A smashing hit

She needed to short this out and let out all the gnarly emotions as they arose - so they didn't fester and carry a life of their own. Not that she was angry - but more like frustrated, confused, a little miffed - often at no one in particular but perhaps what was spurred by recent events and what was left over from others.

She needed to throw something. She was no good at throwing rocks to channel that powerful energy out of her beingness -- since she threw like a girl and that left her more frustrated. Regardless, today was a day for watching things break - she needed something gutsy.

With her calm urgency, she dialed her friend known for practicing such emotional clearing ceremonies: "Do you want to go throw eggs* later?"

"Uh-oh," her friend replied, not asking further questions. "Yes, let's meet at the studio at 8ish."

"Great," she said. "The eggs are on me."

She showed up with 3 dozen eggs to a studio fit for the tossing. They took turns launching those stifled, delicate creative masses one by one at the giant white wall sheeted in plastic. Each egg flying towards the wall carried with it something from deep within, either freshly lodged or from long ago, and they watched it shatter. And one by one, as their hearts lightened, the performance art piece that remained was stained with streaks of pussy yolk; bits of broken shells littered the space and stuck to the crystalline remains of some bad eggs.

After 36 scramblers, she was back to sunny-side up.

*(Yes, real eggs, but not the ones from Whole Foods.)