Stress Managment

One icy winter's night, I was at work. It was probably close to nine pm, and I parked at the office, got out of my car and took a step toward the office. A moment later, my feet were above my head and I was on my back, laid out in full crucifixion form, arms at a T, staring up into the starry night, not sure I could move.

I finished my shift, but I was not okay. I ended up at the doctor, and I was told I'd pulled my back and had to stay home for a few days.

Well, I am not the best at just sitting at home waiting to get better. I settled into the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, and started reading Fear of Flying by Eric Jong.

Fear of Flying was a feminist hit in 1970's and like many novels I've read from that time, there is a lot of psychoanalyzing in it. This did not help my mindset. I was stuck in my house, basically unable to move, reading a book about a main character who is emotionally stuck in terrible romantic relationships. My brain immediately was like, Hey, her life sucks, and your life currently sucks too. Maybe you'll now live with back pain forever. You should totally lean into this tenuous connection I've made for you and fully embrace the fact the world is a grey, loveless place.

So, the longer I read the book, the more my mental state unraveled, and the more I was convinced my back would never feel better. Then, a knock on the door. I watched the UPS man trudge back to his truck.

Marshaling all my senses, I made it to the door to see a somewhat large package. I lived with a roommate at the time, and I wasn't expecting anything, so I pulled it inside as best I could and then saw it was addressed to me.

I opened it. It was a birthday gift from my brother. The packing slip said, 'May you dehydrate all the things." And below it, a food dehydrator.

I had wanted a food dehydrator, and this was very welcome distraction from the loveless life of the Fear of Flying protagonist, so I made it to the kitchen, set it up, and decided to dehydrate some things.

I didn't really need to dehydrate anything. But I could not go back to that book. Not yet. So I pulled a carrot and some limes from the fridge. I cut them up and put them in the dehydrator. I turned it on. The moment the fan kicked on, I felt better.

I hobbled back to the couch and started to read again, the tangy scent of limes losing all their water filling the air. I spent the rest of the day reading, but just knowing that food dehydrator was running, my brain chose not to reengage with my spooling anxiety.

Hours later, my roommate came home.

"What's that smell?" she asked.

"Limes and carrots."

"What?" She went to the fridge. "Where are my limes?"

"I'm dehydrating them."

"WHY?"

And I wasn't sure, but I felt a lot better, now that they were cooking into hard little slices.

"I don't know, but it makes me feel a lot less stressed."

"That makes no sense."

I thought about that. "Yeah, but it's how I feel."

She stared at me. I went back to reading, my back feeling just a little better.

And to this day, when I feel just a little too stressed, I dehydrate some things. Why? Because it makes me feel better.

Brains are weird.

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