Leonard Cohen, singer/songwriter, professes there is no cure for love. My question is: Is there a cure for a chaotic mind, loneliness, hyperactivity, grief, and desire. I don’t mean taking a pill to help focus on one thought at a time. I don’t mean doing something kind for someone less fortunate. I don’t mean meditation to slow one’s body down or crying when the urge comes on doesn’t solve the grief process. And by golly why would want to get rid of desire. Each of these ideas have their merit. My challenge is to discover a one stop solution to all these ailments immediately.
Last night I became so overwhelmed I think I had my first anxiety attack. My hands were shaking while I paced from the kitchen. It was a mess with dishes, and newspapers, and pictures scattered on every space of every counter. Like a bull in a china shop I switched directions and stomped to the other side of the house. Raging into the guest room where my clothes were piled so high the vibration caused a landslide.
Reminding myself to send some writings to my coach I ran upstairs to my office. After the 3rd iteration I noticed I still left out a whole section. With that awareness I forcefully pushed my harmless lap top up against the window at the back of my desk. I practically knocked the wooden chair over while rushing to get out of it. Without a thought I pounced downstairs and made a cup of coffee; not just my typical morning joe when I pour boiled water over a paper filter filled with the cheapest store brand coffee I can find. i Nope. Last night I got on a stool and carefully removed my 3 cup French Press off the tippy top shelf. Delicately I rinsed it out. Then, using my hair dryer I made sure the glass decanter was bone dry. I then used my spritzer bottle of vinegar diluted with water to coat the container. Using a clean Brawny paper towel I again dried it. Lastly, I gave it a cool water rinse.
Slowly I transferred six heaping tablespoons of my favorite Dunkin Donuts Columbian coffee into the decanter. By this time the whistling tea pot was calling. Steamy, bubbly water streamed from the spout into the decanter. The indescribable sound of the water stirring up the coffee grinds softened my mood. Finally, just watching the coffee and water mix while the steam penetrated my sinuses soothed my mind.
I forgot about the repeated e-mails to my coach. I sent my sister a text. Then, subconsciously I wondered into my bedroom, locked the door, and plopped on the bed without undressing. While my eyelids were closing I covered myself in my sentimental green Marmot sleeping bag that Ron bought me in Idaho while on our first cross country tent camping trip. Next thing I knew it was 5 am.
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