We interrupt my “guided meditation for insomnia” to report that the soothing Australian man’s voice just told me the “ball of peace” I’d been instructed to imagine rolling all over my body — including letting it gently massage my palms and fingers — has just “split into 1,000 tiny balls” that I am supposed to “feel rolling around, massaging every muscle in your face.”
Guys.
1,000.
Peaceful balls.
On my face.
It never occurred to be I’d be too juvenile to meditate. Too high-strung, maybe, definitely too squirrelly. But, hey, no one said anything about balls on my face. Who can relax with balls on their face? I have questions.
“Your cheeks… chin… mouth… teeth… tongue…”
Wait, what? I’m really against using my teeth on balls unless it’s specifically requested, which, P.S., it’s never been. I am not subtle enough to dabble there. When I bite, I tend to leave marks. Basically what I’m saying is that I can’t be trusted with balls, even in the meditative sense.
And 1,000 of them?! Shiiiiiiit. At least they’re peaceful. I’d hate to have 1,000 angry balls on my face.
But OK. I’ll try the balls. I need balls, I guess. I hope the Australian knows what he’s getting his into here.
Smug Singleton 