Dear lord, help me. No, really.

In my last post, I talked about having good days and bad days.

Today was the latter.

I have a tendency to only blog on the good days, or at least until I have some perspective on the bad ones, mostly because on the bad days I can't muster up the energy to write. Today was one of those days, but after a little de-stressing, I'm here to tell you about it.

As you know, I am becoming increasingly fascinated with the concept of loving what is. I've been doing the inner work to make that possible in my daily life, and sometimes it works like a magic wand, other days it doesn't quick make it through the cloud of negative thoughts.

This morning, I had to wake up early for a conference (one I've been looking forward to for months). As soon as I rolled out of bed, I was hit by a wave of nausea. I ended up hugging the toilet for the next fifteen minutes. And you know what? It wasn't that bad. I wasn't resisting it with thoughts like "God, I don't want to throw up," or "Again? What the hell?" It was almost as if I was two separate people- the one getting up close and personal with the john, and the other one simply noticing what was going on, without any judgments or opinions.

I finished getting ready and headed out on my morning drive. The traffic was pretty heavy, but I just enjoyed watching the morning sun reflect off the buildings and listening to some of my favorite songs. The commute took longer than expected, but I didn't mind. At the conference, I found out that the speakers I signed up to hear were out sick, and I would have to choose different sessions. I felt disappointed, but I figured, what the heck? I'll see else is in store for me.

Well, that's where the positive thinking ends and the not-so-happy Lindsay enters. The speaker I had was so boring, I had to keep thinking of ways to entertain myself in order to stay awake. In the middle of doodling a daisy on my note-taking paper, I realized that my pants were really, really tight. All of a sudden I pictured myself passing out from lack of oxygen and being carted out by paramedics, all while the speaker droned on about differentiating instruction and No Child Left Behind and poverty's effect on education and...wait, what was she talking about?

And then, in another thrilling turn of events, the ill-fitting pants took a backseat to a sudden feeling of nausea. And while the early morning nausea was subtle, this episode had all the gentility of a freight train. I ran out of the room and spent the next few minutes getting familiar with another toilet. Those of you who have experienced the joy of ralphing into a public toilet will understand when I say that my good mood officially decided to hit the road.

I made it home, where I threw myself across the bed and passed out for a good five hours. I have no idea what had hit me, but I'd pay good money to be able to hit back. I woke up in a mood. I'd call it a bad mood, but I don't think that quite covers it. I had, oh, about a thousand negative thoughts run through my head over the next few hours. I put myself in the position of the watcher, and I was shocked at the horrible things I say to myself. No wonder I get exhausted so easily nowadays.

I was pissed off about the meeting I have to attend tomorrow, the voice of Cruisin' Connie on the radio, my increasing pant size, my friend being halfway-attentive during our phone call, the pile of laundry on my floor. Knowing what I know, I just sat there and let the thoughts come. And no, it wasn't all peaceful and zen-like. It SUCKED. I felt angry, depressed, frustrated, overwhelmed, tired, hopeless, fat, unattractive, lazy...I'll spare you the rest. I started to feel claustrophobic, so I headed to the backyard for some fresh air.

I set up the camping chair, laid back, took a few deep breaths, and...

the effing chair collapsed. Oh yes, what better way to top off a fat day? I hit the ground, hard. Daisy thought it was some kind of game, so she came running over to join the fun. There I was, laying in the dirt, on top of a mangled chair, with a sixty-pound dog jumping on me. I collapsed into a fit of laughter and called Tara to share the tragic story.

In my defense, that chair was on its way to Jesus before I made the journey complete. That's what I'm telling myself.

Not to be deterred, I found another chair, set up camp, and eventually was able to come back to my true self. I know that more bad days will come, but thankfully I've still got my sense of humor.

And a spare lawn chair.