Tea Palpitations
Lessons from overstimulated heartbeats
A few days ago, my tea started giving me heart palpitations. It’s the same tea I’ve been drinking for some time now—loose-leaf from Ahmad Tea, either English breakfast, Ceylon, or their English Tea №1, which is like Earl Grey lite. Each cup produces a slightly different shade of reddish brown. Small bits of leaves and tea dust that escaped the strainer sink to the bottom. Fragrant oils swirl at the top and drift around the kitchen as heavenly steam. It’s a wonder this beauty alone has not previously caused my heart to speed up.
Before, this cup of joy, imbibed on the couch by the large windows each morning, instilled a sense of calm. When the mug, initially too hot to hold anywhere other than the handle, cooled slightly, I cradled it with both hands as if the warmth itself was the purpose of the tea. Sometimes, I even held it to my chest, letting the heat relax muscles tense with longing. I sipped my cup of tea, and the world, briefly, was no larger than that moment.
Then, last week, my doctor started me on a twelve-day steroid pack to see if it would help with the herniated disc in my neck. It did not help. It destroyed my stomach, gave me anxiety and depression, and made me suicidal. I stopped after the fifth dose, but the effects are still lingering. This is the only explanation I have for why my tea now feels like it’s ripping my heart from my chest.
If I sit very, very still and stare off into the middle distance, I can see my eyeballs pulsing. Or maybe it’s my eyelids. I’m not entirely sure. Either way, my heart beats so hard after a cup of tea that my viscous sight orbs simply cannot handle the vibration. If I continue to sit still but look down instead, I can see my shirt fluttering with each overstimulated muscle contraction. Currently, it’s an old shirt from my time at the University of Florida that says “TITLETOWN STATE OF MIND” across the chest. A more accurate representation of my current state of affairs would be the hole underneath the right armpit that gets bigger every time I wash it.
Ever since my tea became not only my friend but my enemy, I’ve been seeing rhythmically beating objects everywhere. It’s kind of like when you’re thinking about buying a Honda CR-V and suddenly every other car on the road is a Honda CR-V. Outside my window, I see the creepy-crawly in my pool thumping a steady flow of waves across the water. A couple of houses down from me, my neighbors are redoing their roof. The sharp thwacking of the nail gun makes the roofer sound like a seasoned percussionist, hammering out a constant pulse beneath the sun. When I sit at a red light waiting to turn, my blinker keeps time with the pause. To all these things, I try to match my heartbeat, but nothing is synchronous as of yet. I am alone in my pulsating.
Somehow, though, this is a comfort. With so many beings beating to their own time signature, it seems probable that eventually, two (at the very least) will sync up. Perhaps I need to spend more time with each thumping I encounter. Maybe I am moving on too quickly, letting initial impressions cloud future possibilities. I think of myself as a slow-moving river, swallowing my surroundings as I inch forward. But sometimes intention gets lost in the crawl. My mind wanders, and I cease to fully listen. Maybe that’s what my heart, thrumming in my ears, is trying to tell me: Wake up. Open yourself. You are not the only creature trying to find its place in the orchestra. Listen to the beating. Listen to the beating.
WEEKEND POTPOURRI:
Currently on repeat:
IMMENSE AND INCLINED TO PULSE
By Kay Ryan
Since then I have slowly learned to grasp how everything is connected across space and time. W.G. Sebald, A Place in the Country There is a webby and exalted state of comprehension wherein discrete events—like the rigging lights of separate boats upon a midnight ocean—suggest a net: something immense and inclined to pulse—not hideous with meaning yet but already strangely tedious if expressed.
Steroids are awful (at least for me). Hope you get better and drink your tea.
I made this rhythmic for your pleasure.
I find your writing such a treasure.