Today at yoga, Ted R. tells me to try looking “less like Mary Lou Retton and more sassy, like Mick Jagger” in Ustrasana (Camel Pose). I experience more aversion to Ustrasana than almost any pose (but not nearly as strong as my aversion to head lice). My head gets stuck on my back and my neck always hurts when I have to get out of the pose. Sometimes, I even feel a little panicky. So I’ll take Ted R.’s critique to heart and try to figure out how to Jaggerize this pose. Still, “you had better watch out Ted R. or I’ll give you the cooties.”
I avoided yoga during the worse of the infestation last week. But I returned today, with my own mat and a bandana over my hair. I think I’ll need the bandana long after the lice are evicted since my hair no longer fits into a ponytail. Sigh. I need yoga to help me be more zen about the fact that I am a walking parasitic host right now. My “warfare” post still to come. I am still researching and gathering data.
If you are familiar with the Bible, you’ll know the reference to “this one comes not out but through prayer and fasting” (or something like that). Anyway, it appears that a lice infestation comes not out but by daily combing (with a metal lice comb) for at least 21 days. You can use whatever potions you want, such as tea tree oil, vinegar, bourbon* (yes, I sat around with bourbon on my head the other night worrying I might get drunk through skin absorption–Dr. Google said “no” to that one, as did Chris), mayonnaise, olive oil, coconut oil, rosemary and lavender essential oils, henna, and turpentine. By the way, turpentine is the only one on the list that I haven’t yet tried. Still, these things only seem to work because of the underlying faithful combing that accompanies them. At least, this is my current hypothesis.
*People typically use rubbing alcohol, but we didn’t have any in the house. We just had the 9 year-aged bourbon that Chris received as a birthday present last year (so I guess it is now 10-year aged bourbon), kept in the cabinet over our refrigerator. I call it our “booze,” which Chris finds awfully funny. He didn’t think it was so funny when he found me in the bathroom pouring bourbon on my head, but mostly because there is no possible way to get into the cabinet over the fridge aside from crawling on our countertops. He doesn’t like when I engage in my countertop trapeze act to reach all of the stuff that is up way to high for most normal people. He is 6 feet 2 and could have easily reached it for me. Sometimes I take self-reliance to the extreme.