My house smells like lead paint and incense. A toxic tonic of smells for the breathing art of yoga.
It makes me feel rather like the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland.
There is a part of me that thinks the low-level of toxicity from the lead paint will destroy not only the good things in my body but the bad things as well.
But perhaps “destroy” is not the right word. Perhaps “funkify” is a better one. Whatever the word choice, I feel rather like the Mad Hatter.
I also feel like a lantern.
Another good question.
This is a bit of a stretch, but it’s all because of the quiet bzzzzzz of the heat gun. I feel like a hermit treading in dark caverns leading my way with a heat gun. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but the lead just does something funky to my brain waves. Not to mention the daily dose of people I see. People are strange.
I like to think I’m in control, you know, of being able to filter or resist people’s influence, but I imagine this is an illusion. I’m sure I have some power over it, but at the end of the day, I am only conscious of so much. Like any normal human.
That’s another thought that’s been reoccurring: the fallibility of humans. Not one of us is perfect yet we are so quick to judge another’s imperfections (as well as our own).
Here’s another thought: the intensity of humans. We are capable of so much depth and so much far-outnesss. But how much is too much?
Personally, I feel like I’m on a threshold, which means I need to be careful, crafty, and clever. But not too crafty or too clever, because then, I might outsmart myself. And not too careful, because then, well, I wouldn’t take any risks.
I strive always for a balance, between far-outness and in-depthness, perfection and imperfection, ingesting toxins and tonics, experiencing solitude and society.
I am a Libra on the cusp of Scorpio. I am obsessed with toeing the line.