Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
I’m kind of running around like a headless chicken, which is oddly appropriate, given that this is the Friday Chicken.
Because I’m on my way to Austin for SXSW, dragging my gentleman friend with me. And Selma too, of course.
And some Selma decoys, bodyguards and such, to thwart any attempts at a celebrity ducknapping. Take that!
And in case you’re not one of those people who has an overly obsessive relationship with my duck, but you are my twitter stalker burglar, my brother is going to be home all weekend. Take that!
On to this week.
The hard stuff
Still the arms.
Still in pain. Still trying to find solutions to the “I can’t do my work” thing — preferably ones that don’t drive me crazy.
The good part of that is that Ez and my gentleman friend are
slaves to my will donating a lot of time and energy to helping me in my business.
But that’s hard too, because I hate receiving help almost as much as I dread asking for it.
Working on that. Yuck.
Seriously, Portland. It’s practically the middle of March. I can handle frost and stuff, but full-on snow? Don’t make me move back to the Middle East.
It was freezing this week. And since I regularly have to stick my arms in either hot or cold baths, I can’t even bundle up properly.
Grumble, grumble, grumble. Grumble.
Not being able to write.
Dictating posts, or talking them out with Stu (my arch-nemesis in software form), is just not the same as sitting down to write.
The whole meditative process has become something else for me. It feels sluggish and awkward. My words don’t come as fast. The writing process is less playful and more labored.
It’s a lot of hard for right now.
The good stuff
Aside from all the time, love and energy that members of Hoppy House are donating to the “Keeping Havi From Falling Apart” fund, lots of other help is showing up, too.
Of course, there is the fabulous Marissa, my kooky and marvelous personal assistant and can-do-ologist. And Peggy, who does all the behind-the-scenes magic. And Denise, my new project manager.
And then, as if that weren’t enough, so many of my friends, clients and students have been asking if they can help, or volunteering an hour or two to type while I dictate (so much faster than Stu!).
I’m in awe. It’s really amazing. And I am so grateful.
I already wrote about baking cookies, screaming madly and all that. But it was definitely a highlight of the week, and worth mentioning twice.
This actually belongs in the “hard” section, too, because we had a completely miserable time at this insane synagogue that we wound up at accidentally.
It was super noisy. Selma hated it. They skipped most of the parts we had actually come for. And they — I’m not even making this up — had a song called “I Love My Big Jew Frog.”
I love my big jew frog. What?!?
This exceptional phrase, despite making no sense in any context whatsoever, has ended up providing hours of entertainment for me, my brother and my gentleman friend.
We’ve been coming up with absurd rhyming couplets featuring this line, which still is completely incomprehensible to me. Or to anybody, really.
Buenos Dias, Guten Tag! Oh how I love my Big Jew Frog!
I avoid LA because of all the smog! Tell me, are you my Big Jew Frog?
And so on.
Yes, we have fun at Hoppy House.
I was curious enough about this hysterical, yet completely inappropriate song title, and so I did a little creative googling. But the only search result for “big jew frog” is my post from Tuesday.
You know the XKCD list of phrases that return no Google results? And the resulting paradox that as soon as you post a phrase that is not Google-able, it suddenly is, because your result has made it so?
Right. I can’t believe no one else got “big jew frog” first. That’s totally going on a t-shirt. Except it’s not.
I don’t have much to say about it, but yay! Birthday!
Lots of contemplation, reflection, thinking about stuff. And, as threatened, yoga and meditation, and some time in the sauna.
I also got an astonishing assortment of cards, and odd/ wonderful little gifts from various friends and readers around the world.
My gentleman friend surprised me with an enormous box of Fansocks from the best sock store in the entire world. I’m sure there are many women who would rather not get socks for their birthday, but clearly I am not one of them because I am overjoyed. Socks!
Wooly ones and stripey ones and stripey wooly ones . . . best birthday ever.
Ooh! And the best birthday greeting ever:
Happy Birthday Oh Shiva One, Selma’s Pimp-In-Chief, Supreme Yogawhore and Creator Of The Best Wacky Hippy Crap Ever!
I love my students and clients so much.
Chris is my massage therapist, and I’d link to him except that he has issues with biggification to the point that there isn’t even a website to link to.
But aside from that, he’s just the loveliest person, and I’m so lucky to have him on my team of people who are doing stuff to make me get better.
I also got an astonishingly great session from Hiro, that gave me considerable insight into some of the deeper stuff happening around my pain, and a new hope for improvement.
Between the two of them, I’m feeling a lot more optimistic, just in general. It’s about time.
Ez lives here! And I’m still happy about it!
So if you’re sick of hearing about it, too bad. Take that!
Actually, we have a little “take that!” dance that we made up. If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll show you sometime.
He also made the most amazing cauliflower-paneer-lentil spicy something-or-other (homemade paneer!) and I could not be happier.
That’s it for me …
And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.
Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?
And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.