If I had my own misguided way, I'd be self-medicating with makeouts and Ambien all the time. [No thanks, Valium. I want to be out.]

Irene Cleaners demolition; sneaking onto the site after work

The most relaxing is when I succeed in convincing myself that I am new and that I am unique and I am not to be overburdened by my humanness. This allows every experience, failures inclusive, to be mine and counteracts the shame that keeps me flying straight. That sometimes threatens flight.

The closest I've come when I lived alone in Texas. I would get a slight headache. Then I'd smell the storm coming. I grabbed a towel, pulled the garage door closed behind me, and padded barefoot across the red patio tile. I set out the towel on the grass. I stretch out on my back, arms out, eyes closed, better than any damn snow angel. Cool rain, slightly warm air, and God's own baptism, as my Dad called it. Big sky and freedom to be.

______
"Like a cancer in your body, it all just goes too fast."

Now, I usually try the distract and purge rather than the relaxation. I may be secretly afraid that if I stop moving, some sort of sorrow will swallow me and I'll die.

[This is ridiculous if you've talked to me in person because I am ridiculously silly and have done lots of trucking through 'sorrow'. I laugh at the word 'poop'. I just don't want you, Plinkernet, to think that I am a depressive in danger; it is only the best way to describe the feeling. We're saving that internet wonderstory for the, God forbid, body identification.]