Woke up yesterday bright and alert at 7:30 a.m. I may have even had morning wood. But like Robert Smith sang, Sunday always comes too late and I couldn’t roll my ass out of bed. An odd thing this life, the ying and the yang, ping and the pang. One morning ready to take on the world, Pinky, and the next wanting only more covers to roll up over your head and guilt about skipping out on 10:00 a.m. yoga to fade.
We’re happy, we’re sad. Fat and skinny. Coupled and uncoupled. Brave and cowardly. Pretty and ugly. Content and wanting. Sometimes all in the same day. Sometimes all in the same Saturday.
Maybe it’s the impending birthday. Maybe I’m just feeling old or wiped out. Or disappointed. Last year right around this time I had a new relationship and a new dress, and both fit so well. I felt good in them, healthy and sexy and vital and worth adoration. Now I'm tired. Told myself no more doctors this year, treating ailments with exercise and yoga and more soy, less dark liquor and more clear. I don’t want to begin again with tests or trials or knowing nods and succinct explanations because nothing is one size fits all. After my teens and into my 20’s I suffered terribly with acne, the small bumpy variety and large painful lumps. Used to imagine (wish perhaps) I could peel off my entire face and scrub from the other side, clean out all the crap and black plugs. Scrub it good and hard. Too bad we can’t do the same when our bodies or minds or hearts misbehave, cut into each cell and section and have a good look (although I guess that’s what one calls an autopsy). It’s so much guessing, so little science. Science and science fiction.
I’m completely drug free (my choice and insistence), save a couple Bayer aspirin in the morning and half-dozen daily natural, herbal supplements. Living clean, hoping fatigue is merely boredom, aches the treadmill. And I'm aware that sad is more than the opposite of happy, it's a litmus test for the possibilities and a reminder that happy will be back. Maybe tomorrow, maybe 10 minutes from now. Still, for all the kumbaya I'm not looking forward to holding myself up in a down dog in an hour. It’s a lot of weight today, even though I was two pounds lighter on the scale this morning (the second measured after a good poop).
Maybe some days all you need is a grateful, good morning poop.