row of stores called Temescal Alley, that if you didn’t know was there,
you wouldn’t know was there.
and medicinal, herbal items. Including … a Hot Sex jar of honey for my mom
(hey, she ain’t dead! And I’m sure her boyfriend will appreciate it!) and a
vial of liquidized, immune-boosting mushrooms for me. … Not quite as “hot” as the Hot Sex honey.
with us for a while on the benefits of bone marrow stock, how to
make it, by slow cooking a bone for 72 hours, and I listened raptly… I have become more Californiafied
than I ever thought I would.
of magic mushrooms of a very different stripe than I’m used to is the cancer
bullshit. Or, to put it a wee bit more compassionately, my tolerance for my own
reticence, fear, and stagnation has decreased rapidly.
front of a computer screen for entire days in 6 months. (Perhaps I’ve lain on a
couch in front of a computer playing DVDs for entire days, but I digress.) I
did not face and fight death to be a secretary. I just didn’t. It’s where I am
right now, but it’s up to me and only me to change that.
same old) frustrations about working this (or any) secretary job, and she gave
me the same shtick most people do: see it as an opportunity for service, see it
as a chance to do good, what can I give rather than what can I get. Yes. But that’s not the whole story, not by a lot, for
something like this: “To use my gifts and talents to be of maximum service to
those around me.” The only gift or talent I get to use at this job is my
personality. Which is fine. But it’s not nearly enough. Data entry, running
reports, updating computer filing systems … a monkey could do my job.
ways to use them, perhaps for now, extra-curricularly. I finally emailed back
the photographer who offered me headshots when I put out the wish in December,
and my hair has grown back long enough to be pixie-ish cute, and so it’s time
to move forward with that. I emailed my friend whose husband is a pilot, and
who’d offered to give me flying lessons. I reached out to my defunct writing group, and we’re back on the books for this month.
singing with the band stuff. But, I’m coming up to it. I must.
called Liverplex, eschewing sugar, or flossing in order to be a
that brightens my day about it – be that the kids coming in all nervous for
their first pre-Bar Mitzvah meeting with the rabbi, or the Nursery school kids
hiding shyly in their mothers’ pant-legs as I wave goodbye to them, or sneaking
into the sanctuary for 5 minutes to play the piano in warm peace. I’m not a
line cook, I’m not a prostitute, I’m not a field hand. My job is not bad.