Fine. FINE! Fine.

You want to talk about meditation?  I will talk about meditation.  I probably won't actually meditate, but I'll talk to you guys about it.  No problem.  Loquacious, I am.

My little sister knows I have often tried to meditate:

Thanks for pointing out my failures, Kristy.

I have other books on meditation.  I've even read them.  Cover to cover.  Bibliophile, I am.

Oh, Thich, you slay me.

I recently signed up for a class on meditation.  Of the three classes we've had so far, I have attended one.  Money well spent.

So what's the hang up?  I have spent enough time in my Crazy Tree made of stress to quickly and accurately get the bottom of whatever it is that has driven me into those lofty branches, addressed those issues, and moved on.  But when it comes to stillness and introspection...?  Fuckity fuck fuck.  I suppose I prefer to think about boys and sex and vacations and cupcakes.  And sex.

I have been meditating this month (except for those two days when I "forgot"), but as with January and February, I feel like I'm already falling into the habit of just 'punching the ticket'; meditating to meditate.  I'm not taking it seriously and I'm certainly not giving it the time and attention it needs.  And shit, I'll be the first to admit that I need it.  I am forever burning the candle at both ends.  I am always going, rarely still.  Stillness, I need.

Candle illustration?
Or weird hot-dog-like meat product?  You decide.

So, I heretofore vow to start taking this challenge more seriously.

I mean, not tonight.  It's already pretty late and I had all that wine.  But tomorrow?  Definitely.  Watch out stillness!  I'm about to own your ass.