Bastard people

I spent much of this morning cursing the bureaucrats in the PGN in Guatemala, and then an equal amount of time swearing at drivers as I headed down the hill to see a notary. PEOPLE with their DRIVING and their BREATHING...IN AND OUT AND IN AND OUT. SO annoying.

Thankfully, the militant notary who once told me he could make a citizen's arrest when I "forged" my birth certificate by making a color copy on his machine was out for the day; probably at either a Dungeons and Dragons conference or possibly at a Notarians for President meeting. The mellow notary was there, and she was able to I.D. me, sign me and get me out of there in just a few minutes. This brightened my day SO much that rather than go back to bed to bemoan our fate and knock back some Nyquil to make the day pass more quickly, I decided to take a trip to my past...by getting a mani pedi at my favorite Vietnamese nail salon.

While there inhaling the toxins, reading my book and having my feet shaved, I had an epiphany: I needed to get all Gandhi on those bureaucrats' asses. Go Zen on those bastard people. I would not have them drive me to egg homicide or to bed while the sun was out. I would be Buddha. Buddha with So Berry Berry Nice pink toenails and shiny fingernails, and the faintest hint of nail polish remover at each wrist.

This meant not trying to do unto to them with a sledgehammer, but only worry about how I let them affect me. This is not new news — the oldest spiritual beliefs include this mantra in many forms. Yet somehow I had forgot it as I churned through paperwork and stared at phone each day willing The Call to come in, hurling us down to Guatemala and our daughter. So how would I do this? What would my Practice be?

1) Nourish: Buy an iced coffee and stare at the cherry blossoms on the Glenview sidewalk, enjoying the warm spring breeze.

2) Befriend: Visit the nails, screws, cheap kitchen goods and helpful, tenacious and palsied 87-year old guy at the hardware store and ask for his advice on something, anything, knowing it will make his one day in the store more than worth it.

3) Release: Eat a fried chicken tender from Safeway. And not consider becoming bulimic immediately afterwards.

4) Destroy*: Go home and clean out my bathroom cabinets, dumping out the nail polish bottles long-sealed, the expired medicines, the clay masque hardened into a small baseball bat-like tube, the lipstick that looks pink in the tube and orange on my lips, making me look like a 70s groupie the day after a gig and possibly suffering from malaria or hepatitis.

5) Accept: Allow my son to put his sweet mucus-covered face next to mine, pretending to be a baby, because the name "Madelena" was said, robbing him of his ability to speak or walk.

And with that I return to normalcy, all without my husband ever knowing I had fallen off the wagon and become more than just a little bit crazy for more than just a few little minutes. Was it an epiphany, or was it the Mucinex DM? Only time (6 hours, according to the label on the Mucinex DM) will tell.

*Destroy is not usually thought of as a Buddhist belief, but HEY, welcome to 2007.