Most of you know I’m a bit of a health nut. I read all the major fitness magazines and plan my life accordingly. I exercise. I eat my vegetables. I even pay more for the veggies that aren’t covered in toxic chemicals. I do yoga once or twice a week. I drink enough water to drown a cat in. The one recommendation contained in those sacred tomes that I haven’t been able to stick to (other than the “spice up your love life” section, that is. I keep a shaker of cayenne pepper next to the bed. What’s spicier than that?) is meditation.
I have tried, oh Lord knows how hard I’ve tried, to get into meditating, but it’s just so…boring…and when it’s not boring, it’s…ahem…a bit cheesy for my taste. Also, it takes up a lot of time. I squeeze my weekly schedule tight enough to nearly draw blood just to fit a decent amount of exercise time in. A daily meditation practice would require giving up something essential like eating, or laundry, or playing the Sims.
And yet, the guilt I have over not doing something I’m “supposed to” haunts me. I’ll sit down to a plate of spinach and white beans and think, “Yeah, good try, slacker. Too bad your blood pressure is going to skyrocket until your head pops up and floats away on the breeze like a bloated stress balloon because your lazy ass won’t take the time to connect with your heart chakra.” I run 3 miles while all the while thinking, “You should be exploring your oneness with the Universe right about now. How do you think the Universe feels? You never call. You never write.”
After much (okay a little) thought, I’ve come up with the perfect solution: I’m going to create my own branch of meditation. Since I am the creator and high master guru of this new form of meditation, I hereby solemnly decree that Mega-meditation may be practiced while showering, changing diapers, writing, watching TV, or driving the car. It also may be practiced with eyes open, but that’s a personal choice…though highly recommended whilst driving or plucking one’s eyebrows.
Here’s an example of a Mega-meditation for your reading pleasure:
Close your eyes…unless you’re driving alone, then keep them open. If you’re driving with a competent person over the age of 12 in the passenger seat, close them and instruct your passenger to guide you safely through traffic while you listen to me and relax. If you crash, your passenger clearly wasn’t trying hard enough. You heard me, Passenger, get your head out of your tookus and pay attention.
Where was I? Oh yes, you’re feeling very calm…very peaceful. Ignore the DMV lady screaming at you that you’re next in line. You don’t need that driver’s license anyway. You probably have a helpful passenger who guides you places anyway. You heard me, Passenger: look sharp.
You’re laying on a beach…if you hate beaches, turn this off and go jump off a building. There’s no hope for you. The beach is exactly the right temperature. That’s right, it’s 80 degrees and sunny. If you’d like it slightly cooler, that’s okay. If you’d like it warmer, turn this off and move to Florida.
You’re wearing a bathing suit that is so flattering all of your body flaws melt away into the sand. Look, there goes your cellulite running down into the waves. A crab has picked up that wart that usually perches atop your nose. Perhaps he’ll make a den out of it. You are a great friend of man and beast alike. You feel smug and satisfied. You probably drove to the beach in a Prius.
There are no seagulls or other seabirds to poop upon your head or make off with your Cheetos. There are no screaming brats to heap sand upon you or incessantly babble at you to come look at their sand castle. You are completely alone except for the one person you’d most like to be on the beach with who is laying on the towel next to you, rubbing your now-perfect legs with suntan lotion and telling you how beautiful you are.
If you picked this guy, you’re absolutely right:
|Hey baby, wanna sharpen my sword?|
If you picked this guy, you’ve made the generic choice, but I’ll let you stay:
|Hey girl, why don't I rub your back and you can tell me all about your book club meeting last week?|
If you picked this guy, turn this off now. You're clearly 12 years old and thus have no stress. Shut up and go do your homework:
|But I sparkle in the sunlight...|
You are reading a delightful book that is written in a style that is neither too challenging nor too juvenile for your taste. The heroine is a badass woman accomplished in both intellectual and physical pursuits and her boobs are not unrealistically big nor is her waist unrealistically thin. The hero is a secure and confident man who is proud of the heroine’s success and neither threatened by her power nor freeloading off of her. If you picked 50 Shades of Grey, turn this off RIGHT NOW and go get someone smart to explain to you why you’re wrong.
You set down your book and Mr. Sexy goes to work on your shoulders. You relax. You’re drifting off into a deep and peaceful sleep…
WAKE UP!!! OH MY GOD YOU’RE DRIVING!!! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! SO YOU GO TO SLEEP JUST BECAUSE SOME IDIOT VOICE IN YOUR CD PLAYER TELLS YOU TO? SHEESH!!!
You are now completely relaxed. That will be $19.95. You’re welcome.