January Cures: Salt Cave

I’m supposed to be on my way to run my first race of the year right now.

I’m not on my way.

I’m still clinging to my coffee mug trying not to read the news.

I don’t want to undo what last night’s salt cave experience did.

We all agree, right?

We just shouldn’t even read the news anymore?

Because when you read the news, you read lines like this:

”Fires were behaving erratically, generating their own weather systems and thunder storms.“

Did you know that fire can create its own weather?

Nah. It’s true.

I googled it.

And apparently I’m not the only one.

Because those search results came up hella quick.

Scientists said that shit.

Fire can create its own weather.

Fire can be, like, don’t you just love a good thunderstorm? I feel like a nice, terrifying hurricane right now. Fuck it. Ima make one.

I mean, it’s not new. It is a basic scientific phenomenon.

But I feel like there’s no reason I should know about this.

I shouldn’t have this terrifying knowledge in my head.

In January.

Because I told y’all it was coming.

Not the fire sorcerer.

I didn’t know about the fire sorcerer until Australia caught fire.

But my mood.

My January mood.

I told y’all my January mood was coming.

A few of my people have already experienced it.

Cycled through a two hour argument with OT on Thursday.

And then he bought me a beer. And we were good.

Not because beer. But because we were never not good. I just had to be dramatic first. And throw my temper tantrum. As the Christmas Crew watched. Patiently.

The beer was just symbolic. I think.

Like fire sorcerers used to be.

Until Australia caught fire.

And now that shit’s real.

So yesterday, as I was trying to ignore certain key news words, I asked THE BFF if she’d go to a cave and sit in salt with me.

It’s not something I’ve ever particularly wanted to try.

But I had a gift certificate.

And if fire can create whatever fucking weather it wants, then maybe salt can make me less…whatever the hell I am right now.

Shit showy.

That seems like the right label.

And she agreed.

So we went.


So, salt caves.

First. Did you know they build those bitches thousands of feet underground?

BFF and I know that. Because salt cave Lori made us watch a video about it before our appointment.

So…that’s horrifying, salt cave Lori…

But BFF and I are on the same wavelength. So we had an unspoken agreement. If this bitch tries to take us underground, we’ll push her down the stairs, slam the door, and run for it.

I’ve been binge-watching You on Netflix.

Probably don’t do that when you’re starting your dark month.

It’s cool, though.

The cave is totes above ground.

So salt cave Lori is totally fine.

First she made us wash our hands with salt.


And then put us in the cave and covered us with blankets.


Turned the lights down.

And said she’d be back for us in 45 minutes.

This is nice.

Forty five minutes of solitude and relaxation.

Time to absorb the natural healing from the salt and meditate on life.

So…how much action do you think this cave has seen?


We probably weren’t the best combination of people you could’ve put in the cave.

Except we also were.

Because I don’t know how much healing I received from the salt.

Maybe tons.

Because I did feel better afterwards. Less dark.

But mostly, I think that came from THE BFF.

We had 45 minutes without the news or social media or other people disrupting us.

Forty five minutes of just laughter and reflection and promises that no matter what dark trauma memories we discussed in the car on the way to the cave, we would not let salt cave Lori return to find us in tears.

And she didn’t.

She may have heard us discussing the drawbacks to rolling around naked on the salt floor.

But at no point did she hear or see us cry.

And then the lights came up.

And five minutes later salt cave Lori came to get us.


Those were warning lights.

So much sex happens in that cave.

But also BFF healing.

Because I slept like a fucking baby last night.

I mean, I always sleep like a fucking baby.

Fire sorcerers could be creating typhoons outside my bedroom and I’d still sleep like a fucking baby.

But I also felt kind of ok waking up this morning. And not driving to Roanoke. To run in the rain.

I need to hold onto this moderately ok feeling for GJB’s birth celebration later.

Because he requires positive vibes on the mountain.

So that’s what I’ll bring.

Positive vibes.

And a new bag of Doritos.

Because I already ate the other bag K-Rob gave me to bring.

Really, though. Anyone could’ve predicted that.

Now. I’m gonna go read some more of The Testaments.

Because right now Margaret Atwood’s dystopian future is less terrifying than the shit scrolling across my newsfeed.

Fucking fire sorcerers.