the kind of sport I am being: the poor kind

I am throwing 'therapy' into my personal quackery compost bin, right on top of alkaline water, Nicholas Sparks, and veganism. You cannot improve upon nature. If we were meant to survive on vegetables, we would not have canines and razor-sharp talons and the ability to run 60mph. If we were meant to heal faster by tearing open old injuries, we would not have invented stitches and the poking of wounds with hot metal rods.

My feelings are not supposed to be spare parts for other people's recovery. I have them for a reason, and they get hurt.

I spent the day after the feelings-reaping shopping online for paint, plane tickets, and one-room cabins in the woods (which I did not have 50k on hand for - YET). Then went home and baked some bread.

 "Look," I told the man, "The future can't be fixed. The past is no good. What we have is right now. And right now can have bread."

So.

Do art, build furniture, raise chickens, brew beer, sharpen talons, make secret plots. Find that brain-calming space and be in it. Japanese milk bread is a good place to start.



**This is not to say that therapy and psychoanalysis (or veganism, or Nicholas Sparks) are bad or useless. They are just not for me.

*** Ok it is to say that about Nick Sparks. FIGHT ME.