Dear Vincent,
Now we have passed my thirteenth Monday without you. I threw up the day
several times. The crisis centre counsellor named Bernard said that meditation
should really be giving me more benefits that I seemed to be experiencing that
day. I told him that as crisis counsellor, he should know that most people come to
yoga and meditation because their lives are a total disaster, and in the end, the
results are not often all that revolutionary or spectacular. Then I asked if he had ever
meditated, and he said yes, but that he had since stopped.
“Why,” I asked.
“Well, I have other things to do now,” Bernard replied. Everyone has
other things and better things to do. Bernard’s English wasn’t excellent. I judged him on his
appearance, which I will not describe. When
we had twenty minutes left, I went to dry heave in the bathroom next door.
“You don’t see me,” I wailed when I got back. “I miss Vincent.” One
time a kid I was babysitting said she missed her old babysitter. I did not
care enough to feel insulted.
That morning I’d woken up at 3:30 a.m. and meditated for forty-five
minutes all through the Hour of God. Then I made coffee, drawing and colouring in six red moula bandha root
chakras as it brewed.
Since it was the Full Moon, I did not practice yoga. Instead
I drank coffee and tried to complete the book I am working on about cleaning.
It is called, “The Deep Cleans Life Cleanse: 99 Strategies for feeling smug and
on type of life.” Strategies include cleaning the gunk underneath your light
switches with a toothbrush, eradicating rubbermaids and bathroom baskets, and
throwing out your fat pants. I only had 32 strategies left to go. Somehow, I
listed them all in point form. When I was done, I masturbated, ovulated, ran
out of the house to get a latte, and then totally crapped out. It seems I am no
longer a two-coffee per-day sort of person.
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| moula bandha root chakra. Courtesy of Crayola. |
I should have asked Bernard why he became a crisis counsellor. It’s
possible he became a crisis counsellor due to the fact that his life was a
total disaster. Just like people who write self-help books about being smug and on
top of life do so due to the fact that their lives are a total disaster. Their lives
if not their Tupperware drawers. As it happens, I own no Tupperware. I own very
little.
“Call us if you’re not okay,” Bernard said as I left. Pretty sure I won’t.
Facebook keeps showing me memories of my happy Prozac face.
Back when I used to be on Prozaac, and it wasn't making me twitchy or suicidal, I told you I was ready to fall in love. You laughed and said, “Everyone loves apple pie.” I don’t love apple pie, but will eat it on occasion to be polite.
Back when I used to be on Prozaac, and it wasn't making me twitchy or suicidal, I told you I was ready to fall in love. You laughed and said, “Everyone loves apple pie.” I don’t love apple pie, but will eat it on occasion to be polite.
I hope your Full Moon was better than mine.
Love, Erica.  |
| Happy Prozac Face |
My secret address is: ericaschmidt85(at)gmail.com.
Let me know if you’d like a response. The correspondence can remain between us, or else we can share it here with others and maybe it could be healing for everyone. Love, Erica.
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| Sad Face Monday, August 8, 2017 (Full Moon) 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. Are you lonely? Do you have a pain body? Three Quickies, including, I still wish I was Miranda July How I am violent, by Erica J. Schmidt |
