present itself.

Someone has posted an inspirational message.

“Stay away from negative people. They have a problem for every solution.”



Inspirational Message



This is how I feel. Like none of the solutions will work. This is exactly how I felt before I wrote “I Let Go.” Exactly like this. Terrible.

Now the Recycling Guy is putting a plastic bag filled with bottles and cans into the side of the truck. Another bag is filled with receipts and empty vitamin pill bottles. The recycling truck rocks back and forth.

A man with a comb-over walks into the café. Across the street, a police officer parks his car and gets out. I am not sure what he is doing. He has avoided the comb-over by shaving his head.

I fuck around on the Internet. By the time I look out the window again, the recycling truck and the Recycling Guy are gone.

The End.

Unlabelled Footnotes:

-Making an authentic life and/or self-satisfaction an emergency won’t help you get there any faster.  

-Everyone says that if you don’t know whether or not you’ve had an orgasm, then you haven’t had one. People say the same thing about yeast infections. I’m not really sure if any of that is true.

-Something about being the party pooper that all the Happy, Successful LinkedIn people are struggling desperately to avoid. 

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Twitter: @mypelvicfloor

I Let Go, All Yours for only $2.99 U.S. or approximately $3.36 Canadian. 

Simon Girard (1979-2015)
Yours Til Ekam Inhales
Deep Unyielding Depression

 

 

Brand New Mysore Clubs

In Mysore, I have a Cool Friend From Belgium (CFFB) who I met while I was in Miami. The other morning we sat together in chanting, as we almost always do. My CFFB loves chanting, but as she looked around the room, she scrunched up her nose and rolled her eyes.

“Everyone here is so boring,” she said. “All they ever talk about is yoga.”

“I know,” I exclaimed. “Only 89 percent of what we talk about is yoga.”

“Well, at least you talk about other things. Like masturbation.” I knew she was going to say this.

The thing is, even if you talk about masturbation, you are probably still very boring. Most people are very boring. The key to life is finding boring people who you like. Then when they go on and on about their pelvis and their lunch and their mother, you still have a nice time.

The Boatman and I are extremely boring. The Boatman likes to draw and drink tea and laze around and read and watch Netflix. Sometimes he goes to the gym. He likes buying food at the market. What else? Every once in a while, he has a beer. These days we are taking up the outdoors. So far we have been camping two and a half times.

Besides taking up the outdoors with the Boatman, I like to do yoga, write, and occasionally meditate. I go for walks in Point Pleasant Park in my five fingers shoes.  Sometimes I watch Netflix with the Boatman, or go to the market. And I like yattering away like a verbal machine gun. Lucky for me, the Boatman doesn’t mind.

Obviously, we take breaks from the Netflix and the verbal machine gun and the outdoors to hump each other. It is quite ideal.



Boring Happy Dorks, in the sky

But in Mysore, me and many other people have no one to hump. And even if you have found yourself a few boring friends you love, it’s quite likely that you have more time than you ever imagined possible. Most people get bored at least once. If this happens, probably the most spiritual thing to do is learn Sanskrit. But for those of you who are too lethargic, and/or you don’t want homework, my CFFB and I have invented these three brand new Mysore clubs. Unlike learning Sanksrit, they require little to no skill, commitment or prep time.

Club Number One: The Glutes Group

My CFFB is very concerned that everyone who does Ashtanga has a flat butt. The other day we spent at least twenty minutes observing our own butts, as well as all the other Ashtanga butts that we could find on youtube. I am pretty sure my butt isn’t that flat, but I’ve been known to be delusional. You won't be able to judge whether or not my butt is flat, because I would never ever post my butt on the Internet.

Got glutes? (not sure what is happening with these red patches...)

Even if your butt isn’t flat, it could still be dysfunctional. A couple of months ago, I read about a big yoga butt scandal on the internet. A yoga teacher from Toronto was trying to protect her injured knee, so she went crazy with hip openers. Over time, her glutes weakened and overstretched until one day, pop, pop, pop, all three glute muscles tore off the bone. Ick. For years, this teacher remembers being told, “Soften your glutes! Soften your buttocks!” Perhaps this is why so many of the yogis have flat butts. Flat butts may or may not go along with other pelvis and lower body problems. This is why my CFFB and I have invented The Glutes Group. At the Glutes Group, we thought we could do some extracurricular butt exercises to cure our Ashtanga butts.  My favourite butt exercise is the Fire Hydrant.

Fire Hydrant Butt Exercise

My CFFB doesn’t have a favourite butt exercise yet. In April, Eddie Stern posted a bunch of butt exercises for people with Femoral AcetabularImpingement Syndrome. I have tried Eddie Stern’s exercises many times. Me and my femur bones have zero complaints. Plus Eddie Stern is so funny and cute. We will definitely do some of his exercises at the Butt Club.

Eddie Stern Heals the Ashtanga Butt

Club Number Two: Knitting
Knitting is relaxing and soothing, but not as boring as meditating. I am jealous of my CFFB because she brought her own knitting needles and wool. My CFFB has extra knitting needles for me, but no wool. It seems like she only has enough wool to knit one shawl. So far it only has one or two holes in it.

My CFFB's Shawl

As she knits, I alternate between turning on my verbal machine gun, and looking at Facebook. When my CFFB runs out of wool, we will have to go on a search for more wool which could be a challenging adventure. I thought that India would be too hot to wear woolen things, but on a Day Trip last Thursday, I passed by a stand selling woolen caps. Somewhere in India, there is wool. We just have to find it. If we can’t, maybe my CFFB could be like Ullyses’ wife Penelope. Over and over again, she can unravel her shawl, and then reknit it. That sounds very spiritual, doesn’t it? My grandmother always says, “A good knitter is a cheerful ripper.” My grandmother is an excellent knitter, and very spiritual.

Woolen Hats

Apparently there is a yoga student here in Mysore who crochets. If he or she would like to join our knitting club, he or she is most welcome, along with anyone else.

Club Number Three: Lying Down Club (LDC)

This is a solo club, and all you need is a floor or a hard bed. Lie down and close your eyes. You can put a pillow under your neck and your knees, or not.  If you received a mask on the airplane that doesn’t have formaldehyde in it, then wear that. (Mine has something in it that burns my face so I stopped wearing it.) Lying down with your eyes closed is easier than both meditating and sleeping. Both meditating and sleeping can be difficult in Mysore. I try to do each of these things once or twice a day, but sometimes it is too hard. The scooters and the birds and the dogs are really loud. And my brain is not the same as it usually is from getting up for practice at 3 a.m. and also from talking too much. Maybe I will get used to all this and start sleeping and meditating like a pro.  For now, I am grateful to be a member of the Lying Down Club.

Please feel free to join any of these clubs, in body or in spirit or with your very own boring friends. We thought that the first Glutes Group Meeting could meet this Monday at 4 p.m at my CFFB’s house. Let’s say shala time, just for fun. Knitting Club meeting time is yet to be determined and we invite your suggestions for time and location. As for the Lying Down Club, this is ongoing and we sincerely value your consistent and devoted participation. 

The End.

In other news, I no longer walk with a stick because I am no longer afraid of the dogs.  Mysore is like the Land of Oz. Things come and go very quickly.

Some people have been reading my recent Ashtanga Yogalogue, You Cling to Things Until They Die. Or at least they have been clicking on it. It is a little long, as these days I have been rather long winded. But maybe you are between Mysore clubs and you have a little time... Serene Flavor wrote this kind response clarifying that I am not a poster child for Ashtanga Dysfunction, but that I do fall upon the Ashtanga Spectrum. Success.

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook       
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
$2.99 E-Book, "I Let Go"

The Lying Down Club (from the future.)
The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice, Part Two
Why I Like to Pee Outside