SATURDAY.
I went for acupuncture at the San Marcos Community Acupuncture Clinic. As soon as I walked in I knew I was in for a treat. I opened the heavy wooden door to a vast space sectioned by long curtains, soft lighting, and the kind of music that compels me into Downward Dog. There were two rows of recliners facing each other and a few bodies in those recliners, one of them a child. The patrons were silent, eyes closed, needles stuck in, blissing. I absolutely loved that everyone was in the same room together. I believe the collective peace made for stronger therapy. Like an opium den, only legal. And healthy.

So after a few questions and some mandatory paperwork, I picked my chair. The first chair was kinda lumpy so I chose another. Right in the middle. A man and his granddaughter sat opposite me in the corner and I watched the practitioner stick tiny needles in the little girl’s head. She couldn’t have been more than 9. A few minutes later that little girl was cuddled under a clean fuzzy blanket, snoring. I think acupuncture must affect everyone differently. The first time I had it done, it sent me to sleep, but this time was different. I told the owner I didn’t have any major concerns, just mild anxiety and the occasional sleepless night but nothing worrisome. So she treated me for general women’s health. She swabbed me with alcohol and got to stickin’. She stuck one in my head, one between my eyebrows, several on my arms and several in my feet.

This picture was the last thing I was physically able to do. I had my phone in my hand, ready to jam to my tunes but every time I lifted my finger to select music, my finger felt sorta heavy, so I put it back down again. The practitioner smiled, asked me if I was comfortable, and I nodded. The acupuncture was already doing its thing. I have no clue the science behind it but I get a visual of my circulatory system in overdrive. Like every artery and vessel opening up allowing for perfect flow. My eyes started to close. And behind my closed eyes I saw splashes of color, then recognized a deeper conscienceness that only comes with deep prayer. So I listened.

An hour later I was home with an OVERWHELMING urge to clean. Like, visceral. So I put Julie Andrews on Pandora and scrubbed the kitchen for 5 hours. It’s easy to tidy with Mary Poppins cheering you on. Me and Sophia emptied the pantry, swept and scrubbed every shelf, threw away old cans and organized new ones by genre. I even washed the sticky off my Marmite and jelly jars with soap and water! Do you hear me? I washed my groceries! I vacuumed under the stove and microwaved a bowl of white vinegar for 6 minutes. (This disinfects the microwave and makes everything easy to wipe). I was a cleaning FOO. So, apparently, this is what happens when you get treated for general women’s health.

TODAY.
This morning I lay in bed, farting around on facebook. A friend posted a video that caught my attention. It said “Stairway to Heaven, makes Robert Plant cry”. So I clicked. I LOVE Led Zeppelin. And I was curious what rendition of that song (that cannot be bested) would make him cry? Well, it was Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart and OH MY GOD…. I’m one of those people who feels things super duper deeply through music and I distinctly felt something other-worldly in this rendition. Perhaps it’s my personal history with Led Zeppelin. It’s my number one make-out music of all time, plus I have a healthy proclivity towards 70’s music and British men in general…whatever the case, it made me tingly. Not sexy tingly but spiritual tingly, so I got up, made coffee in my ridiculously clean kitchen and went to church. Stairway to Heaven and all that.