Friday, February 24, 2006


... how things coming from my fingers sound so much better than when they come from my mouth. Hmm...

When my mouth is shut and my mind is focused, it's like I open up... those inhibitions disappear and I am left with only raw thoughts and truths... and my fingers fear no one. If only I wrote letters rather than spoke. What would my life be like? Would I still have friends? Probably not... or maybe I'd have been able to detect all of the shitty ones long ago.
Are we all afraid to be so honest?

The question of "why" has become meaningful lately. It is no longer a define-less filler word, it has depth and character; it can tell stories... so don't just shrug when I ask "why." There is always an explanation deeper than what we let on... but we tend to minimize our honesty in order to avoid confrontation, judgement and feelings. It's actually more difficult to be dishonest with yourself and others, but it seems so easy in the beginning.

I sound like a freak. I sound too deep and complicated and mysterious and confused... gag me.
Come on now, I love the song "Physical" by Olivia Newton John... how complicated can I be?


Yesterday, while still sulking over my pancake, I ventured through other blogs in an attempt to re-route my mind.

I stumble upon this woman who has blogged her experiences and emotional traumas through the time since her husband committed suicide.

And my insignificance settled in... my pancake became a spec in the universe.

This woman, I'll call her "Chris"... expresses pain that makes even pages bleed. Her husband, who was blind, stepped out of the house one evening and shot himself in the head. She ran to find him after hearing the gunshot... and there he was, his skull and brains covering the snow he laid on.
My eyes welled up, as I read on through her unfathomable nightmare. She shared the last day she'd ever see her husband. The mortician pulled him from the cold, steel drawer... she laid on his lifeless chest, whispered to him "wait for me", then she kissed his icy blue lips, and even the mortician cried. She described the day she received his ashes... there she sat, alone, with a plastic bag on her lap... wondering what her life meant now. Then Chris talked about her suffering and her literal physical pain... and the saddest part of her story is that this happened four years ago. She still lives in this agony, this unimaginable aching after four years... she's lost her soul mate, the boy she'd know since she was 13. My god.

Makes me stop...

and think.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

The Pancake

As I said, my motivation would be brief. I felt strong today... until "The Pancake." I forgot to eat a snack today, between breakfast and lunch. I know better. So I go home for lunch and cook up a small healthy meal... and then my craving kicks in... I want something sweet, sinful, naughty... and I want it now. Why can I not fight this urge for temptation? Where has my will power gone? Did the craving seduce my will power as well? Or did I ever really have any?

I should have eaten my snack... my banana was sitting right there on my desk and I ignored it's call.

Oh, so the craving. The chocolate chips in the pantry (the only form of chocolate nearby for blocks) starts taunting me. It begins to remind me how long I've been neglecting it and that we need to have a talk. I cave. Plus... the pancake batter leftover in the fridge begins a partnership with the chips... "it's not right to have one without the other" it says.

So I heat the pan... "But it's the small pan, I remind myself"... my mind races with guilt... overwhelmed by my lack of control, my inability to control. The pancake batter seductively drips onto the hot metal... sizzling at me in tantalizing tones... and the handful of sweet milk chips make their way onto the gooey batter... one... by... one.

After I'd devoured each sinful sweet melted bite, I look back at my weakness... and begin to despise my stomach ache.

Why is it we act in the moment... and where does my will power go to? Why do I have such feelings of guilt and embarassment over a damn pancake?
Because it was "wrong?" But WHY is it so wrong?

Because it seems I never have control for very long. I become aggravated by my lack of it... maybe that's why I'm so angry when I lose control over anything.
This is so much more than just a pancake.

And why did I feel that I needed it so bad? What caused that craving and moment of desperate need?

I'll have to think about this one...

As I regret my stomach ache, the calories, the regression... damnit.

Could be nothing...

I just got this overwhelming rush of inspiration, it's only temporary I'm sure. I was thinking about yesterday, how I sent all of my girlfriends the "Phenomenal Woman" poem by Maya Angelou. I like being that friend. I enjoy uplifting and inspiring others, if only for a moment. I like knowing that this exsists in me.
I see myself as this great person... someone who people are gravitated toward, someone who people want to be around. But then when I look in the mirror... I am not faced with that person... it's just me, and I have lost that imaginary reflection.
Funny how we're so afraid of who we really want to be... of truly grasping our passions and the things we yurn for the most. Why are we afraid? Why are we afraid of being so great and amazing... of stepping out of ourselves if only for a moment to enjoy that new life we so desperately crave? I don't understand why we feel inhibited... repressing the things we should feel so entitled to.
I want to think there is some great mystery to be unraveled here... some psychological phenomenon, but I don't believe there is.
I think it's quite simple: When we're less like everyone else, living strongly from our hearts, in tune with our spirit and body, it's then that we're unstoppable, but also then that we're susceptible... more vulnerable, to the fears we were unable to face when we were just existing... when we were just moving through life without creating a wave here or there. There are new characteristics that will come with a new identity.

But I see it this way: You actually face far fewer obstacles being who you believe you were meant to be than living your life out just "being."
What a far better story you'll have to tell if you talk about the things you faced that scared you the most... but that you were able to handle because you were living for YOU.

That's the life story I want to live.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

These are a few of my favorite things....

  • dejavu
  • dreams
  • my ipod
  • making faces in the bathroom mirror
  • finding shoes that fit
  • good hair days
  • my karaoke machine
  • singing out loud in my car
  • carebears
  • walking through the park
  • my levis
  • kundalini yoga
  • closure
  • dancing to techno alone in my house
  • bath crayons
  • sunrises, sunsets
  • early saturday mornings
  • christmas
  • baking... Not cooking, baking
  • storms
  • going to a new restaurant
  • new friends
  • chocolate
  • chocolate fondue.... yummmmmmm
  • mexico
  • snorkeling
  • summer nights
  • campfires
  • birthdays
  • disneyland
  • red wine, lots of red wine
  • emails
  • cactuses
  • scented candles
  • cilantro
  • pb&j sandwiches
  • flowers
  • cards
  • sparkly things
  • long drives
  • spontaneous trips
  • a good cry
  • being ticked... I love-hate it
  • new socks
  • making gifts
  • compliments
  • my dads laugh
  • reflecting
  • butterflies
  • the zoo
  • hummus
  • plants
  • halloween
  • believing
  • shooting stars
  • rocks... yes, I love unique rocks.
  • fascinating people
  • revenge, intentional or not

3rd time's the...

Ok, I must promise to myself I won't be cliche'... I'll be original and unique and all me. I had a great lunch today... I walked along the river through the park, my ipod pumping cheesy early 90's dance music, my walk in-sync, steps were strong. I love walking through the park... it's liberating. The fresh air blows my hair all over, but I don't care... it feels good just to not care. No one is around to see me... only my reflection in the river. I took the long way today, hoping it would last forever. When I cross streets, I turn my head into the sun and want to pause time for a moment... I love walking through the park.

Feeling vulnerable...

It's strange... how I try to think of the perfect things to say before I post. Like someone will find out who I am and reveal all my inner most secrets to the people who surround me... funny. I don't always have witty or intelligent or interesting things to say and while I find myself typing certain things, I then find myself backspacing it away. I need to stop caring so much about what you're thinking about what I type... and just type whatever the hell I want to... throw it all out on the table and pretend that no one will ever see this.
I'm here for me, to release my thoughts and frustrations and hopefully, try to make something of it all... maybe discover something amazing, or not. Maybe just understand myself more. I wonder if this will become addicting?


Currently, I am trying to adopt a more active lifestyle, trying to become healthier and more conscious of my mind-body-spirit connection. When I neglect one, they all seem to fail. This will take care of my mind, I'm working on my body every day... doing things that make it feel good and strong and happy... and as for my spirit, that's a deep journey... one that needs guidance and nurturing and understanding. I have a complicted soul I think... I'm one person exteriorly, when inside I'm struggling to become another... inside of me, my real self is dying to come out...
My friend Sara asked me the other day, "What are your goals?" I wasn't sure exactly in what context she was referring to, but I replied with what came to me first... and I replied:
"In general… I want to be a healthy person… I want to feel good and look good. I don’t by any means expect perfection, but I do expect something other than what I am. I want to be more positive, I want to be more fearless, more spontaneous, more loving, more accepting, less like my parents, more influential, less critical and happier…. Oh and did I mention I want to be great? I want to be just “great”… I want to have that electric contagiousness."

Is that too much to ask.

I've gotta start somewhere...

I wonder about what I "should" write, what I "should" say... I wonder what you are thinking. This is my whole problem. I am so focused on what you're thinking of me, that I can't focus on ME. When I get dressed I wonder what you'll think, what you'll say... how I'll compare. When I go out, I wonder if I'll look as good as you, as skinny as you, get as noticed as much as you do. And you're not just anyone, you're everyone... the girl with the shinier hair, with the perfect skin, with the ideal body, with the smaller feet, with the better conversation, exuding the confidence I envy. So I begin my quest... to stop caring about you and start caring about me. This is affecting my life, my mind and my spirit. It affects my marriage, my friendships... everything about me and my life. And I feel so sick, and so sad... that I'm here... in this place, dying to find a way out. But today is a good sign, I'm taking the steps to share and seek. I'm preparing to accept the pain I've repressed and excrete it from my soul... I'm ready to be who I feel I am inside... I want to let that person out that I know is capable of greatness, believing in herself and inspiring others to do the same. I'm ready to shed the skins of my past, my alcoholic abusive father, my uninvolved, detached mother, my miserable, lonely and depressed adolesence and my desperate need to fit in and be accepted. It's time to learn how to accept myself.