Pipeweed versus Pai Mei
My apologies for my selfishly distraught post yesterday. I needed so desperately to find someone with good herb and a long, fluted pipe, to sit and converse and blow smoke rings at each other. Then I could have relaxed enough to cry. Has anyone else ever noticed that the stages of depression simulate that of grieving? Not having that, I read some of your posts and watched a video. Watched Kill Bill Vol. 2. Now I never knew that one could learn a lesson from Quentin Tarantino, but I did. For some reason I did not learn the lesson the first time I watched the film, perhaps because I did not see myself in the lovely Ms. Thurman.
One can only save oneself from being buried alive if one has practiced the means to chop through wood at close range. Along the way, you might learn the exploding heart trick...

Yes, I do not need the comfort of herbs or friends. I need to keep plugging away at this obstacle of depression, hitting it repeatedly until it is splintered and broken.

Yesterday ended better than it began, as I was given a very distinct and wonderful opportunity to laugh at myself. An entire room needed to be painted. Not having any painting clothes with me, I tied a scarf on my head and painted in the buff. I felt like Karen Findlay in a bit of performance art with white paint instead of chocolate. And no audience. If I were gutsy enough, I would have had taken a picture to post on LJ...