4.14.2011

30 days of smiles: Day 7!

I have a love-hate relationship with making my bed. I'm cleanly and all that, so I change my sheets every other week and after any illness. What I'm talking about is that internal dilemma that comes up each day when I am greeted with the opportunity to pull back the sheet & smooth out the comforter. On the one hand, I *LOVE* the feel of my bedroom when the bed has been tidied, luxury items organized, fresh flowers placed upon the dresser/altar & a good spritz of aromatherapy is left to linger & refresh. On the other hand, I find it much easier to crawl back into an already disheveled bed! Perhaps I ought to freshen up the room and leave the bed as is after a good rest? I dunno... 

What I DO know is that those pillows have been inviting me to do more than rest my head lately. In fact, I find myself wanting nothing more than to wrap one around my face and scream my sweet head off. The very idea of this tickles me to no end. Honestly! What kind of crazy person walks around fantasizing about yelling into her pillows? ::raising my hand:: Ayep, that'd be me. I'd scream into the air for release if I didn't think I'd scare the poopsies out of my child or find myself in a white padded room in the morning. And what is wrong with wanting to scream, anyway? I do my breathing exercises. I listen to and chant along with sacred musicians on a daily basis. I cry more than most people would admit to... but sometimes, there is that welling up that just needs to GET OUT! And sometimes I just can't cry (in my house we call this 'eye constipation'). Sometimes, I don't even have a reason to... I just want to feel it so purely... to linger in my aliveness. 


This brings me to my homework of the day: I'm working myself up to screaming into that pillow on the right. Heck, I may even scream into all three. Slobber may be involved. I'm not scared. I'm ready. Ready to unleash whatever has been bottled up... and at the end of it all, I fully expect to find myself in a ridiculously satisfying giggle fit.

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