Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Chapter 29

Chapter 29

It has to be close to six in the morning. With a violent shiver, I push the air from my lungs, trying to see my breath and being surprised when I can't. Sitting up as quietly as I can, I grab my hoodie from my bag and put it on over my pajama top. How the hell am I supposed to flit around in the morning filled with love and light when I've slept for maybe forty-five minutes—freezing my ass off—and am absolutely starving?

Visions of a hot breakfast float through my mind.

Buttery waffles drowning in heated syrup. A side of crispy bacon. Scalding hot coffee with lots of cream and sugar to replenish the calories I've missed by not eating for most of yesterday...all served by a hot, naked waiter with a hot, Scottish accent...

Part of the Awakening includes an all-day fast on day one, which is really only three hours, since we arrived just before six and got to leave the circle at nine p.m. It wouldn't have been bad, but Fern and Ziggy drove me here right after work on Friday, so I didn't get supper.

They wouldn't stop at a fast-food place so I could grab a bite. Not even a drive-through.

Instead, I got a rant about GMOs and hydrogenated oils corrupting my soul star.

Whatever the hell that is. They munched happily on road snacks and never offered me any. I didn't want to ask for some, afraid of what might lurk within the granola clusters, so I arrived at the workshop hungry and annoyed.

Tightly wrapping the itchy wool blanket around my shoulders, I glare around the room. It's definitely not the glossy-brochure retreat experience I'd hoped for. Screw our own rooms; we don't even have our own beds. Seven of us are crammed onto straw mats in a small room. Not even an air mattress in sight. My pillow has the size and comfort of a lump of unleavened bread. I wasn't expecting much, but this is ridiculous. Are Ziggy and Fern making everyone slum it so they can take home more money?

So far, the workshop itself hasn't been quite as invasive as I thought it would be. The twenty-two of us—twenty participants plus Fern and Ziggy—sat on the floor in a circle and introduced ourselves. We had to state our intentions for the course, meaning what we hoped to get out of the workshop. That took up a fair amount of the evening, because some people crammed a life story into an intro that was supposed to be a minute long—and, of course, nobody reined them in.

For homework, we have to come up with a problem in our lives, and Ziggy and Fern will show us how to fix it. That sounded awesome, except that my biggest problems are Ziggy and Fern and their lack of management skills. And Phucking Phyllis. Ziggy has been "holding space," whatever that means. He's basically the ultimate creeper—seeing everything, hearing everything, but saying nothing. I'm glad I don't have to listen to hippie crap from him as well as Fern.

Fern has actually surprised me. From the moment we got here, she's sort of blossomed and turned into a nicer person. Her eyes are warm, her smile's bright, and she's relaxed like I've never seen. Maybe this is what she's supposed to be doing. I've never seen her this happy at Inner Space. I don't know if it's the teaching or the energy stuff, but she's like a new person. If she was like this every day, maybe we'd get along better.

When the rest of the group found out I work for Ziggy and Fern and spend hours and hours a day in their venerated presence, they looked at me like I was a guru by association, which is weird and creepy. I never knew how much people in these circles look up to my bosses.

To me, they're just my pain-in-the-ass hippie bosses.

Maybe the children of celebrities feel like this when they get old enough to realize just how famous and influential their moms and dads are.