I’m a caffeine addict. I usually have no more than 2 cups of coffee per day (usually at the same time, but not brewed jet fuel level…just maybe golf cart fuel level). However, for my gallbladder, I’m trying to eliminate it altogether. I’ve done this successfully in the past, after all, a 2 cup addiction is not the serious, ne c’est pas?
Yesterday I finally woke up, early, without my body craving my fix. Until, about noon, the slow pulsing behind my temples. Groovy. Not the foul-tempered feeling I want in my newly wrought independence. Since I still feel very sad about Esposo, let’s just say I rapidly declined into Foul Mood. OK, so 2 cups of green tea later, the edge was barely off. I also remembered I had my first hula class last night, and that the kumu (hula teacher) might not expect a student to be repeatedly bashing her head into the full-length mirror. Real coffee must be made. Then nap to be had because at that point I feel like my there was an intergalactic war going on between my temples.
Ah, coffee…REAL coffee…you are my friend, confidante, and beautiful savior. You take the pain and edge off my day (believe it or not!). I DO miss the European bistros, and yes, I could make this style at home. Yet I gave up my espresso machine years ago when I was in one of my all-the-energy-I-need-I-get-through-yoga-and-green-drinks mode. I haven’t found it in my heart to replace it, as I keep trying to give up the ghost.
This ghost lingers, however. It was served to me in a bottle as a child. My parents: probably didn’t win parent of the year for that, AND, I still blame them for stunting my growth. At a mere 5 feet I still feel little.
Arriving at hula: oh this was fun. Still with a light buzzing above my ears, I was not exactly graceful. The floor seemed tilted..or was that just my eyes? Equilibrium was not a word I could even call to mind, much less achieve on the floor. But I got through, remembered the steps even if my arms were going different directions, and I had a ridiculous, silly, almost manic, grin on my face.
The knees, though, oh they complained! ” We haven’t done this for months! Why are you making us do this?! Why, why, oh torturer of knees! Evil goddess! Have mercy!” Yet my knees and I survived, there were several other women experienced in hula in the class. Kumu said it was her best beginning class ever. I loved it. There’s a Hawaiian cultural event this weekend. I’ve been begging Esposo to go with me, to no avail. I’d go on my own anyway. I love it.