Did you know that the butterflies in your stomach are real?
No, really. Your stomach is naturally filled with chrysalis. Thousands of them. When nervous, they begin to pupate and shake. Suddenly, hatching! Butterflies release into the pink tunnels of your guts.
If you are like me - you run to the bathroom.
This was not the tonic #3 I originally planned. But sometimes shit happens. And by shit, I mean, love.
But this is a food and butt blog?!
Where is there room for the heart?
Where is there room for the heart?
Well, if I consider what most upper GI specialists preach, then this blog is ALL about the heart.
When I end up eating shit like this...
When I end up smoking cigarettes again...
Photo by Chris Eugster When I stay up all night, drunk at the fire company AGAIN?
You know there must be something wrong with my heart.
And when the heart falls, the stomach is soon to follow.
And when the heart falls, the stomach is soon to follow.
Stress causes IBS. It just does. This is because there are involuntary muscles in the stomach and guts that digest food for us. These muscles are connected to the brain. When we are nervous, scared, or upset, the muscles spazz up. They don't do the job they are supposed to do.
Butterflies are born.
Unfortch, I cannot cite the source where I read this, because it is in a box with other IBS books in my parents' basement. And once I'm finished writing this blog, I must go plan class for tomorrow. So, dear readers, you're going to have to trust me on this one.
You know that PA got dumped on by a premenstrual blizzard this past weekend...
It warned me for what life at my new home, on the farm, is going to be like this winter. The electricity went out. With it, the heat and water.
The cause of the butterflies?
He vanished.
He vanished.
Fortunately I had a kickass girlfriend with me. Using some lessons I got from the sweet-talkin'-fuck-and-leaver, I got a fire going. No starter log necessary. As the flames bellowed and engulfed the stove, I stepped back and said to my pal: "At least he left me with something."
The heat surged and wrapped around my face. I put a hand on my belly. The swelling had gone down. The bubbles and pain subsided. The butterflies had flown.
And just in time to settle under the blanket of snow and cold. Just in time to quiet my lips, sigh and smile. Just in time to hibernate into myself, pensive and warm with my books and iron pills and tea.
So I'm back. I'm back to eating soup, kale chips, and Yukon Gold potatoes. I'm back to bed at nine pm and rising at five to walk the dog and feed the horse. I'm back to feeling awake, refreshed, and happy throughout the day.
As my Plathy once wrote...
WINTERING
Sylvia Plath 1932-1963
This is the easy time, there is nothing doing.
I have whirled the midwife`s extractor,
I have my honey,
Six jars of it,
Six cat`s eyes in the wine cellar,
Wintering in a dark without window
At the heart of the house
Next to the last tenants rancid jam
and the bottles of empty glitters ....
Sir So-and-So`s gin.
This is the room I have never been in
This is the room I could never breathe in.
The black bunched in there like a bat,
No light
But the torch and its faint
Chinese yellow on appalling objects ....
Black asininity. Decay.
Possession.
It is they who own me.
Neither cruel nor indifferent,
Only ignorant.
This is the time of hanging on for the bees... the bees
so slow I hardly know them,
Filing like soldiers
To the syrup tin
To make up the honey I`ve taken.
Tate and Lyle keeps them going,
The refined snow.
It is Tate and Lyle they live on, instead of flowers.
They take it. The cold sets in.
Now they ball in a mass,
Black
Mind against all that white.
The smile of the snow is white.
It spreads itself out, a mile long body of Meissen,
Into which, on warm days,
They can only carry their dead.
The bees are all women,
Maids and the long royal lady.
They have got rid of the men,
The blunt, clumsy stumblers, the boors.
Winter is for women ....
The woman, still at her knitting,
At the cradle of Spanish walnut,
Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.
Will the hive survive, will the gladiolas
Succeed in banking their fires
To enter another year ?
What will they taste of, the Christmas roses ?
The bees are flying. They taste the spring.
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3 comments:
FG~
Could not agree more! I'm glad you have found peace within. Stay strong. You are very right about the stress digestion connection. You don't need a book to prove this undeniable affect. For me, personally, my Crohn's disease symptoms flare like fire on dry timber when any adrenalin starts flowing through my system. So I can relate to how stress induces remarkable digestive damage. Not only short term, but also long term. Stay warm and peaceful!
--Amber
I love how honest you always are, just love it! And hell yes to going to bed at 9 and waking at 5, refreshed and ready to take on your day. That's how I am when it's just me doing my thing and not letting anyone else's energy screw with me. :)
I love the way you write. It's funny, I read something the other day about being burned out. They talk about destressing like you have anything to do with the stress. Every day is a new day with new challenges. You always seem to rise up to these! I hope you're doing well these days. The new place does look beautiful! I hope you keep that peace...
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