November 8, 2012


I've killed a lot of plants in my life. It's the reason I haven't upgraded to goldfish or puppies. I can't take care of the basics.  I've been amazed at how some of my green victims have twisted themselves towards the light and have surpassed my negligence by toughing out the drought. And I tell ya, they are teaching me something; perseverance during the hard times, reaching out for help when you need it, and the obvious... drink more water.

But there are times when the plant has just had it and pisses the water out as if to say, "I've had enough." For an artist and borderline perfectionist with mega ambitions, it's a scary place to be. Particularly as the end of the Mayan Calendar is approaching with confirmation from astrologists on a significant planetary alignment, hurricanes knocking out my favorite city to the east, tsunamis threatening my favourite people to the west... this world gives plenty of opportunities for a high-anxiety writer to lose her shit. 

So I'm learning about the wisdom of the body - sent off on a journey of quiet acceptance, healing mushrooms, dandelions, and green mixtures to repair the damage I've done to myself through stress and unrealistic expectations of the human condition. Projects are on hold, grant applications are left to the side, and I'm crawling into my little cocoon to rejuvenate. 


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