Breakfast To Bed –

Breakfast to Bed

There truly aren’t enough pictures of dogs in wigs on the internet. Granted, there are entire tumblrs dedicated to the coiffeured canines, (I know if you add “ed” to a French word it’s not the past tense. I’m making shit up.) but still.

Back to my point. I also need more babies in wigs pictures. I have no idea why I find them so outrageously hysterical, but I do. I mean, it’s not Elaine Stritch dropping the F bomb on morning television while dressed as a very fancy Yetti disguising itself as Jackie O, but what is?

When I’m that age, I really want to be as cool as she is. She.is.bitchin. Fuck authenticity and “being who you are” posts. I’m tired of them. I’ve written a few myself. Screw me, I want to be that lady. So many blogs are trying to tell me how to be the best version of myself I can be, instead of being really helpful, by teaching me how to be Elaine Stritch.

Moving on: Meditation–do you do it?

Here’s a sentence never ever meant to be on a humor-food-I-workout-or-I-succumb-to-insanity blog:

While I was in my 10th Century Latin Liturgy class, studying the Visigothic Minuscule, I thought of the perfect way to partition my time. (I know, right? Because time management means so much when one is comparing types of script in illuminated manuscripts!)

Here’s my non-class/no auditions or jobs/perfect day off breakdown:

• 4hrs of reading–scholarly and for pleasure. This is low compared to some of my classmates. I swear, science is easier for my brain, but Comp Lit sings inside me.
• 4hrs kidskidskidskids (reading to them, playing, cleaning with them, watching them play while I listen to audiobooks and watch Sherlock–kids require a lot of cleansing and even more Benedict Cumberbatch)
• 1.5hrs workout
• 1hr food prep/kitchen cleaning
• at LEAST one hour with just me and ze man. activities not listed here. (backgammon should be involved…and…more exercise.)
• 2 hours writing
• 30 minutes personal stuff (shower/makeup/teeth)
• 30 minutes hair. (I have a mane of unruly curls)
• 1.5 hr tv (pref with the man, but inevitably some Kathy Lee and Hoda)
• 8 hours of SLEEP

I like lists. I like time management.  I feel like my particular breed of crazy requires closely-watched time management. I also feel like a rigid schedule goes very against my type-B personality. Fortunately, the man is reasonably type-Aish, and can corral my navel-gazing and shiny things distractions. (though, I’ve told him time and time again..pun intended…that gazing into HIS navel only takes up more of my time, and should be reserved for birthdays and anniversaries) I’m going to hell and my parents are horrified, btw. 

Here’s what my perfect day would look like:

readingkidsupreadingteethbrushingshowersemioptionalifbookisgoodmorekidswafflesgoldengirlsbenedictreadingwritingrunwhileaudiobookingreadweightwhilelisteningtoskrillxorshowtuneswinewritingkidsfoodwinereadteanakedreadbed.

all without spaces. just like my brain. Yes, my brain really does look and feel that disorganized and confused. That’s what ADHD does. Especially at the level from which I suffer. Fortunately, when I can compartmentalize, it’s a bit more manageable. Hence the lists.

My shrink (not to be confused with my psychopharmacologist whom I shall refer to henceforth as “Dr DrugMe”) tells me to meditate. He’s ALWAYS telling me to meditate. He knows I have SEVERE ADHD. He says just the act of trying to meditate will help. I hatehatehate doing things or trying things where I continually fail. It’s not even like I can use the excuse about the definition of insanity, because, HELLO!! Already crazy! Every time I *try* to meditate I hear Yoda in my head:”There is only do, or do not, there is no ‘try.’”

So I wiggle, I bounce, and I cannot focus on a damned thing. Not ANYTHING other than “well this is just about the dumbest ever.” I can focus while running. I can think while in motion. I cannot.cannot.cannot. sit still. I have had a few successful bits of guided meditation, but sometimes feel like I’m being hypnotized. I don’t want to bark like a dog or make out with my hand on-stage. If I wasn’t vulnerable to the power of suggestion, I’d never have started smoking at age 13 (or quit at 21) and I’d probably still be a virgin. At least until I read my first bodice-ripper. Because, duh. Ok, so maybe that’s not the intention of guided meditation, but my overactive imagination is pretty much sure that the spandex-clad yogi wants me to join his cult. We’d all wear white, and be in a heterogenous polygamous house and only eat raw foods and doritos. Our white clothes would have orange patches.

And he tells me to keep trying. I’ve watched the meditation videos from calmest hyper person I know, Bex. And nothing. Still can’t sit still. I tried something unconventional. I’ve taken to listening to her smooth meditations while running. I get it’s not the way she designed it, but as long as I’m on a straightaway or on a treadmill/elliptical, I’m good. The Navajo (my personal zen Buddha) was on the res for a while and I was without his calming influence. I was without someone to center my runs. Not anymore! Though, I wish I could combine Bex’s instructions (no pretending to be a chihuahua that I know of) and the lilting and somber tones of the Navajo’s musical cadence and chanting.

Someone get on that. (I’m looking for a remix, Bex and Navajo!!)

So I told my shrink this, and he says it’s fine! Good, even. I then swore a blue streak and told him thanks for nothing! He laughed at me and told me he’d talk to me again next week. Here’s my tip for all of my fellow crazy mother truckers: sometimes it’s the spirit of the idea more than the letter of its instruction. Finding a balance inside a disordered mind is an art. We just happen to be more Picasso and less Renoir.

Now to the food. Because cooking is meditative if you do it right, and food heals.

Whole Roasted Cauliflower Satay-Style

(thai it, you’ll like it. Unless you’re Jenn. She hates sesame.and puppies.and kittens that play piano.or just sesame.)

Breakfast to Bed