Itadakimasu!!

Itadakimasu!

Itadakimasu!

I’ve been watching anime incessantly for months now and learned a small arsenal of words during my loyal viewing.  Hello, goodbye, good morning, thank you, I’m sorry, stupid, see you later, god help us, don’t you know, no I don’t, and of course, itadakimasu!

Japanese people say itadakimasu (you don’t pronounce the u at the end) at every meal before they eat.  So like any fledging young adult, I started saying it – loudly I might add.  Before every meal, after every meal, even when there aren’t any meals.

Itadakimasu!

Finally I went on Google to see what it actually means and found this:

itadakimasu:
A word used by the japanese usually said before meals or by people who watch anime way too much.

Thank you Urban Dictionary for clearing that up.

I woke up early today to give a massage (which I didn’t actually do because I pawned it off on an employee [who da boss?  Ain’t Tony Danza, it me!]) and wanted to take a shower to wash all the laziness and non-activity out of my hair.

Me – “Are you all done with the shower?”

I politely asked my brother.

Brother (in a high-pitched piercing cry) – “Shut up!  Shut up!”

Me – “So you’re all done in there?”

Brother – “You’re an asshole.  An asshole!”

Me – “Okay, I’m going in then.”

Brother – “That’s MY bathroom.”

Last night when I was making myself some hamburgers to eat….

Brother – “Those are MY hamburgers.”

I used up the rest of the mayonnaise.

Brother – “That was MY mayonnaise.”

I can’t compete with his humor.

Brother – “That’s my old bedroom!  I want it back!”

**************

I was PMS’ing when I wrote about my dear friend Kristi.  There’s no possible way I can give her an ultimatum.

She’s a good person and I care about her.

But……

I know sooner or later she’s going to ditch me again.  I know it.  For something stupid too.

**************************

Baka!

Baka means stupid in Japanese.  I scream it whenever possible.

I’m going to Japan in April and need to start utilizing their language you see.  Itadakimasu and Baka help me get the juices flowing.

*******************

I have to leave soon to massage one of my weekly clients.  A man who is, well, unlike me.

I’m a goofy-ass basterd.  I take nothing seriously.  I’m callous and aloof to others feelings when I’m at my best and at my worst, I analyze and judge.  Don’t pretend you’re any different, this is how we all are.

One big reason why I hate massaging is because it’s a vaccination against my callousness.  It impedes my ability at taking things lightly and forces me down into the depths of nether worlds that I normally don’t inhabit.  The world of gushy understanding and warmth – bullshit stuff that I want to extract myself from.

“Melanie’s so nice.  She’s so innocent.”

You don’t know me Baka.  Eat your own food and stop leering at mine.  Itadakimasu dattebayo.

You know what I mean?

Fuuuuck.

And if I massage him whilst inhabiting my own world, I’m miserable.  If I don’t return to that gushy place of unicorns and sunflowers, I’ll be more miserable massaging him than if I stayed true to my nature.

So I adapt to make myself less miserable.  And fill my blog with rubbish taken from these nether worlds.  I’m too damn impressionable and I like everything.  That’s my problem.  I’m too damn curious and open.  And adaptable.

A girl from a spiritual retreat I attended said that she collects her menstrual fluid in a cup and uses it for her garden and since I was so gun-ho about adapting and surrendering that I wondered to myself, “is that something I should be doing?  Should we all be doing that?”

Spiritual retreat girl – “It smells though.”

Me thinking – “Maybe it acts as a natural pesticide?”

I’m the opposite of stubborn because most of the time I plain don’t give a shit.  I’m too busy being accepting and nonjudgmental thanks to these past 10 years of being a wellness provider and being forced into the world of organic wholesomeness.

But it’s not real.  It’s not me.  It’s not my natural inclination to think about collecting menses (did I just say menses?) to garnish a garden with.  No, it’s my natural inclination to shout, “it’ll help with the blood oranges!”

It’s funny how mostly everyone wants to be a good “saintly” person while here I am running for the hills with my pitchfork and pointy tale.  Chasing after money and freedom.

I can remain open, but stubborn when it comes to acquiescing my bodily fluids all over a vegetable garden.  There’s got to be a line somewhere.

And it’s not even like I put on a fake smile for anyone – I basically surrender myself over and over again each time I give a massage.  I surrender and it keeps me genuine.

But lately, since I’m massaging one or two clients a day, my inner demon is clawing her way out.  It seems that the less I massage, the more I hate it.

That’s why massage acts as a vaccine with me.  But the vaccine must be administered everyday in heavy doses in order for it to maintain its effect.  Otherwise you get me, Demon Mel.  The passive, selfish, narcissist who loathes whiny bitches.  Suck it up Baka.

But Demon Mel still loves her parents and that alone makes me gush rainbows out my eyeballs.  It’s just that…..the problem is…..

Boundaries!  I meld with people way too easily.  I lose myself every time I’m faced with the decision to either understand a person, or go my separate way.

I have to learn the art of understanding while remaining separate and intact.  A bystander, a witness.  I feel little pieces of myself chip off the more I’m surrounded by people I want to know better, or, who want to know me better.

And I’m left feeling like I can’t keep up.  I have to keep sloughing away pieces until I’m forced to return to my domicile to recharge which happens to be all of the time since becoming an LMT.

So yeah, let us embrace our inner demon.  He’s not such a bad guy.  You’ll be rewarded with copious amounts of indestructible energy if you embrace your truest nature.

As for Kristi, she gets under my skin because of my trouble to remain separate from her.  It’s like the time I had that lucid nightmare dream and even though I knew it was a dream, I couldn’t separate myself from it.  I couldn’t remain conscious and in control.

My inner demon, no matter how obstinate and independent she may be, is my ticket to remain in control of my thoughts and emotions.  Sure I may be miserable, but I don’t fear death when I’m miserable.  There’s courage found in staying with the pain and refusing to adapt.

Be stubborn when it comes to keeping yourself unaffected by others.  Surrender yourself to your true nature and not one concocted out of avoidance.  Don’t feel self-conscious, ashamed or embarrassed because according to my high school nightmare dream, you must “own that shit”.

Own

That

Shit

And by doing all this, I can keep caring about Kristi.  I can keep her as a friend just the way she is until she’s forced into changing herself (or stop talking to me) simply because she can’t control me.

And I’ll be less inclined to continue this crusade of massaging people.  I’ll be more adamant to journey forward and take the appropriate action to better my situation.

I’m so freaking tired right now.  I have the next two days off so I gave myself the blessing to write tonight even though it causes me insomnia.

 

 

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