Wednesday, December 22, 2010

dot.dot.dot.


What's on my mind today:

  • Chocolate. Lots of it. I quit drinking coffee and replaced it with what I thought was a much more delicate addiction: hot chocolate. I'm now drinking this at least twice a day and bouncing off the walls just as much as I was during my coffee days. Add the 2 grande cups of chocolate bliss to the chocolate truffles that were just passed around the office and you've got yourself a very sugary, caffeinated girl. It might be time to re-think this new love of mine...after I consume all the holiday cookies, brownies, cakes and pies over Christmas!
  • My hair. The new haircut looks different everyday. One day I feel stylish and chic, the next day I look like I have a head full of cowlicks or bed-head. Today is a bed-head day. This would be understandable and acceptable if I drank alcohol like the rest of the Sales team that I went out to dinner with last night. The men are wearing hats and the women left early. I am still here. Blogging about it.
  • My relationship. I was going to save this for last but not least but the guys next to me just brought up B and now he's on my mind. B is into practical gifts, gift cards or no gifts at all. I would love to splurge on a Christmas gift for him but I fear that he will take it back because it's not "needed". Gosh, thank God opposites attract because I love being able to give and get gifts that you can't justify on any other day besides Christmas morning.
  • My family. I will be visiting them for my birthday on Christmas Eve and I'm excited to see my brother most of all. As I've mentioned, he plays basketball at a faraway college and is constantly on road trips. His birthday was yesterday and it's always fun to celebrate our days together when he's home. I hope after college he stays close to home because it's weird to feel so disconnected to a sibling. Also, I am going to try to keep my mouth shut when my dad serves up Christmas Eve dinner that I HATE. It's a family tradition of his (his mother and grandmother always served it) and he insists on serving it every year on the day of my birth. This year I will practice the idea that I wrote about a few days ago :silence. Maybe I'll eat chocolate instead.
  • My dog: will she wear a Christmas outfit this year? No. I don't have the money for it. This makes me slightly upset.
  • Work. There's nothing to do here, there's nothing to pretend to do here. Well, okay, technically, I'm busy for about 3 hours of my 8 hours. It's kind of excruciating.
  • Sobriety. Must. Make. Lots. Of. Meetings. Starting. Tomorrow.
  • Letting it be. The cute little graphic below wasn't added just because I like the little bird. Personally, B and I may have hit a rough patch. Me being the sensitive and emotional girl that I am, seem to be having a hard time letting it rest in my head. It's time. There's too much good here to let the tough times take over.

Speaking words of wisdom...

Thursday, December 16, 2010

hush.


I've had one giant recurring thought since last night after I spoke to someone who I can aptly name my mentor. This is a thought I've had before, namely while reading "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. I relate to Elizabeth when she describes her habit of talking just to fill the space of silence. She realizes while studying meditation in India that not only is her mind filled with busy and negative thoughts, but her mouth is constantly moving, talking over the moment - or taking over the moment - just because that's how she's learned to live over time. She decides to be mindful of when she does this and begin to allow moments to unfold and conversations to continue without her leading the show. Her actions become more important than her words. One of my favorite sayings has always been "actions speak louder than words" and I am not sure I've ever sat back and thought about the saying in relation to myself. I often use it to point out this issue in others.

I can say that there's one person in my life who points out my issue with this idea rather often: my father. He's constantly cutting me off when I begin one of my tangents, often asking me questions but never waiting for me to finish my stories and is constantly telling me to quit overanalyzing the situation. I have tried to shorten my sentences and get right to the heart of matters with him, but it's much easier said than done. I'm a word connoisseur! I often can't help but provide lengthy descriptions (as you can see by the length of most of my blog posts). I don't think I'll ever be a woman of few words (which is fine by me, I don't want to completely change myself!), but today I'm wondering what it would be like to just chill a little bit with it.

Simply put, "say less; do more" is where I'm at. (It's also my facebook status and has received quite a few likes - my father included). And it's a perfect day to try this out because I'm exhausted and worn out and don't feel much like running my mouth.

"Learning how to discipline your speech is a way of preventing your energies from spilling out of you through the rupture of your mouth, exhausting you and filling the world with words, words, words instead of serenity, peace and bliss."

- Elizabeth Gilbert "Eat Pray Love"

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Part Deux.


I must report that I followed through on the engine jump-start that I wrote about yesterday. I feel only a tiny bit better, but more motivated in general, which is what I need. I first printed out one of my favorite Emerson quotes and pasted it to my desk at work.

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered by your old nonsense."

Yes, sir. My old nonsense is exactly what's up. So, last night I came home from work after reading that quote and decided to leave all the work junk at work. This is a first. I took my dog for a really nice walk in the cold (after bundling up like woah). I did a load of laundry. I talked to a bunch of girl friends that I love. I picked out a sexy yet classy dress for my company holiday party tonight. Then I pulled myself together enough to get my butt to the gym for a nice workout. This was great for me.

I wish I could say I then settled in for a long winter's nap (and slept through the night), but life is not that easy. My boyfriend and I had a conversation where he voiced some issues with me not giving HIM enough SPACE. I have to admit something. I am the one who always needs space in relationships. I'm a freak about my space, my boundaries, my time. I have never been the one that's eating up someone else's space and I felt almost embarrassed to hear him tell me I'm doing this. I must explain him a bit to relay this correctly. He is 8 years my senior, has lived alone for the past 10 years, has never lived with a significant other or spent more than 3 days with someone consecutively. His relationship with me is the closest he's ever been to someone it seems. Which is nice. I feel special. But, I think after the amount of time we spent together last week (and there were reasons for this that are not going to be relayed here), he kind of freaked out. I didn't. He did. And that made me feel stupid! He explained that my dog bothered him, that I attached myself to him right as he came in the door and that made him feel smothered. I couldn't believe this! I can't tell you how many times I have said these same words to someone else. And now I AM THE SMOTHERER? This can't be. I have to say that I just love to feel his presence near me. Even having his shoulder brush up against mine makes me feel safe. And it's weird because usually when I'm feeling low (as I explained that I have been lately) I will choose to be alone and tell everyone else to f off. With B, I am the opposite. I hold on to him very tightly. It's wonderful to have someone like this in my life and to finally want to allow someone in, but I suppose I must be wary that I'm treading a path with him that he's never tread before. And, like me, he scares easy. We will see how it goes from here, but I will have to think about his side of things as much as my side. Can't believe I'm admitting this, though. What if this means I love him more than he loves me? My sane side says it's not a matter of that at all, just a case of someone (him) experiencing something new (my closeness).

Anyway, after the conversation, which was more like him speaking and me sitting on the other end with my mouth wide open in shock, I told him I was done for the night and had to go.

The significant portion of this story is that not even 5 seconds after I hung up with B, my phone signaled that I'd received a text. A text from my ex. My natural inclination was to answer; to distract myself from my sadness about B's confession by eating up the attention from my ex; to do something wrong to B in spite. But I did not. I ignored. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I could not sleep. But I waited it out. I let the temptation pass. I tossed and turned and wondered if my relationship was doomed to fail just because I seem to do nothing right. Then I decided that the silence and loneliness of 3 AM was not the time to be thinking such things.

I finally fell asleep and woke up this morning to a new day. I left B a voicemail just telling him how I felt, but not blaming him for telling me how he felt. And now I'm feeling better.

Okay, see ya.

Monday, December 13, 2010

self-depricating honesty.


So, I've been feeling low lately. Heavy is how I'd best describe it. My body feels weak and I have little interest in things. I am coming off a terrible bout of the flu which has a lot to do with this funk but I'm also a bit underwhelmed with myself. I went to a meeting at lunch time today to admit to the group that I am not very capable of leading my own life without the help of the program. In other words, due to many missed meetings, a few missed deadlines, ignored responsibilities and a few stupid choices, I have once again realized that I am not very good at taking the lead and wearing the pants in life left to my own devices. I need the support of the program, I need to conversate or at least say what's up to a higher power and remember that honesty, open-mindedness and willingness are the HOW and the WHY of it all. It's winter and the bone-chilling weather leaves me justifying my lazy and lax behavior. It's as if I feel that I suffer in the cold more than the rest of the world. As I watch others move around quickly and definitively, I am questioning, "how do you do it?" while I bum around and take naps instead of tackle my check-list of "to-do's". My boyfriend is also upset with me because he feels I'm constantly making him feel like he's not good enough. How sad is it? This is the age-old defense mechanism: I feel like shit so I'll point out your flaws to distract me from mine. The big blue book that I was given over 3 years ago says something like this:

"One good look in the mirror ought to be answer enough."

One good look in the mirror today at work made me realize I again need to jump start my engine. More meetings, more working out, more writing in my journal and more taking care of me in the ways that I've been taught. That means no retail therapy, more psychotherapy. No laziness, more picking up the clothes that have been on my bedroom floor for months. It means choosing the positive outlook more than the negative one, even though the negative outlook is so much easier to lean towards. It means choosing to ignore the temptation to reach for that quick fix; that instant gratification; that validation. To wait for the temptation to pass may be difficult, but it's worth it in the end.

Let go and let...

Thursday, December 2, 2010

yes, no, maybe?

So, I think I've changed my blog theme and design about 15 times in the past two weeks. I love to play around with design and color, but after I "Apply to Blog", I just don't like anything I've done. I regret messing with it in the first place.

This brings me to a deeper topic - my indecisiveness. I have found lately that I can't decide on just about anything anymore. This becomes increasingly apparent in my relationship. I find myself going along with whatever plans he has for us and very rarely disagreeing with his ideas. This is so new for me. I have always been obsessed with my way, my decisions, my ideas. It's been interesting to see how this new easy-going stuff has affected me. I actually enjoy taking the back seat and going along for the ride in most cases. That is, until a few weeks ago. I found my mind saying to me, "you make it too easy for him. Be tough like you used to." And so I started choosing random areas to speak my mind and go against his plans. This was fine with him at first but then began to confuse him because I chose to speak up at bizarre times. I didn't use any tact. Instead of him understanding that I was exercising my right to free speech, he was baffled that I was having issues with the fact that he didn't order more food for us while we were away with his family. His answer was, "you know, you can always grab your keys and get in your car and get whatever you'd like." And I was mad at that at first. Why would you tell me to go do something by myself?? But it's true. If I want more than what's there, especially while we're spending time with his family that he rarely sees, I can definitely do it myself. He would do it in a second.

Sometimes he forces me to become more independent. And I thought I really was. But, there are certain expectations I have regarding other people providing things for me, that don't really serve a productive purpose. In choosing to do more for myself, I can begin working on being so indecisive.

No idea if I'm making sense so I'll cut it now. I've had the flu for most of this week and feel like absolute shit and actually signed on to whine about that but my mind had other plans.

I kinda hate my haircut.

That's all.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

the aftermath.



I feel free, so free. But I also feel completely FREAKED OUT.

I do not recognize myself yet when I look in the mirror (about 427 times since I left the salon last night), but most of me is embracing this change. After all, I chose it, right? I better own it.

I went to Whole Foods to grab some last minute things for my visit home today, and found myself reading the greeting cards.

This quote struck me:

"Just when the caterpillar thought it was the end of the world, she became a butterfly." (with a men's haircut)

Time to go laugh, eat cheese mashed potatoes with a side of turkey, sleep and watch football with the family. Happy Thanksgiving :)

Saturday, November 20, 2010

It's about that time...

something like this.


this.


or THIS.

Yep, I'm really feeling it!

Friday, November 19, 2010

it's where we came from.


If there is one thing my parents taught us growing up, it was to never settle for less than the best.

Things aren't going the way you want them to? Change them.

You're not scoring many goals during soccer games? Go outside and practice until sundown.

Track practice is tough? Work through it.

School doesn't come easy? Study harder. Better yet, study with Mom. You'll be reciting the entire text book by sunrise.

Whether or not we followed through on their intense desire to see us succeed was - and still is - entirely up to us. But it was instilled in each of us that we were born into a family that doesn't give up; doesn't blend in; doesn't settle for mediocrity; puts their heart into it; walks off the field/court after a win or loss knowing they gave it all they had with sweat on their backs, blood on their lip, panting to find their breath. I'm so serious about this.

Naturally, it's been very difficult for me to just throw in the towel over life stuff after being brought up this way. (This excludes my college years when I was suffering from something that couldn't be solved by my own will and even then, I can't tell you how hard I tried to get myself through it on my own).

I've written countless times (and mention it in nearly all of my posts) that I struggle with anxiety-filled thinking. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to just give up on myself; stop trying to fight through it. I wanna pull the covers over my head and stay in bed for the rest of my life. "I just can't go on!" I hear myself exclaim. "Can't means won't," my inner strength responds, (or is it my father's voice? I can never tell). Thank God for a family like mine during these instances. Despite lots of really heartbreaking dysfunction, at the end of the day, any one of my family members will pull me back to the surface if I'm ever in a place where I've decided I'd rather drown. (It's funny, my mother is rarely good for a hug, but she's always good for lighting a fire under your ass if she senses complacency, laziness or self-pity).

So, tonight I'm watching my brother play college basketball against Duke University, a team seeded #1 in the NCAA. My brother plays for Colgate; a tiny but ridiculously prestigious college in chilly upstate New York. Colgate's being crushed by Duke. It's not a game I've enjoyed watching all that much...until I see that familiar yet undefinable power emanating from my brother's every move, every pore, every ounce of his being. And guess what? I'm not the only one who sees this happening.

Here I am watching this game on espn3.com in horrible resolution. I can barely make out who's who on the court. But I can see my brother because I know the way he dribbles; the way he switches speeds as he runs down the court; the sneaky dishes he gives to the lanky forwards from under the basket right before he steps out of bounds. Then I hear the commentators say something along the lines of, "there's H, named Captain of the team and doing a great job at showing an example of hustle, not giving up despite the way the game's going." (That's either exactly what they said or a horrible paraphrase, but you get the picture.) In hearing this, I instantly begin clapping my hands together so hard that my dog wakes up from her nap and begins barking and jumping around like she's just ingested 30 fudge sticks. I'm screaming, "that's my brother, that's my brother!" Tears begin to well up under my eye lids (this is not surprising, I cry when I see a leaf fall from a tree these days). But I'm filled with so much pride. My brother has always been an inspiration to me. Because like I said earlier, my siblings and I have always had the choice on whether or not to use the so-called inner strength my parents promised we had inside us, or let it go. My brother has never given me a reason to think he's ever once let it go. When we were kids, I remember spending many fall afternoons reading or talking on the phone. Thumber watched a DVD in her room or sucked her thumb and held her pillow. Conversely, my brother would be walking up and down the street we lived on while dribbling with his left hand - his weaker hand - for hours. This didn't phase me as a child because I thought this was what all boys did. It didn't dawn on me until years later that no, not all boys did this.

Nobody really did this. But he did. And he still does stuff like this. Sacrifices for his passions. Keeps his eye on the prize. Fights despite adversity. Shows courage and poise.

I'm proud of you kid. I know you guys are probably going to lose by 30+ tonight. But you are a shining star. What Mom and Dad taught us shines through in you and always has.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Relationships

I have always felt - and I think many who enjoy writing may agree with me - that writing is not so much something one can do when they decide they want to. It's more like something the words decide on once they're finished rolling around in my brain. I am merely the vehicle with which the words move from my mind to paper - or in this case, the internet.

Tonight is not one of those nights, however. But I'm forcing it. Because it's Friday night, 10:06 PM, my boyfriend's on a fishing trip, I just finished having dinner with my lovely roommate and there's nothing left on tonight's agenda but sleep. It seems like the perfect time to compose a post, so I'm going to begin typing and see if the words catch up.

I'm reading, "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. Specifically, I'm reading it in the shower - an activity that fascinates my roommate. The shower is basically my safe haven in life and has been for a few years now. Due to my issues with anxiety-ridden living, over time I've found that the warmth of a shower along with the actual phyiscal feeling of water hitting my body and washing all types of dirt off and far away is extremely therapeutic and symbolic to me. When my last relationship - and I - began to crumble, I would lock myself in the shower and begin writing calming words on the glass wall that filled with fog. Calm, relax, safe, good, stable, and loved were repeatedly spelled out until I actually began to believe and feel them. What can I say, I become bizarrely resourceful in times of panic, probably due to the fact that I am so familiar with the feeling and must come up with my own ways to deal.

Anyway, with that relationship - and the chaos that came along with it - behind me, I continue to use the shower as my place of peace. The apartment I currently reside in does not have a glass shower stall like the one I described above, but it is much larger, which gives me lots of room to engage in activities while showering. For example, I like to talk on the phone while in there. Most of the time I don't tell the other person I'm showering while speaking to them and I'm hardly ever asked, "why does it sound like I'm speaking to you while you're in a hail storm?" even though I know they must hear some type of loud background noise while we go on and on about our lives. I also text in the shower. This becomes more difficult than talking because too many times I get my text hand wet by mistake, which has ruined many phones I've had in the past.

Lately, my most favorite shower activity is reading "Eat Pray Love." I stay in the shower for far too long doing this, which means I often have to turn around and face the shower head, reach my foot over to the temperature dial (or faucet, I don't know, I'm not well-versed in bathroom vocabulary) and gently move the dial to the right, ever so slowly, continuously making the temperature hotter.

Tonight I was in there longer than ever, thus completely running out of hot water. I like a really hot shower to begin with. I'm not happy with the temperature until it's turning my behind a nice dark pink color! By the end of this shower - and when I say the end I mean the time the water temperature became so cool that it completely ruined my meditative shower state - I hadn't even shampooed my hair yet! But I did read fantastic chapters in Gilbert's book, namely a story about her sister's visit to Rome, that really touched me. It made me think about my own relationship with my sister, Thumber, and how our differences have begun to compliment each other over the years. I have always had a fierce loyalty to my siblings - to the point of becoming a problem, but I'll write about that another time. Anyway, for a while I never felt that Thumber was proud to be my sister growing up. When I looked at friends of mine who had older siblings, it seemed they idolized them. This wasn't the case with her and I, at least I never thought so. I am two years older than her, but can't tell you how many times I swore she was my big sister and that I would do anything she asked just to make her happy with me. I think it started when she would refuse to play when I wanted to, especially Barbies. She enjoyed playing herself much more than with me most of the time. This insecurity began to take off though, when I started gravitating in a direction that I knew wouldn't make her or my family proud of me, but even before that I was always in awe of her ability to turn off her emotions when she wanted to. I have always been the type that spews emotion like a pot of spaghetti sauce that's been left unattended on the oven. She has the ability to leave a room and walk away when she's not happy with what's going on in there, whereas I will fight to the death. When she has an irrational thought, she seems to easily be able to turn it off whereas I need to pick it apart and ask, "why?" I also couldn't understand and still don't understand how she looks put together even when she's a mess and hasn't showered in a week. I believe it's partly due to a really nice head of hair that has the ability to compliment her every outfit. But it's also her aura, her vibe, something about her says, "I know who I am, don't mess with me," even when she doesn't.

Anyway, over time my insecurity and jealousy towards Thumber has decreased because I am not so mixed up and interested in comparing myself to others. I don't feel as inferior in general. I don't want what other people have as much as I want to embrace what I got and improve what I'm already working with. I suppose I've had some type of inner shift over time. And in time I feel that she's been more open to wanting to feel, sometimes calling me to help her find the words she needs to say to her boyfriend when they're having trouble, or ask my advice on work situations that baffle her. I'm able to call her when I'm worrying about something that I know isn't worth worrying about and for some reason, her words have the ability to snap me out of it. I need her, I do.

I find great joy in this relationship we've begun to foster and sometimes get off the phone in tears. If she knew that, she might be shocked, but she might also laugh and say, "that's just you." Because she knows me inside and out and has seen me through good times and bad. Only she and I know exactly what I'm talking about when it comes to childhood tribulations.

The development of relationships fascinates me as I grow older, especially this one with Thumber. But even just a few days ago, one of my most favorite friends from college reached out to me during a difficult break up and by the end of our short conversation, both realized we'd gone through some very similar realizations and situations in life - situations we hadn't really discussed during our friendship in college. Since then, I've thought about her everyday, wanting to give her hope that she's going to be okay and thanking her for being the one to reach out and rekindle our friendship. I have changed a lot since college and haven't done the greatest job of keeping my old friendships alive. But this girl was always very important to me and extremely inspirational. While I was losing myself in college and wasting it all away, she was doing it all right and I often wondered how she was able to keep herself so responsible. Either way, it's nice to know that we may have taken different paths - but paths that are crossing now.

I guess, all in all, I feel that I'm a loner type in some ways. That's to say that I don't "roll" with a a big group of friends and I might not be the best at keeping in touch. But I can say that the relationships I have now are real ones. Deep ones. And that I am having trouble finishing this post because I am dying to go on and on about the other friendships in my life that mean the world to me.

It's much too difficult to go through this thing called life alone. Even when I'm surrounded by people who love me, I have the tendency to feel alone in my own mind. I must remember nights like these where I'm able to get in touch with others and realize I need them.

Thumber, I have a confession. Maddie threw up on a French Connection skirt I borrowed from you and it's ruined. But before you call me and give me the third degree, remember that Christmas is right around the corner and that I'll make up for it.

Love ya! Goodnight.



Monday, November 8, 2010

Today, fine.



There was a time I wasn't this analytical

I didn't need to know
why and how and where it was all going
If you told me it was all going to be okay
I'd believe you -
without question

But that stopped working
Because so much wasn't okay

I felt lied to

Where was truth?
I tried constructing my own
which was even worse
Disastrous, my mind is
at finding reality

Instead it dreamed of life as a circus
and I, the ring leader
orchestrating it all

But I wasn't.

Again, I felt lied to
this time by my own mind

So here I am
I don't trust you
I don't trust me

What then do I trust?

I sometimes find this little voice
inside my heart
It tells me to let it be
Let life show you what's real, it says
And it's powerful when it says that

Let it unfold
in its own time
like the flowers you so often admire
Their petals are at first so tightly packed
protecting the stamen from damage
until the stamen tells them it's okay to open
up to the world
up to the sun
allow light in
sometimes damage
but they're ready for this

They unfurl, extending
until they fall

Off their flower

To the floor

Some give themselves to the wind

Or to a child's hand

A dog's mouth even

They don't seem to fight it -
the truth of their existence
Perhaps they know that while they were opened, they were admired
loved even
They had a purpose

"Stop questioning!
Allow your petals to open, extend,
Allow admiration and love
Give what you can, when you can
until the end of your time."

This is what that voice tells me
This power inside that I've just begun to touch and listen to
Time is not mine

The voice is it
Truth, reality

And today, fine

Tomorrow I may begin questioning again
Where and how and why

But today, fine

I'll give the truth a chance

Thursday, November 4, 2010

think about it...


"To find the balance you want you must keep your feet grounded so firmly on the earth that it's like you have 4 legs instead of 2. That way you stay in the world. But you must stop looking at the world through your head; you must look through your heart instead. That way you will know God."

~ Elizabeth Gilbert, "Eat Pray Love"

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

miniature keyboards make for half ass blog postings.


{ City Hall at dusk. I live here. I feel lucky }

Can I tell you something?

There's a few reasons I've neglected my blog over the past 2 months.

I am working. It was much easier to write like my life depended on it when I had nothing on my agenda for 7 months. Also, I moved. But more than that, I don't have cable or internet at my new digs. Because I don't need it. Unless, of course, I want to keep up with my blog. Then I begin to miss a full-sized keyboard. Right now, I'm typing on my cell phone and it really hurts my fingers and my biceps. My fingers hurt all the time anyway, because lately I've picked up my old habit of biting and picking at my cuticles and fingertips. This is awful mainly due to the season. During fall and winter, everyone suffers from dry skin, especially those who have already wrecked their skin due to anxiety ridden compulsions. My fingers look like a small animal has been gnawing on them. That animal is me. I wonder why I have no shame in admitting this disgusting habit to the few people who may check in on this blog of mine that is suffering from a slow and painful death.

I have every intention of trying to rescussitate this thing when I can buy internet or steal it. Until then, I will continue to post sparingly and vaguely. Because it hurts my hands to do much more. Its easier to write poetry on a cell phone because the lines are usually short and sweet. Perhaps I will begin writing daily haikus. I do not remember how to construct a haiku so I will first have to google it but maybe that's the next assignment.

I don't like that it gets dark at 6 and will continue to get dark sooner. It leaves me feeling like I wouldn't mind being run over by a bus and that's not a good sign.

Goodnight.

Monday, October 18, 2010

there will always be passions.

I'm a passionate person. More often than not, I am feeding one of my passions, as they're often hungry. Painting. Writing. The outdoors. Running. Connecting with someone. Nurturing my dog. Eating an entire quart of ice cream. Most of these passions fulfill me somehow and prove to be inherently good. However, I have caught myself, on more than ten occasions, feeling great zest and direction towards something, when maybe I should have laid down and taken a nap. Examples of these instances include shopping trips that should have been avoided, bones that did not need to be picked and crusades in the name of the betterment of all when really they were just egotistical power trips to have my voice be heard. I am human and can laugh off most of my manic mishaps.

But lately, just lately, I'm wondering where my passion to change the dynamic of my family and my mother fits in to all this. The poetry I posted a few weeks back was written on the heels of therapy sessions that I've begun to partake in. This therapy has been unlike any other that I've experienced in the way that there's no pretense. I'm going to be gut honest here. And in thinking about the words I'm about to write my eyes are beginning to well up. It has dawned on me lately that I am alive. And I've never thought about it like this: there's gotta be a purpose to this mysterious thing we call life. And I don't want to waste one more day dragging around the heavy bags that I've settled for carrying. I want to be the best version of myself someday.

This therapy has begun to help me chip away at the junk that helps my serenity hide from me. And it hurts but its good.

It also provokes unresolved feelings of whackness from my childhood. So I wrote a poem. And then it dawned on me that in 26 years of existence, not much has changed since the days I described. And that pissed me off.

I want change for her. And us. And for everyone I love to chip away at their junk together so we can have joint serenity. That's a tall order. I'm well aware. But don't knock me for trying.

I think about the times my roommate from college would say to me, "You have a drinking problem. You also have so much potential. If you would stop drinking, you could reach it." My response was at first warm. She was right! What was I doing? But that warmth was quickly engulfed by cold and darkness. The fast life had much too strong of a hold on me then.

But not one week goes by where she doesn't cross my mind. She somehow reached the depths of my -soul- that were crying out for help to change. She spoke the truth to them. And one day her words reached me, along with the words of many others and words of my innermost self that brought me to the place I needed the most.

So, perhaps my passion and dramatic obsession with helping my family falls on ears that pretend to be deaf. But I know deep down they hear me. And I'll die trying to inspire change. Because I am so thankful for those who were unafraid to tell me that I had so much more to me than what I was settling for.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

the jewelry box


There's this pain
It hides in the four corners of my jewelry box
The box you gave me, using that great taste you have
It's smooth and shiny, beaded and full of color
Colors like gold and mauve and sand
Colors that make you feel home
But what is home to me?
Scratches and hiding and wanting to shrink
Shrink down to the size of an earring
An earring that fits in my jewelry box

And we all try in our own way
Allowing you to be the tornado
Waiting for those days when you're free
Free from the storm that lives inside you
Free from the resentment you feel because you birthed us

But when that resentment comes to life
It brings with it words
Words that tell us we should reverse our growth
Become a child, then an infant, a newborn
Until we are nothing more than a zygote, a seed
A seed given to you by our father

Speaking of father
Where was he?
While you wished us dead
Pushed us down
Stopped our breathing

Probably flying over Cleveland in an aisle seat
Secretly folding his hands in prayer
Asking that you let us be in his absence

Rarely did this happen

And today
Today while I check locked doors
And bathroom lights
And count my moves
I remember the nights I heard you
Heard you checking our doors repeatedly
Cleaning our kitchen in the darkness of 3 am
Suffering inside
Showing it through the bleeding wounds on your body
I wonder
How similar we are

Do you worry the way I do?
I would listen if you wanted me to
But what I won't, cannot and will not do
Is what my father asks
For me to let it go
Keep quiet
Appease you

I refuse
I see my own flesh and blood
In the form of a thirteen year old baby
With the fire in her eyes
That I recognize
That same fire that makes you kick down doors and pull out hair
If I can help it
I will stop it
Stop you

From giving her the pain
The pain that hides
In the four corners of my jewelry box

Thursday, August 19, 2010

This too shall pass, but until it does...


If I'm going to get down to the heart of matters, I must admit that my blog tone is mostly one of emotional turmoil. This has been my release over the past 8 months. Nursing the loss of a job, coping with the loss of a live-in relationship, learning how to deal with anxiety and fear, looking at some family stuff and then every once in a while being goofy and fun, letting my hair hang down and letting other people really see what goes on in this mind of mine. As I've said time and time again, I have tried to remember always to write for myself, no matter what the outcome. And since writing has always saved me during times of confusion, my writing is often chaotic and negative-sounding.

Today, however, I'm writing for a different reason. Today I am excited my friends. I am joyous. I feel grateful.

I am sitting at work (oops) and finishing various projects. I am smiling at those who are walking by me, I am making faces at one of my friends who is giving a presentation in the conference room next to me. And it dawns on me. I am beginning to evolve. Into someone that I sometimes do not recognize. I have become part of a company. I have found pride in my work (something I never thought was possible in the corporate world). I have been asked many times where I'd like to go here at this company. I have never been given that type of opportunity before. "Adia, where do YOU SEE YOURSELF. Let us know." Really?? That's a gift.

In my personal life, I have begun to truly adore someone and in adoring them I am accepting their strangeness rather than trying to control them and mold them into who I want them to be. I am looking forward to the future.

I just moved to a fantastic neighborhood and I can't tell you how excited I am for the weekend to roll around just because I feel like there are so many possibilities for me, so many places that I can choose to go. I am not pigeon-holed. I have watched my Madeline come into her own since we've moved. She's stable, she's comfortable, she's happy. I've written here time and time again that my dog is like my daughter, so the pride I have in seeing her flourish is unexplainable and misunderstood to anyone that does not have a close relationship with their dog or does not have a dog at all.

I have begun to feel okay with accepting my anxiety and my fears as part of me and I am trying to take action to make myself better. I do gloat and stay stagnant when I'm suffering because sometimes I feel so paralyzed by it. That's when I need to take the bull by the horns and fight back. And I have. And I've asked others for help. I keep my fingers crossed in saying that I pray that I'm reaching the light at the end of the tunnel with these panic attacks.

Last but not least, I found a picture of my father and my little sister on my computer last night. I have a MacBook and there's an application called "Photo Booth" where you can take pictures of yourself and add distorted layers to them. The photo of my sister and father was so ridiculously hilarious that I wanted to go through the screen and hug them right then and there. They used the "stretch" effect and my Dad's face looked like the shape of a building block. My sister's eye was like a fish eye, vertically longer than it was wide. They took this picture the day the entire family showed up to help me move to my new place, supporting this change they all knew I needed. I felt so freaking great; there was a time when no one would have wanted to come around me because I was not very nice to be around. That's not the case anymore. And it's fantastic.

The sad thing is, but also the realistic thing is, this too shall pass. This burst of positivity and intense gratitude will slowly dissipate. But while it's here, to me it's worth documenting.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Returning to a blank page.



Oh how I have longed to make a grand comeback. The negligence is shameful. I visit my blog page almost everyday and stare at the last post - song lyrics. A lazy post, one that had personal meaning but a meaning that I refused to share because it is something that is still new and fresh and hasn't yet hit the airwaves. But it's time. Time to start writing again, sharing and dramatizing like I used to. It hasn't felt good not to let it all out.

But I've been busy. I have a job now. I live in the city now, right next to the Art Museum. I have Kelly Drive now, where my dog and I spend tons of time walking along the river. I have a roommate now, whom I spend hours chatting with. I did not realize how much solitude and isolation I became accustomed to while living alone over the past year. And while I do miss the days of stripping down to nothing as I walk through the door after work, I enjoy coming home to the squeaky clean voice of my Ashley, saying "Hi babes!" just as much.

My laborious break up fiasco came to an end about two months ago. A series of events caused the final "End Scene" and we realized it was getting scary. Deep inside of me, in a place called "denial" I hide my manipulation. And it dawned on me that I had been manipulating and controlling and using my ex-boyfriend to keep me afloat. There I was, talking about freedom and liberation and living alone and learning who I was without leaning on anyone, but I was. When I needed someone to pick up the pieces, I knew he was the one. Even if we were just "friends", you cannot be friends with someone who doesn't want to be friends with you. He still wanted to be with me. That was wrong. And so we stopped. We didn't talk for a while, and we barely talk now.

In the meantime, the most bizarre, intriguing, attractive, complex human being has come waltzing into my life. I fear writing about him in fear that he will float away with the words that I type, but it's true. There's this glorious man that has been occupying my time lately. Does it sound like I've jumped from one person to the next? Maybe it does. But in my honest eyes, it's not that way. This new human came in and I had a reaction like I have never had before - I had to have him. I knew that if I was going to bring him into my life, I had to let go of that final little string that Zeus and I had (as described above). So yes, the new human was the catalyst in a way, in closing that chapter.

The thing about new human is that everyday I learn something else that intrigues me. It's been fascinating so far. Truly has been. I don't know where it's going to go but I do know that I do not have any questions regarding what I want right now - just to have him around.

Not only do I have a new roommate, but Maddie does as well! Carter is his name; a long-haired chihuahua with the cutest of personalities. Maddie and Carter are inseparable and I have not seen my baby this happy ever. She truly needed a sibling. The relationship I've watched them form is the reason I hope to have more than one child when the time comes. Every child needs a sibling I think. Let me rephrase that. Every child should have a sibling. They're two peas in a little doggie pod.

That's all for now. I've missed you so. Have you missed me? Don't answer that :)

Monday, July 12, 2010

Number 14.


Sweet disposition

Never too soon
Oh reckless abandon,
Like no one's watching you

A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A kiss, a cry
Our rights, our wrongs
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh

Just stay there
Cause I'll be comin' over
While our bloods still young
It's so young, it runs
Won't stop til it's over
Won't stop to surrender
Songs of desperation
I played them for you

A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A kiss, a cry
our rights, our wrongs
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh

Just stay there
Cause I'll be comin' over
While our bloods still young
It's so young, it runs
Won't stop til it's over
Won't stop to surrender

A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A kiss, a cry
Our rights, our wrongs (won't stop til it's over)
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A kiss, a cry
Our rights, our wrongs (won't stop til it's over)
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A kiss, a cry
Our rights, our wrongs (won't stop til it's over)
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A moment, a love
A moment, a love (won't stop to surrender)

- Temper Trap

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Dream of Californication.


I went through a phase of addiction involving the Showtime series Californication. Hank Moody is a freaking revelation to me and his starving artist persona mixed with his overwhelming yet totally chill sexual nature continues to draw me in whenever I'm at someone's house who has Showtime and who doesn't mind letting me watch whatever I want while I'm there. This happens rarely, so I have missed many episodes.

Anyway, there was this one episode that legitimately changed my life. The writing is absolutely breath-taking. The scene is perfectly done. The thought behind it is adorable. Hank meets Karen, a woman he is immediately taken by. She's already in a relationship so the fact that Hank and her are having an affair is the problem. But they both know there's something there, something real. Hank is a writer and emotionally bizarre with women, so he has a hard time going after anything, anyone. Naturally, he writes instead. He writes her this letter and sends it to her. I still get goose bumps when I read it. I rewound the scene over and over and over and over and over again just so I could write down every word. And here it is:

Dear Karen,

If you're reading this it means I actually worked up the courage to mail it. So good for me. You don't know me very well but if you get me started, I have a tendency to go on and on about how hard the writing is for me. This…This is the hardest thing I've ever had to write. There's no easy way to say this so ill just say it.


I met someone.

It was an accident. I wasn't looking for it, I wasn't on the make. It was a perfect storm. She said one thing, I said another. Next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. Now there's this feeling in my gut she might be the one.

She's completely nuts in a way that makes me smile. Highly neurotic. A great deal of maintenance required.

She is you Karen.

That's the good news. The bad news is that I don't know how to be with you right now. And that scares the shit out of me. Because if I'm not with you right now, I have this feeling we'll get lost out there. It's a big bad world full of twists and turns, and people have a way of blinking and missing the moment; the moment that could have changed everything.
I don't know what's going on with us. And I can’t tell you why you should waste a leap of faith on the likes of me. But damn, you smell good. Like home. And you make excellent coffee, that's gotta count for something.

Call me.

I'm faithfully yours,

hank moody

Thursday, June 17, 2010


I noted on my facebook wall that I sometimes eat dessert before I eat dinner. I actually prefer it I think.

I do a lot of things backwards and always have.

I'm just going to put it out there and say it. I'm suffering from anxiety lately. The really awful kind where you think you're totally losing it.

I am hesitant to write about it for two reasons: because I write about it in my journal every night already and because sometimes writing about it makes me think too much about it and I throw myself into a panicked state.

I've dealt with this for as long as I can remember, which makes me very sad. I know everyone has their own set of issues and I know that everyone I see could be fighting a harder battle. But I have to tell you, battles of the mind can be excruciating.

I have been desperately trying to rid myself of the worry and have taken some suggestions from others. One of my friends bought me a peppermint plant that apparently eases the mind, my father suggested some relaxing tea (which I tried for one day but stopped after I came down with a splitting headache because my body needed coffee) and have even dusted off an old CD of affirmations by a very strange sounding woman named Belleruth.

Belleruth's voice is soothing in the "old woman who talks very slow" kind of way. I popped the CD in on my way to work the other day and found my mind instantly rejecting the idea of it based on her voice alone. But I gave it more time. I began to listen to the words. They were cheesy, they ARE cheesy. But after a while I began to enjoy "thanking my body for all it has done for me in the past and all it will do for me in the future."

I believe the point of the affirmations is to allow us to get out of our minds and to become more body conscious. Because our bodies are constantly fighting for us, helping us overcome life, more than we give it credit for.

Things could be worse my friends. I could have an awful terminal illness and no chance at living. That's a depressing thought if I've ever written one. But I don't.

I'm constantly reminding myself in times of inner turmoil that I'm just uncoiling some tightly bound wires that have gripped me since childhood. I've tried prying them open and allowing them to unfold on their own, but they won't. So I'm trying a new route. I'm actually talking about it with other people and hoping someone magically cures me. Even though I know this is an inside job, I need to lean on some support.

I know that time is key here, so I will wait for this to pass.

In other news, I love my job. At work I rarely feel anxious. Someone tell me why the most stressful 8 hours of everyday are a breeze for me but coming home and getting to bed are awful.

Oh wait, I've already told you: Because I am a backwards ass chick.

But a strong one.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

4 Minute Prose


Sometimes when I think of you
All my fingers turn to blue
And then my face it gets so red
I feel as heavy as the dead

You laugh and balk and sulk and yell
You claim it's truth you're trying to sell
But it just feels like nails and stones
Are cutting me and breaking bones

It's you who makes me second guess
Some things I think I must confess
Is my nose too big, arms too fat?
And other vainish things like that

I came from you; you gave me life
But you bring pain and you bring strife
I wish instead of pushing me
You'd find a mirror or two or three
Until you saw what you really were
A scared, broken soul in lion's fur

~ Adia Belle

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Tumbling

I just wrote a post and then deleted it. After reading it over, I felt irritated by my own negativity.

It was true, what I said. About how my mother's words cut me once again and how even after all this time, it still takes days for me to shake her.

But I actually don't feel like seeing the words written so deeply.

So I'm going to finish my laundry and head to bed. I've had an exhausting day of work and thinking. I hope and pray that I can get a nice full night's sleep.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Your sex is on fire.


The best part about a great novel is the feeling it provokes: pure ecstasy upon sliding under the covers just to spend more time with your main character. As I mentioned in my last post, I am knee-deep, heart-deep, soul-deep in Erica Jong-isms.

That means I'm reading about sex, a little drugs and more sex. More than that though, I'm reading words that describe the inner workings and insecurities of almost every woman that has felt love and lost it, felt broken but found strength to put the pieces back together again.

She's just so damn delicious, this Erica is. Every time I pick up one of her Isadora Wing novels, I'm ridiculously hooked.

I am almost at the finish line. Not in the book, but in completing my first week of work! I must say I'm loving it so far. I feel useful, I feel excited when I wake up, and I feel sort of, dare I say it, happy when I'm there. I am the type who waits for the other shoe to drop, so I am dreading the day where I wake up and wish I was still receiving unemployment checks but hey, here's to hoping I never have to write that post. Perhaps this is just what the doctor ordered.

I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to really prove myself to the CEO, as his assistant. My ego tells me that at 26, I should not be an assistant anymore but that's simply not the case. I have a feeling in my gut that there's something here, something good. It feels kind of right. He's a cool dude with a great work ethic. And he's kind. Not many high-powered executives are. At least not the ones I've been in contact with. As soon as I iron out the kinks in learning my new responsibilities, I feel like I'll be able to let out a big sigh of relief. I'm still kind of holding my breath.

Dare I say it? This is the most alive I've felt in a couple months. We all want two things in life, at least I think so: To be loved and to be of use.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

What's my muse and no new news and why do I care about you's...among other things.


I like to mix pink lemonade and freezing cold water in a coffee mug and drink it before bed. I've found that I am always particularly parched right before I resign for the night. The sweet and sour tang of the pink lemonade mixed with the refreshing cold temperature of the water always quenches my thirst perfectly.

The words have been bugging me to be released tonight. Apparently much needs to be written yet I've been avoiding looking at the computer because I have no idea where my writing is these days. It pains me to admit that I put pressure on myself to form compelling posts each and every time, which is why I often fall short.

I'm in the middle of another Erica Jong novel, "Parachutes and Kisses." Although I find some of her sentences exhausting and overdone, I am repeatedly blown away by her ability to lay everything out there on the line. She mentions her ex-husband who she's just parted with over and over and over again. After three times I thought, "that's gotta be the last time. We've already gone over how much you love him and I don't need to hear it again." Then she mentions him again in describing her home - the home they built together. I thought, "seriously, stop. Move on to the next topic." That is, until I realized how f'ing real she is. She's repeating the thought of him over and over because that's reality. That's what happens when you go through something heartbreaking - whether it's a relationship, a lost job or the death of a pet. When it means something to you, even if you try to get away from it, it comes back to you - subconsciously, consciously and if you write, it definitely makes appearances in your writing. So I am now able to accept her writing as is because it's real and she makes no apologies for it.

That's what writing usually does for me, yet lately I've been worried that I repeat myself too often and that other readers will not want to hear it. Notice that I said other readers and purposely italicized it. Since when have I cared about what other people thought of my writing? What's happened her? Have I gotten so caught up in the hype of blogging and commenting and feedback and hoping by blog attracts another follower that I've forgotten what writing does for me? What it's always given me?

A sense of relief, of release, or pride in the power of my own words sprung from my own mind. Art is essentially meant for the artist who composes it and no one else. I know this because when I try to write for someone else, after re-reading it, I feel embarrassed by my lies. Just like when I paint flowers just because I want a large canvas on my wall that others will like because floral paintings in family rooms are popular these days. I have yet to complete this imagined canvas because I can't paint when I have already pre-determined what the outcome will be. The outcome is never what I set out for it to be. And that's art. Who cares what other people want or like or comment on or expect? Right?

I told my Dad tonight that even though I'm hoping to finally land some type of "career" upon entering a new job journey on Monday, that in 10 years I'll be sitting pretty no matter what because my novel will have been written by then. Said novel has been talked about since I was a child and has yet to even come close to fruition. Yet I told my parents they would disown me after I wrote my already infamous novel because it's going to be a "no holds barred" type of thing. My mother said, "Go ahead, I'll disown you." My response was, "Don't worry Mom, it won't be a memoir. It's going to be fiction. Fake." She was quiet then. As long as she isn't mentioned, I'm still in the family. What does that tell you about my relationship with her?

It's awful though because sentences, words, phrases, scenarios and fabulous first lines bounce in and out of my mind like kernels of roasting pop corn, yet I only talk about it. I never actually try to make something of it. And the past couple of months have been full of nothing but time. Wasted time. Open time. Free time. And yes, I've blogged and I've done some soul-searching and some relaxing and some freaking out and some nervous breaking down, but I haven't written anything that I'm proud of.

Have I done anything that I'm proud of? That's a question I'm not ready to answer.

I do know that I will have to mention the elephant in the room before I part for the night. I am starting full time work in two days. Those who have asked me what I'm doing at this job have received the response of, "I don't know yet, I'll tell you when I find out."

How does an English major, creative-minded, scatter-brained and insecure 26 year old find herself working in Finance after a 4-month lay off?

By turning on the charm like no other, wearing nice suits, curling her hair, wearing makeup and realizing that if she doesn't land a job soon, she will legitimately be served eviction papers within the week. She put her mind to something and she got what she wanted.

I have no idea what I'm getting myself into but I just realized something: I can do anything I put my mind to. Yes, I really can.

The novel hasn't been written because I don't really want to write it. It's not ready yet. Maybe it never will be.

Yet somehow I'm ready to work full time again, learn yet another new trade and throw all my pre-conceived notions of who and where I thought I would be out the window.

It's time for another chapter - in the book called my life.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Makes me wanna say Oh. My. God.


Oh yeah, and it's time to start bringing back old school desserts like the Root Beer Float. Remember making those as a child in XL plastic cups that may or may not have been recycled Super Sized soda cups from McDonald's?

No?

Well that's a shame because in my house we did! Mine never looked like the gloriously adorable photo above but they were twice as yummy. I'm sure of it.

Also, if you haven't experienced the magical powers of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser you better head to your 24 hour CVS right now and grab one. You'll be up for at least another hour challenging it to remove stains you thought were there to stay. And it will! Every time!

Unless of course, you broke a bottle of red nail polish all over your bathroom sink and wall. It was quite heartbreaking to see the little guy fail me but everything good must come to an end!

Lastly, don't ever buy Treatment Foundation from Dermalogica because the woman at Beans told you it was just like tinted moisturizer (which is what you usually use). It's not. And I've been battling adult acne ever since.