Dear Vincent, Three things that happened in my thirties were vertigo, and plumber's butt, and the voice that comes with a hand that's ready to slap.

Dear Vincent,

Three things that happened in my thirties were vertigo, and plumber’s butt, and the voice that comes with a hand that’s ready to slap. On Friday, October 6, I wrote a terrible poem about a squirrel, then opted to pop 2 mg of Abilify, and 10 mg of Celexa. I waited until after the full moon but I could not wait until after Tuesday, October 10 when Jupiter is supposed to move into Scorpio, or the other way around, or however that works. I could not wait any longer.

Ten days later, there are turmeric stains all over the fridge. I’ve decided that having an orgasm is more important than pharmaceutical sanity and/or medicated forgiveness. This is to say, I canned the drugs and this might go as terribly as the Squirrel Poem, “Dear Squirrel, I will not steal your peach.”

Dear Squirrel, I will not steal your peach

Sunday morning, on the branches of the tree outside my window I saw two squirrels, fatter than ever, humping and pawing and nipping at each other. It was the first time I’d ever seen squirrels engaging in anything that resembled fornicating slash oral sex slash picking crumbs or bugs out of one another’s fur. In India, the monkeys were fucking all the time, all over the place and very fast.


Where have all the squirrels been fucking all this time?

On Wednesday, October 4, 2017, I crouched at the end of the ABB to FIE shelves of the Mordecai Richler library next to my Abilify and Celexa, and a cardboard tube I’d found in someone’s garbage and a pulp novel by Laurence Brock called Borderline.


I texted my friend Benjamin Tracy a photo of the Abilify, and the Celexa, and the cardboard tube I’d found in someone’s garbage, and the pulp novel by Laurence Brock called Borderline, plus my fungussed toenailed foot, shod in a Birkenstock.

Abilify + Celexa + Garbage Tube + Scorching Pulp Novel + Fungussed Foot in Birkenstock

“Do you want some Abilify?” I wrote to Benjamin Tracy.

To my right were the remainder of the works of Laurence Brock, the novels, “Getting off,” and “Hit Me,” adding to “Borderline” which I think might have been written before they invented personality disorders.

Benjamin Tracy knows a lot about therapy. And drugs. In May of 2009, I went to Toronto to visit him on a sex trip. Once Benjamin Tracy declared that in return for sterilization, the government should offer incompetent people $35 plus a free doughnut of their choice.  Any kind of doughnut you want. Just please never ever have kids.

Benjamin Tracy recommended I keep the Abilify for myself.

I told him that for me zero orgasm and obesity equal dealbreakers when it comes to the drugs.

Benjamin Tracy said that neither of these things are as bad as crazy,

“Depends on the crazy,” I said.

“You’re contemplating long-term disability,” he said. Then, “Don’t be pessimistic”

I feel very pessimistic, but I’m hanging on by an orgasm and a recipe for golden milk.

Dear Vincent, Have you ever tried golden milk?

Dear Vincent, Have you seen the squirrels fucking?

Dear Vincent, How are you crazy?

As for me, I really struggle to leave a feeling unexpressed and without an audience. And I realize this is amazingly self-involved, borderline narcissistic, highly strenuous, masturbatory, inconvenient, inefficient, and, unlucrative. So too agrees the voice with the hand.

I would not accept a doughnut to restrict access to this womb. Doughnuts are notoriously difficult to digest. Also, I tend to boycott surgery. Also, this womb is already inaccessible. Also, my prize of choice would be an extremely high-quality microfiber cloth, or seven.

My mother has given me six reasonably good quality micro fiber cloths. You might call them fuchsia, or else magenta. When they get wet, their dye runs onto the walls, leaving bright fuchsia and magenta blobs. These blobs go pretty well with the turmeric stains.

Three things that tend to take over are, turmeric splotches, vinegar smells, and glitter. Plus the voice that comes with the hand that’s ready to slap. Four things.

Tumeric stains plus magenta has to be enough coherence for today. Next time I see you, I will likely have turmeric stains beneath my fingernails. I cherish your professional help.

Love, Erica.

You too can write imaginary emails to Vincent. The project is called "Mondays without Vincent" and the secret email address is: ericaschmidt85(at)gmail(dot)com. Vincent will be delighted to hear from you. He will write back as soon as he can.

Much love, Erica.

I went to the Slow Dance and was reasonably pleased with my outfit.


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Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
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Rideshare, Sterilization and Doughnuts
Dear Vincent, This letter is about saving a begonia.
Dear Vincent, Thank you for responding to my hysterical phone call.

Taes Floats Your Boat

Why I am like Jane Goodall:  We both like to eat a lot of trail mix.

Today is International Doughnuts’ Day. Perhaps you can relate to my deep-rooted childhood Doughnut Trauma. When I was on the swim team and an important competition was coming up, whenever we went to Tim Hortons post practice, the doughtnuts, and especially the Boston Cream Doughnuts were forbidden. Legend had it that the doughnuts took three days to three years to digest. Legend transformed into fact, and doughnuts became what I like to call a Danger Food, to be avoided at all costs.

Danger! Doughnuts!


Daniel Vitalis: "The human body is like a doughtnut." Yikes.

 

Years ago, a man named Daniel Vitalis told me that the human body is like a doughnut. From the mouth to the anus is one big hole. To cope with Daniel’s disturbing assertion, and with deep-rooted childhood Doughnut Trauma, my sister has generously invented a new meditation technique. My sister’s name is Taes and she is quite a successful children’s performer. Part of her success is due to her name. Pronounced “Tess,” the spelling of “Taes” makes no sense. Growing up, it was even worse, because her full name was supposed to be Taesnine, pronounced tess-neen. “Taze-9?” her teachers would call out on the first day of school. The boys in her class liked to call her nine seats. Giving your child a name that no one can pronounce and/or spell is an excellent technique for generating Special Person Syndrome. Children with names that no one can pronounce and/or spell must develop the self-confidence and resilience required to advocate for their name’s accurate representation. Before my sister was born, my mother considered calling her Amy Louise. Luckily she didn’t, otherwise my sister might not have turned into the star she is today.

Here are my sister and I, being Very Special People. More where that came from.

It’s hard to say whether or not my sister would have acquired her second superpower without her name-ensuing Special Person Syndrome. In any case, her second superpower lies is her exceptional meditation techniques. Last week’s brilliant technique was called “Taes floats your boat.” When you experience self-defeating and repetitive thoughts about groin welts, groin sarcoma, doughnuts and Married Men, Taes advises that you visualize the detrimental sources of rumination and picture them boarding a boat. Then take a deep breath as you watch the boat float away.

Sometimes it is hard to put people on boats, since you might actually care about them. But Taes assures me that rather often, it is for the best.

“Is there Wifi on the boat?” I asked, thinking of the Married Man.

“No Wifi,” Taes said. “He can have one pomegranate.” A pomegranate to share with the groin welts and the doughnuts. I hope he watched the video on how to open a pomegranate without a knife. If not, I guess he can dig into the doughnuts. Or the Doughnut Trauma.

Though it takes practice, floating your boat turns out to be soothing. There is nothing to be done. You’re in Montreal and your problems are on a boat. When the people you once clung to fail to text you back, you realize it’s nothing personal. They’re simply too busy, floating away on a boat. Wave bye bye.

Bye bye, Boat People.

Not all doughnuts belong on your boat. At  Mile End's Chez Boris, they have splendid doughnuts. Free-range doughnuts, or something like this. The Darling Baristas with Beautiful Hair assured me that Boris doughnuts do not take three days to three years to digest. What a relief. If you buy your coffee before 10 am, you get two free doughnuts. With my Doughnut Trauma safe at sea, today I ate one free doughnut. I gave the other one to my Stunning Friend who likes to wear her baby on her back. These days, my friend needs extra doughnuts for breastfeeding and carrying her baby on her back. Also, the thrills of purchasing exquisite baby wraps off the internet require a great deal of energy.  Apparently, the process sometimes involves gambling.  

“It’s my bad addiction,” my friend confessed.

"I want a bad addiction,” I replied.

Today I also learned that carrying a baby around in a wrap makes your legs look fantastic. Besides being stunning with fantastic legs, my friend has many other marvellous qualities. She is extremely smart, and hilarious, and she is gifted with plants and decorating her house. When you have friends with children, it is important to give them tons of compliments since a lot of the time, the babies steal all the glory.

On that note, my wonderful sister is almost certainly still reading this and in order to quench her Special Person Syndrome, I should probably mention that she too is stunning, with fantastic legs and many other body parts. Her wisdom and meditation skills are extraordinary and she can jump around and sing about bananas like no one else in the world. There is no other way to end this but to say, “Taes (pronounced "Tess"), I’d float away on a boat with you any day of the week.”

The End. 

More Being Special. What fantastic legs.
Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor

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