Margaret, Meditating

Today I will focus on my breathing.

Today I will--

Is that a dog?

I think I hear a dog.

That sounds like a big dog.

Is the dog in distress?

Should I go help the dog?

I miss having a dog.

But, you know, you get a dog, and it’s like having a child.

You have to be home.

When am I ever home?

That’s not fair.

It’s not fair to the dog.

If you’re going to--

I need to breathe.

I need to focus on breathing.

I wonder if Napoleon had a dog?

Focus.

Focus on breathing.

God, breathing is so boring.

Why is meditating all about breathing?

Why can’t you meditate while you do something interesting?

They should do Monopoly meditation.

Monopoly is so interesting.

When was the last time I played Monopoly?

You know who was good at Monopoly?

That guy I dated in college.

He never lost.

Not once

I wonder if he cheated.

Oh, but he was a Mormon.

Mormons don’t cheat at board games.

I should look him up.

He was nice.

I’m divorced now.

I can look up anybody I want.

What was his last name?

I want to say it started with a ‘B.’

Bumpentick?

It was something like that.

Matthew Bumpentick.

I should write that down.

I’ll do it after I’m done meditating.

Okay, now I’m focused.

Is the dog still barking?

No, he’s fine.

Or he’s run away.

I might have to go looking for him later.

Assuming it’s a him.

It might not be.

Dogs can be girls.

Anybody can be anything.

That’s what’s exciting about being alive today.

So much going on.

That’s why you have to meditate.

You have to center yourself.

Glennon Doyle says if you meditate, you’ll lose weight and be able to eat fire.

I think she may have been speaking symbolically about the fire, but you never know.

I wonder what fire tastes like.

Breathe.

One…two…

Did Christine ever give me that Glennon Doyle book back?

I think she gave it to me when we were at Sardoni’s.

Why did she order the chicken piccata if she was going to complain about it the whole time?

She could have sent it back.

It looked fine to me.

She always tries new things and then she hates them and I have to hear about it.

That’s why Mom hated taking her to lunch.

Now Mom’s gone and it’s on me to listen to her complain about chicken.

Next time I’m telling her to get the baked scrod and shut up about it.

I’ll say it nicer than that, but I’ll say it.

It’s--

Wait, where was I on the breathing?

Was it four or six?

I’ll start over.

One…two…inhale…exhale…

You know what’s a good movie?

Waiting to Exhale.

Poor Whitney Houston.

We’ll never see another singer like that.

They don’t make them like that anymore.

Remember when she sang the National Anthem?

I cry every time I hear that.

The rockets, the red air--

Red air?

Red glare?

Glare or air?

Glare or--

Breathing.

One, two…inhale, exhale…

Now it’s like I’m doing lamaze.

I didn’t even do that when I had the kids.

Look at me having two kids with no lamaze.

I’m like a pioneer woman.

I should go off the grid.

But where’s the grid?

I have to know where it is to go off it.

Do I just go into the woods and wait until I don’t see buildings anymore?

There must be buildings in the woods though.

I can’t remember the last time I was somewhere without a building.

You know what buildings are nice?

The ones with columns.

I love columns.

I wanted columns for the house, but Bruce said it would look like we lived at the Lincoln Memorial.

He was no fun.

How could I stay married to a man for thirty-two years who was so--

Oh, we’re doing the body scan.

Uh.

My head feels fine.

My shoulders feel fine.

My arms feel fine.

My left knee is bothering me.

My right foot is asleep.

My toes feel fine.

End of body scan.

One, two--inhale, exhale--

I should get that knee checked out.

But I know what they’re going to say.

They’re going to tell me to get it replaced.

Imagine me laid up in bed recovering from that.

Who’s taking care of me?

Bruce is gone, the kids are gone, my sister can’t even eat chicken piccata without complaining.

I’m on my own.

At least until I reconnect with Matthew Blooperstump.

I should write that name down.

I’m not sure if it’s Matthew or Michael.

God, I don’t want to die alone.

I know we all die alone if you really think about what it means to be ‘alone’ but I want lots of people around me when I die and I want them to be singing a song like something Fleetwood Mac would sing like “Gypsy” or “Silver Spring” even though “Silver Spring” is about a scorned woman, because it sounds so pretty. I’ll probably be so hopped up on morphine I won’t even know what they’re singing, but everybody loves a sing-a-long, and then, when I die, they can take me out to the ocean and just dump me near a coral reef. Is that polluting? Oh God, I don’t want to contribute to pollution. Would a shark eat me? Do sharks eat dead things? I don’t want to wind up inside a shark. I just want to have my body decompose at the bottom of the ocean and be reincarnated as a jellyfish or an octopus. That documentary about the octopus was so good. I had no idea they were so smart. An octopus can open a jar of peanut butter. I could use an octopus around the house, because I have all these jars of--

Breathe.

Breathe.

Should I be taking deeper breaths?

It’s hard because of the cigarettes.

I keep meaning to quit, but as soon as I do that, all the weight is coming back on.

I’m not going to land a Mormon if I put all that extra--

Oh.

Oh, we’re done.

That was--

You know, these meditations go by so fast.

I don’t really see the point if they’re just going to fly by like that.

By the time I get around to centering myself, the whole thing is over.

Maybe I should try the hour-long one.

Oh God, an hour of just sitting around doing nothing?

I’d lose my mind.

And what’s the point of mindfulness if I don’t have a mind?

They need to make it easier for you to focus.

Make it more interesting.

If meditation was like Monopoly, I’d be the Buddha.

I’d be the best meditator in town.

At least I’m getting better at breathing.

That last exhale I took was a good one.

In, out, inhale, ex--

There’s that dog again.

I gotta go find that dog.

Now I know why Napoleon never had one.