A few weeks ago I filled a small bowl full of water and pink Himalayan sea salt so I could dip my elbow in it. I read online it could help psoriasis. Laugh if you want to, but the psoriasis on my elbow went away. Granted, I was trying a number of things–when it comes to my health I like the shotgun approach–but who’s to say the pink sea salt didn’t help? Anyway, since the problem disappeared, that little bowl of salt water has simply sat on my bathroom counter. Well, I guess the water evaporated, and, y’all, the coolest thing happened. The salt deposited itself around the inside and outside of the bowl like frosting. And whereas it’s just a minor thing, I think it’s beautiful, this little art project that slowly and steadily took shape.

Slowly and steadily, that seems to be a theme for me lately, in terms of my writing, in terms of my knee rehab, and more. Ugh. Things take forever here on earth. Nothing happens as fast as you want it to. So many days it feels like you’re going nowhere. But then one day you wake up and your psoriasis is gone or there’s gorgeous salt-covered bowl in your bathroom. You think, I’ll be damned. When did THAT happen?

When I woke up this morning, I felt like crud. My sinus junk was as bad as it’s been in over a year. But then I got up, got around, and took a shower and felt better, almost human. A fresh batch of the probiotic powder (L. Sakei) that’s always helped in the past arrived in the mail today, so I’m hoping it will help turn things around over the next day or two. If it doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do. Probably cry. I’m trying to not think about it, to just take this one day at a time. I’ll let you know how it goes.

This afternoon a small miracle occurred. A couple weeks ago I started reading a 700-page book about neuroscience and why humans behave the way they do. I got through about a hundred pages. And whereas I found the information interesting, I also found it laborious. Then today when I picked the book back up, despite my best efforts to concentrate, my eyes kept glossing over. I thought, This is so fucking boring. Why would I want to slug through 600 more pages of this crap? So I put it down–for good. That’s right, I gave myself permission to not complete something–not by default but on purpose. This is huge, as I tend to hold a certain amount of guilt over books I didn’t finish years ago. (I can still see their covers in my head.) But seriously, if the author couldn’t make their topic interesting in a hundred freakin’ pages, I can’t take all the blame for being bored and wanting to do something else with my life.

After I put the book away (be gone, boring book!) I started another one by Bill Bryson, about Australia. My friend and fellow writer Tom told me about it. Holy crap, y’all, I was laughing out loud within the first five pages. Then a movie stub fell out of the back of the book that was dated September 13, my birthday. So between the laughter and this coincidence, I thought, Okay, I’ve made the right decision. Of course, I didn’t need these “signs” to let me know that. My gut had been barking at me for the last twenty pages of that boring book to put it down. But I kept thinking, I’ve already started. I should finish this.

Bullshit.

Sometimes you just have to walk away. My mom did this today while on hold with some company. After fifteen minutes of waiting, she hung up. “That’s enough,” she said. And whereas part of me was appalled (because you should finish what you started), another part of me was in awe. After all, I’d never suggest that someone stay in a bad relationship simply because they’ve invested so much time in it. I’d say, “Cut your losses, get the hell out.” So why can’t that wisdom be applied to any bad relationship–with a book, a phone call, whatever?

Be gone, bad relationship!