Burning Down the House!

Another thrilling night, another thrilling weekend at the old homestead. Actually, tonight I’m at Cocoa Café on 9th South and 3rd East, and I have to say it’s one of the better places to sit with the iBook and write. Their coffee is by far the best I've had as of late.

Yesterday I sat at a four-way stop and waited for the light to turn green. That’s me, obeying the traffic laws, but there was one little problem. There was no light. It was just a four-way stop, you know, the stop sign kind of intersection. I sat there for a good ten minutes, completely lost in my head, wondering why it was one of the longest lights at which I’ve ever sat. Then it dawned on me there was no light, and that light was never going to turn green.

I pulled over for a bit and decided the whole incident was a metaphor for my life right now. Right now, I’m stopped at a four-way stop waiting for a nonexistent light that will never turn green. For a rainy weekend, this is decidedly somber. I needed something to boost my motivation, though despite everything my motivation has been somewhat decent. And what does one do when they need to clear out the demons and start anew?

Sage my apartment, boost my karma.

I finally went home last night, rejuvenated, as only five pints of Guinness can rejuvenate someone! I went straight to the fireplace where I stashed the sage I used when I first moved into my apartment. (For those who are New Age challenged, burning sage in one’s living space is supposed to change up the energy, and get rid of all the bad vibes. Sort of an exorcism, but without Linda Blair’s spinning head spewing pea soup.) You might be thinking, “Crazy little girl’s just got all that stuff hanging around?” I say, “Yep, right now is NOT the time to tempt karma.”

Except after a few beers equaling the consistency of motor oil, perhaps crazy girl shouldn’t be lighting dried bundles of weeds on fire. (“WeedS,” not “weed,” though right now anything might be helpful) True to form of being the most graceful klutz I know, I lit my hand on fire and proceeded to drop the flaming stuff onto my favorite Hello Kitty blanket. Remember in the 70s how acrylic bedding was a fire hazard? Apparently it’s still a fire hazard in the year 2006. In a flash, I threw open the patio door and tossed Burning Kitty outside and like a drunk idiot jumped on it—all while wearing slippers.

I managed to survive the incident without any burned bits, however I’m wondering if I’ve really messed up my karma by setting the whole sage bundle/blanket ablaze. I think my luck could’ve been worse—I had the blanket on a highly flammable, circa 1965 Naugahyde couch, and could’ve died in a flaming puddle of plastic. So what did I do?

I cried.

Last night I didn’t exorcise the demons, I created more, and only wondered further about being stopped at that four-way stop, waiting for the light to turn green. Like so many things right now, the situation could’ve been worse, but it’s certainly not great. I've had my dad my whole life to jump start me whenever I was stuck, but now I've got to hit the gas pedal on my own. I guess the scariest part is when I learn to do that, I can go in any direction. I just need to figure out how to do it on my own.