I'm cooking with gas!

There is a lot of action in my email today regarding the political unrest in Armenia. Here is a short article that doesn't cover much from the New York Times. I have little to say on this topic, except: please don't hurt the grandmas. It's a cruel trick, offering them a way to complain en mass, in the central square! Usually they can only protest in tiny clusters at the market or on the bus. Life is hard. People are always bringing shame upon their nation, families, Grandmas. They want us to know about it! They find joy in telling each other. You can no more punish them for protesting than you can refuse their tasty soup.

The action in Armenia provoked a wave of check-in emails from far away friends that actually read this blog, and have been left with the impression that life is rough for me right now. The sweetness of that is killer, but it also begs clarification, the same clarification I've been working on the last week. Imagine.

In fact, I was recently informed that I am "cooking with gas!" There are good things happening, changes aplenty in store for scrappy St. Renegade, and it is the very nature of how good everything is, quiet and growing, that makes me see myself as a drinking, compulsively eating, complaining, and grouchy mess.

Some of the time. Mostly, I'm still a golden delight to be around. I think my brain is just having trouble transitioning from the Quest to Figure Out What is Wrong With Me and Fix It to this hippie life of love and acceptance. Last week, after a series of book, people, and wine-related crisis of illumination, I decided that meditation may help. Sitting quietly. Calming down. Being silent. Trusting myself, doing some breathing, not trying to find something wrong with me all the time. As much as I like talking and writing and talking some more, it's in me to listen, so I'm gonna do that.

Also note how the 'cooking with gas' thing works on multiple levels, as it conveys how hot I am while also prompting the brain to think warm thoughts in these sluggish last months of winter. You're welcome.