Grody. Yeah, I said Grody.

Wow this weather sucks.

That's right. I'm blaming my melancholy on the weather. Melancholic. I was a colicky baby. I have a cowlick in my hair.

It has nothing to do with the NEW YEAR. Things are actually better now than they were last year at this time, so it can't be that. Well, partially, it's the neverending "transition" that I seem to be constantly and consistently going through. But it ain't necessarily a bad thing. It's a good thing. Just uncomfortable at times.

And DAMN does this weather suck.

I feel like a mouth-breathing doorman commenting on the weather repeatedly, but I *did* just come back from sunny southern California, where the skies were blue and cloudless. So the contrast is a wee bit noticeable. Not that I would want to be in that sunny southern California on a permanent basis. Or even a temporarily permanent basis. Because as I've already established...

The family brings the CRAZY.

Man, even my kitties seem melancholy. Edgar keeps curling up in the tightest little orange fuzzball imaginable. And Willa, the typical little brat, has been whining for like an hour.

I gotta' get the hell out of here.

Not The Fun Kind of Pool

Oy. I have the duty of the jury.

I postponed it once and I have the option of postponing it twice more, but I think I'm just going to go this time.

I've been before. In fact, I served on a jury. I served on a jury for a criminal trial and we found him guilty. And I found it extremely uncomfortable.

I mean, besides having to listen to days of boring testimony, fighting the whole time to keep my eyelids propped open without the use of my hands or toothpicks...besides being locked in a room with eleven other people who were, frankly, not the sharpest of tacks...besides the crappy little sandwiches and the wasted days and the blah blah blah... I had a moral crisis!

Okay, yes the guy was guilty. He was CLEARLY guilty. Ridiculously so. And we did (finally) find him guilty. I do feel confident that I gave the "right" verdict. But I didn't want that responsibility! I felt so strongly that it just wasn't my place.

Which, of course, is exactly wrong. Because it IS my place. Because I'm a peer. I'm a random sampling of the population and according to our glorious constitution or whatever, it is ALL of our places to serve as jurists from time to time.

Well, all I say to that is: I did it once and I ain't doing it again.

But I am going to go. It's the DAY after another IIN weekend, which means three early days in a row. There go my Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. And possibly longer... But I figured I'm not seeing clients yet, so it won't cut into my paycheck. Plus, even though it'll be tiring to have several days like that in a row, I'm sure we'll be given a ton more books and CDs and the like during our next weekend, so sitting on my butt in a jury pool waiting room will give me plenty of time to get some of that work done.

That is if I don't get picked.

Oh hell. I'm willing to fake mental illness here if it'll keep me from being picked.

And whoever's thinking "who needs to fake?" SHADDUP!

Ease Has Been Lost In This Alternate Reality

My parents' house is an alternate reality. The laws of nature don't work here the way you'd think they were supposed to. Linear reasoning is an impossibility and I have long since given up trying to understand what's going on half the time.

In some ways, I'm gaining new perspective and even respect for the places in which my parents are stuck. How can they be anywhere other than where they are what with everything going on? Of course they're fighting. Of course their moods switch faster than you can blink. Of course they're eating themselves into comas. Of course they hold grudges and give silent treatments and roll their eyes and yell about the inconsequential. Their lives have been turned UPSIDE DOWN over the last seven months and it seems like there isn't going to be any letting up soon. So they yell when they're sad and they cry when they're mad and they glare when all they want is a hug.

I'm seeing more how all of their various issues are conspiring together to keep them where they are and make it impossible for them to grow and change. Their house sucks the energy like a whirlpool drain. I find myself grazing in the kitchen, wolfing down mango slices even though I'm not hungry. I catch myself starting to engage in arguments and discussions that really don't make any sense. Even my physical energy is in the toilet. I was sitting on the floor today and I just didn't want to get up. I was amazed I was able to run on the treadmill the first couple of days I was here. Where did I get that energy and motivation? Cuz it ain't there now! (I realize, thank god, the "stuckness" isn't mine and I'm very sure I'll find my drive again once I'm back on my own turf.)

Surprisingly, I am feeling a level of compassion that had been difficult for me to access of late. Yes, despite all the criticisms above these lines and below this post, I'm feeling warmer towards my parents. I think I "get it" more. Rather than feeling distanced and disgusted in amazement at their behavior; I'm finding tolerance is coming easier. There's a little less judgment in my bones. But I still don't like it. I don't think I ever will. And I don't have to, I suppose. Of course I wish things were different, but...

I hope hope hope they heal soon. My folks aren't always like this. They haven't always been this way. Or maybe they have and I've just become more aware of it through my own growth. I don't know. But there is an ease that is missing and I'd like it to be found again.

Hexmas

Again again again.

Christmas fucked my shit up.

That's okay though. It happens. Shit happens. Family happens. Screaming babies happens. Perfectionist parents happens. Strange relatives happens.

Seriously. I'm a little pissed off, a little disappointed. But I'm really feeling okay with things.

Is that the wine typing?

That's okay too.

Merry merry.

Howzit in Hell-A

I have been on my feet ALL FREAKING DAY. Cooking. Cooking all day for Christmas. Oh fun and joy.

The time here with my folks has been up and down and up and down and bouncing like a trampoline. It's amazing how quickly a perfectly benign conversation can turn into antagonism and tension.

Example #1:

Talking to my dad this morning about my forays into holistic nutrition and the like. This is a topic over which we usually connect quite well, owing to his business history. But he's in the vitamin field, and I'm encouraging people to get their nutrition out of food. Somehow, some-bloody-how, he starts pressing me and asking "Well, people don't really want to change their diet and lifestyle and they want a quick fix like a vitamin, so how do you reach them?" And I say that those people won't be the ones coming to me for help. He keeps pressing and saying "Well, but you can only reach so many people, so what do you do then?" And I tell him that there are over 1,100 people in my school this year alone. If we each talk to only one person, that's another 1,100 people who are thinking about nutrition in a new way. He comes back with "But that's only a small percentage of the population. People don't want to change their lifestyles." Blah blah. He kept going on. Anyway. So what was the deal there? And he didn't understand why I might get angry with what he was saying. Gee, dad. You basically spent ten minutes arguing to me that what I'm doing isn't worthwhile because I can't possibly change the world. I HAD ALREADY SAID EARLIER that I AGREED that in certain cases, vitamins were totally necessary and that most people DIDN'T get everything they needed out of food alone. I had also said that the people who aren't willing to make any diet and lifestyle changes probably aren't going to be the ones starting on a serious vitamin regimen either. But he kept coming at me asking how do I expect to reach the people that don't want to change? I'm not going to reach enough people through counseling, Thanks, dad. Thanks for that amazing support.

Example #2:

Talking to my mom this afternoon. We were actually having kind of a great conversation. I was able to share things with her that were going on in my life. I was opening up about some stuff that I had been holding back on and I was even considering broaching some really deep subjects. Until she turned the conversation to rehashing an argument we had several weeks earlier. She started telling me how self-centered and self-involved I am. How she doesn't understand it and doesn't like it. How she sees that my friendships change over the years and I don't seem to keep friends very long (Never mind that one of my friends has been since KINDERGARTEN, another is from ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, and others are several years long. Never mind THAT of course.). She said that I obviously don't value my relationships and don't treasure or hold dear my friendships. She loves her friends and wants to keep them around. She also said that the older people get, the more they get set in their ways and the more naturally self-centered they become and do I ever worry that I'm never going to be able to have a long term relationship because I will be so self-involved that I won't be able to let anyone into my life. Holy shit. I mean, COME ON. At that point, I said that I am no longer going to sit there while she calls me cold and hard and self-centered. She left to go take a shower and when she came back, it was like NOTHING HAD EVER HAPPENED.

Seriously. Seriously. Again. Seriously.

So I'm an iceberg, huh? A lonely island iceberg. Nice.

Wish me a merry miracle Christmas, please. I've managed to avoid fights and arguments and engaging and getting sucked in. I'm doing a damn good job, I think. I've even had some fun moments. But I ate some dark chocolate twice today, nibbled too much on my own cooking, and tomorrow I have to deal with 9 more family members. WISH ME FUCKING LUCK!!!!!

What My Tea Told Me

Mmm. I love Yogi Tea.

Tonight my tea bag said:

The beauty in you is your spirit. The strength in you is your endurance. The intelligence in you is your vastness.

Lovely.

Oh, So THAT's What's Going On...

So.

The last two and a half to three weeks I've been a leeeetle nutso. Dealing with a lot of anxiety, some obsessive behaviors, old feelings. Basically coming up against yucky stuff that I couldn't quite explain. And I've been really hard on myself about it.

But my therapist reminded me today that I'm going to be seeing my mother in a few days. And that this is what it always looks like before I see my mother. And I always have stuff come up the two weeks after I see my mother too.

Doh.

How is it that I always forget that?!? I mean, this has been the pattern for how many years now? And each time it happens, I wonder where the hell it came from and what the hell is going on and all that junk.

Not to say I'm stuck in a neverending repeating pattern over here. It is always a bit better each time. The more and more aware I become, the easier it is to find the underlying stuff that's really going on.

I'm glad she reminded me, though. Because some of the pulls make sooo much more sense now. I'm regressing! Doi. I'm flying back to L.A. to go visit my mommy and daddy. Of course I'm regressing!

Knowing what's going on and forgiving myself for it makes it possible to address is and MOVE THE FUCK ON!!

Yay!

Zip It

It has been brought to my attention that my blog might be perhaps too transparent a view into the inner sanctum of my mind. One friend described it as "depressing". Someone mentioned it was "raw".

I've never been any good at mystery.

But the constructive criticisms were not intimating that I'm losing it or anything. Rather, that I'm much more sane and together than the posts seem to convey (and yes, I'm defending myself here for some reason). My writings (according to one person) appear to communicate that I'm reaching out for someone to save me or something. Perhaps I am reaching out, in a way, but not for a savior.

I don't know what I'm writing this thing for, really. It's as if I'm leaving my diary open on my coffee table. I've wondered since my very first post what my purpose is in putting this stuff online. Do I want people to read it? Which people exactly? And why? Is this catharsis? Or is this an unhealthy exercise altogether?

Any opinions, thoughts, commentary, or musings would be much appreciated.

Click here to send me an email.

So Many Thingies

I feel like I'm journaling all the time now. About everything. I always had this much going on in my head...I think I just chose to, if not exactly ignore it, then slightly deny it. But I kept busy.

These days I am woefully unproductive. So much energy is going into processing processing processing that I'm finding it difficult to produce. That leaves me feeling a bit shitty. My days seem to amount to very little. I've become great at getting "outside the house" stuff done--but not so much the things I really need to do.

I need to clean - recaulk my tub - refinish my marble - send various emails - write Xmas cards - make Xmas presents - paint - excavate my closet - pay bills - organize - print business cards - do other "businessy" things - keep up with FAM (not short for family) - stop eating - research - Bollocks. Loads of things. Fuck it.

Oh great. It's a full moon. Thaaaaat's great. What am I doing? Someone called me a loser last night. To my face. Well, over the phone. I think she meant it in a joking way; but she has no idea how it struck home.

Unrelated to that, but also to something else someone else did last night...shit. I can't get into details. Let me put it this way: Don't dick with me. Don't pretend to reach out and make contact if you're doing it just for appearances. Half-hearted bullshit is ridiculous and I DON'T APPRECIATE IT. Ass. What are you avoiding? I'll call you on your bullshit, you know. I expect the same in return, but don't think I'll let you get away with fooling yourself--or god forbid--me. I'm smarter than the average bear.

More Death Thoughts. Fun!

How could my grandparents NOT attend their own son's funeral? I just found out from my FRIEND last night (not my family) that my grandparents didn't go to my uncle's service. At first I thought that perhaps they didn't make the trip up to North Carolina because they just flew into Florida on Wednesday. But no. Apparently they decided long ago that they didn't think they could handle it. WTF?!?

Maybe that's being a little judgmental considering I too did not attend the service. We all grieve in our ways blahdy blah. But DAMN. Their own son?!?! I'm kind of horrified.

Who would show up to my funeral? God, that is depressing. Excluding family members, I think, barring travel expenses, perhaps 30. Maybe. Not all of those people are friends--ha! If only I had a loving crowd like that. But I think they'd show up if I fucking DIED.

I think, though, that it would take people a while to notice I died. If I croaked in my apartment tonight, I think it would take a week before anyone noticed. Well, maybe not this particular week, what with the holidays and everything, I am very much expected certain places. But in normal life, I think it would take a week. My parents would think I was just busy and wasn't returning calls. My appointments would wonder what the fuck happened, but I don't think they'd come banging on my door. My kitties are totally going to eat my eyeballs.

Poem? Dinner and a Hope

So easily derailed am I.
Or rather--how much do I rely on the external for fulfillment.
When will I be enough?
When will the silence be soothing?
When will alone not be lonely?
I'm in awe of anyone who doesn't own a television.
Or doesn't use the internet.
They must be such productive people.
Or awash in so much connection
so many fulfilling encounters
that they need the home-grown space to breathe.
How is it that I make friends everywhere
and keep them nowhere.
Is it really Friday? Am I really here again?
It has been four days and three quarters
that I've managed to just be with things
with every thing
Every Fucking Thing that has arisen.
But I haven't been alone a single evening
Except tonight.
So let's just see how that goes--shall we?

These thoughts were written while treating myself to dinner at my favorite (organic live vegan kosher) restaurant. Beside me sat a woman who drank only her own bottled water and insisted on eating with plastic cutlery, which she first washed in a glass. Strangely, she didn't seem bothered by either the bowl her soup was served in or her date eating with the metal utensils and dipping into the same food as she.

Germaphobes kind of astound me. If only they realized how filthy life really is. Do they have any idea how many spiders they will unknowingly ingest in their lifetimes? It's insane to think we can sterilize and antibacterialize the planet. It does us more harm than good you OCDers.

And another topic shift: Some people really show up. Some people really don't. Some people kind of sort of look like they show up--but really they're absent. Some people manage to show up without even being there. I hope one day it won't matter to me one shit whether any of them do anything because I won't need them at all. They'll be icing on the cake, but the cake will be moist enough to do without.

Shoot me Up

I have hyperhidrosis. Oh no! I'm dying!

No.

Hyperhidrosis means that I have overactive sweat glands, specifically in my hands and feet. They DRIP sweat. It's gross. And it makes it really hard to type or write (the paper gets smudgy and wrinkled) or do yoga or shake hands or lots of those things.

And there aren't any good treatments! There are topical thingies that are basically super duper anti-perspirents. They don't work so well for me. Or there's these elctro-shock tanks that you can put your hands and feet in for like an hour a day and it sends electric currents through you and might help. But it's really painful and time consuming. Or there's this surgery where they cut a nerve in your neck. But that results in compensatory sweating, which means that suddenly your ASS sweats like crazy. Thaaaaaat's not cool.

There is one other treatment, and that's the one I do. Every six months or so, I get over 150 injections in the palms of my hands and bottoms of my feet of BOTOX. It's not 100% effective, it's really expensive, it doesn't last much longer than the six months, it's toxic, and it HURTS LIKE HELL.

I mean...think of it. THINK of it. When have you had shots IN THE PALMS OF YOUR HANDS? The worst, though, are the ones on the bottom of my big toe. Owwww.

So why all this shpiel? I'm doing it again Monday at 2 PM. Anyone wanna' come watch?

Tripping on my own Empathy

Being a sensitive person is a good thing. I didn't used to think so. I used to think that being sensitive was a weakness. I felt it made me too vulnerable. It didn't serve me.

Or so I thought.

Then I grew to appreciate my sensitivity. I saw it as an asset. I noticed things and felt things that other people didn't necessarily experience and that made me a more complete human being.

But where that sensitivity still trips me up is when I am too susceptible to the emotional states of those around me and subsequently take their feelings on as my own. If the person I'm with is anxious, I start to feel their anxiety. If they're sad, I get melancholy. If they're elated...well, thank god, because then I'm thrilled!

So again I guess it's a question of balance. I want to maintain my ability to be sensitive to others' emotional states...but I want to stay with my own experience independent of theirs. How do I care about them without caring too much?

It's ME and it's ALWAYS ME

Why must I be one person all the time? Someone wondered to me last night if that was the real me, or if the person he knew at other times was the real me. They're both the real me. It's all the real me. I may have different aspects to my personality and I may sometimes play with varying personas...but they're all me. I live a more integrated life than most, I've found...and it's ALL ME.

Because you know what? I can't stand it when I'm not being "me". When I feel anything other than my true self, it makes me ill. It makes me hate strangers because I'm really hating myself. So I don't do it. I'm me, goddamnit. I'm always me. It's always me. The silly, sarcastic laughing me is me. The solemn, reserved withdrawn me is me. The thoughtful kind generous me is me. The selfish bratty cruel me is me. The wounded little girl is me. The strong powerful woman is me. The needy weak one is me. The isolating powerhouse is me. The dork is me. The partyer is me. I'm me with red hair or blonde. I'm me when I was 230 pounds or when I'm a size 6. It's fucking ME.

So let ME be.

R.I.P. Dennis Butler

My uncle passed away last night. I realized shortly afterwards that much of the anxiety, tension and other emotions I had been feeling regarding the whole situation were really more about my mother and I than my uncle and myself. It's a heavy burden to be the one called upon to maintain my mother's health, happiness, and sanity.

I'm not sure yet if I'm going to go to the service. I've never had much need for funerals. I achieve closure my own way, and have rarely needed the ritual of a service to do so. Right now I'm leaning towards not attending.

Some of my friends have been wonderful. They know who they are. Thank you.

Disconnected Classy Thoughts

A Few Random Moments/Thoughts/Analyses From This Weekend's IIN...So Far:

If I hear "before IIN I was a [fill in typical boring-ass sob story here] but now I'm gloriously happy blah blah" one more freaking time I'm going to choke a bitch. I'm up to my eyeballs in tester-moan-ials. They're shoving IIN-esteem up our noses. I'm not snorting no more ya crazies! Koolade Koolade Koolade.

When was the last time you were in a "class" that continually applauded the professor? Forced fucking standing ovations. I swear some people leap to their feet so automatically. It's like seeing a Broadway show these days. The audiences stand and clap like little monkeys for just about any bloody performance. Where's the discretion people?!?

Not to therapize people--but okay, I do it all the time anyway--so, whatever. BUT. I feel so strongly how so many of my fellow students are motivated by fear and ANXIETY. The mad dash towards Super Student is insane! People have posted hundreds of posts on the Online Community, or the "OC" as it's called in IIN parlance. Some students have done dozens of Health History Consultations. One lady did 110. One Hundred and Ten. Seriously. Each of mine have taken about an hour. I've done 15. I can't imagine the time commitment necessary to complete 110 QUALITY HHs. But anyway.... There's this one chick who sits smack dab center front row EVERY time and volunteers to speak in the microphone EVERY time. Far too many chickies cheer like rabid football fans for anything anyone says. They're grade grubbing gold star junkies. Except we don't get grades. All of this triggers my own competitive instincts and brings up my anxious kindergartner who wants to do everything right and be teachers little pet. It's icky. And because it triggers personal shit for me, I'm less able to just not care and to simply let these people be. Rather, it bothers me and I want them to stop stop stop it. I want someone to admonish them for their crazy over-enthusiasm and obsessive behavior; not PRAISE it.

Isn't it interesting how so often exercises intended to increase positive thinking and build self-esteem seem to actually enforce the opposite of what their intentions are? "These exercises are so simple! If you do these 'right' you'll change your life and everything will be perfect. Oh...you did it and things are still difficult? Well, you must be doing it wrong. You FAILED them. You're not putting your whole self into it. You're not dedicated. You're obviously not destined to succeed."

ON THE PLUS SIDE:

I had lunch today with three awesome chicks.
This weekend held more solid information and less hype than last weekend.
I liked the people I ended up sitting near.
I got great seats yesterday and today.
Joshua made a point of affirming that we're all working our own program and reassuring the class that we needn't compare our involvement with others'. Additionally, he said that per all the complaints on the OC, they won't be doing the massive peer counselor testimonials or the Fast Track hard sell next year. That was pretty cool.

There's lots more that I've been thinking about and lots more I need to journal about but my brain is mushy and I need to go to Duane Reade before it gets so late that my butt permanently welds to the couch.

Counting Days Again

I fucked up.

Day Zero.

Presented Without Commentary

• My ex's dad died yesterday and I'm going to the viewing tomorrow. I've never seen a dead body in person before.
• A woman at the energy workshop tonight was so fucking fidgety and annoying I visualized her head popping off like a giant zit.
• My cellphone is practically glued to my hands because I'm waiting to hear about my uncle "any minute now".
• A most amazing friend stayed with me to help me get through the night of death calls.
• I did something very unhealthy this morning.
• I got another replacement iPod today and this one works (yay!) and the guy helping me was lots of fun.
• For the first time practically EVER, I forgot my pack of multi-colored pens today. I haven't been a day without them almost since I got them. A couple are running low on ink. I use the pink one disproportionately often.
• I did something somewhat unhealthy an hour ago.
• H&M had a really awesome black scarf that was super cheap. It's cozy and I want to hug it.
• I feel squishy and fuzzy right now and I keep spacing out.

No analysis.

Fucker Mother

Passive aggressive mothers are DEADLY.

It is absolutely impossible to argue with someone who resorts to behavior even a five-year-old would be embarrassed to display. Refusing to engage only makes them more furious.

"Them", "someone"...fuck theoretics. My mother pissed me the hell OFF today. I'm still relatively stewing some seven and a half hours later. As much as I've learned to disengage, the woman can still get under my skin.

And she wonders why I'm NOT looking forward to coming "home" for Christmas? Gee...can't imagine why.

She brings the crazy.

Contrary to Popular Opinion...I Don't Eat Babies

This is me doing something completely out of character.

It's amazing what men with tattoos and lip rings can convince me to do. One even convinced me to volunteer Saturday with Creative Arts Workshops, which brings visual and performing arts to kids in East Harlem. Yup. I spent a Saturday working with inner city youths.

Anyone that knows me will find that surprising. Cuz kids? Not. My. Thing.

Here's the deal: It's not that I don't like kids. I do, to a certain extent. And it's not like I don't know how to relate to them or deal with them or that I'm scared of them or whatever whatever whatever. I'm juuuuuust not enamored. I like them, generally, in small doses. Small doses where I can have brief, fun little interactions and then HAND THEM BACK TO THEIR PARENTS very quickly...before they get cranky. And that's just with well-adjusted suburbanite children. Throw in the underlying issues inherent in a group of "at risk" kids? The vying for attention? The behavioral issues? The sheer cultural divide? Um. YIKES.

And I don't get that glowing, joyous feeling from kidlets, either. You know those people. They're the folks that just LOVE children and find them adorable and precious and God's gift and blahdy blah. The ones who squeal at babies in strollers and squat down to talk to toddlers before addressing the parents. I am not one of those.

I'm not sure from whence the disdain sprang. I think it coincided with when my mother started pressuring me to have babies. She wants to be a grandma so bad she fucking OOZES it. Last Christmas, she said to me (in all seriousness!!):

Honey, if you get to be 35 and you still aren't married and you don't have any children yet...will you PLEASE consider freezing some of your eggs?

I told her to get the hell out of my ovaries. You see this abdomen? It's got a biiiig red circle with a LINE through it.

But back to volunteering...

It was definitely an interesting day. I really was fascinated by the behavior of the kids, even if I didn't exactly like it. I found myself very curious to know where some of their behavior was rooted. Why did one little girl insist repeatedly that she was a boy? Why did one little boy suddenly go from laughing and hanging all over me to crying and refusing to make eye contact? Why did another older boy act out so badly to drive me away, and then once he succeeded, try to draw me back in by showing off his artwork?

I was so impressed that the guy who convinced me to do this actually DOES this all the time. On a regular basis. All year 'round. And LOVES it. It takes a very special person to find this kind of frustrating, demanding, exhausting work rewarding.

And as much as I kept and keep saying "this isn't ME"... Well, earlier I was recounting my experience to a friend and I found myself actually getting excited by the retelling. So I guess that means I was a *little* into it. Oy.

But, mom--this still doesn't mean grandbabies are coming ANYTIME soon.

Lookie What I Made!!!

Ooooh, such a good day and such a good night. I'm diggin' December 1st.

Tonight at the New Moon Ceremony at the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors (I know, I know, I'm a New Age Hippie Dippie PUNK), we had such an amazing creative meditative experience. The drawing above is what came to me after a guided visualization meditation on future self. I would LOVE someone to turn this into a fantastical blue-hued tattoo.

Below is what I wrote after a long (25 minute) silent meditation on unity. It ain't my best work, but it somewhat expresses part of a vision I had.

Hands cover my body.

Some support. Two grip my upper thighs--I feel strong fingers press into my flesh. Not so hard that I fear spotty bruising; but hard enough that there is no mistaking their presence. These are the hands of an older woman.

Other supportive hands hold the back of my neck. Firmly, they cradle me so that holding my head is no great effort. They prevent me from straining and so I am free to look forward without pain.

Hands of tougher love are pushing me along. A gentle pressure on my lower back is a motherly fatherly prodding into life.

My shoulders, too, are subject to this force. For once I do not desire to resist being shoved from the nest...I've far outgrown it.

Atop my head rests a hand of assurance. A calming flow of chi enters my crown and suffuses my body with a warm golden glow. This is not an earthly hand.

Nor is the hand over my heart of this world. That radiant hand also ignores the assigned chakra hues; instead imparting a red warmth into my chest. I can't help but sigh.

The hands on the tops of my thighs caress my skin. They are loving hands--both sexual and neutral. They make me tingle and make me smile.

Tickling my upper arms are more hands in motion. The gentle excitation of my flesh is such a pleasurable feeling. I'm so glad they want to touch me.

Baby hands. Old hands. Young hands. Male hands. Female hands. Craggy, smooth, bony, plump.

I never knew they were there.

And I hope they never leave.

Ahhhh. I have to say it again, especially since life's been a little difficult of late: I loved loved loved today.

And, of course, once again as always...I cried throughout the meditations. It isn't about being sad...it's about tapping into an energy so huge that I can't possibly contain it and it just comes leaking out my eyeballs.

And I love that too.

Oopsie?

I'm thinking it might not be the wisest of ideas to post some of my deepest innermost neuroses and musings in a public forum, especially one that connects to my MySpace page. A realization such as this might be self-evident to most people.

I am not most people. I am an idiot.

I think esoteric, tangential ponderings might be safe. But anything connected to specific events perhaps should be avoided. Cuz I could really fuck some shit up.

Stage Sickness

Ugh. Experimental theater.

Again I say ugh.

I went to a friend's show tonight. It was a little piece of CRAP mounted on the lower east side. That kind of thing makes me glad to not be involved in theater at the moment. Good god I am so sick of seeing BAD theater. I can't even remember the last time I saw a good show.

I'm so not into theater right now. Was I ever, really? I was into doing it, just not so much watching it. It's like when I played piano. My favorite to play was classical; but I've always hated listening to classical music. And singing? Loved singing showtunes; but hated llistening to them. As a teenager I loved writing poetry. Never liked reading it.

What's up with that divide? Is it a common phenomenon? Common phenomenon. That's fun to say.

Now, when it comes to health and counseling stuff...I like doing it, I like reading about it, I like researching it, I like talking about it, I like the people involved in it.

Integration, I think, is what's happening here. And it's way cool.

It's Time to Let Go

My uncle is dying. Any day now.

I've been saying those words for the last six months now.

He's dying of smoking induced cancer. It started with emphysema and graduated to cancer. Now it's riddling his body and has insinuated itself into his brain. About eight months ago, he was given about two months left to live. I like to say that he's past his expiration date.

It is so unbelievably taxing and draining to have someone constantly on the brink of death. Imagine forever having that tickling nose like you're about to sneeze--but you can't. Imagine being right up against that moment when you're about to come--but never achieving full release. Imagine hearing Shave and a Haircut, but never the Two Bits.

Simplistic, corny and inappropriate metaphors. I'm trying to convey the stress of this edge and I'm doing a piss-poor job.

I'm not even close to my uncle. If this were my mother was was taking so very long to finally let go? I can only imagine that drawn-out pain.

With my distance, though. I feel no guilt in knowing that it is time for him to LET GO. He needs to release from life and in turn release his loved ones from being shackled to his never-ending ever-impending death.

I do, however, feel guilt with my anger. I'm angry at him for still holding on. I'm angry at him for refusing to pass on. I'm angry at him for valuing his life of no remaining quality enough to drain the quality from the lives of those he is leaving behind.

At first, I chided myself for thinking that way. It isn't very generous, loving or light-filled.

Maybe it isn't the blissed-out super spiritual tack. But it's real and it's valid. I'm not ignoring or denying the anger, even if I'm not entirely comfortable with it. Anger at the dead or dying is not the most socially sanctioned of emotions, but it's more common than people like to admit.

And it's even more common than that.

Signally Confused

There are really a limited number of ways you can meet a new dating prospect. Of course there are millions of permutations…there are so many different ways two people’s paths can cross. But all of them can pretty much fit into two basic categories:

• Someone you already know
• Someone entirely new

Someone you already know might be a friend of a friend…you’ve run into them at parties a couple of times; or maybe you’ve even hung out once or twice. You kind of “know” them, even if the dating aspect is a new facet of the interaction.

Someone entirely new is just that. Maybe you met online, maybe they asked for your number after talking with you for twenty minutes at a random bar. Whatever the circumstance, for you they have NO CONTEXT.

And herein, for me, lies the problem.

When it is someone entirely new, I HAVE NO CONTEXT! I don’t know what their personality is like; I don’t know how they are with other people or how they are around other girls. I don’t know if they’re always that way, or if just with me. I don’t know if they’re a poseur or for real. I don’t know if they’re a superstar or a superdork.

Sure, sure. I know I should only rely on my own instincts and fairly give them every chance and analyze the situation with an open mind and blank slate. Yadda yadda. Ew. I just wrote yadda yadda. I’ll try never to do that again.

Anyway. My issue isn’t so much with whether or not I figure out if they’re a loser or not. I just don’t know what to do about reading the body language.

I went out with this new guy last night. Second night we’d met, first night we’d gone out. So far, I totally dig him. Intelligent, creative, complex, well-rounded, funny, cute (fuck cute, he’s hot!), warm, blah blah. Good things. A couple hours into the evening, he kissed me. And damn was it a nice kiss. Absolutely lovely, as a matter of fact. So throughout the rest of the evening, there was lots more kissing. Lots.

But it wasn’t that lusty, urgent, “I must have your panties in a bunch on my bedroom floor in the next twenty minutes” kind of kissing. It was passionate, yes, but it was also warm and tender and gentle. And it wasn’t just kissing, it was the arm around my waist, and the leaning into me and the cuddling while listening to a band play. Basically, if an objective observer had seen the body language between us, they would have thought we’d been going out much longer than just a first date.

THIS IS THE KIND OF BEHAVIOR THAT CONFUSES THE HELL OUT OF ME.

A big objective part of me says to just take it for what it was…nothing more than the enjoyment of bodies and closeness and all that jazz. But the primal, basic part of my brain feels that sort of body language, revels in it, but wants to know WHAT is this guy’s agenda?

Is he always like this with girls? Is he one of those super flirty super affectionate guys that leads women on not with his words, but with his actions? Or is he forthright? Perhaps he was truly feeling that kind of closeness. Was I the “pretend girlfriend” of the evening, hardly to hear from him again? Or maybe he is genuinely interested.

I’m not ACTUALLY stressing about this like the post makes it seem. But I was left wondering a bit after last night. It's strange...I'd know better where we stood if we'd just fucked. It's that sweet, sensitive stuff that I've never quite gotten a handle on.

Tricky thing, dating. Hell, getting to know ANYONE completely new can be uncomfortable. You never know quite where you stand for awhile. That tenuousness is so disconcerting.

All that being said…GREAT fucking weekend. Seriously.

Luck? Timing? Planetary Alignment?

When it rains, it pours.

Wowee.

The Starving Child Was Awakened

The last weekend workshop I took part in was a workshop on closure. something we all need and seldom get in the way we truly desire. At the time of the workshop, I had JUST broken up with my last boyfriend. So I wrote this closure letter to him--of course never meant to be mailed...simply an exercise.

Most of the content is no longer relevant, but there's one phrase I keep revisiting, because it wasn't so much about him, but more about my own repeating patterns. Anyway. Here's the whole thang:

Tim-

How surprisingly difficult it is for me to call you my "ex-boyfriend". Not that you were my boyfriend for such a long amount of time that now the added prefix is a hiccup in my speech...but that I never really had a definition for what we were, so how do I define what we now are?

There was nothing in our coming together that was completely whole--it was always lacking (Clyde's word, that, the "lack"). And now, in a way, it is still the same partiality, the same lack, that exists. But I do need a precise definition, I think, because the limbo is killing me.

We can't have lovely days anymore. We can't have evenings where we trick ourselves into feeling that a beautiful relationship still is there. Because then when we have the conflict and the ugly arguments, the contrast is for me too great. It is jarring and painful and confusing. It is unhealthy and it makes me behave unhealthily.

You are a good person. You are not toxic. But the way we are interacting right now is. Still--how hard is it to rip off that bandaid? Neither one of us wants to do it, but once again I'm finding myself the one whose shoulders that burden falls upon.

I'm a self-sufficient person. As are you. We've both spent so much time in our lives alone and needing no partner. So when we came together, we reveled in that luxury of "ally" perhaps a bit too deeply. Like a starving child, we gulped the feast down far too quickly--and so quickly we were sick.

Now we've got to go it alone once again. And what should be familiar and easy is somehow a challenge neither one of us expected. For me, to suddenly be "without", to have lost my ally, to feel the distance widen and the connection vanish--it has been so very painful.

We've talked about how sad this all is, how we wish it could be different. And we know that it can't be. We've talked about how we have no regrets and how the love still exists even if the reality doesn't work. We've talked about needing the other still in our lives. I do feel that way and I also know that it just isn't good. I cannot be with you and not be with you. I will be able to--but not now. It's wreaking havoc on my body and my mind.

I have no idea what else to say. I feel that it has all been said--in some cases talked to death--and all that's left is now to cope with and tolerate the messy aftermath.

So. Obviously in the intervening couple of months since I wrote this letter, the circumstances have greatly changed. The situation no longer pains me like it did. I have in fact seen him several times without any reverberating emotions. That in itself is a little sad, as it always is when love dies. But it feels wonderful to have let go of something that was very broken. I knew before he and I even started that it wasn't going to last; but I was curious enough to want to find out where it would go. I never expected actual feelings to be stirred!

But the bit that I keep going back to is the part about being a starving child and subsequently overindulging. Not in any literal sense, although my past behaviors mimic that as well, but more so in the energetic frame. It's as if once I get a little taste of something I discover I need or even simply desire, I am bent to go overboard. I meet someone who sparks my interest and I suddenly want to be near them all the time. And that's not just in the romantic realm. I get friend crushes, too. I'll meet some chick I think is just amazing, and I suddenly want to be her BFF. And am hurt when I am most understandably not!

It ain't logical. It feels veeeery young. I know some of the sources, but I'm still digging to find the real root. In the meantime I seek to cope with the feelings that come up in a healthy way, and to continue prodding so that the pattern can eventually fade into nothing.

Balancing Out My Last Post

Stuff I love:

• I have lots of free new music on my iPod, a majority of which I actually like and quite a few I seriously dig.
• My new haircut and color makes me feel groovy even when I'm dressed like a schlub.
• I'm thinner than when I graduated high school and I'm stronger and in better shape than I've been in my whole life.
• My fuzzy warm kitties let me smush my hand in their fur to fall asleep.
• Doing health history consultations with people who really give over into the process is fulfilling and educational.
• Listening to punk rock on my headphones while shopping in Bloomingdale's while wearing a coat from Target makes me feel sneaky.
• Walking everywhere feels amazing.
• Surprises from friends; even though extraordinarily rare, are extraordinarily appreciated.
• It's fantastic being sore from a kick-ass workout; but not so sore that I can't work out again tomorrow.
• My own cooking is damn good.
• I finally have some new pants.
• Whenever I shop alone, I always meet friendly strangers.
• Healthy men freaking rock and they move my soul.
• Supportive women are a tremendous comfort.
• Earth Matters and Cafe Pick Me Up are rad places to do IIN homework or write in my journal.
• Free Wi Fi is awesome.

See? I CAN write a positive post.

So There.

In Being Seen, There Is Care

The last 10 to 15 minutes or so of my yoga class consist of laying in the corpse pose in silent meditation. At the start of this final pose, my yoga instructor, J., chants. It's the most amazing sound

His voice vibrates and resonates on an auditory plane that cuts right to my inner energy. It's as if I'm an infant in my crib and my daddy is crooning a lullaby; I'm a woman in my lover's embrace and he's singing me to sleep; I'm pure spirit in a cloud-like nest and the universe is cradling me in its giant arms.

And after that...silence.

While the spiritual/physical connection is always wonderful, today I wasn't quite as "in" it as usual, which is why I think the following affected me as it did. During the silence, I heard people talking out in the lobby. I heard a man's voice, and I had a moment of panic. I thought, for a second, that J. had walked out and left me and my classmate alone. Suddenly I felt abandoned.

It only took a matter of seconds to realize that J. was indeed still in the room with us; but that fleeting moment of panic was enough to set my wheels spinning.

What deep fear did that moment tap into?

What does it mean to be seen? To be watched over? To be validated? To be protected?

What does it mean for someone to care?

As an only child, now grown into an single adult woman living alone in a big bad city...I've become quite used to solitude. I'm familiar with entertaining myself, mothering myself, disciplining myself, playing with myself--the basic gamut. But it's all easier when someone cares.

For Rob Brezsny to care to have us write down our most painful issues so that he could take them home, pray over them, and burn them...that moved me to tears.

For J. to care to stay in the room with us in our silence, holding the energy of the space to keep us safe...I need that.

For Samantha to care to call me because she hadn't heard from me in a few days and was concerned because "that wasn't like" me...it made me feel loved.

It would be nice to be self-contained enough so that I wouldn't care if others cared. I wish I could be that blase. But I'm not a good liar and my face never succeeds in concealing my true emotions. I CARE. I need people to care about me.

Earlier I indulged myself in a little pity party: nobody made sure I had Thanksgiving plans..Nobody wonders what I'm doing this weekend..Nobody is curious what I'm doing right now. Blah angsty blah trite blah poor fucking blah me.

I tried to type that crap in earlier, but I couldn't do it. Well, obviously I could cuz it's THERE. But I couldn't leave it sans self-referrential context because it was just too fucking LAME. I'm sure that in reality, there are indeed people out there who care. Not just my mother, but real live other people who aren't obligated to give a crap just because we share the same DNA. Sometimes though, especially when the days get shorter and colder and the season steals people away, it can be easy to forget.

The holidays fucking suck.

And it ain't even December yet.

Lisa -- I tried to write a positive post. But shit is up right now and although I can act, I can't pretend.

Take a Look

Recognize yourself. Take a look.

Okay, everything externally is unfamiliar. Okay, the interactions, the patterns, the structure, the style, the LIFE is unfamiliar.

But look in the cosmic mirror.

See that bubbling silver surface?

It wants to show you something. It wants to help you say hello to yourself. It's there for you.

Lean into it embrace it kiss it lick it make love to it worship it.

Fuck yourself with tenderness.

Viciously self-love.

(Un)Healthy

Sometimes even those of us who are so actively striving to be the healthiest we can be,

Those of us who work towards assisting others in achieving balanced health,

We who desire to free everyone from fucked up food relationships and

Damn it.

Sometimes I still do fucked up shit to myself.

I can try and make it seem poetic and enlightened and acceptable as part of the learning process.

But, damn it.

It's.

Fucked.

Up.

Shock my Body

Lately, my sexual drive has been, um, highly active.

Not that I'm getting any extra action. But I'm feelin' the fire.

I think it's because I'm exercising more than ever, I'm thinner than ever, and I'm practicing yoga, which is linking my spirit with my body in a way I've never before explored.

I'm connecting the soul to the corporeal. The upshot is I'm freaking horny!

Okay, I really hate that word.

I'm sexually charged.

Like a frigging light bulb. I'm hormonally electric.

Zip zap.

Shhhh. Sleepy time now. DAMMIT.

My brain won't shut up.

It's 2:18 in the morning. I'm so tired my eyeballs feel swollen. So why aren't I asleep?

MY BRAIN WON'T SHUT UP.

I hate when this happens.

I'm an asshole

I was such an asshole.

Backstory:

Long time ago I dated this guy--um, "Red"--for a little while. He continually led me on, which made me feel like shit and prodded me into unhealthy behaviors like late-night stuffing (the kind mentioned in my "Bye-Bye Mercury" post). During that period, another friend--he'll be "Frank"--was a sounding board for all the drama. He helped me through the tears and offered wonderful advice and guidance. Even though Frank never met Red, he hated him.

Meanwhile--about a year later--Red and I are now friends. I don't desire him any more in a romantic way AT ALL. But of course because I no longer want him, he wants me a little. Keeps trying "things", ya know? Typical. And so easily deflectable.

But I was an asshole.

Last night I was an asshole for two reasons. One I've owned up to and apologized for. The other...well...I guess I'm not done being a jerk.

The One Where I Later Behaved Like A Grown-Up and Took Responsibility:
Frank and Red met last night for the very first time. Big party, not a private little affair or something. I don't know what the hell compelled me, but I told Red that Frank hated him. WTF is up with that high school bullshit? After beating myself up a little I realized that the immature dig arose because a small part of me is still harboring some pain and resentment because of Red's long-ago behavior. Clear and partially understandable. So I called Red and apologized. At first he didn't understand why I thought I was an asshole. But after a little explanation he completely got it. I hope acknowledging and apologizing was the right thing to do and wasn't just a self-centered catharsis.

The Second Reason I Was An Asshole:
I'm leading him on. I have NO interest in this man anymore. But I flirt. I touch his arm when we talk and I let him put his arms around my waist when he's standing beside me. I laugh and speak in a bubbly manner. I sweetly deflect his advances with just the right amount of sultry eye contact to keep him reaching for more. Granted, I *really* don't think he's emotionally affected by the "lead-on" like I was back in the day when the tables were turned.

However.

It ain't right.

I try to live an integrated, ethical life. So I gots to stop. Sure sure...harmless flirtation can be all well and good. But this feels icky. I don't want to feel icky. And I know I'm just doing this because he has connections and other accessories that I may want in the future.

A bit assholic am I.

Pseudo Paradox Contempt

So I've been told I'm living in the "pseudo".

I think this living in the pseudo might be related to my issue with "contempt".

Which in turn, of course, is all about the confusion between love and pity.

All of which is tied to my lingering borderline thinking.

And attachments.

Fun and games and party tricks.

The dance of re-creation. I've seen it become a repetitious tragedy for some. At least I haven't worn a gutter of a track lap just yet.

But this awareness of contempt thing is funny. It reminds me of when I was very close to a friend who was an active AA participant (one of the now many I know) and she taught me how to take inventory. All day long I was writing down my F.E.A.R.s (False Evidence Appearing Real). It astounded me how much of my behavior and thought patterns were motivated by these fears. And now--how much is contempt? How is this useful for me?

Well, it does coddle the ego--if the sole source of ego is external comparison and affirmation. Which is BAD. It soothes, I suppose. But on a childish level.

Really, though, an ideology of contempt doesn't serve. It's borne of and feeds the borderline pattern: If I'm good, you're bad. If you're good, I'm bad. Black 'n' White.

But! Here's a kicker--so I'm thinking borderline and I'm addicted to contempt. Okay...then how is it--How is it--that I'm also (and I am) LIVING IN THE PSEUDO.

The wishy-washy. Leaving too many "options" open. Afraid to take a stand. Not being clear. Not being clear with other people. Not being clear in what I want. Not being clear with myself.

Paradox paradox la la la la paradox.

Bye-Bye Mercury

Ever have one of those nights that leaves you reeling, yet you're still not entirely sure why?

Without going into too much detail...

Last night began on a precarious note. I was fighting a sore throat (I won, by the way, and despite the lack of sleep woke up having beaten the cold that was trying to grip me.) and I was very tired. Two conditions that are sure to put me in an emotionally vulnerable state.

Then some stuff happened.

Ha!

Okay a little more. That friend I fooled around with before; we began to fool around again. Third time now. And then he stopped it. That hurt. But we talked--a lot--and after much thought today I think it would be best for our friendship if we didn't fool around anymore. Screwing up a good connection just for the sake of, well, screwing? Bleah. This conclusion I reached after meditating deeply about something else he said later on in our difficult conversation. He said:

You don't want to fuck. You don't want the dirty nasty hard fuck that we've been playing around at. Maybe you did once, but now you want to be held. You want your hair stroked. You want to be hugged and reassured and told you're all right.

That hurt so much. Partially because it's true. Partially because someone else once said the exact same thing to me under extremely similar circumstances. Except that guy said it after we'd already fucked. Then I was celibate for a year.

It also felt like a rejection, even if it (a) wasn't and (b) is emotionally better for me if we do cut the foolin'.

I was angry, too. How dare he assume he knows what I want or need? How dare he make me vulnerable and see me cry? How dare he be right?

Can't I want both, though? Can't I want the loving, gentle touch and the rough and raunchy? Can't I want to be held and stroked and manhandled? And if I'm not getting one (the love I desire) why not get the other?

After he left around 2 AM, an old OLD ugly behavior reared its head. I stuffed. I ate a bowl of pomegranate seeds, a plate of sweet potato and kohlrabi, and a huge handful of pecans. I felt like shit. On the plus side, I didn't purge, so that's a shift.

Yeah, I know. Really healthy for a health-counselor-to-be, yes? At least it wasn't Ben & Jerry's.

I woke up feeling trainwrecked. So today I'm left wondering was that a bad evening or a good evening? (I'm leaning towards good.) Was it painful or deep? (Both.) Was it friendship builder or a friendship destroyer? (I hope and am pretty sure it's the former, not the latter.) Was it healthy or toxic? (Let's hope healthy.) Necessary or dramatic? (Probably a little of both.)

Ack. Categorizations are impossible and useless.

Fucking Mercury in retrograde. Planetary pull is a bitch.

An Oracle of Positivity

If you haven't picked up Rob Brezsny's Pronoia or Televisionary Oracle or at least checked out his astrology at Free Will Astrology...then you're MISSING OUT!!!

Tonight I was blessed to see Rob speak/perform/transmit goodwill at the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors in NY.

Well, that was the kick in the chakra I needed to get me out of the funk. He's such a gift. Empowering and sacred and profane and connected and singular and just fucking incredible.

Yeah. I drank this Koolaid.

And better for it.

Inception of Reconnection

I've done a few health histories for my studies at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition. Those haven't necessarily sparked my fire very much. However, in getting people to do the histories with me, I've had the opportunity to talk a bit about why I'm studying health and nutrition and all that jazz.

And that does get my nipples hard. (To quote a holistic health counselor I know.)

Thank the universe I'm starting to find again why I'm doing what I'm doing. Because I forgot there for awhile and was mired in a bit of angsty frustration. That, coupled with my unrelated recent bout of depression...

Oy.

Is this the rounding of a corner? That would be loverly.

Free to a Good Home: Extra Demons

Even though I realize these feelings are temporary, as all emotions are, it's difficult to not act from a fatalistic worldview right now.

How is it that my attitude or focus or mood can change so dramatically so quickly and seemingly without impetus?

I'm finding it very difficult to resist being self-destructive right now. I'm thinking about food constantly. I'm eating too much, even if what I'm eating isn't "bad". Seriously, how bad can a little extra polenta or a few too many olives be? Of course, there was that vegan cookie yesterday...

I'm also thinking about alcohol. Not that I have EVER had a problem, but I don't like drinking out of need to feel better, as it seldom works and is inherently not the best of ideas.

But worst--I'm thinking about Vicodin. I have a couple hundred in my medicine cabinet--party favors from back surgery--and I RARELY use them. Hence having so many left over. But I've been thinking about them.

They do take the pain away, you know?

See, this is what shocks me. That a mere couple of weeks ago--or even a week!--I could be elated and glorious. I was filled with a boundless energy of positive emotion. And now I'm thinking of drugging myself???

Demons, anyone? Apparently I have more than my fair share.

It's a bad day

I'm feeling unimportant
invisible
forgettable
regrettable
disposable
unwanted
usual and
dull.

I wonder if my voice is being heard. It feels like a mouthful of foam.

I'm not a bright and shining star.
I don't know who I am or where I'm going or what I want anymore.

I'm out of sight and out of mind and even out of sight when seen.

But most important I'm unimportant. In the same way that we're all unimportant. I'm amazing in the same way we're all amazing. I'm boring in the same way we're all boring. I'm incredible the same way you are. I'm interchangeable.

Ack

Too. Much. Going on right now. To write. Proper. Post.

Ack.

A Good Problem to Have?

I have been invited to become part of an already well established holistic health company. To start off with, I would be the client care specialist, with the opportunity to become one of their team of counselors after more training within the company.

Becoming a part of this organization would severely curtail my own ability to start a private business. However, it also offers a rare possibility to become a part of something that could become huge. I know that many other people are clamoring for this position that is being offered to me, all of them already graduates of IIN. But I don't know if it is what I want.

One argument in favor of joining this company is that it is SERIOUSLY hard to start your own successful business. My father did it. He built a multi-national publicly traded empire from the extra room in our condo. It took ALL his time and energy. He is totally type "A" self-starter. I am extremely organized, abundantly creative, and fiercely independant. But I'm also lazy and I hate the "entrepreneurial" side of business. One of the reasons I turned my back on the acting world (at least for the time being) is that I hated having to constantly promote myself. It was like being on a never-ending job interview. I fear that the procuring clients aspect and marketing aspect of starting my own business will be too daunting to me, even though i want the freedom and flexibility to be beholden to no one.

This is a limited time opportunity. I need to take advantage of it now. I've been assured that if I have special side projects, I would be free to pursue them. If I choose to build a client base that is not at all in conflict with their client base, I could see clients outside of their practice. I would be supported in building and leading workshops. This could be a golden freaking opportunity. I wonder if it is only my own fears of the unknown that is holding me back. Am I afraid of success?

I know that, however well intentioned people are, and however well crafted Joshua's methods for business building are, it is really really hard to make it on your own. It is extremely difficult to build a successful business, especially if one is doing it all by themselves. Would I be well advised to take advantage of what is being offered to me?

I know nobody would be able to give me 'THE ANSWER'. I know I can only come to that decision for myself. But I would greatly appreciate any input or advice.

Comp Me

It's one thing to hear a compliment. It's another to hear it, take it in, believe it, and make it a part of my cells, without doubt or judgement

I managed to take in a compliment the other day. I've been relishing it.

So here's what it was, and I'm paraphrasing. My friend said to me that he likes who he is when he is around me, and he carries that person with him when he leaves my presence.

Wow.

I just have to say that again.

WOW.

S'up Port

I was given some support earlier this evening that looked like this:

I was once where you are now
but I've worked through that issue.

I found this irritating for two reasons.

ONE: The person was assuming things about my situation that were not true.

TWO: Without meaning to, the person was being a little insulting and arrogant. I actually felt more pushed away than supported.

Do I ignore or address?

Skool Daze

Addendum and update to my First Weekend Back At School.

I realized today how much of my distaste for the kiddies who drank the Koolaid was actually about my own fears and resistances. I erect walls of defense when I am afraid of being seen. Or not being seen. Or being lost in a crowd. Or standing out in a crowd.

Thankfully, though my resistances (and teenage rebellions) used to last months, then weeks, then days... I grew out of it by lunchtime today. Now I'm seeking connection via the IIN online community.

I'm so grateful that I am aware enough of my own process to realize my own issues, experience them, explore them, and move through them. Wow, I'm all growned up and junk.

BUT I'M STILL NOT DRINKING ANY KOOLAID, DAMMIT!!!

Desire

Again, a post of possibly too much information. At least nobody really reads this blog...

So last night I fooled around with a friend of mine. No, this is not me wanting more. This is me having fun with a friend. I would much rather satisfy my need for physical and sexual contact with someone I know and trust than with a stranger I picked up in a bar.

But some thoughts and questions came to me. Although I thoroughly enjoyed myself, I found that I wasn't as "turned on" as I would like to have been. I had to ask myself why that was. I've encountered it before, when I've been in charged sexual situations, where "action" was happening, and my body just wasn't responding the way I would want it to. I have a theory.

I didn't feel like I really mattered. I didn't feel especially wanted or needed and while in one way that sparked my interest--O the challenge!--in another way it killed my desire.

I need to be desired.

I felt that it didn't matter if it was me. It mattered if I was there--playing with me was assuredly better than masturbation--but it didn't matter if it was ME. And I need to feel important. I need to feel important and special and beautiful and wanted and honored and worshipped and desired. I need to feel like more than simply a fun time and much more than a notch. I need to feel like A BIG DEAL.

I did feel attractive, at least. I did feel that I was arousing to him. But I wasn't MAGICAL. I like feeling that the person I'm with wants me so much that if I didn't reciprocate, he might be inclined to ravish me. A little unrealistically sado-masochistically romantic?

It was fun and in some ways necessary and satisfying. The human contact was lovely in a slightly sick and twisted way. Safe in some ways, highly dangerous in others. I have no idea if I'll do it again.

But it was nice, and I think healthy, to have a wild night in the midst of the bliss bunny weekend. I'm holistically inclined and spiritually bent, but I'm also a sexual being with a rock n roll heart. Paradox and dichotomy. I love it.

Bliss Bunnies at School

Some thoughts on my first weekend of classes at IIN:

How do I find the balance between taking in the information I desire, fully immersing in a community but still avoid feeling like a sheep in a cult? My natural instincts are FLEE FLEE FLEE. My teenager is resisting and rebelling and wanting to distance myself. My cynic is screaming.

Some of the graduates who spoke today seemed to attribute all their happiness and fulfillment to their experience with the school. In the past, I've run into some who have expected me to attribute my fulfillment to my previous 6 month program that I completed. I don't. It was a large part of my recent process, but I STRONGLY feel that my change, my process, my power, my voice--they come only from within myself. Laughing Sage Wellness (link to the right) was something I sought out when I was already along my path, not something that formed my path.

It sets my teeth on edge when people testify that they owe their happiness or relationships to a particular program. It is so disempowering!

And when they seem blissed-out--too happy, too cheery, too smiley, too bloody holy in a way--I just cringe.

Bliss Bunnies aren't real and they can't sustain it forever.

Lurve

I love new friends. I love new friends who show up for me even better than old friends.

I love new jobs. I love new jobs that miraculously fit into my schedule and lifestyle better than if I had actually been out looking for a new job.

I love new toys. I love new battery-operated toys.

None of these things has anything to do with the other, except they all happened on the same day.

I love it.

Over Rees

This will probably fall under the category of way too friggin' much information, but...

For quite some time now, I've believed my ovulatory cycle to be slightly, well, off. So I started using FAM (Fertility Awareness Method) to chart my cycle. It's more involved than "the rhythm method" of old, but can also be used as natural birth control. Which is good, since I refuse to ever get back on The Pill because it MAKES ME CRAZY LIKE A SCARY LADY. So I've been charting for a few months now. Three or four.

During that time, I have had two instances of excrutiatingly painful ruptured ovarian cysts. The last instance of this was just this last weekend. Goodbye Halloween plans, hello couch and heating pad.

So I already know that obviously SOMETHING is up. Well, tonight, my charting confirmed that in addition to not having the right type of cervical fluid, I have a very very short Luteal Phase. The Luteal Phase is the time that elapses between the releasing of the egg and the start of menstruation.

What does that mean? That means that if I ever want to have kids, it's going to be near impossible.

I had already decided a while back that I didn't want kids. Well, I was pretty sure I didn't want kids. I couldn't imagine kids in the foreseeable future. Not sure. Eh, we'll leave it up in the air. But mostly sure. So I don't know why, when I realized tonight that my Luteal Phase is indeed super short, I started crying. Yeah, I know, crying is a theme of mine lately. But this was huge. This was sobbing, rocking on the floor, holding my knees, laughing while crying because of the ridiculousness of my emotion, shaking, wondering what the hell I was doing crying. I'm not sure if I was mourning or relieved or validated or what.

In a strange way, I'm a little proud of myself. I've never really been able to let go like that when I've been alone. I've been able to reach wracking sobs when in the company of someone who loved me; but I've never been capable of holding myself through it. Although I feel raw, I also feel a sense of calm. I really "Mommy'd" myself tonight. I guess Mommying myself and my two kitties is the only kind of mommying I'll end up doing, huh?

Laughter through tears, baby, laughter through tears.

Struck Sure

I am challenged by structure. It's just not my strong suit. Yet it's what I need so badly in order to not get lost in the nebulousness of my life. Nebulousness. It's a word. Now, anyway.

I haven't had a job in a loooong time. This is not a good thing for many reasons. Most importantly, I feel like a child when I'm not earning my own way in life. Less importantly, but vital for my well-being: without a job, I lack built-in structure.

I've learned to create artificial structure by having workout appointments, doctor's appointments, classes, workshops, and therapy. But when it comes to organizing the rest of my life, I fall short. Especially when I'm trying to accomplish anything where I'm not accountable to others. Even if it's something I really want to do.

I've been wanting to/meaning to paint this image I have in my brain now for a few months. But because nobody except myself is attached to the project, it just hasn't gotten done.

Today I worked for several hours at a cafe. Okay, I sort of have a job right now. I'm doing some freelance work for holistic health counselors. But here's the thing: I can't work at home. And I have to have internet access to do my job. So I bundle my things together and trek downtown to internet cafes. (The ones around here are cold and lifeless. Or Starbucks. Same thing.) At least out in a cafe, my little ADD brain has enough stimuli so that I don't find myself sabotaging my work with television, personal internet fun and games, phone calls, and myriad other distractions.

I look forward to the day when I can organize my days effectively. I look forward to being able to get work done at home. I look forward to accomplishing projects that matter to no-one but myself. For now, I'll sling my messenger bag over one arm and my laptop over the other. Look for me in the coffee bars.

Klentch

Why is my jaw crooked?!? During the last week or so, I've noticed myself clenching my jaw rather frequently. A little extra tension and stress maybe. Going through a lot of life changes? Sure. But I'm clenching it crookedly. Usually this means my bottom teeth jut slightly to the left, although once in awhile I'll find myself clenching to the right.

In therapy yesterday, I explored the feeling a little bit using sound. What came out was a held, tight, sharp kind of sustained noise. It felt right, but I don't know what it means!

There it goes again. Skewed to the right this time. Sheesh!

Am I trying to re-align to the new shape of my life? Is a part of me still holding vise-like on my old existence? Am I gonna' need head gear?

Knew Life

It’s a new life I’m moving into. It’s a whole new stratosphere; a new force; a different plane of existing.

I’m so excited and in love with it. I’m vibrating with everything new and amazing in my life. Every time I try to speak about how my world has changed and is changing, I start to cry. I cry because I’m eager and thrilled and confused and ecstatic and terrified and in awe.

I cried at the end of practicing Yoga again today. I’m very quick to tears right now and I don’t see an end to it anytime soon. And I’m so glad. For once, for the first time, I’m so glad I’m crying.

The Superfishul

It is so unbelievably frustrating to try and have a conversation, even a brief one, with someone who is SO UNAWARE that they can't look beneath the surface of things for even a moment.

I realize that it's a challenge, but at some point, we all have to stop listening to the "stories" we are telling ourselves and dig in to find out what's really going on. Otherwise we're permanent toddlers. They call it "the terrible twos" for a reason. Don't get developmentally stuck there.

I may sound a little arrogant. But I'm human, I have limits, and I have reached them! I can no longer tolerate insipid, shallow individuals. I hate having to put up a wall to protect myself when I'm around such people; I'd love to be able to walk around vulnerable and transparant all the time. So they're slowly being cut from my life.

Snip snip.

Identity Cry-sees

My common refrain: Any change, even if positive, wanted, and welcome, brings with it an element of identity crisis. Even small, simple things can do this. Think about the readjustment necessary to get used to a rearranged desk or a new haircut or even a different brand of toothpaste.

The possible anxiety increases when it is linked to personal changes. I lost a ton of weight (over 80 pounds). I am no longer “the fat girl”. So now where do I fit in my social sphere? Even thought I didn’t like it, I knew who I was when I was the fatty. It took time, but I pretty much knew how I fit in now without my armor of blubber.

I worked through and grew out of many of my numerous anxieties and other neuroses. So I’m no longer the helpless victim. But stepping into this new identity of capable healthy adult still feels quite a bit new and strange.

I’m no longer the stoner. No longer the wannabe goth. I’m no longer a smoker, no longer the angry one. I’m no longer a late-night partier; no longer the girl who sleeps all day. I’m no longer shy or conversely, sexually inappropriate. I’m no longer manipulative or childish.

So what am I then? Who am I? Well isn’t that just the corny adolescent question of the ages. Bleah!

If we’re defining ourselves through what we do, I don’t even have a clear answer on that anymore. Since I was two months old, my identity has been laced up tight as “actor”. A little early to box yourself in to a lifelong role. Up until recently I thought it would always be that way. There just weren’t any other viable alternatives. It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t a possibility.

But now—now I’m getting certified to be a holistic health counselor. I’m gently nudging into the spiritual realm. I’m enveloping myself in a culture of health. It is strange, frightening, and glorious.

The other day, I was walking down the street with my iPod on; out in the world, but using the sound barrier to focus inward. I thought about the new amazing turn my life is taking. I thought about the new abundance of fantastic things going on. I thought about how beautifully different my life is now when compared to a year ago, even six months ago. Even three. I felt my own energy coursing through me. I felt so open and aware and blessed. The words: “I am a Supernova” became lodged in my brain. And tears started springing from my eyes. Tears of joy, relief, and utter amazement. For a few moments, I was able to just “be” with this incredible feeling. Then, of course, it scared the hell out of me (just a leetle) and I had to tamp down the emotions just a tad. But they were real and true and I’m glad I had that experience.

I’m not clear on who I’m going to be. But I have a pretty good idea of where I am. And for once I have faith in my future. That’s a concept that has, in the past, eluded me. This is the best identity crisis yet.

Connexions

My relationships are in flux at the moment. Some connections are new and tenuous. As lovely as they are, this infant time when I don’t quite have my footing is a bit uncomfortable. I relish bringing new people into my world, but I always have growing pains.

Some connections are old but new again. They are people who have re-entered my life in a new way. Or perhaps I’m just in a different shape to receive them. Either way they are welcome surprises.

And sadly, some connections are old and just not working any more. The shared energy served me for a time, but simply no longer does. Spending time with these people leaves me feeling hungry. A physical hunger; a manifestation of the lack I am feeling when I am with them. These people are not intentionally toxic—I would hope—they just aren’t what I need anymore.

And I do need people.

A new facet of my life is a turning inward. I am looking inside myself for my own fulfillment. Nothing can feed me, mother me, love me, or meet me the way I can. We are born alone, every relationship ends, and we die alone. This is not necessarily a depressing thought. It does mean we can’t rely on the external. But intellectually at least we all know that! The beauty is, though, that we CAN rely on the internal. The self-love and self-care can be accessed within ourselves. This is the work I am doing. This is the self-reliance I aim to achieve.

However, I still need people.

As do we all. If you are human, you need other humans. This isn’t a bad thing. It is not a childish thing or a needy thing or a misguided thing. It’s a good thing. Beautiful, amazing, wonderful events transpire when people join together.

So I need human interaction. Healthy, positive connections. I’m ridding myself of the vampires, I’m learning to let go of my anxieties surrounding new interactions, and I’m cherishing the friends that have stuck around and who continue to surprise me.