Saturday, February 25, 2017
no-sulfur coconut chips
Today I went to an aromatherapy workshop, walked dogs at the shelter, and did 1.5 hours of Bhakti yoga. This is the good life.
Still I find myself wanting. Or is it loss.
I simultaneously crave late drunken nights filled with conversations we deem to be meaningful and marathoning home renovation shows on the laptop.
I simultaneously crave a half-pint of dairy-free ice cream and a cup of weak, tepid tea.
I simultaneously crave strumming the guitar until the tips of my fingers scream and lying prostrate on the couch for a while before padding into bed.
Do I want to shower or don't I.
Maybe it's the oils.
On my feet: oregano
On my solar plexus: sweet basil
On my ears: eucalyptus
On my forehead, at my third eye: mugwort and frankincense
On the concavity at the base of my abdomen: chamomile (mild)
With this I am remembering hiding behind the couch at all those house parties that got busted by the cops. Him feeding me mac 'n cheese and making out on the rooftop. That I thought I really liked him.
Each time thinking, now this is what liking is like.
The delicate silver leafprints hang from the stiffening tree. The rosemary plant is probably too cold by the window. Three days ago it was over 50 degrees.
Most mornings I wake to snow, cold seeping in through the cracks of the windows and doors.
I don't think I've ever said it first.