I pooped so hard I wanted to grab it out of the toilet and use it to start building condos. Maybe one of those Pencils of Promise projects in Ecuador or something.
Breakfast was as quick as it was small.
Have to get out of the house and make my follow-up meeting at the restaurant.
Looks like they are going to want more work. Which is great because I need $20,000 for a down payment on a rental property in Portland.
He’s a strange guy, the guy that cleans our windows. He talks a lot about electromagnetic fields and always tells me to drive carefully because, “There are a lot of crazy drivers out there.” He says things like, “It’s a crazy world we are living in right now,” but he never really elaborates as to why. I don’t know why I hired him, mostly because he was a total weirdo and having him around made my life weird too. And because when he is in the studio cleaning I get the familiar chill down my spine that I got in elementary school when the librarian, with her soft voice, would help me find a book I was interested in reading. The same sensation I get on occasion when a customer service agent goes out of their way to help me over the phone. I would spend all my days chasing this feeling if I knew exactly what caused it. Currently, it’s just this guy. That’s why I brought my computer into the studio to work while he talks about not being able to out-maneuver longevity and how he can fix my locks or install a screen door if I wanted because, “I can do that sorta thing, too.” Today, I told him to go ahead and patch up the handle lock. We don’t really need it fixed but it’ll keep him around another twenty minutes and I’ve got the tingles going on a major level.
Lunch happened with a bang.
Staple salad – chicken, cauli rice, cashews, spring mix, some other shit, avocado, and olive oil. Hits the spot every time. Except for when there’s a caterpillar in it. Which has only happened to me once, at Whole Foods. “At least that means it’s fresh!” The cashier told me. “Yeah, you’re still going to give me my money back.” Dipshit.
“How do you want to feel?”
That was what Deepika asked me during our session. She reached out to me the other day and said she was confident she could help with my sleep and my poop. Anyone who is willing to take on those monsters is a hero in my book. Plus she is a legit Indian-American practicing Ayurveda. Not like a disgruntled white chick that felt a connection to the Himalayas after she went to Mysore for a month and decided she wasn’t going to cook with garlic or onions anymore. We went through my intake paperwork and talked about the things that trouble me (everything). And she said she was going to treat me pro-bono because I seemed like the type of person that is always trying to give to others and not very good at receiving. Fair enough. I guess she was right because I could barely just say thank you without wanting to offer her something in return. Shit runs deep.
Receiving something without offering anything back. A simple thank you was all I could give. And boy did that feel like not enough. Lesson one, on repeat.
She also had a toy for Woody.
Now I’m waiting in the lobby while Alexis gets her treatment. This is a community space. Next to me is the door to the chiropractor’s office. He came out wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a baseball hat. Casual, I thought. Now he is in the room talking with his patient about all the psychedelics he has done. They are both prone to dabbling in the blow from time to time. One of them really likes Molly while the other can’t go anywhere near amphetamines. These are often the conversations I imagine having while visiting with my healthcare provider.
It is Whole30 hell to be away from home or a kitchen for more than two hours. We will be going on four hours by the time we get home. I had my second Rx bar of the month and an apple. Alexis jacked my cashews as I came out of treatment and she went in. We are not on the same page today. We got into an argument before bed and haven’t taken the time to resolve yet because today is really busy and we both have to do work that we don’t want to do for each other so it’s adding to the desire to be crabby back and forth. Our exchanges are four words or less and we haven’t made eye contact for more than a second. I’m sure if we just paused to look at each other we would hug and then we would be absolutely fine. But there’s something about being busy and having to do work that you don’t want to do that will make you hold onto a grudge just a little bit longer. It’s that displaced anger that spoils relationships that I mentioned the other day. Pride is heavily in the mix as well. I am not worried as we are too good of friends and too prone to communicating our feelings to each other to let this become a thing. I suppose that I technically owe the first apology and that is what she is waiting for. I’m not quite ready to be the bigger person but I’m sure it is coming soon. Hopefully it is coming soon. We have to film an event together this evening.
This bar and apple business is pure shit. My muscles feel weak and my stomach is on edge. I could’ve eaten a quesadilla if I wanted to feel like this.
Deepika just walked out of the treatment room and asked if I would come inside to speak with her and Alexis for a second. Da fuck did I do?
I’m inside and Deepika is saying something to me and Alexis casually mentions, “I’m pregnant.” I keep talking through it because I think this will somehow mean it never happened.
“Did you hear what I said,” she says looking at me. “I’m pregnant.”
To say that I looked like I saw a ghost would be a gross understatement. More like 3,000 knives were trying to enter my body simultaneously from different angles all being held by people that severely hated me and me trying to channel Keanu from the Matrix and dodge them all in slow motion. It got so warm. And then I became dizzy. And then I thought of three concrete ways in which I could knock myself unconscious. I wasn’t til eight or nine notches later on the reaction chain that the thought of trying to force a smile came in. We’re fucked was the closest I could come.
And then she cracked a smile. And then she started laughing. I reached for my chest to confirm that I was, in fact, still alive. I was. But she wasn’t going to to be for long.
“Gotcha,” she said with a big grin….very pleased with her self.
“You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“That’s for all the times you snuck up on me and scared me.”
Touchè you psychopathic monster.
But tell me for real that you didn’t just have major anxiety reading that shit? Yeah, imagine how I felt.
Deepika tries to get us back on track by talking about couples massage. I will have none of it unless it is Alexis massaging my weiner apologetically.
I’m trying to get all this shit ready for the event tonight. It’s not even about art for events. It’s all technical (yes I spelled it wrong first) crap. Batteries have to be charged, memory cards have to be wiped, cords have to be accounted for, and every other tedious, non-creative thing you could imagine. I’m getting all this sorted while Alexis makes mango garlic chicken with squash, pineapple, and pieces of green wax.
Just got home from a lecture given by the EMDR woman that Alexis has started seeing.
My throat has been uncontrollably dry for the last 24 hours. Perhaps it is the non-compliant Chipotle chicken we ate or perhaps it is the sixteen or so pounds of sea salt I consume on any given day. Can’t be sure. My gas is so bad. Like, if I unscrewed the cap to the gas tank on my Volvo I could just let my ass breathe in there for a sec and get us at least 35 miles. I smell like Monsanto.
Which reminds me of a company I almost started called Jar of Farts. It was after I heard the song Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri. My company was geared mostly towards the Japanese traveling male. Attractive women from all over the world were going to fart in mason jars and seal them up and put them for sale on my site, jaroffarts.com (which was sadly taken). They would have to describe their diet and lifestyle. Eventually there was going to be a play for vending machines. It failed after friends and I sent test samples to each other in the mail and realized that after four days you were left with nothing. You know what they say, better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all.
I was roped into attending this lecture because Alexis needed my help filming. It was a filmmaker’s dream. Small room crammed with people sitting in chairs. One old ceiling fan giving off fluorescent light. And a space heater rattling next to the microphone. We made real gold tonight I’m sure. To break the ice, I told all the women there that the backs of their heads would probably become famous after this video hit the internet. Only after it came out did I realize that I basically just called them all pornstars to their faces. Not so smooth considering they were there for relationship therapy. Another point deducted from the male side.
To answer Deepika’s question, I suppose I want to feel a combination of harmony and complete fuckin chaos.
Read Day 28 HERE.