My, those are celebratory chupacabras. This couple has been wining and dining me since I graduated from acupuncture school last week and subsequently became licensed by a rogue Maryland state agency to embed steel spikes into the unsuspecting public. My attempts to work chupacabras and steel spikes into my advertising campaigns have proven unsatisfying, however, and I therefore resort to “qi” and “harmony” and other bromides meant to be murmured over the trickling water fountains of your local wellness center. But this is a kick-ass healing system, people. Do you see those chupacabras merrily sipping that pinot noir in the above documentary photo? Here is what they looked like before they sought refuge in my steel spikes of healing love:

And for reference, here is a steel spike of healing love, an Excalibur of rejuvenation embedded in crisp cotton bedding, fit to be be wielded only by a true M.Ac. who has endured three arduous years of . . .

Blah blah blah. Anyway. Whatever. No time for chitchat. Word of my miraculous chupacabra-vivifying abilities is getting out. And look, pinot noir.


Decades, Lost and Found

Hello, my little celery stalks. How are you? It’s been a while. I probably owe you a chupacabra or three, but I have other priorities.

This week, after three challenging years, I achieved my Master of Acupuncture degree. I have long been entranced with the way this is abbreviated and am secretly working on my Justin Long impression: “Hello, I’m a M.Ac….” Ha ha. Ha.

Anyway, that’s over with, and I am once again on the precipice of the unknown. You know, like those times when I graduated from high school, earned my B.A. and moved to Chicago, moved back to Baltimore for my first M.A., started my first business, started my second business, moved to New York City, started my third business, etc. It’s been over eight years since I last found myself in this position: Rob and I moved to Baltimore and got married, and I opened the store that was to consume my life until it was, in turn, consumed by the economic recession. That chain of events was a volcanic heartache I did my best to ignore by plunging into acupuncture school, but which still erupts at random intervals to leave me breathless with furious abasement. Now, I am back at square one with little to show for a decade of intense and focused labor. My bank accounts are empty, my home is in shambles, and I can’t seem to conjure a recollection of what I ever did for fun.

And yet, once again at a new beginning, I have hope. I am remembering who I am. I am connecting to who I want to be. There is a spark in my heart that seems not to be the familiar pain or resignation, and may even be akin to excitement.

I am ready to create a new reality.

And here, my little dandelions, is a chupacabra.