Arguing the Case for Intuition: What Happens On Those Days When It’s Just Not Working Well?
So here I am, multitasking (the NICE word for what was happening this morning).
Frenetic scheduling. Frantic emailing. Attempting to strap a to-do list tourniquet around my hemorrhaging busy-business-brain.
But the energetic bleeding wouldn’t stop…
Sinking behind. Spiraling downward.
(Or so my brain was dramatically ranting within my head.)
Yup, I was having an hour from panicky Productivity-Hell.
And while I profess to be a pretty darn intuitive gal, my brain was putting the kabosh on all-things-insightful.
No matter how many THOUSANDS of intuitive readings I’ve done… No matter how many intuition-building classes I’ve taught… NOTHING Soulful can ever over-ride “Massive Cerebral Overload”.
So… let’s rewind 2 hours:
First, I get the GREAT idea that I’ll color my hair while I chip away at some important emails…
(Yes, yes: just in case the obvious needs to be stated: There is NOTHING natural about this red-head.)
I whip out the Clairol box. Slip on the gloves. Mix up the “Unstoppable Special Sauce” – and begin covering my head in dark red goo.
… Ooooh, and don’t forget the eyebrows! (Just imagine if Groucho Marx and Jessica Rabbit’s scrappier-and-less-curvy-sister had a love-child…)
10 minutes goes by.
I’m chipping away at my tasks…
When the FAR-FAR-TOO-LATE intuitive- download drops by to say hey:
“OH… UM…YEAH… THE WATER IS SHUT OFF TODAY …TILL 5PM.”
(It’s now 10:15am… FYI.)
“…Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?”
I stand up. And turn around in circles about 4x with my mouth wide open:
“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!”
I run to bathroom #1: NO WATER.
I run to bathroom #2: NO WATER.
I run to the kitchen: NO WATER.
…All the while realizing that if I’d stayed calm, grounded and groovy this A.M. – this would likely never have happened.
I look inside the empty canyon that is my bottled water dispenser… shout a soft, sad “Hellooooooo?” down into it’s hollow crevasse ––like I’m a lonely, lost mountain climber with only my echo for company…
Yup. I’m SCREWED.
A sun-baked bail of hay in a deserted field in the Sahara is already more supple and moist than my current head-o-hair. Sigh. Add 6+ hours of hair-coloring to that hot-head-o-mess, and I would surely be rendered an official Baldy.
Great.
That’s when desperation kicks in: What liquids are lying around that could be used to save my lack-luster locks?…
— Cold coffee sitting in the pot = CHECK!
— A half-full gallon of lemonade = CHECK!
— A soaking pot from last-night’s pasta = CHECK!
— Water from the toilet bowls [… gulp…] = MAYBE???
— 2 canisters of vegetable broth = Um… NO THANKS.
So I start my emergency clean-up craziness… mopping, wiping, dabbing ever-darkening-gloppy-gunk from my head with the nearest objects: half a roll of toilet paper, and two innocent white towels (that will never be white again) — until it looked like a slaughterhouse in my spare bathroom.
I pull as much coloring out of my hair as I can. Then, I pour the small remaining amount of water from the kitchen’s water-dispenser into an empty pot.
And shaking my head in silly self-disgust, I grab the pot’s handle, along with the handle of the smaller soaking-pot (yup, the one with bits of spaghetti floating lazily at the bottom!) – and head my butt to the bathroom…
(Oh joy, oh happy day…)
With my head over the tub (and 1 empty pot underneath to catch the overflow), I repeatedly pour spaghetti-water over my soggy noggin’ — floaty bits n’ all:
Pouring… scrubbing…
Pouring… scrubbing…
Pouring… scrubbing…
Over and over. Until there’s no liquid left.
Luckily it worked well enough that I could skip the stale coffee; lemonade; and toilet water. …whew, there is a God!
Patting myself on the back for a job well done — I head to the kitchen, pull out a deliciously-juicy mango from the fridge… and sink into my well-deserved morning snack. Chuckling to myself over my morning antics… I gobble up the slippery slices of sweet orange fruit –– mashed and mangled in my 2 happy hands…
And with juice dripping down my face… my hands… my forearms… I reach for the kitchen faucet handle – with a sinking feeling deep in my gut:
“You’ve got to be SHITTING me…” I say to myself.
Nope: no wiping or rubbing is taking this hot mess from Ms. Thang’s ten digits…
So I am now stuck tying out this story to you –– with fingers sticking randomly to the keyboard…
A bit of keenex still stuck to 1 mid-forearm…
My chin feeling more and more “interesting” as the juice dried on my face.
So the moral of this story is:
• Intuition is VITAL for staying sane.
• Multi-tasking is BULLSHIT.
• Being frenzied WASTES more time than it saves.
• Mangos are the spawn of SATAN.
• EVERYTHING can be funny (if looked at the right way).
• And no matter WHAT any famed Fashionista might tell you one day: Small random bits of spaghetti in your hair do NOT make you “fancy” (even the organic brown-rice-n-quinoa kind)…
I hope those tips of wisdom change your life. (I know they have mine..)
And share YOUR embarrassing tale of multi-tasking horrors below… if you’re dare.
THAT’S ALL FOR TODAY (I HOPE!?)…
XOXO
Stephanie
PS: If you’re curious… Yes, I would have resorted to toilet bowl water as a last resort. I have very, very little shame…
…An Unstoppable girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do!
