I'm up out of the cellar today, the black funk having passed tornado-like, leaving flotsam and destruction, but everything important is intact. The husband person has been very supportive and kind lately; I think I might have scared him. I know I scared myself.
I'm reading "Reflections on the Art of Living - A Joseph Campbell Companion" this week, while I wait for my super groovy history book, "Albion's Seed", to arrive. I figured I could use a little perspective refresher, and Joseph Campbell is my kind of guy, having arrived at his personal philosophy via a life-long study of world mythology, and just following his muse. This particular book has an emphasis on the Grail Quest, as it pertains to finding meaning in your individual life. I love the fact that he never talks like some high-falutin' guru, trying to sell you on his version of snake tonic/ spiritual perfection. That always raises my suspicion, along with my hackles. He says things like, "doing what someone else wants you to do, is slave morality", and "if you can see the path you're on, then it isn't your path, it's someone else's". A man who tells us that getting lost is the first step to finding your way - how could I NOT love him?
And speaking of following the crowd, I up and joined a gym today. I know - ME??? Join a gym? After that spiel of going "el solo lobo"? I woke up this morning, pushing maximum density, and thought about going to join a gym. My first reaction was claustrophobic - "I'll be trapped! I'll be joining the crowd, etc." Then my rational, used-to-be-a-slim-girl voice spoke up: "And sitting on your ass, in the house, all during the hot, humid summer, doing Ho-ho curls, is going to do what??"
So I went and joined, and in true Ms. Q fashion, I immediately wanted to go out to lunch for a cheeseburger, because as the Buddha of Juicy Rationalizations (Ms. Q) would say: "I joined the gym, I'm paying the money, won't the weight just come off now?" And I've always laughed at her, but now, now "I'm looking down, Shrek", and I can't see my feet, and it isn't quite as funny. (okay, it's still a little funny, especially when she says it, but then she is a comic genius, or is it just me who thinks that?)
So now I'm a gym-rat. Imagine that, and then let me know how big my ass looks in that work-out gear, or even more likely, how scared the others will be when I show up in bag-lady gear (ass still pushing the boundaries of our neighboring countries), because I'm too cheap to buy sparkly new, perky work-out clothes, replete with matching scrunchy?