For the past few months, I just haven’t felt like myself at all. Although I’ve had a head cold I can’t seem to shake, there’s nothing physically wrong with me, I’m just, well, blech.
I get home from work (and I’m so thankful that I’ve been working a few days a week) and I hardly have any energy and can’t collect my thoughts enough to do anything other than stare at the TV with dead eyes – which isn’t normal for me.
I called the doctor about it last week, and his suggestion was to take some vitamins and find a much younger boyfriend. Now I’m no medical expert, but that would seem to not be the thing that I need if I’ve misplaced my get up and go. The boyfriend, that is. I’m already taking vitamins.
So today, I ventured out to hippy country and saw the Sweater Queen in the hopes that she’d be able to give me some sort of suggestion.
Normally, the Sweater Queen just gives me a list of supplements to take and then we have a good laugh about whatever happens to be going on in the world, but today she looked at me and said with some concern “I think there’s something wrong with your Vata.”
“That’s impossible” I replied. “I just had mammograms on both of them and they’re fine.”
The Sweater Queen sighed, and recommended that I go down the street to see some ‘herbalist’ who’s supposedly really, really old and was doing yoga in a speedo in his front yard (did I mention that today was cold and rainy) when I finally did pull up to his trailer (or shack. It could have been a shack. I’m still not 100% certain. There was a lot of debris strewn about).
He must have misinterpreted my look of alarm because he boomed “the cold – it makes your strong” as he pounded his scrawny chest for emphasis.
Never, ever argue with someone if you think they might be crazy.
I agreed that the cold does indeed make one strong and he gave me an herbal tea which smelled like what I imagine dirty gym socks would smell like were one to boil them. He then told me that sugar, coffee, meat, booze, and anything else that tastes good is poison and I should never ever eat any of it again.
I thanked him, paid him, then drove past the point which I thought a scrawny 300 year old man could walk (apparently cars are evil, too) and pitched the stinky gym sock tea into a trash can.
Then, I bought a box of chocolates and a nice bottle of port.
I feel better already.