I left my alarm clock off this morning because I didn’t have work today. The roads were icy and there was snow, so they advised folks to stay home. I don’t think there was enough snow for me to make a snow man, and frankly, I didn’t want to freeze my ass off, so I stayed indoors. Thankfully, my power and heat stayed on, which is a huge blessing because in 2021 we had a horrible winter storm called Uri and it knocked pretty much everyone’s power out here in Texas. I have to count my blessings every day, which is what I did when I woke up. I have had a rather rough time because I’m not sure if I’m experiencing panic attacks, anxiety attacks or just a general feeling of unease that comes with being a human being in a world full of chaos. But I found myself ruminating about what happened the day before at work, and what I didn’t accomplish. I had a crazy workload yesterday, and I felt overwhelmed, like I didn’t get as much done as I wanted, so I was pretty dang hard on myself. I tend to ruminate about a lot of negative stuff, so when I wake up in the morning, if I am too worried to get out of bed (and too snuggled under the covers to confront the challenges of daily living) I read something. From a physical book. Lately, I’ve been reading Bleak House by Charles Dickens, and also reading a darkly comic memoir by Jenny Lawson called Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, which has a taxidermized mouse wearing a Shakespearian costume on the cover against a gray background. I also love reading The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin, which is a compilation of letters that a Japanese Buddhist reformer named Nichiren Daishonin wrote in the 1200s. When I feel too scared about the state of the world, reading these letters encourages me to persevere. So, I woke up and read for a little bit, then figured I needed to get my morning routine going with some breakfast. I grabbed my little orange bottles of Zoloft and Buspar and headed over to the kitchen to make some breakfast. I dug out some bread from the freezer and made myself some toast. I pulled open the bottom drawer and took out the container of Quaker old-fashioned grits. Since I didn’t have work today, I figured it would be the best time for me to make grits. I filled up a saucepan with water and threw a little bit of salt into the water. My toast popped up, and I gave it a nice spread of peanut butter. I popped open the pill bottles and took my medications with my peanut butter toast. As I waited for the water to boil, I decided to recite my morning Buddhist prayers. I got in front of my family’s wooden altar and got out my prayer book and beads. Every morning and evening, as part of my daily Buddhist practice, I recite excerpts from the 2nd and 16th chapters of this Buddhist scripture called The Lotus Sutra, which teaches that everyone has an inherent life condition called Buddhahood, which is characterized by wisdom, compassion and courage. As I chanted, I remembered the passage I read this morning in a letter called “On Attaining Buddhahood in This Lifetime,” and in the passage Nichiren is telling the person he is addressing the letter to that in order to free themselves from the sufferings of birth and death, the person needs to understand that their life is the law of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, which we chant over and over again in order to bring out this life condition of Buddhahood from within our lives. As I chanted to the scroll in my Buddhist altar, called the Gohonzon (the fundamental object of devotion that embodies the law of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo) I reaffirmed that my life was the law of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and that I was absolutely and inherently worthy of respect.
I finished my prayers and went to check on the water. Little bubbles emerged from the depths of the saucepan to boil up to the surface, and so I measured out a cup of grits with a measuring cup and put the grits into the saucepan of boiling water. I turned the stove onto a lower heat and turned the kitchen timer on for twenty minutes. I got out my laptop and prepared to work on my writing project. But then I checked YouTube because it’s my go-to source for entertainment, and I found in my video feed that they were live-streaming the state funeral of Jimmy Carter from Washington, D.C. I decided to watch it, especially since I didn’t have to go to work today. I watched as members of the military guard carried his casket, draped with the United States flag. The members marched in place, and took step by step, halting with each step they took as they brought Jimmy Carter’s casket into the giant cathedral before the service began. The kitchen timer went off and I checked on my grits. They were thick and ready to eat. I opened the fridge and took out the vegan butter and maple syrup. I love a little sweetness in my grits, so I poured a little syrup over the grits and stirred them together in my ceramic bowl and then topped it off with some pecans. I dug in while I watched the funeral on YouTube. The grits were delicious and had a nice Southern-style sweetness to them. I polished off the entire pot of grits, which was enough for four servings. The guard was still bringing in the casket, and then a commercial interrupted the proceeding. I sighed and decided to watch the funeral on the television in our living room. I grabbed a knitting project that I am working on and with my belly full of Southern-style grits, I waddled over to the television room and sat down on the sofa as if I was pregnant with a food baby and didn’t want the baby to accidentally come out of me. I flipped through the channels, and came to CBS, where they were showing the state funeral for Jimmy Carter. I grabbed my knitting needles and knitted away. Knit 1, purl 1, knit 1, purl 1…my fingers crisscrossed the needles with each stitch and loop of acrylic blue yarn over the needles. I saw Barack Obama, Bill and Hillary Clinton, Kamala Harris and Doug Emhoff, Donald Trump and Melania Trump, and George W. Bush and Barbara Bush seated together.
Suddenly, I heard a loud scratching noise, and then a buzz. Oh, shit. We have had a serious bug problem with these large wasp-like beetles coming into our house unannounced. I understand they needed a warm place away from the cold, but all I could think was, OH NO IT’S A BIG-ASS BUG AND IT’S GOING TO COME AFTER ME!!! I screamed the minute I saw the big flying black bug buzzing against the wall and ran out of the room. My parents heard me, and I grabbed the spray bottle of rubbing alcohol. My mom sleepily walked over to the garage, fresh from a deep sleep until I woke her up with my blood-curdling scream, and she grabbed the broom. I sprayed at the bug and retreated as he raced in my direction. I yelped and ran off, and came back, fearful. He was dancing around the lights and trying to escape the poisonous spray of the isopropyl alcohol. I sprayed him again, and he danced his final waltz in the air before collapsing to the ground. With the little ounce of life that he had left in him, he tried to combat the fumes of the alcohol, but he was no match. I squished him with the magazine I had on hand, and he was gone. I thought I had taken out the last of these critters, but as I was about to enjoy some Yoga with Adriene, another big black bug touched my shoulder and buzzed past me, greeting me with an innocent, “Hey girl! You missed me?” as if the bug I killed reincarnated itself so that it was never really dead. I screamed bloody murder again and ran out of the room. I quivered and called my parents for help, and my dad looked around the room to see if Mr. Big-Ass Flying Black Beetle was really in my room. He could not find him, and so I decided to take my laptop into the living room and do my yoga there. After doing a few downward dogs and cat-cow yoga poses, my mind was still ruminating on how big and scary that bug was, and how thirsty he was to avenge the earlier death of his brother by coming after me. I remembered that my floor had quite a few dust bunnies and hairballs, and that in general my room was still very messy and cluttered, so I decided to put my worries to rest by doing some cleaning around the house. I grabbed some Trader Joe’s peppermint castile soap and mixed it in a silver bowl with some water from the tap. I scrubbed down the countertop, the kitchen cupboards and the baseboards with the soap-water mixture as Giveon’s crooned from my laptop speakers a beautiful song called “Like I Want You.” My golden hoop earrings dangled from my earlobes as I got on my knees to scrub those baseboards. I feel like such a badass bitch wearing these new hoop earrings. I feel so much sexier for some reason. I finished and dusted the floor with the Swiffer mop and cringed as I collected loads of dust and little stray hairballs left from many a natural-hair braiding session I have had in my bedroom. I wiped down my headboard and the baseboards, and I found Mr. Big Black Flying Bug clinging for dear life to my orange box of yarn and knitting needles. He didn’t want to die. I get that. If I were living a bug’s life, too, I probably wouldn’t want to get squished. But seriously, the bug was scaring the shit out of me, so I decided to put it out of its misery and kill it. The moment I saw it, I let out a war whoop (which was actually just another blood-curdling scream) and squished the little guy with my Swiffer pad. That ought to finish him, I thought. But again, little guy didn’t want me to kill him, so he flapped his wings and continued to traverse along the edge of the knitting box. I squealed like a little girl while my mom asked me where the bug was, thinking the bug was going to exact his vengeance on me right then and there. When he tried to get away, crawling on the floor, I finally stomped him out with my woolen blue slipper, saying, “Ha! You’re dead!” I felt bad, but I knew that if I woke up screaming in the middle of the night because the bug touched me again, I wouldn’t get any sleep and would also keep my parents up for the umpteenth time with my screams. I laugh because I’m in my 30s and have had this irrational fear of bugs since I was really young, and it hasn’t gone away. I think I need to keep going to therapy.
Discover more from The Arts Are Life
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
The Arts Are Life 