The other day at my acupuncturist, and other words that LA people start sentences with, my gal Dr. Hong removed the needles from my face, and suddenly, without warning or explanation, started to light me on fire. Turns out it’s called Moxa, it’s an ancient Chinese practice whose ‘intention is to warm and invigorate the flow of Qi in the body and dispel certain pathogenic influences.‘ Tiny pods of mugwort are burnt around the body to increase circulation and blood flow and something with Qi. In simpler terms, she lit me with 100 tiny fires, some on my toes, some on my stomach, and it was lovely, and for the rest of the day, Morrison wouldn’t come near me because he said I smelled like Smoked Salmon. I don’t know what it did to my Qi, or if I even have Qi, because somedays, I feel like I left my Qi somewhere, took it off, put it in the wash, forgot to dry it, and now it’s molding there in the machine. But maybe, actually, my Qi is now pulsing, flowing, creating life, or at least okayness, which somedays, is Life.