I made this great salad, but in deference to the rigors of food in the Chinese medicine practice, I blanched every vegetable first. Chinese medicine hates raw food. Ok.
I liked it this way, a lot, although a teeny bit labor intensive, it was not like churning butter, you know. Also, after eating a raw, root salad, I often feel a little urpy & wishing for three more compartments in my stomach, but not this one. Because of it being lightly-cooked, I guess. Smart!
Also, smart: That Pyrex dish you like to roast in which can't quite come clean of that little baked-on smear of oil? Chuck it in the oven during the self-cleaning cycle. I mean, idk. I'm prob the last to know, again!
Last Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, I woke from a long, long dream about prune pączki, tea sweetened with rose preserves, and a yodelsome version of this song I've heard in bits & pieces this last year. I lay there, for a long time, awash in an uncomfortable memory of the strangeness of being a barefoot girl loved in her entireity by a guy whose starkness made almost nothing recognizable to me.
Three weeks ago, I saw my acupuncturist. I had told her of this epic dreaming of friends -- everyone has had their turn at least once -- long, long, romantic dreams which go on forever in an unbroken overnight narrative. They are always haunting and familiar, an encore presentation of my life before my eyes. I supposed to her that maybe I am dying.
She stuck a bunch of pins in me and told me I was tired. Oh, I know that.
Monday morning, three days ago, I awakened halfway from a dream about the unceasing tasking of parenting my son & then awakened fully, later, in the throes of a full-blown panic attack. It was like I was dreaming about a panic attack so that I was afraid to wake up. The strain I am under is immense, and even though it ebbs and flows, I still feel its whole weight right on me in real time, instead of saving it up toward which to cast my memory back, as is usual.
I wound up going to the ER Monday after lunch to see if I was having a heart attack. After the EKG & after I refused a chest X-ray, it became obvious I was not at death's door. I mean, they do not leave the death's door people to cool their heels for so long. I wandered off, bored of waiting, looking for a clean bathroom in the main hospital foyer, instead of the Emergency Department's dirty one. After that, I got interested in the freshly-long evening light, outside. Sloane called & said he was there & I said, "Oh, goody. Pull up in the drive, let's go home."
"Are you done?" is what he wanted to know while I buckled myself into the passenger seat.
"Sure. I guess. Let's go."
He is a smart guy who did not press for specifics. I came home & drank down 6 ounces of lemon balm tincture in the hours before an early bedtime. Eventually, he was able to confirm how I wandered off without being seen by a physician. Yesterday, as the pain & dread was unremitting, at breakfast I poured two ounces of tincture alongside my morning pot of tea.
Now, as someone who relies upon herbal medicines a great deal, I know a shot of lemon balm tincture to be quite different from a shot of whiskey, but I tinctured those plants in 100-proof vodka, and at that volume, it does qualify as booze at breakfast. Only I felt actually better, instead of only numbed, so ok.
A couple of weeks ago, I was going to crawl onto our stepladder to our highest shelf to get down the actual booze for my actual breakfast.
I thought of Kowalski, and heard his counsel to behave. It has also not escaped me, during this weakened-feeling & sickly time, how the loves of Kowalski's life just drop dead right around his birthday. Three in five years, and will I be the fourth?
Time will tell & pretty soon, I guess.
I have some R&R scheduled for the weekend with Sal in the DC house. I will leave shortly. It did not start out as R&R, but as a crown which I broke because besides the tiredness I am waking up every morning with my jaw clenched tight like Thurston Howell III, and that is upsetting, both the dental restoration I've destroyed plus also the reality of the strain I am under & the toll.
Anyhow, that is for Tuesday. Between then & now, Sal has taken some time off, as he usually does annually after his agency's biggest push & so it has turned into a jamboree of relaxing. In the Miracle of the Rest & Relaxation Weekend, I found a housecall massage outfit. Housecall massage. What? I booked it & then called him up, "We have a 90m 2x2 massage scheduled for Friday at 7:30."
"Omg, that sounds fabulous!" he said, from beautiful Columbus, Ohio. "Then after that we can just go to sleep!"
I know. Yes. Boots on the ground, DC, eyebrows done first thing, and let the rest be a blur of naps and cable television and in-home spa services.
Enjoy your weekend, beauties. Je reviens, j'espère xox