Eating salara to cope after burning the pot without water on the stove...

Sitting in the minibus and trying to recover from the quarrels with the patients which should not have happened if I was fully present and competent to deal with the needs of the patients, and I realise that the bus has long passed where I wanted to get off.

Feeling tired, thinking this is the payment for the sin of quarreling with patients who are weaker and thinking that is not as bad as when , in dealing with another set of anxieties I put the pan on the stove put on the fire and leave the water which is not inside to boil.

Walking back to the place where I wanted to get off the minibus, is easier, not so frightening as smelling the burning and realising that I did not put water in the pot.

I feel the shock , knowing that I have to take stock. I have to stop playing over the unexpected conversation with the loved one who had been shunning, and who has resumed shunning me as I burnt the dry pot in the conversations and post conversation emails in not listening attentively or to be present enough to say.. hey hey.. should we be talking when you have said so many times you don't want to talk?

Or in feeling afraid to say yes to the call from the brilliant woman who wants advice on the important work and thinking that I need to pull all my memories and thoughts, to make sure I give the right answers, to not think about the dry pot burning on the stove or the patients whose frustrations and illness and so I should understand but I can't always understand.


And so.. the salara, soft comforting, the blanket.. I had said I need to cut back, the clothes are tighter now as I keep escaping into food. Diet and exercise.. diet and exercise.. manage those as you manage the rest of your life.. Nice , sweet.. , letting me forget for awhile that I am now forgetting to put water in the pot before I light the flame underneath.