So I’m staring down the barrel of 10oz of organic raw super food immune booster green drink mix.

To wit: Kosher Certified Organic Raw Hemp Protein, Quinoa, Kale, Buckwheat Sprout, Stinging Nettle, Reishi Mushroom, Ligonberry, Black Currant, and Aronia, to name but a wee portion of the Super Food Family In My Cup.

I just took a few sips. Not bad. Then I realized the bulk of it had settled to the bottom of the glass. Scurry to the kitchen for a spoon, give it a few swirls, and now I’m drinking what seems to be the scraped-off wall of a neglected aquarium.

Ah, health.

To be honest, I kind of enjoy the discomfort. I’m Nature’s Masochist. I like chewing my liquids. When I’m camping, I don’t want any of that “flush toilet” nonsense. Give me a shovel, 500 paces and 15 minutes of privacy. I don’t get “dirty,” I become ensconced in a protective layer of earth.

Okay. That last sip was a little rough. Yow. Thank god for floss.

My Norwegian friend has gone to her next destination, C is off to work at the theatre, and I’m contemplating  Netflix.

Oh yeah, so the pilot I did this season didn’t get picked up. My feeling about that is stunningly similar to that of the super food drink mix. I worry it down because it’s good for me, but then I really want to have some ice cream. Actually, this time around (and let me be very clear: I’m VERY GRATEFUL that there’s ANY time around) I had a really good experience. The pilot before passed in a mentally congested blur of stress and anxiety. It didn’t get picked up either, and all I had to show for it was a psychosomatic ulcer. So this time, I really tried to have fun. C’est la vie tra la la whoopie doo!!!!! And it worked – I had fun. The cast was awesome (Bill Pullman is exactly how you hope he would be, which is super freaking cool and chill), the director was legendary (Mr. James Burrows, I salute you), and my character was a bit of a dip, but very well-meaning (I got to wear a lot of Anthropologie and that was exciting).

Unfortunately, I am completely unable to exert any influence over the network powers that be.

C marvels at my calm, my zen, my evolved state. And actually, so do I. I have no idea where it comes from.

Last night I hosted a clothing swap, and about 14 fantastic women showed up at my door laden with clothing and goods to share with everyone else. We organized our loot into piles in the living room, and ate brownie bites. I saw friends I really know and met new ones. Knowing how hungry my gullet gets when I’m shopping, I made two big pots of soup and a gigantic bowl of salad. The bunch of us pawed through each other’s stuff and had a generally hilarious and wonderful time. I wound up with a delightfully sparkly sweater and the satisfaction that comes with showing people a good time.

After everyone had gone home, I checked my email and found a friendly and regretful message from the show creators about the non-picked up pilot. I read it without too much surprise, and a little sadness, but what I realized is that I had been looking forward to the clothing swap way more than hearing the verdict of the pilot.

Like I said, I have no idea why the failed pilot doesn’t bother me more. But maybe, gracefully, that’s how life works sometimes. For whatever reason, you’re given a Get Out of Crippling Disappointment Free Card, and the best part is, you don’t have to use it.

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