Don’t ya reckon that Lorna should be tendin’ ta her business, not watchin’ our business?
One of the many teachings in Buddhism is to face your fears rather than hide from them, which is the natural thing I want to do. I’d much rather hole up in my little condo and watch reruns of the Beverly Hillbillies than reach out to strangers to tell them how great my book is and why they should buy it.
But, gosh darn it, the Buddha was right. Facing your fears is the only way to:
get past them
realize there was nothing to be so afraid about
Unless your fear is of a rabid giant mastiff or a perturbed grizzly bear. In cases like that, facing your fear will be the last thing you do before you get reincarnated into a rock or something safer in the next life where you’ll have plenty of time to contemplate the wisdom of your actions next time around.
Shizzle. I thought coming back as a salmon was a good idea. Next time I’m picking something safer. Like an Amish person.
As a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP), you know I have many fears. But I am facing down two of them this very week. I can see the Buddha smiling and rubbing his big belly while I grimace and try not to hurl.
What are you laughing at, Buddy, um, I mean Buddha? You do know that men with a lot of belly fat are at higher risk for heart disease, right? You should have died a long time ago.
Fear Number One
Remember how I said a really long time ago (and many times since) that I’m afraid of Face Book? Well, yesterday, for the sole purpose of marketing my precious memoir, I created a Face Book account. Yup. I did it. And I have no idea what I’m doing, but it’s there and “friends” are popping up like Jiffy Pop popcorn. LinkedIn, too. I thought I’d just as well go for broke.
Yup, just like this, only lots more of them and a lot faster. Okay, not just like this…
I woke up this morning at 3:00 AM and started worrying about whether I should have replied to all the people who accepted my friend requests. What’s the etiquette? I don’t know how to set privacy settings so everything is going to everyone in the world and I’ve discovered that everyone in the world (including me now) has a Face Book account. Well, not my mom.
So, if any of you want to “friend” me on Face Book or link into me (that sounds a little risqué) on LinkedIn, find me by my moniker, “Lorna Lee.” I am only going to share stuff that somehow might help me promote my book, so you won’t learn about anything personal there. That’s what this blog is for.
And just know this:
If it weren’t for my writing career, I would never have done this
I’m still afraid of Face Book
Fear Number Two
The number of this fear is very appropriate for the fear. You’ll understand why in just a bit. On Friday morning, I’m having minor surgery. By Friday afternoon and for the next week, I will very likely describe what took place as major surgery and a huge mistake.
I’ve had this procedure done once before and swore to every deity that might exist that I would NEVER do this again. But here I am, doing it again.
Okay, so I was rusty on the prayer thing and I phoned a few people and vowed never to have this surgery again.
What is “it?” The technical term is “Excisional Hemorrhoidectomy With Complications.” In layman’s terms: my butt is going to be a vortex of pain and suffering, especially when I have to go…you guessed it…Number Two. I have both internal and external hemorrhoids that were removed once but came back to remind me that I’m not a perfect asshole. (It’s shocking to hear such language coming from me, but or butt in this case, it seem appropriate on so many levels.)
Here’s a visual for you. Don’t think of this as an alien face, think of this as my butt. You’re welcome. You can use this image any time you need help with squelching those snack cravings. Your weight loss efforts will succeed in no time!
Rather than dealing with the constant and growing pain and annoyance of these alien nodules springing from my behind, I decided to endure the pain and suffering of the horrific surgical recovery. I am not a wimp when it comes to pain. I know about the constipating effects of the oxy-bad-stuff drugs they give you. What’s a girl with a cut-up butt to do? Advil isn’t going to dull the feeling of just having been shot in the butt with one of those assault weapons I wish they would ban.
So if you don’t hear much from me around here in the next several days, you’ll know why. Think of Phil. He’ll be hearing lots from me…in the form of wailing and moaning (and not the kind he’s used to, wink, wink).
Phil. Ooohh. Ahhhh. Come quick, Darlin’. I need another pillow to cushion my aching butt. And don’t even think about anything else.
In the end, it all may be worth it. When I get back, I’ll be all scared up, but I will be a more perfect asshole than I am now! Just trying to look on the bright side…