The Big Gulp

I woke up with a raging case of the hiccups this morning. I've tried everything -- holding my breath, drinking water with my head tipped all the way back, pouring sugar down my throat. At four in the morning, it's tough to find someone to jump out at you and scare the hiccups away, so I tried just looking in the mirror. Scary, but (happily, I suppose) not scary enough.

Frankly, nothing seems to frighten me these days. An old friend from high school noticed on Facebook that I had been to Mexico and contacted me to inquire whether we had encountered any danger. Other than the bar kidnapping incident and the death defying jet ski ride with my daughter I couldn't really think of anything. Like all the folks who did not show up in Mexico for spring break this year, I probably should have been afraid. Maybe I'm just dumb.

In all my travels to Mexico over the years, I have yet to see a machete wielding drug lord cross my path. And the rosary beads hanging from the rearview mirror of every taxi I've ever ridden in make me a bit skeptical about all the reports of murderous drivers. Interestingly, the dire forecasts of rape, kidnapping, and pillaging of tourists seemed to roll off the backs of our neighbors to the north. Canadians were everywhere (the black socks with gym shoes are a dead giveaway, eh?). Hey, no insult intended; some of my best friends are Canadian. Well, two. I don't think Canadians, as a nation, struggle excessively with hiccups.

Oh what I would do to see a machete wielding drug lord jumping out at me from behind my Starbucks couch, if only to stop the pesky little convulsive spasms in my chest. The scariest thing I ever encounter these days is my own behavior. I can be erratic, irrational, filled with resentment. I can mount a full out attack one moment and melt into a puddle of self pity the next. I enjoy fleeting moments of high self esteem and empowerment, but they give way all too frequently to panic and despair. My wild mood swings alone, you would think, should be sufficient to scare the bejeezus (and the hiccups) out of me, but, as I sit here, they are just getting worse.

I had coffee with an old friend yesterday, and she confessed to having bought four new pairs of shoes this past week. It scares her that the momentary purchases seemed so important, as if they would somehow help her feel happy. She soon discovered it wasn't going to do the trick. "My whole life needs to slip into a pair of sapphire colored shoes," she said. Now that's scary. A tall order, to say the least.

I am determined to continue to be fearless. To not even worry to much about my own somewhat scary moods. Life is filled with hiccups Eventually, they just disappear on their own.