You know, you’d think that someone — me, for instance — who has a brain, who knows how to think and stuff like that, would have realized sooner that since kombucha is fermented it would likely have an alcohol content…
Even while the level is low in it, I’m super-sensitive to alcohol.
I had a small glass of that stuff yesterday afternoon, and then could not, for the life of me, figure out why I was having such a stupidly hard time concentrating on the rewrites of the play.
My entire day derailed from then on. I could not focus, and even though the changes the director wanted me to make to the play were in red on the printed script and very easy to see, it was a colossal effort for me to hone in on them and then type the changes into the Word file. I’d look at the red highlighted stuff and then think: How on earth am I supposed to do this? So a lot of stuff I wound up double-highlighting in blue and setting aside to “look at later.” Just crazy stuff.
And my energy level was weird; I couldn’t even do my yoga. I really started to get a little depressed because I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Luckily, I talked on the phone with Kara for quite awhile in the evening and that distracted me from feeling like I was losing my mind.
It wasn’t until this morning, when I woke up feeling really disappointed in myself for not getting enough done yesterday when I have another meeting with the director on Friday — then it occurred to me that maybe the kombucha had messed up my energy somehow. And so then I looked it up and, yes, there’s alcohol in there. Trace amounts, but it’s in there.
So, I guess I’m gonna have to have a little talk with kombucha and tell it that it’s not working out…
It’s kind of humiliating, though. When I initially looked at the changes the director wanted (this is for the brand new revisions I did last week), I saw that they were really simple changes that I could do in a heartbeat, and then move on to plenty of new stuff by Friday. So, to get stymied like that, and lose a whole day of work. Wow.
It reminds me of the time I accidentally ate a guy’s chocolate chip cookie that was laced with Molly and my day was fucking shot.
(You can see that I’m not one who likes to not work…)
(You’d never know that I’m someone who spent about 20 years of her life with severe “recreational” drug problems… Now I can’t tolerate them at all.)
Well, so. I hope your Tuesday was significantly better than mine! And Wednesday is indeed before us, a fresh slate. (Unless you’re one of those people who lives somewhere where Wednesday is already on its way out — i.e., Australia, or someplace intensely foreign like that.)
I wish I could be in Australia right now, though, to see one of those concerts Nick Cave & Warren Ellis are doing with the Symphony Orchestra in Melbourne. I’m guessing it is going to be just stunningly beautiful. (Their film scores.)
(Which reminds me that Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files newsletter yesterday was really funny, although it left me with a vision of him that I’d rather not have in my head.)
I guess in keeping with this feeling that an undercurrent of change is underway in my life, I’ve been feeling lately that I want to work with the elderly again. Not give up writing, or anything, but just spend some hours in my week leaving the constant confines of my crazy head and do something meaningful, something “outward.”
I’ve done a lot of work with the elderly — not as a nurse or anything, but in connection with my ministry degree, I did a lot of what are called Pastoral Care education hours, because my professors thought I would be a good fit for a Chaplain. Since it was clear, I guess, that I was way too radical to ever get a church of my own or anything.
I wasn’t keen on that Chaplain idea because it just seemed like all I would be doing was dealing with people on the brink of death and families who were grieving — all the time. Crisis mode, all the time. That is just not me. Although I was trained in hospice care and early Alzheimer’s care, and I actually really did enjoy that.
But, if I start doing that stuff again — you know, then you’re one-on-one with people, and you’re bonding, and creating deep connections — and I have 2 plays that I’m up to my eyeballs in, and a million other projects in line after that. And I’m going to have to travel — what’s the use in having such a hideous passport photo if no one in far-flung foreign countries (like, Canada) ever gets to see it??
I think I’m crazy. I’m not sure why I think my life needs more meaning at this particular juncture. It probably actually needs less at this point, but I just haven’t figured that out yet.
Last evening, Kara said, “Come on, Marilyn. You need to relax. Let’s go get that cabin in the caves for a couple days. Bring your laptop if you have to, but let’s go.”
And she pointed out that there was a hot tub… one of my favorite things.
But I’d rather be done with all the rewrites on the play, which I have to accomplish within the next couple of weeks, and then go to a cabin in the caves with a hot tub. And Kara. I sure do love talking to her. The conversation just goes places, you know? And then I could really relax.
I don’t even remember what I’m like when I relax.
I do know what I’m like when I’m not relaxed and I just don’t find it very attractive…
Okay. On that mixed-signal note, I gotta scoot. Have a wonderful Wednesday, wherever you are in the world — even if it’s just a memory now! Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.