Frustration on a Zafu

I put the palms of my hands together, close to my body, thumbs touching my chest. I bow to my little Buddha, the one I had to paint because it didn't coordinate with my bedroom. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. I'm going to meditate, damnit, if it kills me.

I'm uncomfortable, though. My wonky right hip is splayed out too far, and the place where my tailbone used to live still aches with the pressure of spine on newly grown tissue. The lone ovary is bitching and moaning, and the shoulder blade that always has better places to be is trying to run away again, taking a vertebra or two with it.

My tongue finds a tooth with a bit of leftover glue where a bracket was adhered for two and a half long years. I hate Dr. Wisdom. I hate Dr. Wisdom. I mean, I love everything. My heart is an opening flower, or some shit like that.

Hmmm...that candle smells nice. I can't believe I made it, or rather, that I actually finished a project. I wonder what I should start next? Wait, I know - new music for my iPod, because this song SUCKS! What's up with all that wailing?!

Uh-oh, I'm thinking too much again. Screw monkey mind - I must have gorilla mind. ADD/GAD/OCD alphabet soup mind is more like it. Bassett hound mind, now that's what I need. Where can I find one of those? And what was that thing, something I wanted to order from Amazon...

Oh, fuck this! I want a cup of coffee.

~ Amy K.