Day 1 - Post Detox, wherein the world attempts to return back to "normal"
Our dietary journey has ended (although many of the healthy habits will be retained). It was both challenging and insightful. I was thrilled to imbibe in my first cup of coffee this morning, but didn't need my usual amount of sugar. Lunch was tofu chili, but there was freedom in it because I knew that if I'd wanted to, I could have had meat in there instead. A world of new culinary options has opened up to me, and while I will return to my omnivore ways... I intend to continue my love affair with our Jack LaLanne Power Juicer.
However, when it comes right down to the nitty gritty of it, one discovery leaps to mind as most important.
I am not an alcoholic.
I apologize if that comes off somewhat tongue in cheek, because it is not meant that way. It is in fact a very solid and relief-filled statement. Many a time in my life, my addictive personality has leaned towards one vice or another as a form of escape. I've shared the company of several alcoholics (recovering and otherwise) in both my romantic and platonic relationships, enough times to make me wonder at the "birds of a feather" phenomena. And there are definite periods of my life wherein my own behaviors and tendencies scared me (like the 10 months I kept a bottle of vodka under the driver's seat of the car, for lunch breaks.) Therefore, the concept of going 30 days without alcohol seemed absolutely daunting. In practice though, abstaining was surprisingly easy.
Sure, there were bad days, stressful situations, & maudlin moods, to which my first instinctive response was "If only I had a glass of wine..." But then I would remind myself that it wasn't an option, and the urge would pass.
Let me repeat that.... the urge would pass. It didn't haunt me. It didn't keep me up at night. It didn't keep me from going to work, or dealing with unpleasantness. It would just fade away, like most of the other cravings (and faster than some.)
We have a bottle of red in the house even as I type, but it never occurred to me to open it prematurely. It was bought for that celebratory glass at the end of the road, and that's what it is waiting for still. (T minus 5 hours, and counting)
And when that long awaited moment comes, I will toast to willpower, to strength I didn't know I had, and to a future of better health and wiser coping mechanisms.
I will also toast Tag, as I couldn't have done this without him. *mwah* Thanks babe!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Long Awaited
...wherein I reveal the joy I've had for the last 2 1/2 weeks.
I did it! I'd been wanting to for years, and I finally did it (corporate office be damned!)
It's just hard to be pouty when your mirror shows Pretty in Pink.
Note to Parents: Before you go off on what a ridiculous form of expression you may or may not believe this to be... please let me remind you that it is neither a new tattoo nor a new piercing.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Small Work Rant
Look, I am not a tiny or fragile girl. I have upper body strength, more than most women in my office (thank you pole climbing). However, there are those sturdier and more equipped than I. There are also MEN on this floor. In fact the lordgodking quarterback, Mr. Fitness (aka my boss) is prone to show off his "guns" or tell us what he can bench or lift.
So why is it that 4 out of every 5 days .... I am the ONLY ONE replacing the 5-gallon jug on the water cooler!?!?!
I see people take their cups up to the spout, and when nothing comes out, they look up, see the empty jug and walk away. These same people later come running like a cat who hears the can opener, when I make that recognizable glug-glug-glug of a new jug pouring into the resevoir.
Seriously people... it's not that hard.
So why is it that 4 out of every 5 days .... I am the ONLY ONE replacing the 5-gallon jug on the water cooler!?!?!
I see people take their cups up to the spout, and when nothing comes out, they look up, see the empty jug and walk away. These same people later come running like a cat who hears the can opener, when I make that recognizable glug-glug-glug of a new jug pouring into the resevoir.
Seriously people... it's not that hard.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Sunday Scribblings: Second Chance
The jingle of the visitor bell was as stereotypical as the musty smell of the little curiosity shop. The thought humored Doreen as she entered the dimly lit store. Despite its cramped quarters, the shop felt like a safe haven from the haggard and hurried streets of the city. Furthermore, it was the sort of place where no one came looking for anything or anyone in particular, and as she was busy hiding from her wreck of a life, “Second Chance Curiosities” seemed a perfect place to spend an afternoon…. Or at least the next 15 minutes.
As she was wont to do, she dragged her hand along the surfaces of items nearby, feeling the rough covers of old books or the crisp synthetic quality of baby doll hair past its prime. The shelves were uncharacteristically dust-free, and she appreciated the care the owner showed in displaying his wares, however dismal they appeared. Leather cracked around the spine of what looked to be a weather-beaten journal, and Doreen longed to read the pages. Picking up the book, she closed her eyes and held it to her chest, breathing in the stale warm smell of old pages and imagining what treasures it might hold
“Memoirs of a Civil War Soldier,” a voice whispered.
Doreen looked around startled to be caught in such reverie, but found no one. She caught movement in the corner of her eye, and did a double take, only to see a small grey spider scurry across the edge of a wooden shelf.
“Hello?” No response came
After a moment of silence, when it seemed that she really was quite alone, she brushed off the disturbance and tried to go about her browsing. She set the book on the table without much more thought and continued down the row.
At the back of the shop, past a splendid display of rusty shields and ancient masks, Doreen stopped in awe at the vast array of snow globes spread along 3 tall bookcases. Everything else in the store had been dust-free and tidy, but these shelves and their inhabitants glowed as if they were polished hourly. In each miniature glass planet, a blizzard whirled around tiny monuments and their petite patrons. Some were recognizable, like the Eiffel Tower, or St. Basil’s. Others seemed tribal or aboriginal in nature. A small handful seemed celestial or downright alien. Despite this assortment, Doreen found herself drawn to one that was terribly mundane. In the swirling snow sat a figure alone. The tiny woman was brightly dressed against her colorless backdrop, and her posture and facial expression embodied a passionless calm.
“That one is called ‘Blank Slate’.”
Doreen almost dropped the glass orb at the sound of the voice. However, this time when she looked up, she found she was not eerily alone anymore. A small bespectacled man with slate grey hair and mustache had appeared at her side. Doreen was frightened and embarrassed to have not heard him approach and tried to cover this with a note of irritation.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people so,” she stated. “At least not when they are holding glass.” She added a small laugh to soften her words, as she realized that she was being unnecessarily rude to someone who was, no doubt, the owner of the establishment in which she was currently a guest. The gentleman simply smiled.
An awkward moment of silence passed between them, making Doreen suddenly uncomfortable in these dimly lit cramped quarters. Still, she wasn’t ready to let go of the globe in her hands, so she fumbled over words until she managed to ask, “Is this for sale? I mean, how much is this? I want to buy it. I mean, I … might be willing to buy it… if the price is not too high.”
Again the grey haired man smiled. “They are very special to me,” he said, nodding his head towards the globes. “I’m not one to easily part with something so….” His pause was longer than needed and his eyes met hers with a jolt that chilled her. His smile grew larger. “But for a young lady who needs a ‘Blank Slate’, I can make a deal.”
He turned and shuffled towards an antique cash register. His legs were rickety, and his skin seemed tissue thin. Aging had taken its toll, but Doreen guessed that he wasn’t a very handsome man in his youth either. He had a bit of a greasy peddler feel to him, like an old time salesman, or the carney barker who calls you to the view the Freak tent. He seemed as much an old oddity as the items he sold, only he was in much more disrepair. Still, he was going to make her a deal (or so he said), and so Doreen put her disrespectful thoughts aside and followed him to the counter.
A bit of haggling and $20 later, Doreen found herself carrying home her new treasure, wrapped in paper and plastic. The globe drew her in, and she wanted very much to see it up close again. She waited until she was safely seated on the subway train before she began to unwrap it. Holding it in two hands, she was mesmerized by the tiny woman and all her vast possibilities.
“A blank slate…. A clean slate… a second chance,” Doreen murmured to herself as if the words would conjure such a state for herself. She locked eyes with the petite figure and wished with all her might that it might be her. 7 years ago, she’d moved to this city, desperate to run from her mistakes and shame. 7 years she’d spent fighting demons and stuffing regrets. 7 years, and all she had to show for it was a dismal job that barely covered rent on the one room apartment she’d spent 7 years hiding in. Her list of failures in love and life was overwhelmingly long, and she’d found it easier to wallow in mediocrity than it was to just forgive and move on. 7 years that brought her face to face with the fact that the old adage was true, “Wherever you go, there you are.” And here she was- on a subway, bleary-eyed with tears, wishing she were that calm little woman in the white-out world of her blank slate.
The subway was oddly quiet, and so Doreen didn’t notice when she missed her stop. She didn’t notice the people who got on or off. She was nearly invisible, in her back corner of the train, focused on her little glass world. She felt herself slipping away, imagining endlessly what she might do were she that woman in the globe. She pulled her thin sweater tighter around her, and snuggled tighter into a ball as she felt the temperature drop, but her gaze never waivered from the face in the snow. Harder and harder she wished and wanted. More and more she dropped into that place of possibility. Real life seemed to fade from her thoughts as she dreamed and hoped and desired and irrationally craved the life of that calm figure in the whirling snow. The glass grew foggy with her warm moist breath as the truth of the subway drifted further and further away. Her fevered prayers for a blank slate erased the hard lines of reality until everything else vanished. And then Doreen simply disappeared as well.
No one remembered the small girl on the subway that night. At least, they wouldn’t have if any one had asked. But when the conductor did a walk through at the end of his shift, and found the lone snow globe in the corner seat of the last row of the last car, he didn’t question. He merely assumed that someone had carelessly forgotten; their lives too full of other matters of consequence. He tucked it under one uniformed arm, and walked off to clock out.
As she was wont to do, she dragged her hand along the surfaces of items nearby, feeling the rough covers of old books or the crisp synthetic quality of baby doll hair past its prime. The shelves were uncharacteristically dust-free, and she appreciated the care the owner showed in displaying his wares, however dismal they appeared. Leather cracked around the spine of what looked to be a weather-beaten journal, and Doreen longed to read the pages. Picking up the book, she closed her eyes and held it to her chest, breathing in the stale warm smell of old pages and imagining what treasures it might hold
“Memoirs of a Civil War Soldier,” a voice whispered.
Doreen looked around startled to be caught in such reverie, but found no one. She caught movement in the corner of her eye, and did a double take, only to see a small grey spider scurry across the edge of a wooden shelf.
“Hello?” No response came
After a moment of silence, when it seemed that she really was quite alone, she brushed off the disturbance and tried to go about her browsing. She set the book on the table without much more thought and continued down the row.
At the back of the shop, past a splendid display of rusty shields and ancient masks, Doreen stopped in awe at the vast array of snow globes spread along 3 tall bookcases. Everything else in the store had been dust-free and tidy, but these shelves and their inhabitants glowed as if they were polished hourly. In each miniature glass planet, a blizzard whirled around tiny monuments and their petite patrons. Some were recognizable, like the Eiffel Tower, or St. Basil’s. Others seemed tribal or aboriginal in nature. A small handful seemed celestial or downright alien. Despite this assortment, Doreen found herself drawn to one that was terribly mundane. In the swirling snow sat a figure alone. The tiny woman was brightly dressed against her colorless backdrop, and her posture and facial expression embodied a passionless calm.
“That one is called ‘Blank Slate’.”
Doreen almost dropped the glass orb at the sound of the voice. However, this time when she looked up, she found she was not eerily alone anymore. A small bespectacled man with slate grey hair and mustache had appeared at her side. Doreen was frightened and embarrassed to have not heard him approach and tried to cover this with a note of irritation.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people so,” she stated. “At least not when they are holding glass.” She added a small laugh to soften her words, as she realized that she was being unnecessarily rude to someone who was, no doubt, the owner of the establishment in which she was currently a guest. The gentleman simply smiled.
An awkward moment of silence passed between them, making Doreen suddenly uncomfortable in these dimly lit cramped quarters. Still, she wasn’t ready to let go of the globe in her hands, so she fumbled over words until she managed to ask, “Is this for sale? I mean, how much is this? I want to buy it. I mean, I … might be willing to buy it… if the price is not too high.”
Again the grey haired man smiled. “They are very special to me,” he said, nodding his head towards the globes. “I’m not one to easily part with something so….” His pause was longer than needed and his eyes met hers with a jolt that chilled her. His smile grew larger. “But for a young lady who needs a ‘Blank Slate’, I can make a deal.”
He turned and shuffled towards an antique cash register. His legs were rickety, and his skin seemed tissue thin. Aging had taken its toll, but Doreen guessed that he wasn’t a very handsome man in his youth either. He had a bit of a greasy peddler feel to him, like an old time salesman, or the carney barker who calls you to the view the Freak tent. He seemed as much an old oddity as the items he sold, only he was in much more disrepair. Still, he was going to make her a deal (or so he said), and so Doreen put her disrespectful thoughts aside and followed him to the counter.
A bit of haggling and $20 later, Doreen found herself carrying home her new treasure, wrapped in paper and plastic. The globe drew her in, and she wanted very much to see it up close again. She waited until she was safely seated on the subway train before she began to unwrap it. Holding it in two hands, she was mesmerized by the tiny woman and all her vast possibilities.
“A blank slate…. A clean slate… a second chance,” Doreen murmured to herself as if the words would conjure such a state for herself. She locked eyes with the petite figure and wished with all her might that it might be her. 7 years ago, she’d moved to this city, desperate to run from her mistakes and shame. 7 years she’d spent fighting demons and stuffing regrets. 7 years, and all she had to show for it was a dismal job that barely covered rent on the one room apartment she’d spent 7 years hiding in. Her list of failures in love and life was overwhelmingly long, and she’d found it easier to wallow in mediocrity than it was to just forgive and move on. 7 years that brought her face to face with the fact that the old adage was true, “Wherever you go, there you are.” And here she was- on a subway, bleary-eyed with tears, wishing she were that calm little woman in the white-out world of her blank slate.
The subway was oddly quiet, and so Doreen didn’t notice when she missed her stop. She didn’t notice the people who got on or off. She was nearly invisible, in her back corner of the train, focused on her little glass world. She felt herself slipping away, imagining endlessly what she might do were she that woman in the globe. She pulled her thin sweater tighter around her, and snuggled tighter into a ball as she felt the temperature drop, but her gaze never waivered from the face in the snow. Harder and harder she wished and wanted. More and more she dropped into that place of possibility. Real life seemed to fade from her thoughts as she dreamed and hoped and desired and irrationally craved the life of that calm figure in the whirling snow. The glass grew foggy with her warm moist breath as the truth of the subway drifted further and further away. Her fevered prayers for a blank slate erased the hard lines of reality until everything else vanished. And then Doreen simply disappeared as well.
No one remembered the small girl on the subway that night. At least, they wouldn’t have if any one had asked. But when the conductor did a walk through at the end of his shift, and found the lone snow globe in the corner seat of the last row of the last car, he didn’t question. He merely assumed that someone had carelessly forgotten; their lives too full of other matters of consequence. He tucked it under one uniformed arm, and walked off to clock out.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The jingle of the bell as she opened the door was just like a spooky scene from a movie, Annie thought as she dipped into the tiny curiosity shop, and Annie loved movies. She loved all things having to do with escape. Her job was dreary and monotonous, the heat outside unbearable, and her lunch time walk had found her wandering in search of a midday vacation. She felt like a soul possessed by the singular urge to ‘get away from it all’, and that craving for something new had led her feet to the tiny store she’d not noticed before. A twinkle caught her eye as light reflected on some glass at the back of the store, and intrigued, Annie walked towards what seemed to be a shelf full of glass orbs.
The jingle of the bell as she opened the door was just like a spooky scene from a movie, Annie thought as she dipped into the tiny curiosity shop, and Annie loved movies. She loved all things having to do with escape. Her job was dreary and monotonous, the heat outside unbearable, and her lunch time walk had found her wandering in search of a midday vacation. She felt like a soul possessed by the singular urge to ‘get away from it all’, and that craving for something new had led her feet to the tiny store she’d not noticed before. A twinkle caught her eye as light reflected on some glass at the back of the store, and intrigued, Annie walked towards what seemed to be a shelf full of glass orbs.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Flurry
I've had so much on my mind, and such the urge to write, but the laptop never seems to be nearby when I'm feeling eloquent... and the time I do spend on a computer (work) is wasted on scheduling and SAP. So instead of several eloquent posts, each dedicated to a single event - you get a bullet point list to summarize the flurry of activity.
- First of all, HAPPY WEDDING DAY to Slackmistress & Be The Boy. Their Detective Agency is finally "official" (and, I actually had time to watch it on the live webcast. She looked beautiful.)
- Speaking of blissful couples, Tag and I celebrated our one year anniversary yesterday. *grin* Well, actually we're celebrating it tonight, with a couple of tickets to the Loreena McKennitt concert.
- The Griffith Park fire- yes, Tag and I and the kitties are ok, as is our domicile. However, we were far closer that I ever want to be to another raging inferno. My breath caught in my throat as I stood on our street corner, watching an endless stream of cars of the evacuated citizens who lived a mere 2 -3 blocks north of us. The skies were never dark that night. They glowed deep red, or bright orange, depending on the fire's intensity. We slept to the overpowering sound of constant helicopters as news crews kept watch all night. And we awoke at 4am coughing, finding our bedroom filled with smoke. (We have no air conditioning, and so we have open windows and fans. Not great for breathing when 800 acres are burning less than a mile away). Thanks to a diligent and tireless firefighting force, the Zoo and several other landmarks were saved. Sadly there was still a great loss of wilderness and wildlife. The cause is still not officially released, but a "badly burned person of interest" was being treated for burns on his chest and arms. According to his story, he fell asleep while smoking. I'm working on tempering my outrage towards him, so instead of beating him about his burned torso, I'm just going to post today's PSA image:
*image courtesy of The Fireman. He so rocks!
- Lastly, this link was sent to me earlier today. That's right ladies... a shoe sale whose proceeds go to charity. Now you can dress those tootsies in your favorite designers GUILT-FREE!
That's it for today my dears.... Tag is here, and so I'm headed out the door and off to our evening events.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Sunday Scribblings: Ocean
When I was young, I had many dreams that occurred like memories of another life. They had no action to them, and they repeated themselves over time. It's like hoving over a snapshot.... only I could feel the emotions of the moment. This writing comes from one of those dreams.
She stood on the weathered dock like a ghost, pale grey and lifeless. Her long skirts hung with the weight of multiple layers of wool and petticoats, sodden with unrelenting rain. Only the crisp blue of her eyes seemed alive, constantly scanning the endless horizon of swirling water.
Some called her “The Watcher”, others “The Widow,” though never the latter when she was nearby. Even the slightest inference that he wouldn’t return was met with glaring blue steel from those vivid eyes. Death was not an option in her world. Just endless waiting for the proper conclusion.
Wild winds whipped stray pieces of hair about her face, lashing her skin with cold, wet wisps that had escaped her untidy bun. Around her shoulders was a tattered crocheted shawl that provided no protection or solace from the storm. And yet, she seemed unaware of the squall around her. She just stood, stone still against a large wooden post, and stared out to sea.
The Nor’easters had come early this year. Late enough in the season that wise and wealthy crews had finished their haul and come in… but early enough to catch small fishing boats who had stayed too long. Unlucky were those working class men whose livelihood depended on their haul. Some had returned. But a few remained asea, above and below the waves.
One long pale hand, cold and wet, reached up as if with a life of its own, to the locket she wore. Old beaten metal full of hope, she clutched it whenever her thoughts were darkest. Day after day now, she’d watched ships larger and stronger than his, come limping home, battered from the gale. She was dockside when the dawn broke, and still at her post when it slipped below the horizon again, but still no word had come. No sign. No affirmation. Just raging waters and bleak barren skies.
Her petite lips moved, whispering prayers to any who would listen. To God, that he might protect him. To Poseidon, that he might return him. To Davy Jones, that he might reject him from a water grave and send him back to the surface. And in her blackest moments, though she would admit it to no one, she would pray to the Sirens, that they might recognize a good man, and care for him if they could not send him back.
Time became meaningless. Aging, pointless. The universe had frozen in this moment….. eternally waiting, praying, searching. And bit by bit, she is eroding, like the shores and pier pilings, her hopes dashed on the rocks in endless waves.
She stood on the weathered dock like a ghost, pale grey and lifeless. Her long skirts hung with the weight of multiple layers of wool and petticoats, sodden with unrelenting rain. Only the crisp blue of her eyes seemed alive, constantly scanning the endless horizon of swirling water.Some called her “The Watcher”, others “The Widow,” though never the latter when she was nearby. Even the slightest inference that he wouldn’t return was met with glaring blue steel from those vivid eyes. Death was not an option in her world. Just endless waiting for the proper conclusion.
Wild winds whipped stray pieces of hair about her face, lashing her skin with cold, wet wisps that had escaped her untidy bun. Around her shoulders was a tattered crocheted shawl that provided no protection or solace from the storm. And yet, she seemed unaware of the squall around her. She just stood, stone still against a large wooden post, and stared out to sea.
The Nor’easters had come early this year. Late enough in the season that wise and wealthy crews had finished their haul and come in… but early enough to catch small fishing boats who had stayed too long. Unlucky were those working class men whose livelihood depended on their haul. Some had returned. But a few remained asea, above and below the waves.
One long pale hand, cold and wet, reached up as if with a life of its own, to the locket she wore. Old beaten metal full of hope, she clutched it whenever her thoughts were darkest. Day after day now, she’d watched ships larger and stronger than his, come limping home, battered from the gale. She was dockside when the dawn broke, and still at her post when it slipped below the horizon again, but still no word had come. No sign. No affirmation. Just raging waters and bleak barren skies.
Her petite lips moved, whispering prayers to any who would listen. To God, that he might protect him. To Poseidon, that he might return him. To Davy Jones, that he might reject him from a water grave and send him back to the surface. And in her blackest moments, though she would admit it to no one, she would pray to the Sirens, that they might recognize a good man, and care for him if they could not send him back.
Time became meaningless. Aging, pointless. The universe had frozen in this moment….. eternally waiting, praying, searching. And bit by bit, she is eroding, like the shores and pier pilings, her hopes dashed on the rocks in endless waves.
*picture from this website
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Detox: day 16
That's right folks, I've now passed the half-way mark on the 30 day detox.
16 days with no fast food
16 days with no alcohol (!!?!?!)
16 days without my beloved Coca-Cola
*pout*
It's fascinating to see the mind break down without its comforting numb haze caused by saturated fats and sugars. I'd like to say I've had an epiphany. I'd like to say that the cravings have gone away. But I'd be lying. 16 days without has only made me 16 days cranky.
I long to sink my teeth into a hot searing piece of meat. Don't get me wrong, I love our friend the cow. I love their eyelashes and the sounds they make. I love their velvet noses, and the softness of their tongues as they lick the side of my face. I love that there's a spot on a calf's chin that, when I scratch it just right, causes him to flop his head heavily into my hands with a sigh. I also happen to love a high-quality cut of beef, with horseradish and worchester sauce on the side.
I am an addict, to be sure.
16 days with no fast food
16 days with no alcohol (!!?!?!)
16 days without my beloved Coca-Cola
*pout*
It's fascinating to see the mind break down without its comforting numb haze caused by saturated fats and sugars. I'd like to say I've had an epiphany. I'd like to say that the cravings have gone away. But I'd be lying. 16 days without has only made me 16 days cranky.
I long to sink my teeth into a hot searing piece of meat. Don't get me wrong, I love our friend the cow. I love their eyelashes and the sounds they make. I love their velvet noses, and the softness of their tongues as they lick the side of my face. I love that there's a spot on a calf's chin that, when I scratch it just right, causes him to flop his head heavily into my hands with a sigh. I also happen to love a high-quality cut of beef, with horseradish and worchester sauce on the side.
I am an addict, to be sure.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday Scribblings: Secret Identity
He’s saving lives, I know he is.
He wouldn’t want you to know it of course, and I’m probably breaking several International treaties by mentioning it at all, but I don’t want him to be so misunderstood.
I’d like to say he uses his powers only for good. I’m sure all mothers would. But I can’t promise you what I don’t know. He slips away, through a rip in the fabric of time and space. He vanishes without a trace and you can turn the whole house upside down and never find him. But hours later, he comes sauntering out of a room you’ve checked a dozen times and he flops across the green plush sack, exhausted with a long day’s work.
Mind you, no matter how relaxed he seems, he’s never unaware. Let a strange set of footsteps sound on the stairs outside the apartment, and he’s 2 feet in the air and then POOF, only a cloud of well shed hair appears in the space he once occupied.
Friends jokingly call him “Snuffilupugus” because only Tag and I can ever see him, but I swear he’s real…. And so much more than a mere house cat. He’s Double-O Dobby, secret agent…. And somewhere right now, he’s sipping a dry martini and saving the world.
He wouldn’t want you to know it of course, and I’m probably breaking several International treaties by mentioning it at all, but I don’t want him to be so misunderstood.
I’d like to say he uses his powers only for good. I’m sure all mothers would. But I can’t promise you what I don’t know. He slips away, through a rip in the fabric of time and space. He vanishes without a trace and you can turn the whole house upside down and never find him. But hours later, he comes sauntering out of a room you’ve checked a dozen times and he flops across the green plush sack, exhausted with a long day’s work.
Mind you, no matter how relaxed he seems, he’s never unaware. Let a strange set of footsteps sound on the stairs outside the apartment, and he’s 2 feet in the air and then POOF, only a cloud of well shed hair appears in the space he once occupied.
Friends jokingly call him “Snuffilupugus” because only Tag and I can ever see him, but I swear he’s real…. And so much more than a mere house cat. He’s Double-O Dobby, secret agent…. And somewhere right now, he’s sipping a dry martini and saving the world.
(see the tiny eyes in the dark... that's him)
Friday, April 27, 2007
Banditos For Peace
Today, I'm working a half day (joy!), after which I will drag myself over to the Westside to get my hairs did (more joy!) Post salon, I will drive down for a 2 hours session of Kundalini Yoga at the studio.
However my Saturday will not be nearly as lush.... as Tag and I will be participating in the "DisplaceMe" event sponsered by Invisible Children. IC is a grassroots organization, who with their film (of the same name) brought to light the plight of Ungandan children (known as "night commuters") who flee their villages at night in order to avoid being pressed into service as a soldier in the Lord's Resistance Army.
13 different cities across the US and over 61,000 people are participating in the Displacement (6,248 in Los Angeles alone).
Wanna spend your Saturday night making new friends, creating a community of people who care? Then please, come join us!
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Taking Action
WHAT IS DENIM DAY IN LA?In 1999 an Italian Supreme Court decision overturned a rape conviction because the victim wore jeans. The justices stated that the victim must have helped her attacker remove her jeans, from which they inferred consent. People all over the world were outraged. Wearing jeans became an international symbol of protest against erroneous and destructive attitudes about sexual assault. The Denim Day in L.A. protests here in Los Angeles, spearheaded by Peace Over Violence (formerly the Los Angeles Commission on Assaults Against Women), have evolved into an annual county-wide, highly publicized rape prevention education campaign.
Last year, over 250,000 individuals, 400 organizations and businesses and 49 cities in Los Angeles County signed up to support Denim Day in L.A. Thousands of men, women and youth wore jeans, posted rape prevention education materials, supported prevention programs by donating to the Dollars For Denim campaign and talked with friends and colleagues about rape myths and realities.Even if you aren't wearing jeans today, or you don't live in Los Angeles... you can still make a difference.
There is no excuse and never an invitiation to rape.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Toxic Tantrum
Tag and I have begun a month long detox. The 30 days are broken into 10 day segments, each with their own purpose, and thus their own dietary guidelines. However, for the entire 30 days some rules stand fast: No MSG, No High Fructose Corn Syrup, No Hydrogenated Oils. That’s all well and good. I can deal with all those. But there a few other policies in place for the long haul that are killing me. Those include: No Meat, No Dairy, No Sugars, No Alcohol. In short, the 4 staples of my diet. Oh shit!
The first 10 days are the “Elimination” cycle, designed to help break addictions to things like sugar and alcohol (also to caffeine, nicotine, and any over the counter medications). I knew going in that it would be challenging, and that addictions I didn’t even know I had would likely come up and bite me in the ass. Have to say… haven’t been wrong so far. However, I'm somewhat surprised by what I'm finding to be most difficult.
I was raised on fast food. My father worked odd hours and my mother was a busy career woman who didn’t have a lot of time or patience to cook for a finicky child. Burger King, on the other hand, promised that without trouble I could have it MY way, and thus we visited a lot. Partially due to laziness, and partially due to the time constraints of my overly-scheduled life, I have continued my less than stellar drive-thru diet. I know it’s not wise, but it's easy, (and oh the price we pay for “convenience.”)
However, I didn’t grasp that my attachment to fast food went far beyond mindless routine and MSG-addiction, and had an emotional compontent until the other night. I had received a disturbing email, at the end of a long drama-filled work day, on top of Day 3 of a killer headache. Although stoicism is not really my nature, I held it together through class and the long drive home. However, fatigue won out, and I found myself in my kitchen, blurting out the whole onslaught of woes in snotty sobs. I collapsed into Tag's arms with this final note: “And I just want some meat…. And a COKE.”
Some people find ice cream and chocolate to be their comfort foods. Others salve their injuries with coffee and cigarettes. But apparently my "woobie" is Combo meal #2. A world of solace can be found sipping 32 oz of syrupy carbonated sweetness as the softly purring motor of the car sings a lullaby. It fills a lonely place in my heart that fresh daikon sprouts and beet juice just can’t touch. And silly as it sounds, without that blanket of numbness that chemicalized beef provides, I’m being forced to face feelings that I have been stuffing down for a very long time.
I’m sure that there will be more writing, more thinking, more purging before my 30 day hell is all said and done. But until then, remember this:
The world might be a safer place if I could just get some “biggie fries” STAT. *sigh*
The first 10 days are the “Elimination” cycle, designed to help break addictions to things like sugar and alcohol (also to caffeine, nicotine, and any over the counter medications). I knew going in that it would be challenging, and that addictions I didn’t even know I had would likely come up and bite me in the ass. Have to say… haven’t been wrong so far. However, I'm somewhat surprised by what I'm finding to be most difficult.
I was raised on fast food. My father worked odd hours and my mother was a busy career woman who didn’t have a lot of time or patience to cook for a finicky child. Burger King, on the other hand, promised that without trouble I could have it MY way, and thus we visited a lot. Partially due to laziness, and partially due to the time constraints of my overly-scheduled life, I have continued my less than stellar drive-thru diet. I know it’s not wise, but it's easy, (and oh the price we pay for “convenience.”)
However, I didn’t grasp that my attachment to fast food went far beyond mindless routine and MSG-addiction, and had an emotional compontent until the other night. I had received a disturbing email, at the end of a long drama-filled work day, on top of Day 3 of a killer headache. Although stoicism is not really my nature, I held it together through class and the long drive home. However, fatigue won out, and I found myself in my kitchen, blurting out the whole onslaught of woes in snotty sobs. I collapsed into Tag's arms with this final note: “And I just want some meat…. And a COKE.”
Some people find ice cream and chocolate to be their comfort foods. Others salve their injuries with coffee and cigarettes. But apparently my "woobie" is Combo meal #2. A world of solace can be found sipping 32 oz of syrupy carbonated sweetness as the softly purring motor of the car sings a lullaby. It fills a lonely place in my heart that fresh daikon sprouts and beet juice just can’t touch. And silly as it sounds, without that blanket of numbness that chemicalized beef provides, I’m being forced to face feelings that I have been stuffing down for a very long time.
I’m sure that there will be more writing, more thinking, more purging before my 30 day hell is all said and done. But until then, remember this:
The world might be a safer place if I could just get some “biggie fries” STAT. *sigh*
Thursday, April 19, 2007
The Great Turtle Race!
Are you watching?
For more than 100 million years, leatherback turtles have graced our oceans. At an astonishing eight feet long and up to 2,000 pounds, they journey between continents and dive to incredible depths. But in the last 10 years, 95% of the leatherbacks in the Pacific Ocean have vanished, victims of human pressures.
The Leatherback Trust, Tagging of Pacific Predators, Conservation International, Costa Rica?s Ministry of Environment and Energy, and Yahoo! invite you to join the Great Turtle Race. Follow 11 leatherback turtles on a two-week journey as they swim from their nesting sites on Playa Grande beach in Costa Rica to the Galapagos Islands.
Tag is rooting for Saphira (as sponsored by the Bullis Charter School). I adore both Genevive & Billie..... but I also love to root for the underdog. So today I'm putting my cheering power behind Drexelina, who has managed to get herself all turned around on the beach and is heading in the wrong direction. Send her the positive vibes, won't you? That way, she can get herself back on track and headed towards her home in the Galapagos Islands.
For more than 100 million years, leatherback turtles have graced our oceans. At an astonishing eight feet long and up to 2,000 pounds, they journey between continents and dive to incredible depths. But in the last 10 years, 95% of the leatherbacks in the Pacific Ocean have vanished, victims of human pressures.
The Leatherback Trust, Tagging of Pacific Predators, Conservation International, Costa Rica?s Ministry of Environment and Energy, and Yahoo! invite you to join the Great Turtle Race. Follow 11 leatherback turtles on a two-week journey as they swim from their nesting sites on Playa Grande beach in Costa Rica to the Galapagos Islands.
Tag is rooting for Saphira (as sponsored by the Bullis Charter School). I adore both Genevive & Billie..... but I also love to root for the underdog. So today I'm putting my cheering power behind Drexelina, who has managed to get herself all turned around on the beach and is heading in the wrong direction. Send her the positive vibes, won't you? That way, she can get herself back on track and headed towards her home in the Galapagos Islands.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Soundtrack of My Life
My horoscope made comment of finding new music to inspire and motivate me. Oddly enough, about the same time, I ran across this meme in Amandarin's archives. (yes, sorry... another blog theft). I used this synchronicity as a prod to make me discover (or in some places re-discover) the tunes that move me, that have memories associated with them, or the ones that just light up my mind with visual images.
If your life was a movie, what would the soundtrack include?
The opening title: Female of the Species-- Space
The waking-up scene: Heavy in Numbers-- Dragster Barbie
The average day/menial tasks montage: One Angry Dwarf & 200 Solemn Faces-- Ben Folds Five
The secret crush: You look like Rain-- Morphine
The first date/blind date: Secret-- Maroon 5
The party: Alcohol-- BareNakedLadies
The dance sequence: Stand Up Fever-- Ludacris vs Peggy Lee Mash-up
The falling in love/"spark" scene: Can't help falling in love-- Elvis Presley
The lovemaking scene: Angel-- Massive Attack
The fight scene: Suck it up-- Die Warzau
The break-up: Vinager & Salt-- Hooverphonic
Long night alone: Wild is the Wind-- Nina Simone
The reconciliation: Call & Answer-- BareNakedLadies
The mental breakdown: Girl Anachronism-- The Dresden Dolls
The stalking: Touched-- VAST
The explosion/shoot-out: Beautiful People-- Marilyn Manson
The get-away/driving scene: Bad Blood-- Ministry
The learning-a-lesson montage: Grace Under Pressure-- Elbow
Deep thoughts: When I'm Down-- Chris Cornell
The flashback: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant-- Billy Joel
Regrets: Full of Grace-- Sarah McLachlan
The death scene: And Dream of Sheep-- Kate Bush
As the closing credits roll: But Not Tonight-- Depeche Mode.
If your life was a movie, what would the soundtrack include?
The opening title: Female of the Species-- Space
The waking-up scene: Heavy in Numbers-- Dragster Barbie
The average day/menial tasks montage: One Angry Dwarf & 200 Solemn Faces-- Ben Folds Five
The secret crush: You look like Rain-- Morphine
The first date/blind date: Secret-- Maroon 5
The party: Alcohol-- BareNakedLadies
The dance sequence: Stand Up Fever-- Ludacris vs Peggy Lee Mash-up
The falling in love/"spark" scene: Can't help falling in love-- Elvis Presley
The lovemaking scene: Angel-- Massive Attack
The fight scene: Suck it up-- Die Warzau
The break-up: Vinager & Salt-- Hooverphonic
Long night alone: Wild is the Wind-- Nina Simone
The reconciliation: Call & Answer-- BareNakedLadies
The mental breakdown: Girl Anachronism-- The Dresden Dolls
The stalking: Touched-- VAST
The explosion/shoot-out: Beautiful People-- Marilyn Manson
The get-away/driving scene: Bad Blood-- Ministry
The learning-a-lesson montage: Grace Under Pressure-- Elbow
Deep thoughts: When I'm Down-- Chris Cornell
The flashback: Scenes from an Italian Restaurant-- Billy Joel
Regrets: Full of Grace-- Sarah McLachlan
The death scene: And Dream of Sheep-- Kate Bush
As the closing credits roll: But Not Tonight-- Depeche Mode.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Passive Agressive Catharsis 2007
A little over a year ago, Amandarin did a fabulous meme titled “Passive Aggressive Catharsis.” At the time, I contemplated doing the same, but didn’t feel in a safe place to do so. But as I’m about to start a month long detox, I find myself readying to get rid of what I no longer need. This includes things that need to be said, but never have been. And so…I now step up to the plate and play along.
List up to ten (10) things you want to say to ten (10) different people. Do not state who these people are. Do not confirm or deny any ‘comment speculation’.
1. Stop Whining! It’s not all about you, your job should not be your whole life, and WOW you are exhausting to be around.
2. I feel like you’ve already gone, and I know I’m going to miss you more than I’ll ever express.
3. I bet you still sit on your high horse thinking everyone else needs to sort out THEIR issues. Denial is a powerful thing.
4. 15 years later, I still remember your touch.
5. Thank you- for being here, for listening, for accepting me, for laughing with me. Endless thank yous.
6. When I leave, I replay our conversations in my head, just to make sure everything is still “ok”.
7. I did as asked and stopped communicating with you. But I cannot and will not ever forget you, or stop caring about you. Be well.
8. I wonder what you say about me when I’m not around.
9. Some of the lessons you taught me still scar me daily.
And lastly….
10. Still at the bottom of a bottle? It’s wrong I know, but sometimes I hope so. Because if you did for her what you flat out refused to do when I was around, then I’m PISSED. I have such mixed feelings about you. I miss you. I’m still angry at you. I wish I could apologize to you for the fact that when we were together, I was NOT in my best place. Some days I curse you. Some days I mock you. But on my best days, I remember you kindly and then release what we had to the Universe, trusting that the wind will blow blessings to you, erasing all the bad memories from us both, and leaving us with a faint but happy essence of what we once shared.
List up to ten (10) things you want to say to ten (10) different people. Do not state who these people are. Do not confirm or deny any ‘comment speculation’.
1. Stop Whining! It’s not all about you, your job should not be your whole life, and WOW you are exhausting to be around.
2. I feel like you’ve already gone, and I know I’m going to miss you more than I’ll ever express.
3. I bet you still sit on your high horse thinking everyone else needs to sort out THEIR issues. Denial is a powerful thing.
4. 15 years later, I still remember your touch.
5. Thank you- for being here, for listening, for accepting me, for laughing with me. Endless thank yous.
6. When I leave, I replay our conversations in my head, just to make sure everything is still “ok”.
7. I did as asked and stopped communicating with you. But I cannot and will not ever forget you, or stop caring about you. Be well.
8. I wonder what you say about me when I’m not around.
9. Some of the lessons you taught me still scar me daily.
And lastly….
10. Still at the bottom of a bottle? It’s wrong I know, but sometimes I hope so. Because if you did for her what you flat out refused to do when I was around, then I’m PISSED. I have such mixed feelings about you. I miss you. I’m still angry at you. I wish I could apologize to you for the fact that when we were together, I was NOT in my best place. Some days I curse you. Some days I mock you. But on my best days, I remember you kindly and then release what we had to the Universe, trusting that the wind will blow blessings to you, erasing all the bad memories from us both, and leaving us with a faint but happy essence of what we once shared.
Monday, April 02, 2007
101 in 1001- Latest Update
I realized that it had been a while since I'd updated my list on line, and that lots had been accomplish (or changed) since my last posting. So I've made some updates on my progress
Read the latest 101 in 1001 here
Read the latest 101 in 1001 here
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Words to Catch at my Heart
"The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience."
- Emily Dickinson
"The world is composed of rival gangs of hypnotists, each competing for your entranced attention." --graffiti on the wall of a public restroom at Northgate Mall, San Rafael, California
*****************
That's it. Wish I had more for you, but the daily grind has sucked dry my brain like a grape left on the dashboard of a car in a Southern Summer. *sigh* I finished Eat, Pray, Love and now find myself in that same void that one feels when one returns from a blissful vacation, only to plunk back into the morass that is everyday routine.
- Emily Dickinson
"The world is composed of rival gangs of hypnotists, each competing for your entranced attention." --graffiti on the wall of a public restroom at Northgate Mall, San Rafael, California
*****************
That's it. Wish I had more for you, but the daily grind has sucked dry my brain like a grape left on the dashboard of a car in a Southern Summer. *sigh* I finished Eat, Pray, Love and now find myself in that same void that one feels when one returns from a blissful vacation, only to plunk back into the morass that is everyday routine.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Trancendance, Table for One- Part 2
Friday afternoon is light, and I've decided to let myself off the leash again for a lunch moment. I cross the street to a little eatery where the salads are lovely and corners are dark. Here, I can disappear for an hour, and yet never feel any panic about being far from the office.
Over a goat cheese appetizer and tuna salad nicoise, I read about Elizabeth's further adventures in the Indian Ashram. I envy her meditation caves and her silent turets. I wonder how anyone can get close to the divine in this busy madcap world.
That's when a few distinct noises break through my reading focus (a difficult thing to do, for when I read... I block out the world)
The first is a conversation between a waiter trainee and the day manager of the restaurant. They are speaking of "sunday school", of verses and psalms, of religion and teachings and things that ease their hearts.
The second is a line from the song playing on the restaurant's overhead speakers. It is the 70's hit "Rock the Boat".... the line that is instantly absorbed by my consciousness is "love and devoooootion!"
I throw my head back and laugh out loud, aware for a moment that the "all-encompassing divine" is in fact in full force around me. It always is, whether I am in an Indian meditation cave or a North Hollywood restaurant. I just need to be reminded once in while.
In a state of bliss, I finish my lunch.... chuckling and feeling loved.
I'm DEFINATELY making lunch a more regular event.
Over a goat cheese appetizer and tuna salad nicoise, I read about Elizabeth's further adventures in the Indian Ashram. I envy her meditation caves and her silent turets. I wonder how anyone can get close to the divine in this busy madcap world.
That's when a few distinct noises break through my reading focus (a difficult thing to do, for when I read... I block out the world)
The first is a conversation between a waiter trainee and the day manager of the restaurant. They are speaking of "sunday school", of verses and psalms, of religion and teachings and things that ease their hearts.
The second is a line from the song playing on the restaurant's overhead speakers. It is the 70's hit "Rock the Boat".... the line that is instantly absorbed by my consciousness is "love and devoooootion!"
I throw my head back and laugh out loud, aware for a moment that the "all-encompassing divine" is in fact in full force around me. It always is, whether I am in an Indian meditation cave or a North Hollywood restaurant. I just need to be reminded once in while.
In a state of bliss, I finish my lunch.... chuckling and feeling loved.
I'm DEFINATELY making lunch a more regular event.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Imagini-art
Saw this on Mardougrrl's page, and just couldn't resist all those yummy images.
If you'd like your visualDNA, go here.
If you'd like your visualDNA, go here.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Trancendance, Table for One
Lunch. It’s an infrequent luxury in my world, and as I walked away from the office today, I actually heard the “Rocky” theme music in my head…. As if unchaining myself from the desk for 60 min were a feat of Herculean proportion.
My intention was to pick up some Taco Bell and drive to a near-by park, where I would read my current obsession, Eat, Pray, Love. I believe that this book was an Oprah recommendation or something similar, and I admit that did not really fill me with confidence that I would find it either inspirational or motivational. However, my dance studio offered it up as the book for discussion one month, and I wanted to have some idea of what people were talking about.
I couldn’t be more pleased that I did. What an amazing discovery!! This book fills me with hope and drive and all things that feel bubble-bath good in one’s soul. It has been a long time since I repeatedly laughed OUT LOUD at a book’s passages, much less chased someone down (usually poor Tag) saying, “Wait… you have to hear this. It’s hysterical.”
Elizabeth Gilbert’s telling of her year long adventures in Italy, India and Indonesia rousts parts of my soul that had settled into the numbness of neglect, giving it both wings, and the urge to fly. It has lightened my heart and filled it with giggly madness and joy. This is the kind of book that poets weep for and established governments should fear, because it cajoles me to be bigger, to be more courageous, to be more alive, to be inspired, invigorated, & ignited into a sacred flame.
As such, I found myself driving past the Taco Bell, and instead to a restaurant (one of my favorites) where I had not been in a long time. There I settled into a table by a sun-heated window, ordered some white wine and a salad, and allowed myself to be indulgent, reading at the table, drinking mid-day, and not keeping any sort of strict eye on the “lunchtime clock”.
While I ate my organic turkey burger and sipped my chardonnay, I found myself entranced by the words on the page. Gilbert’s description of the daily routine of the Ashram is reminiscent of the fantasy I’ve often had about life in a convent, or other spiritual temple. (And yes, I am aware how conflicting that desire is with my inherent inclinations to take long, wine-filled lunch breaks.... bear with me. )
Still, it was all a fairly innocous until I got to the conversation on soul mates:
“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, a person who brings you to your own attention, so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too Painful.”
When I finished reading the passage, I had to turn my head towards the window, and stare into the bright California sun, blinking back tears and the gasp that was caught in my throat. It’s not that the words were foreign or some epiphany exploding inside of me. The words were much identical to a conversation I had with a dear friend when I lost my first “soul mate”. But perhaps, because so much time had past, and my heart was miles from hurt, I was able to take those words inside of me as I never had before. There was a sigh of relief from within my soul, and I felt both validated and set free.
There have been a few loves in my life, that when they appeared, I was swept off my feet by the disorienting power they had over me. The signs of the Universe blinked in neon, telling me in no uncertain terms “PAY ATTENTION! This one is VERY important to you.” Those loves were passionate whirlpools of intensity, swirling wildly from indescribable joy to unbearable fury and pain. Those loves were also, oddly enough, the shortest in my history. They swept in, broke through walls, ripped open scabs, spilt their iodine and left without so much as a band-aid in thanks.
And here was a book, years later, confirming that it just might be a part of the bigger plan. *sigh* It was an amazing relief.
I turned from the window, back to the room full of diners and felt… just a little different. The couple at the table next to me received from the waitress two plates of pancakes, and I laughed while crying at the beauty and freedom of that. (I can’t explain what I found particularly moving about it…. Just that I did). There was a brief moment of wondering if I was being watched; if anyone noticed the tears glistening in my eyes, or the smile I couldn’t seem to erase. Just as quickly as that thought appeared, I realized that I couldn’t possibly care. I was in that moment perfect and pure and enjoying a state of amazing bliss.
I finished my glass of wine, paid my bill, and returned to my car. A moment of transcendence, disguised as an everyday meal.
I really should make a point of taking lunch more often.
My intention was to pick up some Taco Bell and drive to a near-by park, where I would read my current obsession, Eat, Pray, Love. I believe that this book was an Oprah recommendation or something similar, and I admit that did not really fill me with confidence that I would find it either inspirational or motivational. However, my dance studio offered it up as the book for discussion one month, and I wanted to have some idea of what people were talking about.
I couldn’t be more pleased that I did. What an amazing discovery!! This book fills me with hope and drive and all things that feel bubble-bath good in one’s soul. It has been a long time since I repeatedly laughed OUT LOUD at a book’s passages, much less chased someone down (usually poor Tag) saying, “Wait… you have to hear this. It’s hysterical.”
Elizabeth Gilbert’s telling of her year long adventures in Italy, India and Indonesia rousts parts of my soul that had settled into the numbness of neglect, giving it both wings, and the urge to fly. It has lightened my heart and filled it with giggly madness and joy. This is the kind of book that poets weep for and established governments should fear, because it cajoles me to be bigger, to be more courageous, to be more alive, to be inspired, invigorated, & ignited into a sacred flame.
As such, I found myself driving past the Taco Bell, and instead to a restaurant (one of my favorites) where I had not been in a long time. There I settled into a table by a sun-heated window, ordered some white wine and a salad, and allowed myself to be indulgent, reading at the table, drinking mid-day, and not keeping any sort of strict eye on the “lunchtime clock”.
While I ate my organic turkey burger and sipped my chardonnay, I found myself entranced by the words on the page. Gilbert’s description of the daily routine of the Ashram is reminiscent of the fantasy I’ve often had about life in a convent, or other spiritual temple. (And yes, I am aware how conflicting that desire is with my inherent inclinations to take long, wine-filled lunch breaks.... bear with me. )
Still, it was all a fairly innocous until I got to the conversation on soul mates:
“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, a person who brings you to your own attention, so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too Painful.”
When I finished reading the passage, I had to turn my head towards the window, and stare into the bright California sun, blinking back tears and the gasp that was caught in my throat. It’s not that the words were foreign or some epiphany exploding inside of me. The words were much identical to a conversation I had with a dear friend when I lost my first “soul mate”. But perhaps, because so much time had past, and my heart was miles from hurt, I was able to take those words inside of me as I never had before. There was a sigh of relief from within my soul, and I felt both validated and set free.
There have been a few loves in my life, that when they appeared, I was swept off my feet by the disorienting power they had over me. The signs of the Universe blinked in neon, telling me in no uncertain terms “PAY ATTENTION! This one is VERY important to you.” Those loves were passionate whirlpools of intensity, swirling wildly from indescribable joy to unbearable fury and pain. Those loves were also, oddly enough, the shortest in my history. They swept in, broke through walls, ripped open scabs, spilt their iodine and left without so much as a band-aid in thanks.
And here was a book, years later, confirming that it just might be a part of the bigger plan. *sigh* It was an amazing relief.
I turned from the window, back to the room full of diners and felt… just a little different. The couple at the table next to me received from the waitress two plates of pancakes, and I laughed while crying at the beauty and freedom of that. (I can’t explain what I found particularly moving about it…. Just that I did). There was a brief moment of wondering if I was being watched; if anyone noticed the tears glistening in my eyes, or the smile I couldn’t seem to erase. Just as quickly as that thought appeared, I realized that I couldn’t possibly care. I was in that moment perfect and pure and enjoying a state of amazing bliss.
I finished my glass of wine, paid my bill, and returned to my car. A moment of transcendence, disguised as an everyday meal.
I really should make a point of taking lunch more often.
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