these are the contents of my head

it's been a while

2012-02-19T20:39:00.001-05:00

When I neglect to write for an extended amount of time, the act of starting again can seem overwhelming and annoying. I don't particularly feel like posting right now but I know it is so good for me! I have neglected this part of me for far too long this time.

I'm not sure I've spoken in depth about my current job yet. I am now a pharmaceutical sales representative. It's funny to think back to when this blog was born; after I was laid off from a commercial real estate firm where I was a marketing assistant, also known as the team's punching bag. I remember feeling secretly relieved to say good bye to such a negative place, but also so scared of the amount of time I had on my hands! Thank God a friend introduced me to her blog which sparked such a deep interest in me to begin expressing my thoughts regularly on a blog of my own. I posted pretty much daily during my "lay off" months and absolutely adored it. I also got into painting again. Oh, I also got into unearthing past flames that I had laid to rest years earlier. So, it was a time of great decisions and then some not so bright ones.

Then! I realized I needed another "real" job. Somehow I found myself as the executive assistant to an egotistical asshole CEO at a global bank. He was cool at first, but I can't decide what happened first: he decided to leave the company and thus became a raging whacko, or I decided I wanted to leave the company and thus became a useless employee. (I believe that attitude is everything in life and when one spends 9 hours a day doing something they don't feel any passion for, well, in my case, my attitude suffered.)

I began picking my feet up and looking for something different. It became clear to me I wasn't meant for office work. At least not now -- I was too full of energy! I needed to be challenged!

I am now in pharmaceutical sales. I don't have an office. Well, that's not entirely true, I have a car-office. I drive around all day by myself, listening to kick-ass music, visiting dermatologists and forming relationships with them. I get to learn about their lives, how many kids they have, what kind of day they're having, what kind of day their medical assistants are having, whose boyfriend was an ass over the weekend, whose husband totally dropped the ball on their anniversary, who did some amazing retail therapy and last but certaintly not least, we discuss my products and how they fit into their practice.

No one bothers me or micromanages me, no one questions what I do (although I'm sure they would if I was doing a shitty job), but they don't have to because I've found something I really enjoy doing. I always thought that I belonged in an agency of some kind, doing creative work, but I have found that I feel really happy getting to "creatively" know the people I'm selling to each day. I enjoy the relationships I've built, I enjoy knowing that they like me enough to listen to what I have to say about my products and I like looking at my data and seeing that a doctor who wouldn't give me the time of day a few months ago is now prescribing my product because we struck up a conversation about how we both haven't been to Hawaii and would like to go.

That being said, I do sometimes miss the slow days of office work. Don't judge me, we all love those days at our desk where we can see what J.Crew's new spring line looks like, we can pay our cell phone bills before lunch and we can walk around the office talking to friends who work down the hall.

However, I wouldn't trade the fast-paced, appointment packed days for anything right now. And when I feel I'm becoming too isolative and blah, I find new musisc to download and listen to that brings me alive and keeps me pumped throughout the day. Most recently, I've discovered Spoon. I don't know what kept me away from them for so long but their tunes are so fun and the sounds are somehow so new.

I am so glad I've been able to check in and write tonight and I intend to continue. If anyone reading this post knows me, you're probably wondering when I'm going to dish on my emotional, spiritual or romantic life. I'm usually pouring out emo rant and raves like it's my job when I write on this thing.

But not tonight, I don't think my computer has enough juice to stay alive for as long as I would need to discuss my personal matters :)

Until we meet again...

What Lies Ahead

2011-11-27T20:03:00.001-05:00

I can see the cockroaches scampering across the linoleum kitchen floor just like it was yesterday. Maddie hearing me scream in horror and running to my rescue. Noticing the mammoth size bugs, she attempts to bite them before they escape behind the oven again, but she loses them.

It happened rather often so I became able to brush it off and walk into the kitchen anyway, looking for food I didn't have in the cabinets. Open the refrigerator as well, hoping there was some takeout still fresh enough to eat. Usually there was nothing.

So I either walked to Rita's water-ice down the street or to CVS to grab random snacks -- neither of these usual choices satisfied my hunger but they somehow satisfied my discontent with my living situation.

I had chosen this, though. I lived with a boyfriend before this. A boyfriend who was two years my junior but somehow made a killing at work and also had parents that were beyond gracious with sharing their wealth with him; with us. Sometimes after his mother visited, I would find $100 bills hidden in his bedside table or in the kitchen behind one of our knick-knacks; a reminder that she loved him. Maybe that she loved us? But I didn't. I probably resented his ability to be financially awesome and I definitely grew jealous of his overly loving and present parents. I also hated myself for being so ridiculously irresponsible with my money, usually unable to pay my half of the rent for our apartment.

As the smoke fumes of anger and frustration began circling my head on a daily basis, I decided to move out. And live on my own. Without him as my "crutch" I would have to force myself to be independent and financially stable. That's what I told myself.

So I moved what I owned (which was very little at this point because he had convinced me to sell my couch and bed when we moved in together because he, and I, didn't forsee an ending at that point) into my new shitty apartment down the street and painted it green and blue. I found couches on craigslist. I convinced him to allow me to keep the bed from our guest room. I bought the TV he didn't want off of him and attempted to set up shop, or home, or whatever I thought I wanted at the time.

There was one big issue at first--the smell of cats. No doubt the previous renter owned about 12.

I'm a dog person. Cats instantly make me want to grab my purse and my coat and run for the nearest door. I feel that they're always this close to gouging your eyes out or hissing until you cry. I've never allowed one to get close enough to me to prove me wrong.

So, I went mad with home deodorizers. I shampooed the rugs. It took a while but I finally felt subtly content with the smell of the place after about a month.

It began to feel like home.

Until I realized that loneliness was annoying and heavy. Physically being alone was terrifying. I felt desperate and pathetic. I began spending money to make me feel happy. But happiness was fleeting.

And then the cockroaches arrived.

At first I was convinced there was just one. And I killed it! I felt victorious and strong for a few days.

Then two or three arrived at a time and always escaped right before my sneaker smacked the kitchen floor with a murderous power.

----to be continued

The Civil Wars currently rock my world.

2011-10-24T19:36:00.000-04:00

This song is so sweet, I want to pinch its cheeks.

realistic drama.

2011-10-19T22:40:00.000-04:00

I've thought about you so much lately.

Words.

Freedom.

Set me free.

All of that.

I have so much to say and yet nothing at all at the same time.

I'm again in a place of change. Growth.

Struggle.

I thought to myself today, "is this what I'm all about? Is life for me this great big struggle, this holding on and letting go and trekking up the rocky mountain, sweat and tears, oh tears, yes, tears. And all for those moments, those days, maybe weeks -- never longer -- where I feel okay with me?"

Does anyone on this earth feel completely at ease, themselves, thick-skinned and warm, for longer than a breath of time?

I have this pattern, you see. A pattern that I've written about, joked about, talked about, analyzed, rolled around with therapist after therapist...

A pattern of self-destruction. Of staying even when I want to leave. Or convincing myself that it's just not good enough. I'm not good enough. Everything is just, so, incredibly, fucked up.

When in reality, there's beauty in the imperfect. I just have a hard time seeing it.

I'm still learning to stand on my own two feet and not reaching for the nearest shiny, sparkly, thing. (That usually disguises itself in another emotional entanglement with a boy, or someone in my family that I can focus on "improving". Let me roll my sleeves up and work nice and hard on you.)

I'm 27. I live at home. I still can't save money. I still can't stay single for long. I still can't wake up early for a consistent amount of time. I still can't face all the fears my therapist puts in front of me. I still can't finish my sobriety steps. And here I am wondering why my therapist asked me if I think I'm depressed?

I'm not depressed.

This is the pattern -- this is it.

I feed myself negative thoughts. I eat them down so quick, I don't even realize I have a choice.

Not to listen. Not to take them in.

To tell them to stop.

I am more than what I allow myself to think.

I don't need a man. I don't need more sleep. I don't need to place expectations on myself that are impossible to reach.

I can just be.

Free.

I have all the tools I need.

It's all about the decision.

The jump off.

The voice that I keep forgetting to listen to.

That says "you're alright, kid. Really, you are."

Return of the whacky one

2011-09-24T15:24:00.000-04:00

Hi blog! How are you? I think about you often, usually when I'm driving. A certain sentence or thought will arrive in my mind, and I'll get excited at the prospect of being able to knock out a nice blog post after work that night. But the trouble is, I never write it down after it comes to me. So -- sadly -- as quickly as the idea comes it leaves, because the rest of the day takes over and I've forgotten about the creative spark.

I'm in the car very often now. My job requires me to cover a certain territory of PA, and visit at least eight dermatologists a day, selling them the advantages of my products over the competition. I really do enjoy it. Everyday is different and new in the following wonderful ways: I'm in front of a different customer every day, I have to find creative new ways to start a conversation, I have to wear stylish suits and dresses (which makes me feel very womanly and pretty but also drains my bank account that I'm trying to open up a savings account from), and last but not least -- I have to make myself the center of attention each time I'm in there. My job requires me to be a presence in the office, a memorable part of the doctor's/office staff's day. Yes, I was meant for this. I am the oldest child of four and I come from a family of Type A personalities. I know how to demand the floor.

It's competitive too which keeps me focused! We all claim to suffer from adult ADD and I'm no stranger to that self-proclamation.

I wait up every Wednesday night for my sales numbers, comparing them to my fellow reps, especially the ones who began when I did. I analyze every single doctor I remember having great conversations with. When they aren't prescribing the way I hoped they would, I yell out a "c'mon doc! What's your problem?" But then it turns into, "now you've asked for it...if you think I was aggressive last time, you ain't seen nothing yet!" My family laughs seeing me this way. It's just fun. I like it.

I just feel like I want to end the post here. There's so much more to say but there's also laundry that needs to be finished, a car that needs to be vacuumed (I LOVE doing this chore for some reason) and a late lunch to be had. I'm also worried that I hate my new facebook profile picture.

Should I remove it? Gosh, such a HUGE decision. What in the world shall I do? (HE HE HA HA)

Peace love and acrylic nails (I wear those now too),

A.B.

you know how i feel

2011-07-12T23:47:00.000-04:00

Dear You,

It seems you've finally caught yourself a break. Don't let your scared side take over and ruin a good thing. You've got an opportunity in front of you that you didn't think you were worthy of. Maybe, just maybe, you are. Don't be a perfectionist; at first you may need a little work. After all, you know little to nothing about the world you're breaking into. Be patient with yourself and remember that good things come to those who wait. If you keep doing that next right thing you can't go wrong. Show up for life and the impossible may become possible. Up until now you've worried that you ruined your chances at this sort of thing because of your disheveled past. You were wrong. What you were is not what you are. Maybe one day the negative thoughts will finally completely dissipate so that you can be that best version of yourself more often. Take each day and use it as an opportunity to face your fears and get creative. You're good at that remember? What you're doing isn't rocket science; it isn't even something you've really aspired to do; but guess what? It's something that you're naturally good at (or so they say): it gives you the chance to communicate, to be heard, to be challenged...and to drive around in a car you don't pay for. Being a self-employed novelist doesn't come with a perk like that. And hey, you never know, you could find great writing material in the characters you meet each day.

The world is your oyster.

To others, a new chapter like this may not mean this much. But that's their loss. Every new opportunity in your life is a blessing and a half.

Most of all --- don't f*ck this up or I'll kick your ass b*tch.

Love you more than you let yourself believe,

You

* my pre-interview jam

Where are you?

2011-07-01T10:07:00.018-04:00

And so you went
To the place we don't know
Though we pretend to

We write it down
And say we've been there in our dreams
And say we're trying to get there with our good deeds

But we don't know
The way it feels to be
In between a memory

Perhaps you're watching
A telescope graces your weightless hands
You watch her cry for you in the morning
Subconsciously waiting for your morning call
That won't come
Or sigh for you at night
Missing your sweet dream wishes

I will try
Although I know I will not be much
I'm much too selfish to remember
To call her
When she's waiting for you

some other beginning's end.

2011-06-30T21:53:00.005-04:00

I don't know, I guess I just wish I could write as well as John Irving. If someone happens to be mulling over the perfect gift to give me just because I'm pretty, I will provide a suggestion: every novel John Irving has ever written (minus The Cider House Rules because by George, I've got it). I used to own three others but they've been lost in the madness.

Oh, and I just finished The Hotel New Hampshire. So don't buy me that one either.

Can I provide you with a quote that epitomizes the beauty of this ridiculously unrealistic yet so there book? No. Because it's not like that. It's not direct. It's the entire story -- the whole freaking thing -- the intricate nuances of each character, the obsessive attention to detail. Ah yes, I can pull a quote after all!

"You've got to get obsessed and stay obsessed."

How many times have I become obsessed but couldn't stay?

Just recently, however, I put my all into a really intense work presentation. I sacrificed my body for this work of art, spending about 16 hours on it within two days. My lower back aches, my neck is threatening to send me to the chiropractor again and my hands are sore enough to affect my tennis game (sending me reeling into a sea of expletive-filled tantrums last night at the courts). But who gives a shit right? I very rarely feel useful at work and I needed this to keep me just getting by there.

My great aunt Zi-Zi died last week. My great aunt was my grandmother's best friend. And my grandmother and I have a sort of closeness that fits into the space reserved for the love of mother and daughter. And since my mother and I haven't been able to get there yet (I'm saying yet now because I've decided that since I'm moving home in a month I should try to be optimistic about her) what my Mom-Mom and I share far surpasses where my mother and I stand. The woman is blind but graceful. She is the type of woman who makes you feel like she's been sitting on the edge of her seat anticipating your arrival with an excitement usually reserved for those who win the lottery when you walk in the house.

And her best friend died. And I cried for the loss of Zi-Zi and I cried for my Mom-Mom's heart breaking. But we all celebrated Zi-Zi's life and grieved her death together as a family and even though this may sound selfish, it felt like a little victory to me. I become instantly terrified when tragedy strikes, fearing that I will return from it losing the ability to smile ever again. It's very selfish really. Why did you die? Didn't you know I have a hard time coming back from sadness? You should think before you go and do something like that. I cried and I grieved that day with one of B's large, warm hands wrapped in mine and the other stroking my back. But I also smiled and made Mom-Mom laugh too.

Healing happens when it wants to. I read John Irving's novel with a certain tinge in my heart as he described parts of my life. And I felt the pain and the nervousness that revolve around those parts. I realized I hadn't yet fully healed. But I didn't pick at it to try to make it go away quicker.

I let it live without trying to control it.

And here I sit now, emptying myself of the words and picking the scab on my cheek to make it heal faster.

Damnit. Didn't I just say I learned that healing happens in its own time? Do as I say, not as I do.

Learning when to zip it.

2011-06-11T19:57:00.001-04:00

You pay a price when you decide to divulge the details of your very personal life on a public forum. I have hesitated more than a few times before pressing "publish post" after writing descriptive details of what's going on in my heart and head. Believe it or not, I have many unpublished drafts that have been seen only by my eyes and I believe they'll stay that way.

I've even posted things only to run back to the computer an hour or so later to remove what I've written. I think there's a balance in divulging your personal affairs. I've yet to master it.

In the grand scheme of things, only 26 people subscribe to this blog of mine and I am pretty sure only about 12 people read regularly. It's really NOT that big of a deal that I'm revealing my shit to y'all because I'm not going to be published in People Magazine or featured on an E! News broadcast.

I'm not that popular, thank God.

But I sometimes struggle with wondering how much I want my circle to know about my love life. I struggle because for onee, I think it's unfair to my significant other. He doesn't read what I write and he's reminded me that he doesn't want to read it because he doesn't want to influence my writing. I completely and utterly respect and love him for that.

However, those who read my blog and see what I say about the details of our relationship are able to paint their own picture of this man sometimes without even meeting him. Not to mention the fact that some of my writing is a bit fictitious. I write things a certain way or describe details a certain way to strengthen my writing. The best writing comes from personal experience and then I build off of that. And I think I've done B an injustice.

I am not downplaying the reality that our relationship hasn't been beautifully smoothsailing. There have been very powerful waves. But then again, would I like a relationship without passion? The challenge and the boldness of this relationship has allowed both of us to put cards on the table that I'm so glad we've put there before we decided to live together or get married.

What I'm trying to say is this: I think I'm going to refrain from committing the details of my very personal relationship to this blog from now on.

And a much as I love the relationships I have with certain family members, I find myself more confused than anything after speaking to too many others about what we've got going on. I feel like my family is asking for updates on us because I'm the oldest and I'm at the "marriage" age. They want to have a family wedding and so do I! I just think it should be Thumber (number two in line) that should be pestered from now on. She's much closer to that type of commitment in my opinion.

There's all this pressure. Seriously, there is. I see my close friends getting married, I see Facebook updates informing me of yet another engagement, and then I begin to compare my relationship to these relationships. Should I be engaged by now? Am I with the right man? Are we marriage material? Is he ready? Will he ever be ready? Does he love me enough? Do I love him enough? Blah, f'ing blah.

I begin to get way too ahead of myself and it's unbelievable to me that I've become this type of girl.

To ease my anxiety over this stuff, I ask others to weigh in on the ins and outs of my relationship. Mistake.

On top of all my unnecessary questions, I have their unnecessary answers.

I have no idea what my future holds relationship wise, career wise, etc.

I do know that I'm ready to try to become a bit more private.

I love this man more than I can put into words.

And it takes a lot to make me speechless.

2011-05-25T22:12:00.007-04:00

I had imagined how this would transpire many times on the way to his house after work recently but always ended up with a fake smile and a kiss on his cheek when I reached his door.

Until today.

It had become very difficult for me not to feel child-like in his presence, waiting for him to tell me what I had done wrong. Whether it was the fact that I left water on the floor in the bathroom after a shower or that I didn't walk my dog for what he deemed as a sufficient amount of time, I simply wasn't doing life right.

He had picked up on the fact that I was someone perpetually jammed into 5th gear we began dating a year ago, and he noted it, but it wasn't until this week that he sent me a picture text of a box of cereal that I had ripped open, leaving the perforated tabs to fend for themselves, no longer able to interlock because of my carelessness. Yes, I agree that it must have been annoying for him to see that I was in such a state of rush that I didn't have time to open a cereal box correctly, but it was just as annoying to come home from a long day at work to his lesson of the day.

Wasn't the man I was meant to be with supposed to laugh at this maniacal aspect of my life, knowing full well that I had a lot on my plate?

I sent him a text as I waited for the light outside his neighborhood to turn green that said, "this is not how I'm built." He's not a woman so he didn't pick up on the fact that this line was stolen from Jerry Maguire, as Dorothy explains to Jerry that she knows he's not actually in love with her and she can't continue to pretend their marriage is real. She admits she's fallen in love with the idea of the relationship more than the relationshp itself.

I often wonder if he knows what love is. He admits he has never heard of unconditional love until I came along and explained the term, secretly hoping he would get the hint. Unconditional; accepting of flaws; understanding of mistakes; love knowing no bounds.

When my doorman called me last night to tell me a package had arrived for me, I knew it was from him. I ran to the elevator hoping he had returned my glasses. Did I also hope that there was at least a Dear John letter explaining that he did love me more than any other woman he's ever been with, did think I was amazing, did try, wished me the best and would never forget me? Perhaps. Did I simultaneously play a scene in my mind of me exiting the elevator to him standing there, tall and handsome as ever, smug smile slightly hidden by his beard, awaiting an embrace from me? Maybe.

What I got was a bag of junk. An old rusted razor that I had left in his shower, an empty box of dog treats that I had bought for his terribly neurotic dog (the apple does not fall far from the tree?), a few of my t-shirts, my glasses and the tiny pebble I had given him after a walk, just for fun.

Without words, he had said too much.

My first reaction was--excuse my french--a giant "fuck you, you fucking awful fucking fucked up asshole!"

However, a wave of calm - a gift from my inner self perhaps - came over me, buying me time to compose myself. I shed only about three and a half tears, laid in the foyer of my apartment with the bag of shit next to me and realized that this could not go on.

His lovely parting gift may have been his way of baiting me to react. He may have wanted me to break the silence and berate him with texts and calls and tears and screams and "fuck you's", and I will not lie -- you're damn right I thought about shipping the running shoes he got me that I don't like to his front door. I thought of driving to his house in the middle of the night to "decorate" the lobby of his apartment with aggressively ripped open cereal boxes. I even thought about cutting up the blanket he left in my car and decorating his car with the pieces. However, the fact that his deceased mother gave him the blanket stopped me dead in my tracks.

Playing catch up.

2011-05-19T22:37:00.001-04:00

I have been putting off writing this post because every time I felt the urge to write about my life, something else happened! It has been an eventful month, full of ups and downs and this ways and that ways. For instance:

My best friend from high school got married to her high school sweetheart.
I got the worst haircut of all time.
I had an emotional breakdown over it.
I was a bridesmaid.
With a men's crew cut.
I - again - had an emotional breakdown over it.
So did my Mother.
I got extensions.
No, I will not elaborate.
My brother graduated from college.
The family (including myself) trekked up to northern New York to celebrate with him.
I almost died while I was there.
I went to the dentist. This is a big deal.
So did my Mother. This is an even bigger deal.
Oh my goodness, I almost forgot: I celebrated four years of sobriety.

Instead of relaying every nook and cranny of the above fifteen points, I've decided that I will post photos that I've taken during these events. We'll see if I can have enough self control to keep this post concise and to the point allowing the photos to speak for themselves (other than my captions).

{Christine looks at herself for the first time in her wedding dress on her wedding day}

{The watermelon bridesmaids before the ceremony}

{Yes, my friends, those bangs are in fact extensions. They hurt. Pain is beauty?}

{Sisters with the soon-to-be graduate. This was before we owned the dance floor.}

{Basically my only calm moment whilst staying at the lake house during brother's graduation weekend in NY. There were cats there. I'm severely allergic to cats. I may or may not have contemplated jumping into the lake never to be seen again, but decided it was probably too cold.}

{A wonderfully poignant quote found in ELLE magazine while waiting for the dentist.}

{It's important that I give a little face time to my cup of coconut milk Capogiro. I can't explain why.}

{To Thine Own Self Be True. Four years of living proof.}

Part Two

2011-04-26T15:47:00.000-04:00

Okay, okay, okay...I have to confess.

The below song by Tegan & Sarah was discovered on a CD I found in my lover's car, given to him by his EX. I wish I didn't automatically want to break it in half when I first found the disc with cute, fat bubbly handwriting on it, but I did.

Instead I popped it in his CD player and discovered that she has good music taste. I guess I feel the need to give credit where credit's due so...thanks Shannon.

my window looks into your living room.

2011-04-26T15:41:00.000-04:00

Well kids, I'm extremely sick. I was correct in feeling weird about how raw and sore my throat was last night. It kept me up until 5 AM this morning and then chills and sweats followed, along with a headache and sinus congestion. I wasn't able to go to work today which makes me really angry, as I am so sick of repeatedly feeling like death. I used to think I had the most kick-ass immune system but this year it's failing me miserably.

Anyway, the above song by Tegan and Sarah rocks and listening to it gives this downtrodden sicky just a little bit of needed energy to keep on truckin'.

i want you to want me.

2011-04-25T22:12:00.000-04:00

Today it was indeed sunny in Philadelphia. The temperature hung out around the low 80s, the sky was robin's egg blue and everyone was out and about.

I began experiencing what shall forever be known as THE WORST ALLERGY ATTACK OF MY LIFE and had to stay inside after work until it was dark out because I think I heard once that the air isn't as filled with allergens at night time.

What's weird about this attack is that my throat is still aching and dry and itchy and feels like what I remember strep throat feeling like.

When I finally emerged from my apartment at around 8 PM, I brought my dog (naturally). We took a walk to CVS where I had to tie her up outside while I ran in to buy my SECOND bottle of allergy medicine because--let's be serious--the medicine I have been using is DEFINITELY not working. She hates when I do this; leave her outside alone while I meddle around in a store for a few minutes. Half of me feels like a bad mother but the other "I need you to need me" half feels nicely surprised knowing that she loves being with me. I don't think that makes me a bad person.

After I purchased my meds and untied my pooch from what I think was the rain-gutter-pipe-thing (I just realized I never consciously stopped to think that commercial buildings, like homes, need rain gutters too!) we stopped at a coffee place where I tied her up again and ran in to get an ice-cold, organic smoothie called the "Peanut butter and Jelly" smoothie. It did taste very much like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if the sandwich were to be chilled and without the bread. It soothed my allergen-wrecked throat. I had a nice conversation with the barista man who came outside after I went outside to drink my smoothie with the dog on my lap and me in a plastic chair. Barista lived in Seattle for a while but is now living with his parents in Wilmington, Delaware until he moves back to Philly in June. I could not and cannot believe he drives all the way to this freaking obsessively organic coffee shop to work everyday. He said sometimes he has to open in the morning and that means being at the shop at 5:30 AM...to make COFFEE...really??

I ran into a newish friend of mine outside this coffee shop too. She stopped to tell me that her ex-boyfriend that I know, but that I didn't know was her ex-boyfriend (got me?) said I was pretty and he's not the type to give any positive commentary on anyone and she even said that and that made me feel like I could have an extra pep in my step on the walk home. So WHAT.

Now I am going to shower and put on a pair of boy short underwear and a tank top and sleep in just that because guess what? It's finally that time of year.

P.S. I usually think that sneezing is like, God showing me a glimpse of what heaven feels like, because it just feels THAT GOOD. But not today. I mean, when the rapid fire sneezing bouts occur, I don't avoid them by looking straight at the sun or anything, but they're taking so much out of me and they're irritating the throat and they're not giving me any RELIEF.

GOOD GRIEF.

My Sunday Soliloquy

2011-04-24T22:13:00.005-04:00

I'm currently sewing. No really, I am.

There are a few items of clothing that I would love to wear on the regular but cannot because they've got annoying little holes in them. Today I wore my melon colored GAP cardigan with the hole because I was just visiting my family and I don't care about impressing them with hole-less clothing. However, I enjoyed wearing my melon number so much that I went to CVS and bought a travel-size sewing kit. Here I am, stitching away. Melon cardigan is now hole-free and I've moved on to my favorite SoLow yoga pants with a giant hole in the crotch. Can't wait to wear these again. I must admit, they make my butt look fantastic.

Easter dinner with the family today left me with a lot on my mind regarding my sick grandfather. But, it's Sunday night and Sunday nights are like, the worst, even after getting sober and not suffering from withdrawal and hangovers. Looking ahead at the work week seems daunting and ominous.

In other words, it's not the correct day of the week to be getting into sad stuff regarding my wonderful Gramps and his dwindling quality of life. Gosh, I want to snap my fingers and go back to the way we were before his health began declining last year. I looked at the sunroom on the back of their home today and it dawned on me that just about eight years ago, my Gramps built the entire room with his own two hands. A hard-working and brilliant blue-colored man my Gramps is. A fine human being. I will tell you that throughout my entire life, he has not once done anything to hurt me. I have never once been upset with him. I have never felt anything but complete and utter love and support from him and I want nothing more than to see him feel better.

Oh, see, look at me. I couldn't contain myself. A little emotion spilled out.

Happy Easter Sunday to all; especially my lovely Gramps, pictured above.

Ya feel me?

2011-04-22T23:20:00.002-04:00

What do I have to say tonight? I'm not sure, although I just jotted down a bunch of thoughts into a journal. I don't want to share those though, as they're not even thoughts I want to admit to anyone but myself in fear of someone saying, "that's just dumb and you know it."

I'm home alone tonight at the apartment. The roommate has strep throat and is at her parents' home nursing herself back to health. I am currently in the middle of a small allergy attack. This means I am sneezing repeatedly, nose feels stuffy and ridiculously itchy and my eyes are begging me to scratch them, but I'm trying to resist doing it because that's like a never-ending story. The euphoria I feel after scratching my eyes keeps me doing it all night if I begin. Nope, I ain't doin' it tonight, y'all.

Maddie is eating her dinner and I find it so endearing and adorable to watch her long floppy ears cover the bowl while her little snout attacks her food. She's very systematic too. She will pick a few pieces of food out of the bowl with her mouth and then drop them on the floor and eat them one by one. This is fun to watch until I realize what a mess she makes because she doesn't eat all of the pieces that she places on the floor. So, Mommy has to clean them up.

Oh! She's now moved on to her water bowl and is frantically drinking. For some reason, I always feel the need to say, "good girl, Maddie!" when she drinks. I guess I sub-consciously worry that she neglects to drink enough water because, well, I don't know why I think that. But, I'm always pleasantly surprised when I hear her lapping from her water bowl and beam with pride, thinking, "aw, she knows when she's thirsty! How cute!"

Weird.

I'm trying to find a career lately. Do you know what I mean by that? Like, I've often written about different ideas I have for what I'd like to do or what I think I'd be good at but lately I'm going out on a limb and putting myself out there. I was even semi-rejected by someone regarding a position I was looking into and felt as if I could not rest until I convinced this person to give me an in-person interview. They agreed. I was shocked and proud of myself. The confidence I gained in not giving up inspired me to speak to yet another person about another opportunity. This person was completely open to the idea, and I felt so empowered. I have to be gut honest here: it's time for this girl to make some money. I know this sounds weird and maybe not believable but I haven't been very motivated by money. I have the opportunity to make a lot of overtime at my current job but over the past few months, I have felt no desire to do so. I want to grab my shit and get outta' there as soon as the clock strikes five. That's because my job isn't challenging, doesn't inspire me and I feel like I'm selling myself short. In fact, I know I am. Even though it would be so nice to have a few hundred more dollars in my bank account if I stayed and worked overtime, I find that I'm more motivated to get home and spend some quality time with my dog, or go to a meeting or get outside or do NOTHING.

And that doesn't sit well with me.

I know I'm capable of something more.

Now, I want to tell you that I realize that I speak often about the reality of today not being enough for me. And, maybe I'm the type that seems like they're never satisfied. So be it. Maybe I'm at a point where I shouldn't be satisfied with certain realities of my life and maybe I should be thankful that after some time, I'm doing something about it.

For instance, the therapy I receive every week. This is some intense stuff that has been extremely instrumental in helping me calm down for once in my life. I'm glad that I was not satisfied with how nervous and uncomfortable I always was (and can be if I don't keep working on it).

And regarding my program...Thank God I finally realized it's time for the 4th step. Although it's annoying me lately to realize how many daggers I've been wanting to throw at people all my life; daggers that have done nothing but harm me and my piece of mind. Thank God I'm looking at them so that in the future, I can have more sustainable and healthy relationships.

And regarding my job...I fought my way through college despite extremely humiliating setbacks and I realized at the end of it that I had a brain. A brain that worked rather well when inspired. If I'm not inspired, and if I know I'm not putting my best foot forward, then thank God I'm looking to find something that makes me happy with who I am and where I'm going. And let's be serious, thank God I'm finally realizing that I need to be financially stable just so that I can go to bed at night without calculating if I have enough money to eat until Thursday when I get paid next. Really? So over it.

So, this may make no sense to anyone but myself and that's okay. Because thank God I'm at a point in my life where I realize that I don't care that much if people see me fall or see me worry or hear me talk about the stuff that's uncomfortable. Because this is me. And the good part about me is that I know that "this too shall pass," and I'll be right back on here spilling the details of how I got through the difficulties and landed on my own two feet.

photo from nirrimi

4 peas in a pod.

2011-04-13T22:50:00.012-04:00

People talk about the happy quiet that can exist between two loves, but this, too, was great; sitting between his sister and his brother, saying nothing, eating. Before the world existed, before it was populated, and before there were wars and jobs and colleges and movies and clothes and opinions and foreign travel -- before all of these things there had been only one person, Zora, and only one place: a tent in the living room made from chairs and bed-sheets. After a few years, Levi arrived; space was made for him; it was as if he had always been. Looking at them both now, Jerome found himself in their finger joints and neat conch ears, in their long legs and wild curls. He heard himself in their partial lisps caused by puffy tongues vibrating against slightly noticeable buckteeth. He did not consider if or how or why he loved them. They were just love: they were the first evidence he ever had of love, and they would be the last confirmation of love when everything else fell away.

— Zadie Smith, On Beauty

The following events reminded me of the above excerpt from one of my favorite books:

Watching my youngest sister beam from ear-to-ear onstage during her 8th grade play while I watched from the audience, giving her tons of thumbs-up, beat-the-beat-up fist pumps and obnoxious rounds of applause
Having a predictable tiff with the 25-year old version of myself, also known as my other sister, 2 years my junior.
Another lovely in-depth phone conversation with my little brother who's not so little. In other words, he plays basketball for a Division 1 college and is graduating in like, 5 seconds.

I could read the above quote twenty times over (and have) without getting bored with it. I just think it's beautifully written. Without needing to say it, or even really show it, the definition of love lies in my relationships with my siblings.

then memories.

2011-04-13T00:37:00.007-04:00

Laying on my bedroom floor felt like nothing.

Until my father opened the door and watched me in silence. I was unaware of his presence until I heard his voice.

“Honey, I think you’re depressed,” he whispered.

I strained my neck and eyes to look up at him as he towered over me. Statuesque.

No words came, so I allowed my neck muscles to release until I felt the plush carpet against my left cheek.

He turned around and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

I melted into the carpet for another three hours.

A midnight snack.

2011-04-13T00:05:00.013-04:00

Just like I really enjoy the taste of orange juice if it's accompanied by a cheese omelette or my father's pancakes on Christmas morning, pairing certain music with certain activities makes my world a better place.

I'm currently writing and listening to Gregory Alan Isakov. I can't tell you how serene and fluid I feel at ten past midnight, after what can best be described as an annoyingly productive day. In other words, I had to work, run errands in the rain during my lunch break, get home in time to find a legal parking spot, then catch a cab to therapy in a downpour and endure another grueling session. I then had to force myself to keep my debit card in my wallet as I perused Urban Outfitters (yes, I check off the productive box if I can successfully window shop).

There's laundry to be done and sleep to be had but first there's writing and there's good music and there's enjoying these two hobbies that make me feel like me.

give me darkness when i’m dreaming
give me moonlight when i’m leaving
give me shoes that weren’t made for standing
give me tree-line, give me big sky, get me snow-bound, give me rain clouds, give me a bed time ...just sometimes

- Gregory Alan Isakov, 3 a.m.

There are more poignant lyrics where those came from. This Gregory fellow knows how to pour it out.

That sometimes bed time he speaks of is right about now for moi. Sweet dreams.

Great Expectations.

2011-04-12T23:33:00.007-04:00

Fill me with dandelions,
and daisies and rose.

Give me wet strawberries,

the sea at my toes.

Show me the sunlight,

warm winds and laughter.

Tell me this won't end,

we've reached ever after.

Shower me with lovin',

passionate, true.

All of these things,

give me, can you?

photo from nirrimi

These foolish games.

2011-03-31T20:46:00.015-04:00

Sometimes I pick my nose (with purpose, I might add) while I type at my desk. This is funny because my desk is right next to the window that looks out to five more windows of adjacent apartments to my left. I imagine someone spotting me from one of said windows and catching me in what they think is a private moment. As I type this, it's beginning to dawn on me that this is an instance of funny in my head...but not anywhere else.

Let me make it up to those reading this by sharing another playlist that speaks to me in a multitude of ways:

Angus & Julia Stone - "Draw Your Swords"

The Decemberists - "This is Why We Fight"

Mumford & Sons - "I Gave You All"

Van Morrison - "Astral Weeks"

The Avett Brothers - "Head Full of Doubt"

Citizen Cope - "Bullet and a Target"

KT Tunstall - "Through the Dark"

M. Ward - "Fuel for Fire"

My Morning Jacket - "Hopefully"

Gregory Alan Isakov - "3 a.m."

MGMT - "Kids"

Ben Harper - "In Your Eyes"

David Grey - "Say Hello Wave Goodbye"

Jethro Tull - "Wond'ring Aloud"

John Mayer - "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"

I promised myself I'd do this.

2011-03-29T16:15:00.005-04:00

I am grateful for:

The bouquet of yellow gerbera daisies that are STILL alive and kickin' on my windowsill
The fact that I've taken care of them; changing their water, cutting their stems every few days just to prolong their existence
Looking at my cherry-red nails and realizing I actually sat down for long enough to paint them myself
Remembering that I messed up numerous nails during the painting process and did not give up; but simply put nail polish remover to good use and started again
The research I've done on a new career path
The fact that it's a career that doesn't even require a college degree and the fact that this doesn't bother me
Because I might be at the point where I can say, "I don't care what others think. I want to be happy with myself"
Maybe I'm still a little scared to switch gears but I am working through it
The women I've allowed myself to become friends with lately
Women that are sober and fun and full of life and have something I want
Freedom to be themselves
The dream I had last night; a recurring dream
About the man I just broke up with
In the dream we are fighting. Well, I'm picking a fight with him
Pleading for him to see how his behavior affects me
And he's standing his ground, ignoring me, moving away from me
And it's heartbreaking
But when I wake up, I do not call him or reach out to him
Because I know I can't
Because it's really over
And for once I want to let sleeping dogs lie
And let it go
Can I?
"I'll Back You Up" by Dave Matthews kind of sums it up
And I'm so freaking happy about music
And what it does to me
The bag of clothes I finally removed from my car
Progress!
My dog
Obviously
She's just, the most beautiful, neurotic, furry little poodle I've ever met
Ah, love
Remember my post last week about my obsession with emotional, love-filled entanglements?
Thank God I was honest about that
Thank whatever that thing was that inspired me to write it all down
So that I'm aware of it
As I see that I'm leaning again towards an entanglement that has been present in my life for years and years
And I'm being honest about it
But for once, I'm not jumping in
Because I'm enjoying myself a bit
I do have to work on my issue with time-management
This head that buzzes like a bee
Gets so caught up in thinking
Rather than doing
And it's counter-productive
But, we're all human
We all have issues
My grandfather, Shwartz
And my faith in something
That I prayed to
To help him today
His first day of chemotherapy
So awful
But, I feel like if I send positive vibes his way
It just might help
Rather than wallowing, something I'm very accustomed to doing
Again, counter-productive
My 4th step
That I've just begun
It feels good
To get here
Those moments where I feel here
In the moment
I'm happy about those
And the run I went on this weekend
That reeked havoc on my lungs because of the powerful winds
It still made me happy
To get out there
As freaking painful as it was
My Saturday night
It was so fun
I haven't laughed that hard in a while
And I needed it
And I realized
I looked pretty
Don't you love those nights?
Where you can actually say,
"I feel good,"
Inside and out
Ah, life
Full of twists and unpredictable turns
I want to love you
No matter what you do to me

frank sinatra sounds so calm when he sings, "i've got you under my skin," when the reality of it is being this irked is anything but placid.

2011-03-25T22:38:00.011-04:00

Let's take a break from our regularly scheduled programming and pay homage to those people in our lives with the uncanny ability to get under our skin. Even more, let's also congratulate them for putting us under a spell that tells us, "it may be different this time." I have two responses to that crock of sh*t delusion:

Chances are it won't. Just like the program teaches me that the same person will drink again (reinforcing the idea that to stay sober, we must be willing to change) the same two people with the same two issues will fight again. 'Na mean?
The last time I fed myself the "this time it's different line" was in regard to alcohol. I then fed myself 20 more beers, blacked out and found myself admitting I was powerless over alcohol.

I am powerless over others. I cannot control the outcome. What I can control is my decision-making.

In my life, those who mean the most to me also have the ability to break my heart. Caring about others is a double-edged sword. Caring about myself is apparently where it's at.

I'm so on a roll here with these bitchy rants and I'm lovin' it.

raw.

2011-03-23T22:35:00.011-04:00

In therapy last night, I - or should I say we - came to the conclusion that I feel like I’m nothing, invincible, without feeling, without passion, without purpose, unless I’m in love. It’s like love is what gives me color. Without it, I am a translucentish grey that people walk through and over and under and in between. With it, I am full of mass and body and I’m plush and you can push my skin and feel that there are things going on under it, like a beating heart and flesh and blood and veins and everything that makes up a real live human! I’m saying “love” now, but last night we labeled it as “a relationship.” So, you can go back and replace all the times I’ve said the word “love” with the words “a relationship” and I’m basically making the same point BECAUSE I would never sustain a relationship without falling in love first. Period.

Writer's Interjectory Note: I cannot, for the life of me, believe I am admitting this. I have worked so hard to convince others that I am just the opposite.

Today, I hate this conclusion. It overwhelms me. I go to AA for my alcoholism. I am actually in therapy because I am coping with another disorder and NOW I’m contemplating going to CA (codependence anonymous) to learn how to let go of my obsession with other people defining me. I ask myself, “what the f*ck happened to me during childhood that produced this maniacal human being?” And I don’t have an answer, ya know?

Because it wasn’t just my shaky foundation that contributed to my issues, nor was it all the bizarre sh*t that followed during my adolescence and now early adulthood. I was obviously born with tendencies, and instincts and brain cells that help me lean towards feeling and thinking my way to worthlessness. And at the nice, ripe age of 27, I’m now learning that I have to DEAL with all of this.

Sometimes I worry that I’m like, way too obsessed with getting BETTER, being BETTER, changing these ISSUES, that I miss all the good stuff about my life that might just naturally make me FEEL BETTER without having to dish out $85 a week to yap to my therapist. And, I mean, I love AA, it’s helped me stay away from booze for almost 4 years now but even THAT pisses me off lately because I think to myself, “maybe I could let myself just BE more if I wasn’t always in ‘check your motives, your selfishness, your unmanageability' mode that the program instills in us. And yes, yes, yes, the program has absolutely, no doubt about it, ASSISTED me in lightening up and seeing the GOOD in life, but I’m sick of analyzing it all. I just want it all to stop.

My last thought (which was actually my first thought before I began typing) is that I am a freaking walking contradiction. I opened this lovely rant by revealing my shot to shit self worth issues, yet I have about 300 self portrait photos of myself on my Mac’s PhotoBooth application. If one (other than myself and actually including myself) were to look at these photos, they would say that I’m OBSESSED with myself, think I’m AMAZING, am completely NARCISSISTIC. And, well, perhaps I am.

But I learned recently that being obsessed with one's self doesn’t necessarily mean that one thinks they are the hottest thing since sliced bread. Perhaps I’m obsessed with finding the beauty in me, with looking at myself to find the truth, the hidden jewel that will push all this self-doubt away, with trying to find that “gorgeous face” that others tell me I have. And maybe I’ll keep taking pictures until I find it.

Except, I've been told that I'll never find it this way. It comes from within, right? But...HOW?

Disclaimer: This is the most honest I've been EVER on this public forum and I almost don't want to be, but I'm doing it anyway. Mostly because I know I'm not the only woman who struggles with this sh*t and I'm sick of us all blowing smoke up each other's asses, pretending we're all fine and dandy, waiting for the ring to be placed on our finger just so we can say, "phew, I don't have to do any work on myself anymore because I have someone who's stuck with me forever."

the beauty of bullet points

2011-03-17T21:00:00.006-04:00

It's like, beyond pertinent that I focus on the good stuff right now. For instance:

the cold spring water I'm drinking right now with 2 slices of lemon
the plush white Ralph Lauren robe I'm wearing
gifted to me by my mother
my mother's recent efforts to be more involved in my life
my dog's coat at the length it is right now: not too short
and not too long
just furry enough
the fact that I actually tried to make a salad today
the fact that I ate most of it despite it being an epic FAIL
due to the fact that I didn't dry the tuna out enough
causing the entire thing to be a big, sloppy, wet mess
side note: how gross is that description?
the Amy's organic pizza currently cooking in the oven
and the smell of it, duh
the gerbera daisies sitting next to my desk
on the windowsill
given to me by my Whole Foods cashier today
after I decided to enlighten her
with the details of my current life situation
her only response was,
"shhh" as she placed a bouquet of yellow beauty
in my shopping bag
I mean, I did wonder for a second if she was hitting on me
but then decided it didn't matter either way
because there are nice people in the world
sensitive people
yes, I am grateful for sensitive people
like my father today
his call meant the world to me
despite the fact that he had to rescue me
from my self-imposed darkness
like a ice-cream scooper to a gallon of Ben n' Jerry's
Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice-cream
I cannot wait until I can once again devour a pint of it
only 30 some days to go
I gave up chocolate for Lent
and I love chocolate
but kind of like, unhealthily love
oops, no negativity in this post!
my love for chocolate is fine and dandy
yes, yes it is
the fact that I'm learning to let myself be
lately
thanks to some wonderful help
sometimes we need help in life
and it's not a weakness
it's a strength
and some people that don't want to
well...
maybe they're weak?
but maybe not
i'm just not sure
plus, this is not a post about that kind of stuff EITHER
back to the lecture at hand
I love spring weather
and the fact that it was almost 70 degrees today
and the fact that I am a fighter
although today, well specifically tonight
I feel blue
until I take a sip of my ice cold spring water with lemon chunks
and realize my pizza's ready

bullet-pointed post idea in stream of consciousness, fragmented style was kind of, just a little bit, maybe just inspired by the lil bee

I did.

2011-03-17T18:27:00.001-04:00

Pebbles of thought.

2011-03-10T21:52:00.008-05:00

I read the website Post Secret rather religiously and always come away from it with a comforting yet eerie feeling. There's something wonderful about knowing that everyone has a secret of some sort. At the same time, I feel a bit chilly knowing some of the skeletons that others have harbored in their bones (pun intended) for long periods of time.

All of our minds are filled with thoughts, right? Some of them are meaningless and straight forward and they make sense and they help us do things like, "it's raining and I should bring my umbrella." I must admit I never have that thought because I never remember to buy an umbrella. Anyway, thoughts are like pebbles on the street that you can kick if you want to or choose to let them be where they are. Sometimes you want so much to kick one of them, set it free, get it moving, but just can't. That's why I love Post Secret. People who feel trapped by their one secret are able to kick it free, give it some legs. It then goes to live with a group of other secrets. Then we all get to read them and think, "wow, I kind of feel that way too and I'm not the only one."

I'm not alone is such a powerful realization in itself, isn't it? I think so.

My lovely therapist is ever reminding me that we all have strange and perhaps uncomfortable thoughts. These thoughts are gifts of being human; of being given a brain. It's okay to have these thoughts. But what can become difficult is knowing what to do with the ones that you can't shake and can't kick away. Where do they go? I'm in the middle of figuring this out with her so I can't provide the answer just yet. It eludes me at the moment.

I'm also beginning the action part of my sobriety program and preparing now for the step that involves writing down those tucked away pebbles of thought that have made me feel less than or have fostered a resentment or a deep fear. I've been putting this off for a very long time just because I'm afraid of it to begin with. But, come on, it's been almost 4 years. I need it, man!

Maybe after I write all this stuff down, I'll choose one of my confessions and send it to Post Secret. It can live with the other pebbles of thought that have been set free by someone who was honest and brave enough to kick it around a bit.

Forget you not.

2011-03-09T19:05:00.011-05:00

Long Beach Island, NJ (my childhood summers)

I remember the day my father told me that she had passed. I was lying under the covers as he very sheepishly opened my bedroom door to share the news. I can’t remember if music was already playing in the background or if I turned on the stereo to soothe my grief, but somehow I was listening to “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan which spoke so deeply to the situation. The song is now forever linked to her.

I’m listening to Pandora Internet Radio while at work and “Angel” has popped up as the next song in the line-up of great tunes. I am instantly transported to my memory bank; to that day; to the shape of my Granna’s face and her long, strong fingers. I am wishing I could touch the hundreds of shells and pieces of beach glass she collected during her many years living next to the sea and ask her their names again. I am slightly smiling in embarrassment as I mentally replay the times she reprimanded because I walked on the dunes. I am remembering the days I watched her from our second floor deck as she walked gracefully along the sand in her rolled up linen pants, somehow knowing there was no place she'd rather be.

Forever my iconic great-grandmother, Granna.

We are fickle creatures.

2011-02-16T17:02:00.001-05:00

We women have, if I am not to lie,
In this love matter, a quaint fantasy;
Look out a thing we may not lightly have,
And after that we'll cry all day and crave.
Forbid a thing, and that thing covet we;
Press hard upon us, then we turn and flee.
Sparingly offer we our goods, when fair;
Great crowds at market for dearer ware,
And what's too common brings but little price;
All this knows every woman who is wise.

~Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales", The Wife of Bath's Tale

Tis' a funny thing about most women: things forbidden to us often have aphrodisiac appeal.

picture by nirrimi

To: B

2011-02-14T21:30:00.001-05:00

Dear B,

Just wanted to say thanks for the pats on the back when we are standing in line at the movies, the grocery store or a concert. They make me feel warm.

Also, thanks for never raising your voice. I didn't think it was possible.

Thanks for being weirder and goofier than I am. I - again - didn't think it was possible. But, you own it and you own it well.

Thanks for telling me I'm beautiful. I believe it when you say it in that tone of voice reserved for those words only. The fact that you are usually simultaneously putting my hair behind my ears makes me melt.

How do you somehow hear the words I don't say out loud? Thanks for asking me what's going on when I refuse to ask myself.

You have the greatest legs. Period.

You have the weirdest taste in clothes. Specifically, outfits that you think match just really don't. And I love you for it.

Thank you for teaching me that silence is not life-threatening. The two of us laying near one another listening to music is just as romantic as a kiss.

For reminding me that "the goal is to forgive, right?" Eventually I'll get there.

You aren't easy, but you're worth it.

Thanks for inspiring me to stay active. Running next to you on the treadmill is fun yet stressful due to the competitive nature residing in both of us. Remember, I ran at 7.5 speed for 6 minutes straight during my 2 and a half mile run. You did not.

Thanks for being so GD great to look at. I just e-mailed a friend about you, telling her I'm so proud to call you mine. She instantly responded with, "please copy and paste that line and send it to him. I've never heard words like that come from you."

And so here I am, letting you know.

Well, not really. You don't read my blog because you say it's mine and mine alone. Thanks for letting me have creative freedom. Maybe I'll whisper these sweet words to you while I drizzle melted chocolate all over body...but probably not.

Happy Valentine's Day, I love you.

a playlist to make you feel.

2011-02-09T15:23:00.007-05:00

All of these are truly precious...

Sol Solis - Moving Mountains
Little Bird - Weepies
Wash Away - Joe Purdy
That Sea, The Gambler - Gregory Alan
White Daisy Passing - Rocky Votalato
Nobody Knows Me - The Weepies
Kathleen - David Grey
Canon - Trace Bundy
You Are the Dark - Joseph Arthur
No Reason to Pretend - Aaron Sprinkle
Marchin' On - OneRepublic
Moth's Wings - Passion Pit
The Kids Don't Stand a Chance - Vampire Weekend
White Blank Page - Mumford and Sons
Set the Fire to the Third Bar - Snow Patrol
Girl in the War - Josh Ritter
Long Time Traveller - The Wailin' Jennys
All I Want is You (live) - Tristan Prettyman
No One's Gonna Love You - Band of Horses
Cosmic Love - Florence & the Machine

photo from nirrimi

younme

2011-02-07T17:36:00.010-05:00

An excited dolphin, your tongue swims with the momentum of the sea
and touches mine
A world of wet love is born in our mouths as we try not to let it escape
into the air
With the touch of your hand on the side of my face,
brushing back the strand of hair I didn’t know had been covering my closed eyelid,
I realize there's something about us that can't be written down.

making moves.

2011-02-07T16:46:00.012-05:00

I've been feeling ridiculously drawn to my creative side lately, often dying to get home and write for hours on end. I started a new private blog on another blog hosting site just to see if I felt more comfortable writing without any audience. I decided I'm going to try my hand at some freelance writing gigs too. Before I do this, I think I will have to make a portfolio of my work so that I can present myself as organized and concise.

I've been throwing the freelance gig idea around for quite some time but haven't gotten anywhere just because I often feel silly that I don't have much documented experience. I mean, I've had articles published while I interned for Philly STYLE Magazine, I've written some copy and official communications at my current job, but I have never been published by a print magazine or an online magazine. There's a theme here...quitting before I even begin. There have been many opportunities for me to put myself out there, but I haven't capitalized on them. Fear.

But there's no better time than the present, right?!?

I have a friend from college whom I love dearly. This friend inspires me in the way that she is always striving to live more, live better, be better, live a life that fulfills her. She's pretty neat. Just a few weeks ago, this college friend informed me that she's now setting her sights on being a news broadcaster and has even begun shooting small clips during snow storms we've had. She's been in contact with a news outlet in Oregon that's interested in what they've seen from her.

She reminds me of the The Avett Brothers song "Head Full of Doubt,"

Decide what to be and go be it.

Seeing her passion regarding this new project made me happy and jealous at the same time. I haven't been able to get the idea of going for it out of my mind since.

So, I think I'm finally ready to be something that makes me feel like I'm useful. I know that writing makes me happy, makes me feel like me, makes me feel like I might have a tiny gift, (a gift that needs a lot of cultivating and work of course) but a gift nonetheless. It's time to see something through til the end when it comes to this stuff. Even if it doesn't go anywhere, at least I can say I tried.

Shit. Now that I've written about it, I actually have to do it. Anybody out there want to hire me to write for them? I'm all yours.

Photo from Nirrimi.

I just couldn't help myself, okay?

2011-02-03T17:46:00.003-05:00

As the light streams in and bounces off the left corner of my desk, I am suddenly wondering why I did it.
With my shortage of money, with my stomach already churning due to the sensitivity of this time of the month,
Why oh why?

Forget the fact that it was delicious. All of it. I had been dreaming about the second part for about a week now, but putting it off
until today.

If I'm being honest,
which I am,
there was a split second, a pinch of time
to re-evaluate my choices.
Once before I turned right into my first stop and again, before I turned left into my second.
But I said, "eh, what the f*ck" to both.
And I did it,
right after one another.

And now,
as I bind presentations,
check my phone in between,
manage my boss' expenses and perform the rest of my menial tasks,
I will no doubt continue
- for at least three hours -
to glance intensely at the four trashcans around my desk area within arms' reach
in case I need to get sick.
Heading to the bathroom in time is questionable.

I should not have eaten two orders of Mexican Sushi Roll & Spicy Tuna Roll followed by a Snack Size McDonald's McFlurry.

It just wasn't necessary.

All we really want is the truth.

2011-01-30T16:57:00.005-05:00

"Yes, we were stupid for disrespecting the limits placed before us; for trying to go everywhere and know everything. Stupid, spoiled, and arrogant. But we were right, too. I was right. How could I do otherwise when the violence of the unsaid things became so great that it kept me awake at night?

All the meat of truth was hidden under a dry surface, and so we tore off the surface with a shout. We wanted to have everything revealed and made articulate, everything, even our greatest embarrassments and lusts."

~ Mary Gaitskill

An author I have yet to read but have discovered from another amazingly witty blog (life is hard.here is someone)

It's just you and me kid.

2011-01-29T01:08:00.003-05:00

Yeah, that's all I have for today.

cab ride

2011-01-21T22:39:00.020-05:00

I don't want to scare anyone and tell them how I really feel
That's what I'm thinking right now
The cab driver with skin the same color as the leather seat I sit on
Speaks French that doesn't sound like French
I only know it is because I picked up on a phrase
Comment s'apelle he says, and I interrupt his conversation to ask if he just said what's your name
No, he says with a smile
And tells me he said what you doing, neglecting the are
For some reason, I can't give up on the idea that I'm right and he's wrong

I feel the smoothness of my leather jacket and the softness of my scarf
I wonder if my hair looks alright

Then remember that glimpse of beauty I saw
When I looked in the mirror in the hall next to the elevator
I remember that beauty and try to hold on to it

When I arrive, I feel my tongue stiffen
Words I want to say are difficult to pronounce
The band is playing so loud and I have to stand so close to my friends when I speak
I hate this because it is uncomfortable
Even though I brushed my teeth thoroughly before I left my apartment
I worry that my mouth smells of cavities and wish for a piece of gum
I only worry about this when I'm in situations like these
Close talking situations where the music is so loud
Loud and not even good
I don't think the singer has any presence
I am attracted to passion and he has little

More things happen after we leave the club
My friend and I decide on pizza
They serve us chunky, fat slices with grease so thick it drips
I am happier here
There is more space
The walls are made of mirrors and everyone looks at themselves while they speak and eat

On the cab ride home there is not much to report
The driver is nice enough to drop me at my car so that I can get a blanket to sleep under when I get inside
I had left it in my car because I brought it to my lover's house
My lover that uses sheets as blankets even in the bitter months

The feelings return
With the sound of my keys unlocking the door home
The ones I'm scared to tell
The ones that ask why I'm here
Is it normal to wonder?
I still compare my inner workings to those I deem as normal
Even though I don't know what normal is
None of us do
It is stupid to even use that word in that context

What's the point?

Broken everything everywhere
Broken people
All over the world
I feel that it's a sick place and it hurts

The other night when the feelings first began
It was before bed
I was listening to my lover breathe the sounds of sleep
And I, awake, began to think
It made me nervous to feel the weight of such questions

Love
That's where the feelings ended
They stopped when confronted with that word
Almost immediately

And so I will repeat it again
Thinking of the warmth that love creates
How it puts what's broken back together again
I, now free, begin to sleep

you say it all by saying nothing at all.

2011-01-21T16:19:00.005-05:00

I truly meant what I said in my last post - a.k.a the letter to my precious blog. I am more addicted than ever to the world of blogging and have been spending a lot of time checking out other pages. I've discovered blogs I've never seen and have added them to my "links" area. This took an inordinate amount of time because I am NOT web savvy and do not understand HTML language easily.

Anyway, I stumbled upon the below prints that concrete & hone y listed on her blog. They're by an artist named Therese Sennerholt. (Notice that I'm adding links now to my posts! Yes, my friends, I have arrived).

These prints made me laugh and smile; they made me want to buy a couple for my bedroom as inspiration; they made me think about a couple people I'd love to buy these for. Wouldn't it be funny if for one day only, we weren't able to speak but were instead given posters to write on and a big, ink-filled Sharpie marker? Naturally, we wouldn't have time to write sentence after sentence to those we wanted to converse with. We'd have to keep it brief. These prints would really come in handy, wouldn't they?

For instance. Say this to the selfish a-hole who whispers sweet nothings to you but acts completely on the contrary:

The person who just, like, never changes:

How perfect!

I seem to be dealing with a tiny pinch of anger lately, I think. I don't do well with it. AKA:

Especially when I can't figure out why it's coming on so strong. Maybe I'm just scared of like, everything. Scared to shut doors, scared to feel happiness, scared to be successful, scared to face things I've been struggling with...and the list goes on. But I should remember:

These prints really say all I wanna say, without my soliloquy-esque style. Keeping it simple goes a long way sometimes. So does keeping my mouth shut. I am looking forward to spending time this weekend with those I only want to buy the nice prints for. I want to enjoy spending time with myself too, and letting my mind rest. I am not as awful as I sometimes let myself believe:

The way we were.

2011-01-20T18:04:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Blog,

I just want to say that after months of trying to figure it out, I have finally found a way dress you again in your original template. I tried being fashionable a few months back and I uploaded the *new* templates that Blogger offered and that was a mistake. None of the new looks did you justice! They just didn't fit. You've now been returned to the way you were when we first began our relationship and I'm more addicted to you than ever.

I'm sorry for putting you through that awkward stage. I know it was tough for you and I feel your pain. My awkward stage involved bucked-teeth and huge glasses but this is not about comparing our struggles. This is about you. In my defense, I was just trying to dress you up, make you look your best. But, you're beautiful just the way you are (were) - before I started messing with you and I know that now.

Please accept my apology.

Adia

aint that the truth.

2011-01-19T16:07:00.000-05:00

"I know you will hate me for saying this but it still hurts. Because it never ends."

"It never ends because you never let go."

just like honey baby, straight from the B

2011-01-13T14:34:00.000-05:00

I always thought myself a Van Morrison fan, despite the fact that I knew only a few of his songs. I always felt I would enjoy any tune that included his ridiculously distinguishable voice.

When I began dating B, my love for Van was challenged. He mentioned that if he were to ever get married, he would want a Van Morrison song to play during his first dance with his wife. I exclaimed that I always thought Into the Mystic would be in the running as my first dance song! I assumed that was the song he was referring to and how fateful that would be! Wrong. He asked me if I knew any of Van's less popular music, to which I sheepishly replied, "no". Then he played me Madame George - a song I played on repeat for 2 months from the mix CD he allowed me to borrow that I still have.

If you read my blog at all, you know that I have quite an obsession for song lyrics and quotes. Naturally, the more I listened to Madame George, the more confused I was by B. This song was about a prostitute that all the men love, but cannot love. "Click, clacking of the high-heeled shoe," Van sings faintly, in describing Madame George's sound as she walks down Cyprus Avenue. "The loves to love, the loves to love, the loves to love, the loves, to love," he murmurs beautifully, after telling the story of a man who loves Madame George but must leave her. This was the song that B wanted played at his wedding!?!

When I spoke to B about the song, he responded with saying he had no idea what the song was about; he just loved the way it sounded. This explanation cast light on the first difference I noticed between B and I. It was unfathomable to me that you could love a song so dearly and not have any idea what the story behind the voice was. B was more interested in the sounds of the instruments, the way Van's voice changed. It didn't matter what he was saying. To each his own, I suppose.

When I discovered Pandora a few months ago, I was thrilled to be able to create my own Van Morrison radio station. I knew I would find new songs to love. And I was right. I found Tupelo Honey and instantly adored it. I couldn't wait to see B after work that day and let him know. He said he knew the song and we listened to it on youtube.com on my phone. More than once. The second time was while we were driving with his teenage cousins to get ice cream at the beach while they played rap music with tons of lyrics that B was embarrassed to hear in front of them. They were loving it. I decided to cheer him up and create a more PG atmosphere by playing Tupelo Honey, to which B smiled, and the kids ignored. They started playing more Nicky Manage rap.

Today I was doing a bit of online browsing on a few fashion sites. I looked at a plethora of dresses, most of which I loved. I stumbled upon a dress called Tupelo Honey dress that I may not have given a second glance to if it hadn't been named after the song. It was a two-toned dress; the top was a sleeveless cream-colored blouse, a black ribbon lined the high-waist and a golden honey colored A-line skirt finished the look. I loved it because I imagined the woman that Van describes in the song wearing it. Then I imagined myself wearing it as my B looked adoringly at me with the song playing in the background. We were walking through fields in Ireland and he watched me as I skipped along the long grass. Oh, how the imagination can get me through the dullest of days.

So far, I'm correct. I do seem to adore any song that includes Van Morrison's ridiculously distinguishable voice. As well as adoring most of the music my B introduces me to. I've shared the video of Tupelo Honey that I played for B's cousins above. Maybe you'll like it more than they did. If not, go listen to Nicky Manage.

Unearthing these roots.

2011-01-11T17:54:00.000-05:00

Roots,
they grow in the most unexpected places.

Once,
I felt that I had cut you from me -
so much so that I didn't feel that you were ever there.

Whimsical,
it felt to float like a leaf on a blustery day
allowing myself to be taken with the wind.

Fearful,
I was not, for quite some time.

Winter,
is that it?
Has it rooted me once again to you?

As the year dropped a zero and added a one,
why did I reminisce?

Love,
I thought about our love.
It took us by surprise,
took us over,
then took us captive.

Soulmates,
you say?

Mirrors,
is more like it.
When I look at you,
I see me,
looking back at me.

Anger,
it surfaces only
when I'm with you.

I wish I knew why.

Roots,
they are still hanging on,
linking us,
aren't they?

Let's dig them up,
push away the dirt and earth,
look at them for what they are,
and move on.

another quote i enjoy.

2011-01-05T13:06:00.000-05:00

"Nothing quite has reality for me till I write it all down--revising and embellishing as I go. I'm always waiting for things to be over so I can get home and commit them to paper."

- Erica Jong

Just, like, hangin' out.

2011-01-05T12:31:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been so excited while eating chocolate or candy that you begin slightly salivating at the mouth until a small drop of saliva drops out onto your desk?

No? Well, I have. Just a second ago.

This happened while I was paying it forward by actually reading other people's blogs and shoveling chocolate covered raisins down the hatch. Another productive day.

In other news, I want to follow up on my little creative writing short-story post from a few days back but I'm not in that type of mood. I'd describe that mood as flowy (which is not a real world, but you get the point) and dark and emotional. Today I'm hungry, have a headache and tired. I wouldn't be able to create anything substantial. I will say that B and I talked it out and I feel much better. And yes, he did reach out first.

Okay...I'm sitting here staring at my nails with specks of plum polish on them and fingers full of red cuts and scabs. I wonder if anyone I come in contact with during the day looks at me and sees my inner turmoil manifesting itself in the form of f*cked up fingers. I'm not going to analyze this thought any further so I'll go to lunch...in my black, knee-high boots.

These boots were made for walkin' and that's just what they'll do, this Wednesday these boots are gonna walk to go find food. (This little rhyme only slightly works if you say it to the beat of the actual song).

Yeah, not sure why I'm even attempting to write today. Good bye.

When alone, do as the loners do.

2011-01-03T13:32:00.000-05:00

Walking to my car, the chilling air tasted faintly of mint. The wind began rustling my cropped hair, jarring it from its perfectly messy style. Thank God for my new winter coat. As I parallel parked my car (perfectly, I might add) I wondered if I would see anyone as I entered. What would I tell them? Would they be able to see the heaviness that I felt all over me? I decided it didn't matter. I needed it.

After being led to my seat, I scanned the menu. "Do you still offer the chili?" I asked.

"Yes, the vegetarian? We do."

"Great, I'll have a bowl please. And a cup of hot chocolate."

As she walked away to place my order, I scanned the restaurant. Couples sat across from me. Old friends caught up over wine and appetizers. The rest of the tables were vacant, and I was in the corner, sitting at a table next to the window; a window that looked out on to Main Street.

Did I really need him? It felt okay - almost empowering - to fly around all day without feeling like it was time to check in with anyone. I returned some clothes he got me for Christmas and bought myself a rose colored vest instead. I took the dog for a walk on a path we'd both never been on and enjoyed the silence of our time together, enjoyed watching her adorable feet pad the hard pavement so delicately.

Why is it that life seemed so serious? I remember years passed, whenI laughed off situations after my then significant other had hurt me. "He doesn't know who he's messing with," I would say to myself, and then vow to find a back-up plan in case my beau continued to disappoint my expectations. But I can't live that way anymore. I don't take commitment lightly. I actually care enough to treat my significant other like a gift I've been given. And when the gift doesn't want to give himself to me at the most inopportune times, well...

Well, then I'm left to fend for myself.

The hot chocolate arrives and I dive into the whipped cream, knowing that I probably have a white mustache along my upper lip. I drink the hot cocoa, knowing it will burn my tongue, jolting me, but making me feel more alive.

Finally, she serves me my chili and I realize I ordered a bowl instead of a cup and thinking of him as I eat only a quarter of what I was given. If he was here, he'd either eat it all for me or ask that we bring it home; not because he's hungry, but because he hates to see food go to waste. He feels bad for it. But he left me without finishing our conversation, and he didn't ask to take me home. He didn't feel bad for me.

I pay my bill and leave abruptly, wondering if we'll speak tonight.

I do know one thing - I will not give in first.

dot.dot.dot.

2010-12-22T16:33:00.000-05:00

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...

2010-12-22T14:03:00.001-05:00

hush.

2010-12-16T12:05:00.000-05:00

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"

Part Deux.

2010-12-14T13:56:00.001-05:00

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.

self-depricating honesty.

2010-12-13T15:16:00.000-05:00

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...

yes, no, maybe?

2010-12-02T19:01:00.001-05:00

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.

the aftermath.

2010-11-25T12:57:00.000-05:00

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 :)

It's about that time...

2010-11-20T19:40:00.001-05:00

something like this.

this.

or THIS.

Yep, I'm really feeling it!

it's where we came from.

2010-11-19T22:05:00.001-05:00

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.

Relationships

2010-11-12T21:59:00.000-05:00

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.

Today, fine.

2010-11-08T12:52:00.000-05:00

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

think about it...

2010-11-04T09:43:00.002-04:00

"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"

miniature keyboards make for half ass blog postings.

2010-11-03T00:15:00.000-04:00

{ 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.

there will always be passions.

2010-10-18T21:34:00.000-04:00

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.

the jewelry box

2010-09-22T22:35:00.000-04:00

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

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

2010-08-19T14:37:00.000-04:00

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.

Returning to a blank page.

2010-08-13T15:22:00.000-04:00

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 :)

Number 14.

2010-07-12T22:02:00.000-04:00

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

Dream of Californication.

2010-07-08T10:25:00.004-04:00

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

2010-06-17T17:56:00.000-04:00

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.

4 Minute Prose

2010-06-03T22:57:00.000-04:00

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

Tumbling

2010-06-01T23:50:00.001-04:00

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.

The trick is not how much pain you feel - but how much joy you feel. Any idiot can feel pain. Life is full of excuses to feel pain, excuses not to live, excuses, excuses, excuses.

Erica Jong

Your sex is on fire.

2010-05-28T00:05:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2010-05-23T00:44:00.000-04:00

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.

Makes me wanna say Oh. My. God.

2010-05-20T00:17:00.001-04:00

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.

But something told me to run.

2010-05-19T23:56:00.001-04:00

I completely relate to this tune by David Grey. In life, we welcome new faces and we say goodbye to old ones. Sometimes we welcome the idea of never having to see a certain face again. I sometimes think of those I've lost touch with, lost love with, lost trust with. Sometimes it was my fault, sometimes theirs. Sometimes it's no one's fault. It just happens.

Time changes people. Sometimes those you were once obsessed with knowing become those you easily forget. Other times there's these people that make clever cameos in your dreams, that you're reminded of when you watch the episode of Sex and the City that you saw for the first time with them, or their exact smile in the guy who makes your morning espresso. It's funny how the mind remembers those you thought you forgot.

I think it's finally time that I allow the one I've unfairly held tight to, slowly dissolve. Excruciating.

Thank God I'm starting my new job next Monday! Exciting. Exhilerating. Frightening. Awesome.

I hate the residual break up bullshit.

2010-05-11T00:26:00.000-04:00

My ex-boyfriend has been waiting for me to get back together with him for almost exactly a year.

It hasn't happened and I can't see it happening. Because I feel as though we've passed the point of no return. It's almost like he bothers me so much just because I can't understand why anyone would wait this long for someone to come around and get back together with them unless they literally were insane. Or really in love. But, honestly, even being "in love" wears off when it's unrequited for almost 365 days straight.

If I'm going to be honest, I suppose I could say I've "led him on" in one way or another. He is constantly available to hang out. Always, actually. Sometimes I miss the natural, comfortable friendship we have and I selfishly ask him to come over or go to the park with my dog and I because I know he will listen to me tell stories that no one else would ever want to listen to. Because most of my stories have no point, I just like to relay them so that they can be released from my overly crowded mind. And he listens.

If you're reading this, you may be thinking, "hmm he sounds like he's kind of awesome and you're an idiot for not taking the plunge and trying again." Sometimes I allow myself to think the same thing, usually when one of my best friends reminds me that she's engaged and that Zeus (we shall call my ex "Zeus" just to keep my attempt for complete anonymity on my blog going strong) is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Because apparently I am a tough cookie and no one in their right minds would want to really love me. But he does, so I should bend over backwards and let him do me in the...Just kidding. Apparently I should throw aside the fact that for some reason, I have lost all physical desire for him, and just give in because he is more devoted to me than anyone I'll ever meet in my life.

Okay, now, here's the point of my writing tonight. He is NOT a perfect creature and he is NOT innocent by any means. In fact, he talks and talks so much about his undying love for me yet he always seems to have a little chicky on the side waiting for him. And that's fine, I don't blame any girl for wanting him. He's a good on paper guy. Successful. Smart. Attractive. Strong/Silent type. I mean, he could be a little taller, but some girls don't care about that.

The problem is, the girl is my property manager in the apartment that I rent. This chick knows every financial issue I've had since I've been laid off and she's the one I have to call and ask, "Is it okay that I'm going to be late again...about 15 days late on rent?" And she answers in her horribly upbeat and high-pitched voice, "Yes, Adia. We will figure it out hunnie, okay?" And she does. She helps me figure it out. She has even tried to get me a job. I was offered a job with the property management company that she works for. Again, my landlord. I declined it.

All the while, she's texting Zeus sweet nothings about how much she misses hanging out with him. And he's telling me to make me jealous. And I'm not jealous. Until I realize, "hey, I thought you told me you two hung out twice?" Who misses hanging out with someone they hung out with twice? No one. So he lied.

No biggie, right? He lied. He doesn't want me to know he's been keeping her nice and warm on that back burner. He is human after all. And he's actually quite afraid of being alone. So am I. Sometimes. Other times I love it. But, he can't stand the fact that he may be completely SINGLE once I stop asking him to go to the park with Maddie and I and once I finally get my ducks in a line and move out of the apartment that is managed by the girl that tries to get me a job and tries not to evict me from my apartment while trying to jump on his...

But I'm pissed. Because he has a history with me that kind of includes a bunch of weird lying. And I can't help but never forget it.

All in all, I shouldn't. Because I have lied too. I have hid things from him, to be exact. Although I don't even think he cares what I do these days, as long as he can still text me and show up at my apartment to see if I'm alone.

This back and forth is stupid. One of us has to say, "LET'S JUST CALL A SPADE A SPADE." You don't really want to be with someone that has refused to be with you for over a year huh? And I don't want to continue living this way. Keeping someone around just for those times that I'm lonely or missing someone who knows the real me.

Everybody breaks up. Everybody moves on.

Everybody has someone on the back burner, slowly heating up until the time is right?

None of this makes sense and there's absolutely no way I can slap a cute conclusion on this to wrap it up. It just is what it is. And I don't know what it is. So someone read this between the lines for me and give me a brief synopsis.

five five oh seven.

2010-05-05T15:56:00.001-04:00

May 5, 2007 was the beginning of a brand new life for me. It was three years ago today. I cannot say the new life has been easy. It hasn't been a breeze. Mostly because I am completely present for life which means I have to deal with whatever comes my way and look it square in the eye with an honest heart. Sometimes I hate doing that.

I will say it's been real as hell though. I have experienced feelings and emotions that I never knew existed inside of me. I have reconnected with a family that I allowed myself to harbor terrible feelings towards for years. I have worked on myself a lot - my laziness, my selfishness, my stubborn as shit nature.

I am a work in progress. Being naturally hard on myself, when I woke up this morning, I thought, "how anti-climatic, you're still a whack-job of a human being." And I am. But I respect myself. I love me more than I ever have. And I truly love others. Not all of them, but some. I have found that my heart, which once felt like it was as cold as ice, has begun to melt. I can cry tears of joy. I had never done that before I began this cute little journey.

Last but not least, I believe there are no coincidences in life for sure. Because I was offered a job today. The official paper-signing begins tomorrow but I was given the handshake of approval from the CEO, who said he wants me to have this job. I hate to say it's in the bag, but I kind of feel like it is. Wow.

I went into the interview today nervous as hell. I imagined myself completely blowing it and saying tons of things that didn't make sense. My imagination sucks. Because none of that happened. The interview was as smooth as a sailboat on the Chesapeake. And I know what that's like because I just experienced it.

"Established on such a footing we became less and less interested in ourselves, our little plans and designs. More and more we became interested in seeing what we could contribute to life. As we felt new power flow in, as we enjoyed peace of mind, as we discovered we could face life successfully, we began to lose our fear of today, tomorrow or the hereafter."

And if ya' don't know, now ya' know.

Dude, I seriously need an i-Phone.

2010-05-03T16:17:00.000-04:00

{Moi taking it all in}

{Picture perfect, isn't it?}

{So we're livin' life like a video}

{Toesies skim the water}

{Our gorgeous sail}

I spent the weekend on a sailboat with some of my favorite people. It was an interesting weekend, I must say. It's been a while since I've spent quality time with these three beauties and it's the first time we've been "away" together since I quit boozing. I found myself feeling uncomfortable for some of the time because the little kid in me occasionally screamed out from inside, "I want to be like you!" to the rest of the group. But my inner child was silenced when it was followed up by the grown-up me that said, "You are who you have always wanted to be, don't ever forget it."

All in all, it was fantastic. My friend's father owns a sailboat and sailed us around the Chesapeake for hours at a time. I seemed to have forgotten about my ghostly pale skin so I came home with a mean sunburn on my leggies but it was worth it. Being on the water with a light breeze, sun streaming on my face and breath-taking views surrounding me was the definition of serene.

The weekend was filled with great conversation, lots of laughs and most of all, tons of inside jokes. The four of us remind me of the Sex & the City crew in the way that we love to create plays on words and out-do each other, seeing who can come up with the funniest phrase. I would love to relay the phrases that we created this weekend but you wouldn't find them funny. You weren't there. Sorry!

I have to say that there was one experience that I will never forget. I decided, after a bit of coaxing, to get up in front of a crowd and sing with a band. I am not a singer. I don't have a good voice. But something came over me and told me that I had nothing to lose. I sang my own version of "Blue-Eyed Girl." I have no idea why. All I can say is that it was one of the most liberating experiences of my life because I felt like I totally said, "F you!" to all my fears and just went for it. It's been a while since I just WENT FOR IT in any sense of the word. In my old age, I have slowly let go of my need for attention and have become a bit more reserved. It felt awesome to let loose and do it dead SOBER at that. My friends have video and I can't wait to upload it!

I love knowing that the three chicks I went away with will be part of my life forever. We may have changed, we may continue to change, but I feel as though all of us have a bond and a respect for each other that will continue.

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a big sailboat? And an i-Phone? The above photos were all taken on one. I am fascinated by how great the quality is!

I'm totally positive.

2010-04-29T22:08:00.001-04:00

I've been interviewing a lot this week which has taken a bit of a toll on me emotionally/mentally. Not to mention my poor appearance. Today I visited my parents after my last interview and my Mom asked me if I had looked in the mirror before I left the house. Apparently I am pale and sickly looking and my suit looked like it had been rolled in a ball before I put it on. Not sure exactly where it all went wrong because I swore when I left the house I looked like a pristine professional.

Anyway, I think I was just emotionally drained and it was written all over my ghostly face.

Good news though - I absolutely loved the last company I visited today. I just felt like the VP and I really jived and the HR woman and I seemed really comfortable with each other. I could see myself there. I won't get into details, as not to get too far ahead of myself, but there was a lot of room for growth at this place and that's what I'm looking for. I like to know I'm not stuck and that if I prove myself, I will be rewarded.

Anyway, I'm super psyched because I'm spending the weekend in St. Michael's with a group of my favorite high school friends. As I've explained before, I graduated from an all-girls school and I can't put into words the bond I formed with those I became close with. One in particular. The other two I feel like I've gotten closer with since we've graduated and I just need this time away. Sometimes a girl just needs her friends and I do not give myself enough time with other women.

I can't wait to gossip, laugh, reminisce and get some sun on this pasty skin. (And then go to my parent's house and show my mother my gorgeous glow). Hopefully upon my return I will have a job offer waiting for me so that I can divulge all details on this precious blog of mine.

Here's to a wonderful weekend coming up. One that I need. I'm such a homebody, I almost feel nervous at the thought of leaving my wretched apartment. How strange.

Babies, Babies Everywhere!

2010-04-23T15:19:00.000-04:00

I'm expecting!

Just kidding. I forgot to pull a fast one on April Fool's Day this year so there's my late joke.

I worked for a few hours today though and for some reason, it seemed to be "take your infant to shop day" at the Republic. Namely, there was a 2 month old who cried and cried the entire time his mother was parousing the sale section but for some reason I enjoyed it. I hate toddler cries/young child cries. They are the equivalent of nails on chalkboard to me. However, an infant's whaling is like music to my ears. I think it's the fact that the sounds are coming from a human who has only been on this earth for months. Can you imagine? Being weeks or months old? Life is so freaking precious and a newborn baby exemplifies just how precious it is.

I found myself feeling extremely maternal as I watched the baby lull himself to sleep with his own whales and listened to his mother speak softly to him in French. I wondered what she was saying but whatever it was, it sounded so much nicer than English words. French is a gorgeous language and I studied it for 8 years but can only say one thing. Oh wait, nevermind. I can't say a thing. I just tried to spell out "my name is" and "what time is it" but totally butchered both. So I studied French for 8 years and learned a big fat nothing. Go me.

Anyway, I shock myself sometimes with how obsessed I am with babies these days. They just fascinate me. Their lives are a blank canvas. No real baggage. Yet. It will for sure come, we all have it. They smell like heaven and they look like angels. They kind of are. Especially ones with the Anne Geddes cheeks.

Yay for babies today. . . I'm such a freak, I know.

Either love me or leave me alone.

2010-04-23T00:06:00.001-04:00

Random updates from the house of Adia & Madeline:

1. I'm running frequently now and lovin' it. Mostly I just like coming home and checking out my bod. A little bouncing around in the running shoes does a butt/legs good! Just kidding, kind of. I find that it clears my mind and helps me fall asleep at night. Clearly I didn't run today, hence the whackadoodle sololiquy below.

2. I'm interviewing for jobs recently. I have kept this to myself and haven't blogged about it because I haven't decided how I feel about selling out on myself. None of the prospective places of employment are offering positions that make me want to cry tears of joy over aka none of them are creative jobs. They're more like sales and executive analyst stuff. Snore. But hey, you can't always get what you want and when you are considering selling all of your belongings on craigslist to pay rent, something's gotta give. Right?

3. I'm behind on my e-mail writing. Specifically, I have one e-mail that's half written and it's recipient is one of my best friends and I can't finish it because I can't decide exactly how I feel and I owe it to him to be honest. But, as described below, I am a stranger to my own feelings these days. If he's reading my blog, I hope he gives me a few days to finish composing myself. He knows how it is, he writes too.

4. Last but not least, reasons for me slacking on my blog include finding out that some uninvited readers are snooping at my words and using them as fuel to add to their fire. This deeply affects and upsets me. This is a public blog, yes. But it's mine and it's a drama-free zone. I mean, I write about a lot of my own personal drama but I never, ever write venomous words at other people (at least not by name). I do sometimes write letters to insects though, but they can't read so they don't count. This is merely my outlet, my life and my thoughts and I like to think I'm rather anonymous and free. Those who choose to read are those who enjoy knowing what I think. I am grateful for them though I question why they are remotely interested in my psycho-babble bullshit. I love my blog though and I don't want any negative, mean eyes on it. So, go away, if you could. Because apparently my blog makes you angry and upset, rather than happy and/or indifferent. And the best advice I could give to myself or to anyone else is to do what makes you happy.

5. I think I'm going to start nannying. That is, if I don't take or I'm not offered any of the executive jobs I'm interviewing for. I just realized that there's a small goldmine waiting to be tapped in Main Line families who need a chick to drive their kids to lacrosse practice. I'm their girl.

Ouchhhhh, the truth bit me and it really hurts.

2010-04-22T23:14:00.000-04:00

Have you ever thought the same thing, feared the same thing, stumbled over the same stone so many times and never realized it until it comes to the straw that broke the camel's back scenario and you're like, "shit, this again? I've had it up to here with this. I am never getting myself in this position again. I am never doing this again." And you close your eyes and repeat your mantra 20 times until you believe it. You will never, ever make that same mistake again.

Oh wait, just kidding. It might be next week, next month, next year or three years later, but you're back to this same scenario again, wondering why you feel deja vu.

In my life, I've done this the most with drinking. Waking up after a blackout night, only being able to open one eye, and feeling the weight of impending doom blanket me with darkness and force. Nursing a hellish hangover all day, looking at my call log/text log and clenching my jaw in embarrassment, forcing myself to apologize for my misdeeds. By mid-afternoon I often made bargains with God, (a God I spent many drunk nights verbally doubting his existence after feeling "enlightened" by the chemicals I was under) asking him to take away the mental/physical torture in return for me promising never to do this again. And I believed I was being honest. Until Wednesday came around, and I was off to the races again. I didn't change because I was incapable of being honest. I was powerless over alcohol.

Anyway, I find myself in this position sometimes lately, 3 years after I put down the sauce. Except now it's different because I can see exactly what I'm doing because I'm finally aware and alive on earth, rather than Adia's Dreamworld (my previous residence of 23 years). I have become, in a sense, more honest. Honesty kind of sucks though, because that means that I can't lie to myself like I used to. For example, I tried telling myself this afternoon, "You couldn't clean the apartment because you were busy all day and what you spent the day doing was more important than cleaning your place." Wrong. I picked up one thing off the bathroom floor today and decided I just couldn't bare to pick up another. I grabbed the keys, the dog, my sneakers and my sunglasses and spent the day outside on Kelly Drive, exploring nature and talking to strangers. I even picked up one of my favorite people and forced her to eat lunch with me, hang with me and chat with me until dinner time. I knew eventually I would go home but I left myself just enough time away from my mess to convince myself that it was too late to start my spring cleaning today so it would have to be put off. I've done this everyday for about a week and a half now. The honest truth is that I just hate to clean. It activates my allergies and it involves hanging clothes on hangers, which makes me want to bash my head into a wall. I. Hate. Cleaning.

But I have to do it, ya know? I can't keep sleeping on the couch because I hate my bedroom so much. I'm a grown up. This is no way to live. And I specifically remember how fabulous it felt the last time I cleaned my place perfectly. I even asked for help and had three friends join in and we made a little party out of it. Now look what I've done. Trashed it, like I do everything else.

I mean, I'd like to get a little deeper here but I'm apprehensive about unleashing the dragon I like to call my personal life. But, everybody likes a good self-sabotaging rant and rave, so here I go.

I cannot, for the life of me, handle myself in a normal, respectful manner when it comes to my personal life. I did not realize until after I put the drink down, how sensitive and attached and real my feelings are. I have been single for .2 seconds basically. I say this because y'all know how it is when you break up with someone. My break up has lasted, in itself, a year. We spent one year together, one year breaking up. No wonder I'm having trouble patching my heart up. The trouble was/is that he is so friggin' devoted to me that even if I stray at all, he knows just how to lure me back in. It begins again as simple friendship, then it gets personal, then he convinces me to try again, I do for a minute, I then freak out because I know it's not what I want, and then I have to mend again, and so does he. Even when I think it's totally donezo, I find myself feeling guilty for moving on and wonder if he's alright. I think in therapy they call this co-dependency. Add this to my list of mental illnesses.

I have enjoyed spending time with some other gentleman callers but let me tell you something about me - I have conveniently chosen to spend time with men who I know, I know, are not going to give me anything great at the end of the day. And ya know what? I allow myself to go there because, guess what? I won't be giving them anything great at the end of the day either. I'm not capable. I don't know how to act normal anymore when it comes to the opposite sex. I'm a freaking wreck.

Now, when I say I'm a wreck, I mean mostly in my head. I'm not going all "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days," on anyway. I guess mostly I'm just indecisive and confused to the extreme. I want someone one minute, the next I want to ignore them. I like what they're saying one day, the next day I read their text/play our conversation over and decide to read between the lines and don't like what I've come up with. I become frightened that I'll fall back into another relationship before I'm ready, so I remain mysterious and allusive. This does nothing for me, the guy usually ends up resenting me and telling me I have issues. Duh, I know. I warned you. Or didn't I? I can't remember half the time.

It comes down to this - I have no idea who I am when it comes to relating to a man these days. Do I keep it casual? Do I want just a physical connection? Do I want a friendship? Do I just want a flirty text conversation to keep me with butterflies in my stomach and a smile on my face that you can't see? I have no idea. I really don't.

I do know that I promised myself that this time, after this break up, I would never allow myself to compromise who I was for someone else, and although I haven't compromised myself for someone else, I think I've compromised myself period, just by entering the dating pool/single world before I was ready. I should give credit where credit's due actually - my last therapist, Linda, what a beautiful woman. She's the one who suggested keeping myself off limits from all men for at least 6 months. That was a year ago when the ex and I first called it quits. If she could only see me now. Linda, I completely ignored your suggestion, but I'm sure you knew I wouldn't. You still got my $60 a session.

I don't know how many times I'm going to tell myself that I'll never do this again before I actually never do this again. What I need is a big sign on my head that reads, "Do not talk to me if you're interested in me. I'm not ready. Even if I say so, I'm not. Even if I tell you it can just be casual, it can't. Even if I say we can just be friends, I don't mean it. It's in your best interest to run, run far, far away. And don't look back, because I have a way of luring you in with my eyes."

If I knew what was good for me I'd keep myself occupied by doing something useful - like clean my fucking apartment.

Think, thank, thunk.

2010-04-16T23:35:00.000-04:00

i know how to live, and not just survive. i consider living an art.

so i know about the existence of art as well, and its extreme importance. i believe love is an art as well. it may be that i see the god and the art in everything. therefore, i know how to be happy.

- Suzanne Finnamore (finnablog.blogspot.com)

I'm reaching for some inspiration tonight and rely most on beautiful words for comfort. There is no substitute for honest writing that doesn't read like anything you've read before. I dig this author (Suzanne Finnamore) and this excerpt is a little piece of one of her posts that I featured on my blog in its entirety back in January. Tonight as I read over all my past blog posts (yes, sometimes I do this. I liken my blog to a patchwork quilt. Each post is another little piece that covers me and keeps me warm when I need it to), and was touched once again by the above ideas.

Okay, and there's one more line I'm going to add.

unhappy people are problematic: you can't take people's suffering away. that's the last thing i know, for now.

Damn.

2010-04-15T23:23:00.000-04:00

“Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.”

~ Erica Jong

Nobody puts baby in the corner (or hiding under the covers).

2010-04-15T14:52:00.000-04:00

Yikes.

I woke up to the sun streaming through the curtains and the smell of spring. A lovely entrance into the day.

Until I checked my cell phone and my e-mails.

They were the bearers of really bad, sad news. So I pulled the sheets over my head and fell asleep until now: 2pm. Disgusting.

When I woke up this second time, I expected the sad pit in my stomach to have dissipated. It didn't. I feel annoyed at the world, at people who disrespect others, at those who make a mountain out of a mole hole, at myself for occasionally adding to the problem instead of the solution.

For me, I have to consciously tell myself to push all the negative BS away and it's such a process. My mind is just naturally overactive. Out of nowhere, I'll begin analyzing a situation that bugs me and then have an internal conversation with myself about it. Before I know it, I'm in full blown anxiety mode.

I've already wasted a precious 5 hours hiding from reality and "sleeping it off". Sleeping what off? The realization that people are fallible? That I'm fallible? That some days are good and others are bad? That this is life?

Grow up, me. Balance yourself out. You're better than this game you play - the hiding game.

Go out and enjoy this lovely Thursday afternoon while it's still light out.

Your love is better than ice cream.

2010-04-14T17:56:00.001-04:00

This song I've attached below pairs well with the delightfully yummy afternoon I had with my friend James today. We traded mix CDs, took a trip to Center City, ate great sushi, scarfed down awful frozen yogurt, checked out a video store so that James could add to his collection of great films, visited some books at Barnes and Nobles, and laughed a lot. The following Sarah McLachlan ditty is one of the tunes I put on the mix I made for him and it evokes images of a sunny afternoon, strolling along city streets...perhaps eating ice-cream rather than artificially flavored frozen yogurt.

PS - How bad do you wanna squeeze the shit out of the picture above? Definition of ADORABLE.

Don't quit your day job.

2010-04-13T22:57:00.001-04:00

Today I screamed at the top of my lungs while on the phone. I haven't actually yelled in quite a long time. I rant and rave on my blog often. I even text some wildly inappropriate texts full of expletives when I'm feeling full of rage. But for some reason, I don't raise my voice.

It was bound to happen though. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Correction. I woke up on the wrong side of the couch. I'm back to sleeping on the long end of my sectional because my bedroom looks atrocious and I can't sleep well in a room that looks like it was ransacked during a burglary.

I then had to work the longest shift I've ever had at the Republic. Boo-hoo. Unemployed me can't bear to work more than 5 hours a day. It wasn't even busy though, so I basically spent 6 hours dancing around to the horrendous music playlist they blast on repeat each day. Then came the straw that broke the camel's back: it was raining cats and dogs and I didn't wear a raincoat. Because my one and only raincoat doesn't even have a hood. I have no idea why I felt it was necessary at all to buy a raincoat without a hood but it was no doubt a vain fashion purchase. Damn you impractical fashion.

On my way home from work (as I blasted the HEAT), I began to analyze my mood. Why was I so god damned pissed off? Nothing horrendous happened. Nothing actually happened at all, which was part of the problem. But not all of it. What was it then? I had to dig deeper.

What I came up with was a case of unknown fear. Otherwise known as anticipation. Also known as the realization that I may be on my way to working again. Be careful what you wish for, because this week I've received three invitations to interview for three different positions. Somehow, someway, after 5 months of receiving no feedback at all on my resume, a purchasing group, an insurance firm and an office supply corporation are interested in me.

Truth be told, I half feel like I'm totally selling out on myself for even considering these traveling saleswoman-like positions. But I am a true believer in the "everything happens for a reason" philosophy. Nobody else has responded to my resume, yet three sales/corporate firms have asked to meet me within a 3 day span. Maybe this is where I'm going to have to be for a bit.

I'm getting ahead of myself per usual. I've only had one interview so far. It went well, I think. I put on a spiffy suit, wore mascara and even painted my nails a nice muted color. I think I represented myself well but always feel ridiculously uncomfortable and small when they ask that horribly intimidating question: "So, give us a little bit of background on your work experience and what makes you unique."

Hmm..let's see. What makes me unique? I can really only see out of one of my eyes but you can't tell. I'm left handed but kick with my right leg. I hate scary movies to the point where I have to "ear muff" myself and close my eyes when I see a preview for a horror flick on TV. I used to drink a lot but I don't drink anymore. At all. I'm single, 26 and don't even feel like I want to mingle. Ever again. I have a tendency to pick my fingernail skin and cuticles to the point where I bleed all over myself without knowing it. I'm afraid of the dark. I like to be heard so I will wait patiently for my turn to speak and force you to listen to me. My college nickname was "Hurricane". I am not a morning person and I'm not a night person either. I'm a mid-day kinda gal so don't expect me to be cool until 2 pm. I am ridiculously competitive so I guess you could say that you might want me to work for you because I won't sleep at night until I figure out how to be the best at a task at hand. Unless it involves ordering the office supplies. I always forget who needs what and won't ever request the right color pens. I'm much better in writing but my Dad says I'm better in person. I wear nice looking clothes so you will never notice what a secret slob I am - unless you somehow get a look at the inside of my car. And I smile even when I'm upset at work because I learned a long time ago to never let your boss see you cry.

I wish I actually said that in response to their question but I played it safe and spoke of my work experience, my personality type and my competitive edge. I told them I'm a people person and about my past successes. What I've learned and where I see myself going. I could have done a lot better but hey, I'm rusty. It's been a while since I've been in the good ole' suit, sitting at the good ole' conference table. Ugh...

So, I have some fears and anxiety brewing deep down about a future job. That's natural, right? All I wanted to do tonight was take a shower and relax on the couch, fall asleep to some Sex and the City. Instead I picked a fight with my ex, who then called me ofcourse. And boy did he set me up good. I verbally wrecked him with a barrage of F-bombs and then the inevitable hang up. He done messed with the wrong girl on the wrong night because he said the wrong thing.

Worst part is, I actually feel much better about life now. I'm not even that sorry. Here are some additions to my list of unique traits: Unafraid to verbally attack and run. Has the tendency to be a horrible human being. Unable to speak on the phone about personal matters when the couch and Sex and the City is waiting. Will say things she doesn't mean if buttons are pushed. Yikes.

Faith & Heart

2010-04-13T00:44:00.001-04:00

Tangerines are hanging heavy, glowing marigolden hues

Teasing a half-pale moon

And I feel a pull to the blue-velvet dark and stars.

Pink Magnolia, blushing and coy

Savors the sun while she shines

You've got yours and I've got mine

Together we glide through the blue-velvet dark and stars

All it takes is a little faith, and a lot of heart

Back and forth we ply these oars

They move in time and get entwined

Green with joy then gray with sorrow

Ripened fruit that falls tomorrow

Filling us with brilliance

Branches are bare with a pulse underneath

Flowering slowly inside

Your hands are warm and my body is wide

To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark and stars

All it takes is a little faith and a lot of heart

Sweetheart

- Weepies, "Stars"

...I love stumbling upon an old mix CD filled with songs you remember getting you through really tough times. My friend MK made this for me only a few months after we had met because she was a music enthusiast just like me and we loved to trade tunes. This song's words always made me feel hopeful.

Gone Baby Gone.

2010-04-07T23:31:00.001-04:00

Maddie and I took a trip to the dog park a few days ago. We actually take trips to the dog park everyday, but this particular trip inspired me.

The park is located next to the local high school. Truth be told, the "dog park" is actually the baseball field, but since no one ever plays baseball at this high school (reasons unknown), the local dog owners have claimed it as theirs. I love this park because it's not overly crowded with pit-bulls and other aggressive dogs that scare both Mad and I. On this special day, Mad and I actually had the park to ourselves. She had freedom to zip around like the cheetah she thinks she is.

I was bored.

Until I heard the distinct sound of a gunshot in the background.

I wasn't scared, nor did I duck for cover. Because this gunshot sound is very familiar to me. When I say familiar, I mean that the hair on my forearms instantly stood and I felt goose bumps forming. I knew what I would find when I followed the sound.

A track meet.

I don't talk about it often because it causes unresolved feelings of regret and remorse to fester within my gut...I was, at one time, a very talented track runner. As early as I can remember, I was running. I totally relate to Forrest Gump in this way. My uncle played football at Villanova University and during half time, the children were allowed to play on the field. It was my genius idea to challenge all the boys to a race so that I could kick ass every time. My father tells this story often and beams with pride as he recollects upon watching his oldest daughter smoke a bunch of adolescent boys when she was 10 years old. My parents made me join a local track team within weeks of discovering my first (and probably only) talent: I was fast. Even when I wasn't racing, I was running. It made more sense to me to run to a destination than to walk to it. Who wants to walk to the bus stop? Run there and be the first in line, right? That was the way my mind worked, and still does. My family and I took a nice family trip to Hershey Park a few weeks back. I sprinted in front of the pack to get a good place in line for the roller coasters. Because I have to. And I'm not even fast anymore.

Back to my story.

There I was, 10 years old, practicing daily with a team of very gifted African American runners, and a few of the local kids from my area. I was deemed a sprinter because I had lots of speed and not so much endurance. I was fine with that. The long distance runners looked like they were on their death beds at the end of practice, while I was flying high and fancy-free when my parents came to pick me up at six.

I won nearly every race I ran in for years, made it to the Junior Olympics and won the 100-meter dash in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia Track Meet when I was in 8th grade. This accomplishment has stayed with me since it happened; there is only one other time in my life I felt as proud as I did that day. In high school, I ran in the Penn Relays every year, and broke lots of records for the 100 meter and 200 meter dash. This helped me win a scholarship to Saint Joseph's University for track. I was recruited! I'll never forget how proud this made my parents feel. My two younger siblings have gone on to play Division I sports as well and I feel that the only positive example I've left for them is that I started the trend. And that I am the definition of hilarious and they should all try to be as funny as I.

I wish I could say I went on to win tons of college accolades, or at least went on to become a Captain of the team because of my determination. But it wouldn't be true. I realized early on that I was no longer big-woman-on-campus when I reached college level track, even though I pushed myself harder than I thought was humanly possible during every practice. For a while I didn't mind because I ran with heart and I ran because it made me feel like I knew who I was. But eventually the truth got to me: I would not be winning a damn thing as a sprinter at Saint Joseph's University.

This became okay after a while because I was simultaneously learning how very talented I was at drinking. Social events, boys and the fast life became very important to me. So important, in fact, that I began to lose my love for running altogether. I stopped trying in practice even. There was a senior on my team who was a Captain, but not because she was a top runner on our team. She was a Captain because she had heart. She had drive. She had a look in her eyes when she practiced that gives me chills even writing about. No matter what, she did not give up. She finished close to last place in many meets. In four years of college track, I'm not sure she won any important races at all. But she pushed us so hard in practice and took a particular liking to me because I was a runner with heart as well. When she watched me run, she screamed my name in a pitch that sparked something inside of me every time; I instantly began running faster. But even she could not bring me around after I had begun partying like it was 1999. I was done with track. I quit halfway through my 3rd year of college.

I went on a downward spiral for a couple years following the ending of my track career. For a while I thought maybe I would never, ever put on a pair of running shoes again. I was so secretly ashamed of how easily I gave up that one gift that brought me so much joy as a child.

But it's become increasingly more important to make peace with that regret of mine. To try again. To spark that love all over.

What I miss most about track is the way a rubber track smells on a hot day. The sound of running spikes tip-toeing on gravel. The smell of Icy Hot. (How strange, I know). The announcement of my race over the loud speaker. The mental preparation for a race. The deep breaths of focus that put me in the zone. The ineffable anticipation I feel as I wait in line for my race to start. The process by which a race begins:

"Runners, to your marks." (I slowly walk to the line, swing my arms back and forth, shake the nerves out of my legs and send a quick prayer up. I then place my arms along the starting line, my one knee in front of the first step on the starting block, my other one stretched out on the second step of the starting block. I wait).

"Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet." (I am now no longer myself, but a bullet. A bullet that knows it's being cocked in a gun and it's about to be rocketed).

"BANG." (Gun shot).

And I'm off. I can't feel, I can't see, I can't do a damn thing but run as fast as I can.

And sometimes I win. Sometimes I lose. If I lose, I'm usually upset unless I beat my own personal best time. If I beat myself, then I won.

I think running will always be a part of me. It's funny, even figuratively, I'm a runner. I can run away from a situation that scares me at the drop of a hat. Like a committed relationship, for example. Or someone challenging me to change. I'm off.

It's only recently that I've decided I'm ready to put the running shoes on again and get out there on the open road. I won't race, I won't sprint like I used to. That's okay. I just need to get my runner's legs back and try again because there are very few things in life that still give me goose bumps.

Tis' True

2010-04-05T14:27:00.000-04:00

“We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.”

~ E.E. Cummings

From me to you.

2010-04-05T13:39:00.000-04:00

Most days I wake up envisioning a bullet-point list of self-focused items.

What is the latest possible minute I can sleep until before I feel ashamed of my laziness?
How many times did my Dad call me before dawn this morning?
Do I have enough cash on me for a Grande Black Cherry Mocha?
Does Maddie really need to go out this morning? I don't feel like it.
Must begin envisioning outfits to wear today that make me look like less of the slob that I am.
Will I actually apply to new jobs today?
Must open Gmail and cross fingers that a prospective employer liked my resume and wants me to start working....tomorrow.
Must check Facebook to check if I've received any comments. Any attention at all boosts my dwindling early morning confidence. Same goes for early morning text messages.

However, today that's not the case. I woke up forgetting about my sorry excuse for existence and instead began thinking about a few special people in my life. I awoke in a strange state - the kind where you're still half way in between dreaming and awake, and you're convinced that the person you're dreaming about may be laying right next to you. In my case, I was dreaming about my first love. Not in a romantic sense, just a familiar one, and thus began my mental list of wondering about others.

I wonder how Gentle Giant is doing. I hope the new relationship he's begun is fulfilling and makes him happy. He deserves to be happy even though he doesn't think he does. I hope he stops drinking that crazy herbal drink he's addicted to; he's better than that.
Do I need to keep in touch with KvF more often when we're not together? I remember my early days of the program. I needed others to reach out to me very often, because I refused to reach out first. I would love to show her more support and stop forgetting about it.
Francis...there's too much to say about Francis. Francis is so deeply immersed in the darkness that light seems to scare her. I wish I could steal her away from the harsh reality of Manhattan and have her live with me. Not to say that I live much better here, but her loneliness is palpable when I speak to her. We're not getting any younger, I wonder when she will want more for herself. Must call her ASAP.
Dad, what the heck happened here? We never talk about "it" anymore. You are the reason I'm where I am today. Without you, I would not have found it. Let's get dinner tonight. (This was quickly shot down. The NCAA Championship game is on tonight. How could I forget?)
Broseph, I'm proud of you. You're growing into a man and a respectable one at that. Remember our talk in the car - we've got strength. Make this final year at school one you will never forget. Don't look back and regret like I did.
Maddie, it's time for some more training. You're bored, I can tell. I think I'll teach you to roll over today. If you'll actually listen. I miss your long hair. Love, Mom
Zeus, stop loving me so much. You're too good to me and I legit can't handle it.
Entire Family - we didn't fight once over Easter weekend. I'll never forget it. Most of you bother the sh*t out of me, but I am beginning to realize how freaking important you are to me. When I have no one else and nowhere else, I have Marlin Drive.

I love lots of people in my life, truly. I just hardly ever sit down and think about them before I obsess over me. Today was different, however. I cherish you all a lot and if you read my blog, hope you enjoy my little personal messages about you.

That's all for today kids. My allergies are GD killing me but I'm going to get out in the sun and enjoy nature. I want a new job so bad, but it's days like this that I will not be able to take advantage of while I'm in an office environment all day, so I better use this time wisely.

I will begin by blasting Beatles tunes throughout my apartment at very high volume, cleaning the disgusting kitchen, brushing Mad's hair and then taking a walk through the park.

Who's coming with me? (I'll give $10 to anyone who caught that movie reference).

Adia, 1. Mama Roach, 0.

2010-04-01T18:34:00.000-04:00

I have an announcement to make.

Mama Roach has passed.

Because I ended her with my shoe at 4am. (This is the one and only time I am happy about being an insomniac. I keep the same hours as the insects of the home. This is something to be proud of).

Let's take a moment of silence to reflect upon the glorious life she led - scurrying away from me along the corners of the bathroom floor for months. Hiding inside my cabinets. Running at the speed of light behind my toilet. She was a fast little (by little I mean big) thing.

I'm sorry to report that she met her demise in the form of my gold strappy sandal, but somebody had to do it.

I'm well aware that there's usually a family of little roach buggers hiding in the rafters. They will come out and haunt me because I've killed their Queen. But I'm good and ready for them.

By the way, if you've noticed the photo accompanying this post, let me just say this: how bad do you feel for the guy who was forced to model that costume? A picture of him in sunglasses and a brown, humungous cockroach costume is now plastered all over the internet. Poor him.