EXTRACT:
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a story.
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when i was about 7 years old, i used to walk to one of next door neighbor’s houses to be babysat after school.
she (let’s call her mrs. marcy) would take care of me and her own two children, who were both younger than me, until my mother came home from her day job in the city and picked me up.
i have a lot of musty, plant-y vivid, memories of mrs. marcy’s household…she was more of a health nut than my mom, and she served us really strange snacks that involved carob and other foreign substances.
but one moment blares out of all of them. mister marcy was home, and the two parents were looking after us three kids. i burst into the bathroom on the first floor and mrs. marcy was sitting there, fully clothed, on the closed toilet seat. she looked at me with an expression that was a bizarre mixture of anger, terror, and just….utter exhaustion.
i was really confused about what was happening. she shooed me out of the room with two words that made ABSOLUTELY no sense to me at the time:
“I’M MEDITATING.”
i did not know what mediating meant, and i did not understand why you did it sitting on the toilet in the bathroom, and i did not understand why i couldn’t be in there while she did it.
// Go and read more at: blog « amanda palmer. I don’t fully agree with everything Amanda says but, in the words of Maureen Johnson, it’s “A really beautiful blog post by @amandapalmer about…well, life. She swears a lot. I like her.”
Willow H. Wood 