purpose

i woke up this morning looking forward to seeing my therapist who i haven't seen for months, because really, i've been feeling fine, but this time around i really needed to discuss my anger management issues when i realized that somewhere in last night's stupor, i lost my favorite sunglasses.  as i was thinking this in utter dismay, the strap broke off my favorite purse, which happened to already be on my shoulder.  staring at the busted buckle on the floor, the contents of my spilled purse all around it, i burst into tears, stuffed my wallet into a bag no bigger than it anyway, ran to the subway still in tears, and to my therapist's who took exactly no more than 45 minutes to tell me that i'm in a vicious destructive pattern that i will live my life out in and that i shall never get out of and that oh well at least i'll be happy when i'm with him again she's seen it a million times in her practice.  all that time i stared at her thinking really what the fuck i'm paying you and when i asked about the insane rage i often find myself in, she leaned forward and said, we all go there, *I* go there, nothing, and i mean nothing about why it comes up, what causes it, how can i preempt it, all those things, no, only - "forgive yourself, it's okaaaay!"  so i paid her not one but two copays, went back to Williamsburg, was so nauseated by life it made my Brazilian breakfast the worst thing i've ever eaten, went right back to Manhattan, tried to get jolly and find purpose in life with Natasha, it didn't come on a bench smelling like mothballs facing a church on 16th street, but lots of people did wave at us.  feeling utterly purposeless, i decided yoga by my place would do me good, so i headed back to Brooklyn only to find a message from my godmother who was very upset and waiting for me although i thought that was tomorrow, checked the yoga schedule, realized i was headed to the wrong studio, rode my bike frantically toward what i thought was the right but was just another wrong studio, finally went to completely the wrong one at the right time, but got there too late and was mat-spaced out, cried some more, rode my bike to Natasha's, sat and stared at the sky, the sky rained in my eye and the wind blew away my hair-tie, i checked the yoga schedule again and realized that really there had been a class by my place when I thought there had been a class way back when, flipped a coin, changed my mind, went back to another class at another studio, did Dragon Yoga for Babies for an hour and half with Jackie Chan's son, swam in my own sweat, found some center, thanked the Universe, almost fell into the street in front of a car on my now very weak legs, went back to Tasha's to get my bike, ate some fake chicken, listened to jazz, talked about Paris and this day one year from now, rode my bike back in the dark, felt the air on my skin, looked at pictures from when it all started and i looked so happy like hit me now and now i'm staring at my toothbrush which is on my desk and i'm thinking wow i am one disgustingly beyond-spoiled brat and you should never have too many days where you just don't do anything.  

the view, ground up: