Turner's Rain, Steam, Speed. Ah, finally some culture you're thinking. But no. Sadly not. This picture, though undoubtedly a beauty, is here today to represent what I, and my fellow hedonists, have come to term "The smash train". This weekend, in fine style, the smash train hurtled on unchecked well into oblivion and beyond. I feel my ultimate demise is drawing closer. How can it be possible to leave the house on a Friday with every good intention, only to return on Sunday with the certain and horrific knowledge that you danced round someone's kitchen table in a novelty hat till 5 am, embarked on an ill-advised liaison with a minor from the deep south, and now have 15 missed calls of increasing irateness on your phone and your face on a milk carton? I mean, to coin a phrase, hang on a cotton pickin' second!
Monday 27 April 2009
I don't feel too clever to be honest. Crashing round the Northcote Road like a cross between Barbara Cartland in the morning and Amy Winehouse after a crack binge is all very well, but it can't be the answer, can it? I have decided that my health and mental well being would be much better served if I went and lead a simpler life in the hills (and no, NOT the hillbilly kind, before you ask). Super-foods and yoga could be my new obsessions. Overnight, I would start to resemble Cameron Diaz, I'd grow flowers and vegetables, keep puppies and pigs and be nice to small children.
OK, so perhaps a little optimistic, but there must be some way of getting some balance into my life. Some time ago now I spent rather a lot of money on something called Metamorphic technique. axelle@themetamorphicway.com
This mostly involved a nice lady tickling my feet for an hour . She claimed this was something to do with my energy and that it was a means of seeking physical and emotional enlightenment (I'm not joking, she really did just tickle my feet for an hour). Apparently the embarrassing gurgling my stomach made all the way through the session was the energy moving around my body and absolutely nothing to do with missing lunch and then drinking a bottle of cheap white. So is there actually any truth in all this new-age hokum?
My flatmate's friend went one step further than foot tickling and had her brain re-aligned. Sounds a bit drastic but I think it was really just about re-training your thought patterns to be positive rather than self-destructive. This worries me too as I'm sure once someone delved into the curious recesses of my head they'd probably either have to commit me (or themselves) or send me to prison.
So today's musing is... what healthy "my body is a temple" kind of activity can I take up that will help to offset the demon drink? Can I overcome my natural cynicism long enough to find an alternative therapy that can actually make me all glowy and happy and smug? I like the look of yogic flying - they seem to be having a lot of fun on those trampolines, but if I die of cirrhosis first then the more holistic approach seems all rather pointless doesn't it?
What about marajuana? Does that count as a herbal therapy?
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment