I started by taking it very easy and very slowly today:
Get up, feed cats, get tea, take meds, go back to sleep, remove cat from head, get up, have bath, spritz dry shampoo into my hair, pull on my onesie, make more tea.
Cringe when I remember last night’s debacle.
Postie arrives with another parcel. I stagger to the door, unapologetically skanky.
‘Blimey, you’re gettin’ a lot of these’ he says, nodding at the box, ‘what’s the story?’
I regard him behind filmy, gunk caked eyes.
He harrumphs at my silence, laughs, then smirks.
‘You need to get away from that computer, that’s what you need to do!’
The tiniest flicker of anger penetrates my stoned state and I wonder mildly what he would do if I swept his feet from under him, drop him to the floor, and pin his arm behind his back, like a mangy lioness chastising a wheezing old hyena. The 150 mg of sertraline that I’ve taken advises me that this course of action would take stealth and speed, things that appear to be in sort supply today. I stare coldly.
This induces a fit of coughs and a hasty exit on his part.
I close the door, open the parcel, take out its contents, put them in the wardrobe without examining them, and throw the box in the corner of the room with the others.
He may have a point.
Haven’t rung D yet. The Christmas vodka I anesthetised myself with last night has rendered me speechless. Well that’s my excuse anyway.
I am due to meet H at 4pm this afternoon. She is taking me to a slick, acrobatic style show as an early birthday present, so I absolutely cannot let her down. I look outside. A fine layer of frost has covered all the car roofs below. The Beast from the East is approaching, snow is forecast and I’m nearly out of logs for the stove. Shit.
Be late for H or go cold this weekend? Be late for H, go cold this weekend, be late for….
An email pops up in my Inbox. From the Guru no less. My eyes widen.
‘Sista’ it says, ‘I need someone to invigilate at my next workshop on 18th March, would you like to do it?’
I had only met the Guru once before at one of his workshops, which I attended as part of my training, and it was so random and inexplicable, it left me on the verge of exploding and/or self-harming.
I read on.
‘All you need to do is flag up if anyone breaks the pre agreed rules. It wasn’t carried out very well last time.’
I seem to remember a bit of spiritual willy waving between him and some big fruity act-tor type last time, which was the only entertaining part of the day. S, my instructor had invigilated that day, but did not intervene. What would she think about this? I don’t know, friggin’ politics follow me wherever I go and I have no time for them, and as much as I was tempted to be some kind of yogic referee (I might insist on a whistle), I don’t think he knew what he was dealing with. I suspect that S has some idea that I have problems but not the extent to which they affect me and my life. Need to side step this one.
‘OK Siddhartha’, I think, ‘this should give you pause for thought’, and type the following.
‘Hi Guru, I’m open to doing it, but I am pretty new to all this, pretty fucked up and can never really guarantee what might come out of my mouth half the time, what do you think?’
Auntie C would bollock me for ‘exposing my child’ to him, but I see no point in mincing my words. Plus the guy is world renown for what he does, so I respect him too much to pretend that I’m going to be of use.
I check the clock. Need to leave here in an hour, better get ready.
As I slowly apply make up, fighting back the urge to cancel on H, I wonder vaguely if this will damage my chances of qualifying as a practitioner once he shares this with S. Whoops. Too late now.
Pulling on the same clothes I wore yesterday (so that I don’t do a Groundhog Day-sque re-run of yesterday’s trying on frenzy) and feel vaguely disappointed that he didn’t even bother to reply. Jesus wouldn’t have done that; he’d have at least have said ‘Oh not to worry, have a good day!’
Had better eat. I feel so woozy.
I give the cats some cereal and narrowly stop myself pouring milk over a bowlful of Iams.
As I leave the house, my Iphone pings. Before I even look at it, I know what it is.
‘Dear Sista, maybe we should meet beforehand. I will be in Kensal Rise on Wednesday, shall we go somewhere for food? 7pm? Where?’
Oh God. Dinner with the enlightened one. I bet he’s a bloody vegan too.
As I lock the door behind me and head for the bus, I remember that phrase about when one is ready the teacher appears. Is that what this is? Synchronicity? Divine intervention? Or some penniless hippy tapping me for a free meal?
Either way, at least I won’t be the weirdest person in the room for once.