I prided myself this week on kicking jet lag’s arse … until this weekend rolled around and it kicked mine.

You know when you are expecting the worse of something, jet lag, heartache, fear, and you think, “Oh.. hmmm… hadn’t noticed anything,”  and you are able to go on with your day.  Then two days later you think, “Wow, I really am okay.  I really am getting through the week without being affected. I hadn’t even THOUGHT about it …  tsss.. I’ve GOT this.”  And then “wham” insomnia, late night binge eating, grumpiness, moodiness, etc hits you like a bat to the knee and you are left crippled to some extent with nothing to do but take a break, heal, and go through the paces required to get back on your feet.  It’s only temporary really, but still, there’s no where to run, nowhere to hide.

This weekend I suffered from some general uneasiness, but given my usual positive point of view, (though it may not have seemed that way from my past few posts)  I ignored the signs until I found myself this afternoon completely bed ridden, tired, crabby, and sleepy, with my eating all out of whack.  Pepperoni pizza at 10:45pm? (yes the really good, really old school-I-am-not-supposed-to-eat-one-much-less-three-slices-but-can’t-help-myself-and-now-I-am-sick-as-a-dog kind of pizza)  Garlicky zucchini pasta at 4:15pm?  Popcorn at 8:30am?  A makeshift tortilla española made of leftover french fries and topped with a spicy tomato eggplant relish as I type this at 1:47 am?  What gives?  You’ve been there, haven’t you?

I am sure my exercise instructor will say I am still tired from my intense five week trip half way across the globe.  For certain, my acupuncturist will agree my hormones and diet are out of whack, and I am positive my yoga teachers will say I just need to set out an intention for my hometown friends for whom my heart aches and breathe in order to keep my nerves and body calm.   I know my old cognitive behavioral therapist will say it’s okay not to keep telling people, “it’s all good,” when it is apparent I am worried about my mom and my sick aunt every waking moment.  And my new, beloved theta healer will remind me I have to disregard toxic relationships in all their attractive glory in order to fully welcome in clarity and balance.   My mother will tell me it is really, really time to pray even harder than before.  My career coach would say I need a routine to reinforce habits that build on my most important and pressing goals.  Female friends say I should have taken it a bit easier once I returned, but male friends, including my hubby,  suggested jumping back into life guns blazing as soon as possible.

So clearly I lean on a few people out there to help me navigate through my bumps and uneasiness, (how else do you think this chick is able to tick?) and for that I am more grateful than embarrassed, yet just to schedule it all in this week, being ready for my woes to go, I thought, okay, given all of the lessons, all of the things I already know, what can I do to kick this?    What is it that I have learned from them that I can do to help myself?

Washing that man/fear/angst/icky feeling right out of her hair  on South Pacific.

I tossed, I turned.  “I want to just wash it all away,” I thought.  So I did.  This evening when I finally got out of bed at twilight, I didn’t just take my usual shower,  I washed it away.  All of it, for now.  “Thanks for the mutual ass kicking, ” I told jet lag, stress, anxiety, gluten-ing, and company.  I said to everything that has been dragging me down, “So, I know you aren’t exactly going to leave me alone forever, but for now at least, are you done?  May I please wash you away?  It’s been a week, and I kind of need to already.  I am sure you understand.”  First hot water, then cold with very very sudsy commercial grade bubbles, I washed this week right out of my hair and sent it on its way.  I watched it go down the drain in the fluffiest most fragrant vehicle of bubbles.