Some Kind of Crazy

Thus far, August has been an incredible and challenging month. A physical journey to Alaska was followed by an inward journey toward a new level of self-understanding. As with most introspective adventures I've undertaken on this path of yoga, I have been faced with a torrent of crazy emotions and irrational responses to external provocation. During the past four days I transformed into a sponge - absorbing every one's feelings and wringing them back out all over those unfortunate enough to have been around me (to whom I offer my sincere apologies, your patience with me is saintly and forever appreciated). This startling foray into the life of an empath has shone a spotlight on one of my many significant hurdles; allowing other people's moods to effect my behavior. Life is not all sunshine and puppies, so it shouldn't surprise me when people get angry, frustrated, and annoyed.  Ideally, I should be able to ignore them and carry on in my happy little world (especially since their foul moods aren't even directed towards me!). But somewhere in my brain, signals get all crazy and I start trying to make everything better. When, inevitably, I can't, I get pulled into the bog of their despondency. Yoga teaches detachment to escape such quagmires. I know that I am not at a level that I can totally detach, but I need to learn the correct balance to relieve myself from the grief of failed attempts to keep everyone happy.  So what should I do at this point? To be honest, I don't know. But for now I'm stocked up on tear-jerker movies and plan to cry it all out tonight and move forward! =) Stay tuned for updates along the way.

"Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever." ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Rabid Ginger

I was fully prepared to mope about this weekend after saying goodbye to Matt for the next four months but those plans were derailed at 0400 Sunday morning. I was pulled out of a peaceful dream by a loud, eerie, screeching noise which I immediately dismissed as some sort of bird outside my window. Unwilling to open my eyes, I rolled over to go back to sleep. That's when I heard the noise again. On the other side of my apartment. The side with no windows. With the realization that whatever was making that noise was IN MY APARTMENT, I did what any rational person would do; I hid under the covers. Strangely, this technique did not make the noise go away. I finally summoned enough courage to lower the blankets a bit and discovered a bat flying inches overhead. After another 10 minutes or so of hiding... I mean planning... I put my big girl pants on and army crawled over to the window to give the bat an escape route. Despite maniacally watching the window until sunrise, I didn't see the bat again.

Sunday was spent reviewing the generous morsels of advice given to me by facebook friends as well as working myself into a tizzy reading the intricacies of what happens to one who contracts rabies. Anxiety - check. Paranoia - check. Terror - minicheck. In an attempt to distract myself from my imminent demise I decided to spend the rest of my evening putting tape up on my walls (with the hope of living long enough to paint). And then I saw the bat. Once again, only a few inches from my face. Seriously, bat. Save the surprises for birthdays and Christmas. Fortunately, I was armed with information this time, including the phone number for Animal Control. I, very calmly, called the number, talked to the dispatcher, and was told that the officer would get back to me. Twenty minutes later two police men showed up on my doorstep. Welcome to Small Town USA. I can only imagine the frenzy that came over the police department when that call came through; "10-96. 10-96. Crazy lady with a bat. I repeat, crazy lady with a bat. The mammal, not the wooden club. Closest unit please respond." Still operating under the assumption that the officers would have valuable information regarding my likelihood of contracting rabies, I let them inside and showed them upstairs to the bat's lair. One of the officers then proceeded to wrap the bat in a towel and release it outside. Thank you, civil servant of Bath. I totally could have done that (in theory... if I had very thick gloves... and some form of reach-rod... and a stiff drink). 

My bat saga ended today with a call to the CDC. I learned that, assuming I would wake up to someone pinching me with tweezers, I was likely not exposed to bat saliva and do not need to begin rabies vaccination. With this, in addition to the knowledge that only 0.5% of tested bats are positive for rabies, I have stopped analyzing my symptom progression hourly. 

This is the part where I should relate this story to yoga. But, in actuality, it has nothing to do with yoga.  I just thought you all might enjoy the epic story of the (nearly) rabid ginger. 

Happy August!