Stress Break

by Kos Diarists Bill in Portland Maine

Find a comfortable chair to sit in, or lie on the floor. Remove your shoes. Close your eyes but not too tightly.

Take a deep breath: Inhale blue… Hold it. And exhale red… Repeat.

Now tense up every part of your body, really really tight. Hold it…hold it… Now relax. Feel your body melting into your chair or into the floor. Again: Tense tense tense… And relaaaax.

Now I want you to picture yourself lying on a gorgeous, secluded beach. Breathe in the fresh air. Feel the warmth of the sand. Hear the rhythmic lapping of the ocean and the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. You have no worries. No cares. Your 401(k) is flush with cash. You feel completely relaxed. You are at peace and everything is fine.

Oh, look. John McCain is walking by. Without opening your eyes, gently raise your hand and wave. “Hi, Senator,” you say. “Sorry you lost the election in such a massive landslide. Too bad, so sad.” He waves back and says, “Thank you, my friend. In the end, the best man won. By a hundred and fifteen electoral votes.”

And here comes Sarah Palin, wearing her Miss Congeniality sash. Again, you lazily raise your hand. “Hi, Sarah. Too bad the Troopergate report got ya booted from office,” you say. She replies, “Oh, that’s okay. Now I can spend more of my time monitoring that sneaky Putin over there in Russia. I hear he’s training an army of judo experts.” She trips over a piece of driftwood. You let out a relaxing sigh and take a sip of your margarita.

Oh, and here’s Dick Cheney, trolling for spare change with his metal detector. “Hey, Dick,” you say. “Takin’ a break from the war crimes tribunal?” “Yep,” he replies. “They got Rumsfeld in the dock now. If things go according to schedule, I should get my life sentence later this afternoon. Oh look…I found a nickel.” He wanders out of sight. You take another cleansing breath.

Just as you’re about to drift to sleep, a group of former senators approaches. Coleman. Dole. McConnell. Collins. Cornyn. Stevens. Chambliss. Roberts. Smith. Sununu. “Hey, folks,” you say. “Whatcha been doin’ since your massive losses?” They reply as one: “Beach volleyball!!” You nod. They get swallowed by a rogue wave.

And now, very slowly, count backwards: 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Open your eyes.

Repeat as needed.