Jason Mraz "Beautiful Mess" We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
In Deep Smit
The definition of the word "smitten" is an interesting one. Or an interesting three rather.
Smitten – adj.
1. struck, as with a hard blow
2. grievously or disastrously stricken or affected
3. very much in love
Fine is the line between genius and insanity, and evidently so is the one between love and grief. (The latter pair, of course, capable of making you feel not at all unlike definition number one, sometimes, but not limited to, the stomach region.) Another testament to the whole yin yang outlook on life, you just can't have one without the other or at least without the distinct possibility of the other. Why, when we fall for someone, do we immediately get scared? Or why do some go as far as to completely avoid falling in the first place? I've never heard of anyone who is afraid of their heart bursting with love. But utterly terrified of it getting shattered into a million pieces by way of love gone disastrously wrong? Welcome to 98% of all poetry, music, storytelling and film. As soon as we open ourselves up to another person, it is that very instant that anything is possible. Anything. Making it precisely the reason it feels so amazing to fall so hard and so free and so completely for someone. Because it can vanish, for any reason, in an instant.
One of my favorite quotes from a film (and one of my favorite films actually) is a line from Flirting with Disaster where Tea Leoni's character boldly responds to a whiny Ben Stiller complaining about how vulnerable he feels in his relationship.
"Every marriage is vulnerable, otherwise being married wouldn't mean anything, would it?"
It makes perfect sense. In any relationship actually, not only marriage. If you don't fear losing it, what value would it have in the first place? It goes hand in hand with another one of my favorite lines. This one from (the BEST show in the world) Six Feet Under. A grieving woman asks Nate, "Why do people have to die?" He answers simply, "To make life important."
What makes something precious? The fact that it is unique, delicate, special, rare, extraordinary?
What makes something precious? The fact that it can be broken, stolen, hurt, shattered, destroyed?
I will ask again.
What defines precious? Something that is loved, admired, respected, cared for, cherished, valued, treasured?
Or…all of the above.
Fine line or simply facets that make up the whole? A diamond is stunning with its unparalleled beauty and sparkle and clarity…..but its edges are sharp. Its authenticity is often tested by its ability to cut glass. So does the same hold true for love? Do you know it's real only when you know it can really hurt you?
Smitten – adj.
1. struck, as with a hard blow
2. grievously or disastrously stricken or affected
3. very much in love
Fine is the line between genius and insanity, and evidently so is the one between love and grief. (The latter pair, of course, capable of making you feel not at all unlike definition number one, sometimes, but not limited to, the stomach region.) Another testament to the whole yin yang outlook on life, you just can't have one without the other or at least without the distinct possibility of the other. Why, when we fall for someone, do we immediately get scared? Or why do some go as far as to completely avoid falling in the first place? I've never heard of anyone who is afraid of their heart bursting with love. But utterly terrified of it getting shattered into a million pieces by way of love gone disastrously wrong? Welcome to 98% of all poetry, music, storytelling and film. As soon as we open ourselves up to another person, it is that very instant that anything is possible. Anything. Making it precisely the reason it feels so amazing to fall so hard and so free and so completely for someone. Because it can vanish, for any reason, in an instant.
One of my favorite quotes from a film (and one of my favorite films actually) is a line from Flirting with Disaster where Tea Leoni's character boldly responds to a whiny Ben Stiller complaining about how vulnerable he feels in his relationship.
"Every marriage is vulnerable, otherwise being married wouldn't mean anything, would it?"
It makes perfect sense. In any relationship actually, not only marriage. If you don't fear losing it, what value would it have in the first place? It goes hand in hand with another one of my favorite lines. This one from (the BEST show in the world) Six Feet Under. A grieving woman asks Nate, "Why do people have to die?" He answers simply, "To make life important."
What makes something precious? The fact that it is unique, delicate, special, rare, extraordinary?
What makes something precious? The fact that it can be broken, stolen, hurt, shattered, destroyed?
I will ask again.
What defines precious? Something that is loved, admired, respected, cared for, cherished, valued, treasured?
Or…all of the above.
Fine line or simply facets that make up the whole? A diamond is stunning with its unparalleled beauty and sparkle and clarity…..but its edges are sharp. Its authenticity is often tested by its ability to cut glass. So does the same hold true for love? Do you know it's real only when you know it can really hurt you?
Friday, December 7, 2007
Home Alone
My first night in my new place and I spent it alone. All by myself, but certainly not lonesome. As the clock struck midnight, I grew another year older but unfortunately not any less scared of the dark. Or the boogie man. Or just weird noises that I think are the boogie man.
This house is old, it creeks and sighs a lot, kind of like me. Tonight happened to be an extremely windy night as well. Great. The tree branches scrape up against the windows and all I can think is Freddy Krueger. And then came the rain. I love the rain…but boy is it interesting when it rains around this place. There seems to be thousands of different surfaces surrounding the area for the raindrops to ricochet off of…oversized drops from a rain gutter that's not quite doing its job, tiny little tap dances on the concrete patio outside my room, rain on the window panes mimicking the sounds of me typing on my keyboard, somewhere else a rhythmic clapping sound happening that I am almost convinced can only be an actual human clapping their hands together outside in the rain. I am bold enough to do many things, but throw me in a house that has lots of places to hide and I am a bonifide chickenshit. I think it may stem from the not-so-pleasant things that happened either to me or around me as a child, you just don't recover from that kind of stuff very well, I guess. But that's a whole other story.
I stayed up all night, unpacking boxes, listening to the sounds. Stopping once in a while to familiarize myself with the creepy noises, knowing that I already love my new home, but it's just a matter of time to grow accustomed to its difference, its personality and character, its flaws…and once I do, I am going to love it even more because I will no longer be afraid. I know it is here to protect me, keep me warm and witness my life, unconditionally, as it unfolds under its roof.
The sun is coming up despite the fact that I'm attempting to will it back to bed, just for a little bit longer. I was just getting used to the dark. Even if I didn't have hundreds of boxes to unpack, I would have sat up all night anyway, I just wanted to take it all in. The whole night. See what this old house had to say, have it tell me some stories that begin, "I remember when…" Sleeping wouldn't have allowed me my first whole experience in what seems to be a brand new life. So many changes have come about in my life recently, I'm shocked that I'm not more stressed out. I've packed up my life, cleaned house - literally and figuratively in my life, moved away from La la land, been spending time with someone who, to my amazement, likes to make-out more than I do. (And he's damn good at it too.) Sometimes I have to stop myself and think, Who am I? Nothing here is familiar, it's my stuff, but it's in different places, it's my life, but on a different map, and who IS this guy who holds my hand in his and then leans in to kiss it with all the charm and chivalry of a time long since vanished?
Thirty four is starting out to be an interesting year, not at ALL what I had pictured or planned or predicted, but I'm kinda digging it so far. The only complaint I have about the house, it's F-ing cold! Especially tonight with all the environmental antics going on outside. The heat doesn't seem to want to make its way to my room. This problem, as well as my scaredy cat-ness, could be remedied rather easily if the cute boy would just hurry up and get here…
This house is old, it creeks and sighs a lot, kind of like me. Tonight happened to be an extremely windy night as well. Great. The tree branches scrape up against the windows and all I can think is Freddy Krueger. And then came the rain. I love the rain…but boy is it interesting when it rains around this place. There seems to be thousands of different surfaces surrounding the area for the raindrops to ricochet off of…oversized drops from a rain gutter that's not quite doing its job, tiny little tap dances on the concrete patio outside my room, rain on the window panes mimicking the sounds of me typing on my keyboard, somewhere else a rhythmic clapping sound happening that I am almost convinced can only be an actual human clapping their hands together outside in the rain. I am bold enough to do many things, but throw me in a house that has lots of places to hide and I am a bonifide chickenshit. I think it may stem from the not-so-pleasant things that happened either to me or around me as a child, you just don't recover from that kind of stuff very well, I guess. But that's a whole other story.
I stayed up all night, unpacking boxes, listening to the sounds. Stopping once in a while to familiarize myself with the creepy noises, knowing that I already love my new home, but it's just a matter of time to grow accustomed to its difference, its personality and character, its flaws…and once I do, I am going to love it even more because I will no longer be afraid. I know it is here to protect me, keep me warm and witness my life, unconditionally, as it unfolds under its roof.
The sun is coming up despite the fact that I'm attempting to will it back to bed, just for a little bit longer. I was just getting used to the dark. Even if I didn't have hundreds of boxes to unpack, I would have sat up all night anyway, I just wanted to take it all in. The whole night. See what this old house had to say, have it tell me some stories that begin, "I remember when…" Sleeping wouldn't have allowed me my first whole experience in what seems to be a brand new life. So many changes have come about in my life recently, I'm shocked that I'm not more stressed out. I've packed up my life, cleaned house - literally and figuratively in my life, moved away from La la land, been spending time with someone who, to my amazement, likes to make-out more than I do. (And he's damn good at it too.) Sometimes I have to stop myself and think, Who am I? Nothing here is familiar, it's my stuff, but it's in different places, it's my life, but on a different map, and who IS this guy who holds my hand in his and then leans in to kiss it with all the charm and chivalry of a time long since vanished?
Thirty four is starting out to be an interesting year, not at ALL what I had pictured or planned or predicted, but I'm kinda digging it so far. The only complaint I have about the house, it's F-ing cold! Especially tonight with all the environmental antics going on outside. The heat doesn't seem to want to make its way to my room. This problem, as well as my scaredy cat-ness, could be remedied rather easily if the cute boy would just hurry up and get here…
Friday, October 26, 2007
Good thing I don't sleep naked
My insomnia's been in check lately...and luckily it's been a while since I've had to get up in the middle of the night to pee, as well. Thus not having to deal with the whole "To flush or not to flush" situation either. I'm happy, the cat's happy, life is swell. Then, as luck would have it, the last two nights, I'm up at some ridiculous hour trying to estimate - without using too much brain power, because then I might wake myself up too much - just how serious the state of emergen-pee is. Do I HAVE to get up or can I maybe risk trying to hold it until a less ridiculous hour of the morning. I had to get up. Then I decided I was hungry. Then I was wide awake, with nothing to do at 4:20 in the morning. Hmmmm, just then I got an idea. A couple of tasty hits later, and accidentally dumping the contents of the pipe in my bed...I happened upon this in the Oddly Enough section of Reuters:
LONDON (Reuters) - A surge in naked sleepwalking among guests has led one of Britain's largest budget hotel groups to re-train staff to handle late-night nudity.
Travelodge, which runs more than 300 business hotels in Britain, says sleepwalking rose seven-fold in the past year, and 95 percent of the somnambulants are scantily clad men.
"We have seen an increased number of cases over the years so it is important that our staff know how to help sleepwalking when it arises," Leigh McCarron, the chain's sleep director, said in a statement.
One tip in the company's newly released "sleepwalkers guide" tells staff to keep towels handy at the front desk in case a customer's dignity needs preserving.
The company said naked wanderers often ask receptionists such questions as "Where's the bathroom?," "Do you have a newspaper?" or "Can I check out, I'm late for work?"
Studies have found that sleepwalking can be brought on by stress, alcohol, eating cheese or consuming too much caffeine. It generally takes effect an hour or two after going to bed, when people are first slipping into a deep sleep.
Asked Thursday why she thought 95 percent of its sleepwalkers were naked men, a Travelodge spokeswoman said: "We have more men staying with us than women, so that could be a factor."
AND THEN...
I ran across this:
Manned Cloud Hotel: The Way of the Future
POSTED: Thursday, October 25, 2007
FROM BLOG: The Informed Traveler - Luxury Hotels
It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a… flying whale in the sky! In fact, this enormous whale will be an eco-hotel, an environmentally-sensitive air-ship that cruises the earth. The mastermind behind the Manned Cloud? Jean-Marie Massaud, the brilliant designer who used to work with Philippe Starck and who was named Designer of the Year at last year's Salon du Meuble in Paris. His dream– a unique, helium-filled hotel from where you can appreciate the most marvelous views of Earth– could be realized as soon as next year.
Imagine the sleep I'd get up there and when can I make a reservation?
Sweet dreams everybody...
LONDON (Reuters) - A surge in naked sleepwalking among guests has led one of Britain's largest budget hotel groups to re-train staff to handle late-night nudity.
Travelodge, which runs more than 300 business hotels in Britain, says sleepwalking rose seven-fold in the past year, and 95 percent of the somnambulants are scantily clad men.
"We have seen an increased number of cases over the years so it is important that our staff know how to help sleepwalking when it arises," Leigh McCarron, the chain's sleep director, said in a statement.
One tip in the company's newly released "sleepwalkers guide" tells staff to keep towels handy at the front desk in case a customer's dignity needs preserving.
The company said naked wanderers often ask receptionists such questions as "Where's the bathroom?," "Do you have a newspaper?" or "Can I check out, I'm late for work?"
Studies have found that sleepwalking can be brought on by stress, alcohol, eating cheese or consuming too much caffeine. It generally takes effect an hour or two after going to bed, when people are first slipping into a deep sleep.
Asked Thursday why she thought 95 percent of its sleepwalkers were naked men, a Travelodge spokeswoman said: "We have more men staying with us than women, so that could be a factor."
AND THEN...
I ran across this:
Manned Cloud Hotel: The Way of the Future
POSTED: Thursday, October 25, 2007
FROM BLOG: The Informed Traveler - Luxury Hotels
It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a… flying whale in the sky! In fact, this enormous whale will be an eco-hotel, an environmentally-sensitive air-ship that cruises the earth. The mastermind behind the Manned Cloud? Jean-Marie Massaud, the brilliant designer who used to work with Philippe Starck and who was named Designer of the Year at last year's Salon du Meuble in Paris. His dream– a unique, helium-filled hotel from where you can appreciate the most marvelous views of Earth– could be realized as soon as next year.
Imagine the sleep I'd get up there and when can I make a reservation?
Sweet dreams everybody...
Monday, September 24, 2007
Everything I ever needed to know about meditating...
...I'm learning from a cat.
I have tried and tried and tried to meditate. Calm the mind, center myself, DON'T fall asleep, be still, don't fall asleep, think of absolutely nothing, don't fall asleep. I can't sleep at night, but get me to try meditating and I'm out like a light. If you suggest to me that I meditate in bed to try and trick myself into falling asleep, it doesn't work. I've tried. Basically, my attempts to meditate, while full of effort and hope, are typically quite unsuccessful.
However, about a week ago, I was watching my cat sitting in her cat bed. SHE appeared to be meditating. I was actually kind of jealous. I watched as something caught her eye and she looked around for a bit, then back to just sort of gazing lazily around the room, and subsequently back to staring at nothing but somehow completely present, aware, conscious, blissful and just plain old being. She seemed to be the exact representation of the definition of my recent tattoo. I stared at her for quite a long time, at first trying to figure it out, trying to figure her out. What is she thinking? IS she thinking? Is there just a whole lot of nothing going on in there? She must be thinking something, Christ! What is it?
Then I just stopped trying to figure anything out and decided to simply 'be' there, just like this very zen-like feline sitting in front of me. I laid very still and merely observed. For the first time in what seemed like forever, my own mind stopped spinning wildly with its random, scattered, uncontrollable thoughts. I wasn't worried about tomorrow, pissed about yesterday, unnerved about today. I was simply here. I watched her ears move to the direction in which she heard a very faint noise. I heard it too. I began to hear a lot of things that I don't think I would normally hear because my mind is too busy being busy. They were insignificant noises…but then again, maybe they weren't. They were noises that were happening as part of the day, in that moment of time, that are just as significant as any other, only this time I was wholly aware of this reality.
My cat just taught me how to be present. Be where I am. And accept it.
I'd recently read a book called The Power of Now and had earmarked a number of pages to go back to re-read at a later time for better understanding. When I finally came out of my closest-thing-to-mediation-I've-ever-realized, I went over and picked up the book without any specific intent, maybe just to browse through some of those pages again. I casually opened the book to a random earmarked page and the first thing I saw was the bold lettering of a paragraph header that read:
Wherever you are, be there totally.
Funny, I read it a month ago, but it didn't actually sink in until I was staring at a cat.
Continuing on my journey of meditative discovery, just the other day I was visiting a friend who had gotten a new kitten a few months ago, a very cute one I might add. Of course there's a huge difference between a 13 year old, fat, sleepy cat and a teeny, bouncy, playful, ball of energy kitten but my newfound ability to practice my meditation seemed not to discriminate. It was late in the day and everyone was retiring for the evening. Kitty had some energy stored up, after all, he'd just taken a much needed nap on my stomach a few minutes earlier. I twirled one of his cat toys around the kitchen and he chased it…relentlessly. I, of course, wouldn't dream of having anything to do with his dissatisfaction, so I didn't dare stop until he decided he didn't want to play anymore. Kittens can play for a long time without getting tired, I've forgotten this. He jumped again and again as I twirled and looped the string around and around. Accidentally, I sort of just zoned out…once again, not thinking about anything except that present moment. I was not me, I just was. Nothing and everything existed right there in the middle of that dimly lit kitchen. For several moments, I felt full of peace and ease and stillness, even though the whole while, kitty pounced and jumped and ran all around me. Strangely, it was actually because he was doing this, that I was discovering this long absent feeling of serenity.
My 'meditation' was interrupted by my friend walking into the kitchen. Not surprisingly, the kitty's concentration on the string was not at all diverted. Oddly, after waking from my spell, all the thoughts that did pop back into my head were so unmistakably clear. I had a thousand things that I wanted to say right then, things that finally made sense after what seemed like hundreds of years of muddled confusion. Things I wasn't sure how to say before, but now they just seemed so simple. I was so surprised though by my unexpected stream of consciousness, that I said -- nothing. I just sat there with my mouth open and eventually managed to eek out a smile to my friend who stood there, probably thinking I was just WAY too into playing with his cat.
I've since tried to meditate on my own, without the help of a feline and while I'm still having a hard time with that speed racer mind of mine, I'm finding I can be much more present and appreciative of the moment at least, which is a good start anyway. Whenever I do need help, I guess it's nice that I don't have to look far to find one of the furry Buddhas lying around this place who can help me to s l o w the heck down and continue to remind me how to be here now.
I have tried and tried and tried to meditate. Calm the mind, center myself, DON'T fall asleep, be still, don't fall asleep, think of absolutely nothing, don't fall asleep. I can't sleep at night, but get me to try meditating and I'm out like a light. If you suggest to me that I meditate in bed to try and trick myself into falling asleep, it doesn't work. I've tried. Basically, my attempts to meditate, while full of effort and hope, are typically quite unsuccessful.
However, about a week ago, I was watching my cat sitting in her cat bed. SHE appeared to be meditating. I was actually kind of jealous. I watched as something caught her eye and she looked around for a bit, then back to just sort of gazing lazily around the room, and subsequently back to staring at nothing but somehow completely present, aware, conscious, blissful and just plain old being. She seemed to be the exact representation of the definition of my recent tattoo. I stared at her for quite a long time, at first trying to figure it out, trying to figure her out. What is she thinking? IS she thinking? Is there just a whole lot of nothing going on in there? She must be thinking something, Christ! What is it?
Then I just stopped trying to figure anything out and decided to simply 'be' there, just like this very zen-like feline sitting in front of me. I laid very still and merely observed. For the first time in what seemed like forever, my own mind stopped spinning wildly with its random, scattered, uncontrollable thoughts. I wasn't worried about tomorrow, pissed about yesterday, unnerved about today. I was simply here. I watched her ears move to the direction in which she heard a very faint noise. I heard it too. I began to hear a lot of things that I don't think I would normally hear because my mind is too busy being busy. They were insignificant noises…but then again, maybe they weren't. They were noises that were happening as part of the day, in that moment of time, that are just as significant as any other, only this time I was wholly aware of this reality.
My cat just taught me how to be present. Be where I am. And accept it.
I'd recently read a book called The Power of Now and had earmarked a number of pages to go back to re-read at a later time for better understanding. When I finally came out of my closest-thing-to-mediation-I've-ever-realized, I went over and picked up the book without any specific intent, maybe just to browse through some of those pages again. I casually opened the book to a random earmarked page and the first thing I saw was the bold lettering of a paragraph header that read:
Wherever you are, be there totally.
Funny, I read it a month ago, but it didn't actually sink in until I was staring at a cat.
Continuing on my journey of meditative discovery, just the other day I was visiting a friend who had gotten a new kitten a few months ago, a very cute one I might add. Of course there's a huge difference between a 13 year old, fat, sleepy cat and a teeny, bouncy, playful, ball of energy kitten but my newfound ability to practice my meditation seemed not to discriminate. It was late in the day and everyone was retiring for the evening. Kitty had some energy stored up, after all, he'd just taken a much needed nap on my stomach a few minutes earlier. I twirled one of his cat toys around the kitchen and he chased it…relentlessly. I, of course, wouldn't dream of having anything to do with his dissatisfaction, so I didn't dare stop until he decided he didn't want to play anymore. Kittens can play for a long time without getting tired, I've forgotten this. He jumped again and again as I twirled and looped the string around and around. Accidentally, I sort of just zoned out…once again, not thinking about anything except that present moment. I was not me, I just was. Nothing and everything existed right there in the middle of that dimly lit kitchen. For several moments, I felt full of peace and ease and stillness, even though the whole while, kitty pounced and jumped and ran all around me. Strangely, it was actually because he was doing this, that I was discovering this long absent feeling of serenity.
My 'meditation' was interrupted by my friend walking into the kitchen. Not surprisingly, the kitty's concentration on the string was not at all diverted. Oddly, after waking from my spell, all the thoughts that did pop back into my head were so unmistakably clear. I had a thousand things that I wanted to say right then, things that finally made sense after what seemed like hundreds of years of muddled confusion. Things I wasn't sure how to say before, but now they just seemed so simple. I was so surprised though by my unexpected stream of consciousness, that I said -- nothing. I just sat there with my mouth open and eventually managed to eek out a smile to my friend who stood there, probably thinking I was just WAY too into playing with his cat.
I've since tried to meditate on my own, without the help of a feline and while I'm still having a hard time with that speed racer mind of mine, I'm finding I can be much more present and appreciative of the moment at least, which is a good start anyway. Whenever I do need help, I guess it's nice that I don't have to look far to find one of the furry Buddhas lying around this place who can help me to s l o w the heck down and continue to remind me how to be here now.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Bjork is Bjeautiful
I see who you are
Behind the skin
And the muscles
I see who you are, now
And when you get older later
I will see the same girl
The same soul
Lioness, fireheart
Passionate lover
And afterwards
Later this century
When you and I have become corpses
Let's celebrate now all this flesh on our bones
Let me push you up against me tightly
And enjoy every bit of you
I see who you are
Bjork - "I See Who You Are"
Behind the skin
And the muscles
I see who you are, now
And when you get older later
I will see the same girl
The same soul
Lioness, fireheart
Passionate lover
And afterwards
Later this century
When you and I have become corpses
Let's celebrate now all this flesh on our bones
Let me push you up against me tightly
And enjoy every bit of you
I see who you are
Bjork - "I See Who You Are"
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Say my name, say my name
It has been said time and again that humans love to hear the sound of their own name. Every single time you hear your own name spoken aloud, aside from the cerebral aspect of your brain activity notably increasing, it is a tiny confirmation that you exist. You are real, you matter, you are recognized, accepted, loved, missed. You belong in and to this giant universe and somehow you are relevant because you've been given your very own identity to be so.
We long to matter.
We long to be significant (even if only to one person, ever).
There is a scene in the movie "Shall We Dance" (I haven't seen the whole film, but) the speech that Susan Sarandon's character gives is quite lovely:
"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying, 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'. "
We also seem to long for a witness.
To witness what, though?
It seems it's not so much the big events in our lives as the little, seemingly insignificant ones from which we draw our sense of belonging. And honestly, how many big events are there, really? Is it not the thousands of lesser moments that do just as much to shape our life into being? It is small moments such as these for which we seek even the tiniest bit acknowledgement or recognition.
Go out and visit or call someone you really care about today. First, don't ever assume that they know anything about how you feel about them. And even if you're not the most openly mushy or complimentary person in the world, just say their name...remind them that they are real and that you're happy they exist.
We long to matter.
We long to be significant (even if only to one person, ever).
There is a scene in the movie "Shall We Dance" (I haven't seen the whole film, but) the speech that Susan Sarandon's character gives is quite lovely:
"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying, 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'. "
We also seem to long for a witness.
To witness what, though?
It seems it's not so much the big events in our lives as the little, seemingly insignificant ones from which we draw our sense of belonging. And honestly, how many big events are there, really? Is it not the thousands of lesser moments that do just as much to shape our life into being? It is small moments such as these for which we seek even the tiniest bit acknowledgement or recognition.
Go out and visit or call someone you really care about today. First, don't ever assume that they know anything about how you feel about them. And even if you're not the most openly mushy or complimentary person in the world, just say their name...remind them that they are real and that you're happy they exist.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Ancient Chinese Secret
I was leaving a friend's house the other morning and decided to detour into Chinatown on my way back home to find myself an herbalist and have him mix me up a little remedy. While I feel I cleansed myself physically and mentally while in Hawaii, I just couldn't help but think that I might benefit from a nice concoction made from some leaves and twigs and random indigenous Chinese shrubbery.
I walked into the first place whose sign I could actually read. "Herbs". Sounds like a good start. I looked around as I made my way to the pharmacist-looking lady behind the counter. I noticed some interesting items available for purchase in this "herbs" store. Scary looking mushrooms, scary looking dried out fish that still had their heads but their eyeballs were poked out. As I rounded the corner of one glass case, I saw a plastic bin full of very crispy...seahorses. This made me sad, I really like seahorses. Of all the oddities inhabiting the alien world I call 'the ocean', I deem seahorses as one of the most peculiar looking creatures and quite possibly my favorite. There was no turning back now though, I wasn't leaving this place without a bag full of creepy stuff.
The pharmacist pointed me in the direction of the herbalist, he talked to me for a few minutes in something that resembled English. He made me stick out my tongue or at least that's what I think he said. He looked at me funny, this may have been because he noticed something strange with the condition of my tongue or because he had no idea what this seemingly nice Caucasian girl was doing. He wrote out my "prescription" with a bunch of Chinese characters and I prayed that none of them said "eye of newt" or "crunchy, dried-up seahorse". As I handed the paper over to the pharmacist, I watched her carefully as she opened her apothecary drawers and weighed out each ingredient for the 'tea' I was later going to brew at home. I didn't see any horse heads going into the bags, so I was somewhat relieved. I did however realize that I wasn't quite sure what a newt even is, so how would I know if it's eye were in my bag. How big is a newt? What do you suppose its eye tastes like? And is brewing this mixture going to require the use of a cauldron? I do not own one of these.
I couldn't help but think that as they smiled at me and said have a nice day, that they were really thinking, "Sucker!" But, hey what did I have to lose? And how bad could it really be? During my stay in Peru, I ate alpaca and alligator and jungle rat and ants for God's sake! Not to mention drinking that horrid Ayahuasca. This was going to be a piece of cake.
A piece of bitter, nasty, smelly, putrid cake to be precise. I was afraid to look too closely at the bits and pieces that I poured into the pot. A pot that I'm now fairly sure I will never use again, by the way. If I had already convinced myself that there were no equine looking animals in my medicine, then I'd rather just keep thinking that and not inspect anything too closely until it was boiled into a state of completely unrecognizable. So the tea tastes like shit. And I have to drink it twice a day. I gag just thinking about it because it has a similar taste to the Ayahuasca. Not quite as bitter or lingering, thankfully, but still bad enough to make my heart start palpitating when I even think about dosing myself. I've only drank it for 6 days, I have about 4 more to go. Unless, of course, it is decided - presumably when I think I am being asked to stick my tongue out again – that I should take home an additional potion, or a different one for that matter. I am willing to accept this "challenge", just quietly hoping that I don't have to consume anything that once had a face. We'll see.
I walked into the first place whose sign I could actually read. "Herbs". Sounds like a good start. I looked around as I made my way to the pharmacist-looking lady behind the counter. I noticed some interesting items available for purchase in this "herbs" store. Scary looking mushrooms, scary looking dried out fish that still had their heads but their eyeballs were poked out. As I rounded the corner of one glass case, I saw a plastic bin full of very crispy...seahorses. This made me sad, I really like seahorses. Of all the oddities inhabiting the alien world I call 'the ocean', I deem seahorses as one of the most peculiar looking creatures and quite possibly my favorite. There was no turning back now though, I wasn't leaving this place without a bag full of creepy stuff.
The pharmacist pointed me in the direction of the herbalist, he talked to me for a few minutes in something that resembled English. He made me stick out my tongue or at least that's what I think he said. He looked at me funny, this may have been because he noticed something strange with the condition of my tongue or because he had no idea what this seemingly nice Caucasian girl was doing. He wrote out my "prescription" with a bunch of Chinese characters and I prayed that none of them said "eye of newt" or "crunchy, dried-up seahorse". As I handed the paper over to the pharmacist, I watched her carefully as she opened her apothecary drawers and weighed out each ingredient for the 'tea' I was later going to brew at home. I didn't see any horse heads going into the bags, so I was somewhat relieved. I did however realize that I wasn't quite sure what a newt even is, so how would I know if it's eye were in my bag. How big is a newt? What do you suppose its eye tastes like? And is brewing this mixture going to require the use of a cauldron? I do not own one of these.
I couldn't help but think that as they smiled at me and said have a nice day, that they were really thinking, "Sucker!" But, hey what did I have to lose? And how bad could it really be? During my stay in Peru, I ate alpaca and alligator and jungle rat and ants for God's sake! Not to mention drinking that horrid Ayahuasca. This was going to be a piece of cake.
A piece of bitter, nasty, smelly, putrid cake to be precise. I was afraid to look too closely at the bits and pieces that I poured into the pot. A pot that I'm now fairly sure I will never use again, by the way. If I had already convinced myself that there were no equine looking animals in my medicine, then I'd rather just keep thinking that and not inspect anything too closely until it was boiled into a state of completely unrecognizable. So the tea tastes like shit. And I have to drink it twice a day. I gag just thinking about it because it has a similar taste to the Ayahuasca. Not quite as bitter or lingering, thankfully, but still bad enough to make my heart start palpitating when I even think about dosing myself. I've only drank it for 6 days, I have about 4 more to go. Unless, of course, it is decided - presumably when I think I am being asked to stick my tongue out again – that I should take home an additional potion, or a different one for that matter. I am willing to accept this "challenge", just quietly hoping that I don't have to consume anything that once had a face. We'll see.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
I'm Halfway Home
This Wednesday was our official halfway point. It has also been my darkest thus far. I have cried and struggled with my mind, my emotions, my physical strength (or lack there of), my uterus (I'm sure some ladies out there can sympathize with the tiredness and unbearable pain that graces us once a month. Try dealing with it through 990 minutes of yoga in a week.) I have prayed for death several times with the utmost sincerity. Bikram often says something like "Don't worry, you're not going to die. You're not so lucky to die so soon." I challenge that statement. He also says if you die doing yoga you go straight to heaven. We'll see.
They've turned up the heat in the room and people are dropping like flies. It's almost funny. I said almost. It's like a giant game of Whack-a-Mole, one second someone is standing there, the next second...they're gone. I've been one of them…I've had to sit down quite often in the last few days, I'm not sure I have the words to explain what exactly happens while I lose my mind. Fatigue takes over, my brain feels like it's yanked itself out of my head - through my ear - and is crawling toward the nearest exit to get a single breath of air and I just sit there and watch it like a bad acid trip because I'm too exhausted to do anything else. The scary thing is, I've felt pretty good and have been taking care to eat and drink well, and I'm a pretty healthy person. I'm blaming the extra difficulty in coping on Aunt Flo's bad timing. Back home, when I was feeling the effects of PMS, I simply wouldn't go to class, because that was the logical, intelligent choice. Here, there is no choice. You go to class. Period. Pardon the horrible pun. You have a sucky class, but you go to class nonetheless. You also do not leave the room. Even if you have to lay down on your mat the whole time because you just don't have the strength, you lay there, sweating, crying, cursing, wimpering. You don't leave the room. (Two acceptable excuses for leaving the room: puking and pooping.)
I suffered the effects of loss of minerals and/or dehydration this morning (Thursday), my body began cramping up in the middle of the night. My feet, my calves, the muscles around my ribs and torso. Every time I moved, another cramp would try to paralyze me. I didn't sleep a wink. I decided in the morning that I didn't want to end up in the hospital, so I chose to speak to one of the instructors and we decided that I would not attend the morning class. Sometimes you just have to heed the red flags that go up. Another woman in our class was taken to the hospital earlier in the week for dehydration, she stays in the room next to ours, I wasn't around when the ambulance came to get her, but my roommate said it was pretty gnarly…she was severely cramped up from head to toe, almost unable to function. It was because of her that I paid a little more attention to my own symptoms and decided to err on the side of caution.
By next week, the heat is supposed to be near unbearable temperature, I hope that I am back to full strength before then. I pray.
Physically and mentally, this is the most difficult thing I've ever done. Some people seemed to be less fazed by it, some more. There is quite a variety of roller coasters rides here at the torture chamber, with only one theme in common – you have no fucking clue which one you've just sat your ass down on. It might be bumper cars, it might be spinning tea cups or it might be that one that flips you around and loop-d-loop, while you're sitting upside down and backwards and doesn't stop until you throw up at least four times.
I thought I could do anything after I jumped out of an airplane a few months ago. After I get through this, I will be able to reclaim that statement for real.
I've noticed more and more over this past week that people are starting to miss/crave human contact. Although we are just inches away from each of our 305 other classmates (yes, we lost a few) most of the day, many of us are away from loved ones, husbands, wives, kids, cats and are missing healing and compassionate human touch. This week in our final savasana it wasn't a surprise at all that you would be laying there with your eyes closed and the person next to you would just grab your hand and hold it. It happened to me twice and I initiated it once. Our posture clinics are becoming a triage of sorts, sorting victims, providing the necessary attention – foot and hand massages – to relieve the cramping and soreness and pain. And just to feel someone's empathetic hands on your pathetic feeling body.
Although this is our halfway point, week six is supposed to be the pinnacle of this whole training…I can't even think about it right now. I've found myself saying things like "one day at a time"…12 step program.
This Sunday brings a well deserved break, scuba diving and surfing…and not one single thought about yoga. Right.
(By the way, if you ever find yourself in New York, go to John Salvatore's Bikram yoga class. Even if you hate yoga and you never plan on doing it again…it is worth the experience to be in the same room as this man. He is by far the most hilarious person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and such an incredible teacher.)
They've turned up the heat in the room and people are dropping like flies. It's almost funny. I said almost. It's like a giant game of Whack-a-Mole, one second someone is standing there, the next second...they're gone. I've been one of them…I've had to sit down quite often in the last few days, I'm not sure I have the words to explain what exactly happens while I lose my mind. Fatigue takes over, my brain feels like it's yanked itself out of my head - through my ear - and is crawling toward the nearest exit to get a single breath of air and I just sit there and watch it like a bad acid trip because I'm too exhausted to do anything else. The scary thing is, I've felt pretty good and have been taking care to eat and drink well, and I'm a pretty healthy person. I'm blaming the extra difficulty in coping on Aunt Flo's bad timing. Back home, when I was feeling the effects of PMS, I simply wouldn't go to class, because that was the logical, intelligent choice. Here, there is no choice. You go to class. Period. Pardon the horrible pun. You have a sucky class, but you go to class nonetheless. You also do not leave the room. Even if you have to lay down on your mat the whole time because you just don't have the strength, you lay there, sweating, crying, cursing, wimpering. You don't leave the room. (Two acceptable excuses for leaving the room: puking and pooping.)
I suffered the effects of loss of minerals and/or dehydration this morning (Thursday), my body began cramping up in the middle of the night. My feet, my calves, the muscles around my ribs and torso. Every time I moved, another cramp would try to paralyze me. I didn't sleep a wink. I decided in the morning that I didn't want to end up in the hospital, so I chose to speak to one of the instructors and we decided that I would not attend the morning class. Sometimes you just have to heed the red flags that go up. Another woman in our class was taken to the hospital earlier in the week for dehydration, she stays in the room next to ours, I wasn't around when the ambulance came to get her, but my roommate said it was pretty gnarly…she was severely cramped up from head to toe, almost unable to function. It was because of her that I paid a little more attention to my own symptoms and decided to err on the side of caution.
By next week, the heat is supposed to be near unbearable temperature, I hope that I am back to full strength before then. I pray.
Physically and mentally, this is the most difficult thing I've ever done. Some people seemed to be less fazed by it, some more. There is quite a variety of roller coasters rides here at the torture chamber, with only one theme in common – you have no fucking clue which one you've just sat your ass down on. It might be bumper cars, it might be spinning tea cups or it might be that one that flips you around and loop-d-loop, while you're sitting upside down and backwards and doesn't stop until you throw up at least four times.
I thought I could do anything after I jumped out of an airplane a few months ago. After I get through this, I will be able to reclaim that statement for real.
I've noticed more and more over this past week that people are starting to miss/crave human contact. Although we are just inches away from each of our 305 other classmates (yes, we lost a few) most of the day, many of us are away from loved ones, husbands, wives, kids, cats and are missing healing and compassionate human touch. This week in our final savasana it wasn't a surprise at all that you would be laying there with your eyes closed and the person next to you would just grab your hand and hold it. It happened to me twice and I initiated it once. Our posture clinics are becoming a triage of sorts, sorting victims, providing the necessary attention – foot and hand massages – to relieve the cramping and soreness and pain. And just to feel someone's empathetic hands on your pathetic feeling body.
Although this is our halfway point, week six is supposed to be the pinnacle of this whole training…I can't even think about it right now. I've found myself saying things like "one day at a time"…12 step program.
This Sunday brings a well deserved break, scuba diving and surfing…and not one single thought about yoga. Right.
(By the way, if you ever find yourself in New York, go to John Salvatore's Bikram yoga class. Even if you hate yoga and you never plan on doing it again…it is worth the experience to be in the same room as this man. He is by far the most hilarious person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and such an incredible teacher.)
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Bootcamp for the Soul
I was prepared for the physical nature of this yogic exploration, but the exposure and wringing out – literally and figuratively - of the deepest, darkest places in my soul have been somewhat unexpected, at least in their intensity.
Week 3 was too busy to write, I jotted a few notes of things I wanted to say at a later time, when I actually HAD time and the next thing I knew the week was over. Time is going very quickly as we are kept extremely busy. The days all blend together in a Ground Hog Day kind of sense, you can't help but laugh at the monotony of some of it. Get up, do yoga, eat, do posture clinic, do yoga again, eat, do more posture clinic, sleep. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I can't remember whom I spoke with on which day, whom I've met before and whom I haven't (all of us still don't even know each other and aren't entirely sure when we pass someone smiling at us on the street, if it's because they are in our class or if they're just friendly).
Things I've noticed in the last couple of weeks:
Some women are completely clueless to the fact that the very short shorts they wear during practice, shows a little more of their anatomy then they might prefer to reveal. I have seen so much pussy in the last 4 weeks, I don't even know what to say. (A note to guys who want a cheap thrill, take a Bikram yoga class.)
There are so many people who haven't a clue what the words respect and discipline mean. It's sad. And frustrating. But, I don't have patience, so I guess this is my path to learning it by dealing with some of the ill-mannered, undisciplined people in this class.
I'm having really crazy, extremely vivid dreams every night. They tend to be completely nonsensical by the time I'm conscious and am thinking back on them, but during my slumber, they seem so real and practically 3-dimensional. The only other times I've had dreams this dramatic is when I've been experimenting in the expansion of my mind by alternative and/or commonly prohibited means. This yoga is a trip.
I run the risk of sounding like I've gone completely schizophrenic, but I'll say it anyway, just the other night as I was dozing off, I swear to God, I heard a voice, as clear as day, shout out my name with such exclamation it was as though they had been looking for me for days or weeks even and finally just bumped into me on the street unexpectedly. Only this street was some astral plane somewhere in the cosmos. I hesitate to say I heard it inside my head, because that does sound crazy and it's not at all what it felt like, it was just there in my altered state of consciousness. I was so surprised by it that I feel I was jarred from that place or space, so unfortunately I didn't hear anything else. But, with as tripped-out as I've been feeling lately, hopefully I'll manage to have another astral encounter again soon. Have I already mentioned that this yoga is a trip?
I've become hooked on the coconut ice cream at a local ice cream shop. They open at 6:30 am and close at 11:00, this is great news for me and my schedule.
There was finally a memorial for Don Ho, I didn't go, but I heard it was nice.
I just learned that box jellyfish infest the shores about 7 days after a full moon, leading warnings to be posted for the beach bound. I still have not found out why they do so, but I find it quite fascinating nonetheless because apparently you can set a watch to their timeliness. Weird.
Quieting the mind is one of the most difficult tasks to accomplish. I am a wanderer. During yoga, mostly because we're doing it so damn much of it, I find myself thinking about an array of different things. Food, the ocean, whose fart it is that's stinking up the room and what the hell they could have possibly eaten for dinner, music, sex. Sex is a pretty dominant thought on the wandering days. Well, I'll be honest, sex is a dominant thought most days for me, yoga or no yoga. I consider myself to be a very sexual person. I like it and I'm not going to pretend I don't. I'm not slutty, not just anyone gets invited in to my personal space. Why I'm thinking about it so much here, who knows, maybe it's because it's been so long, maybe it's because I'm constantly twisting and turning myself into funny little positions that make me think back to earlier, enjoyable times when I was doing kind of the same stuff … only naked … except maybe for a pair of knee socks, just for fun.
Sigh.
But back to quieting the mind. It is said that humans have anywhere from 12,000 to 50,000 thoughts per day. No wonder it's hard to quiet that shit down. Not to be misunderstood, I like my thoughts, but boy is it hard to shut them off when you just want a little moment, even 20 seconds in Savasana, of silence. Nothingness. Peace. Calm. I never realized how much I drift, until I tried not to think for 20 solid seconds. They often say that Savasana is the hardest posture, because humans tend to find such difficulty in attempting to still not only their body during those short moments, but also their mind.
My body is getting so stiff that my postures are getting worse. This was to be expected, but it's still frustrating. Many of us are worse than beginning students right now since our hamstrings seem to have turned into concrete blocks and our flexibility has become non-existent. My arms feel like they are going to snap off at the shoulders during half moon pose and I'll be left standing there like the Venus de Milo in hot pants. From what I understand, there is no breakthrough point during the training, pretty much everyone's practice is going to continue to suck until the end of the 9 weeks and only after we leave and begin to conduct our practice in a more normal manner do we see the progress we've actually made. This I cannot wait to see.
There are so many more things to write, but as usual, my mind is beginning to wander and I'm feeling quite lethargic today – today's class was the first one in which I wasn't bouncing off the walls afterward – so I'm off to an astral plane to quiet my mind, maybe collide with some cosmic mind and have some mind blowing sex since I can't get it any other way right now. (Aside from drugs, alcohol and cigarettes being forbidden during this time, sex is a no-no as well.)
Sigh.
Week 3 was too busy to write, I jotted a few notes of things I wanted to say at a later time, when I actually HAD time and the next thing I knew the week was over. Time is going very quickly as we are kept extremely busy. The days all blend together in a Ground Hog Day kind of sense, you can't help but laugh at the monotony of some of it. Get up, do yoga, eat, do posture clinic, do yoga again, eat, do more posture clinic, sleep. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I can't remember whom I spoke with on which day, whom I've met before and whom I haven't (all of us still don't even know each other and aren't entirely sure when we pass someone smiling at us on the street, if it's because they are in our class or if they're just friendly).
Things I've noticed in the last couple of weeks:
Some women are completely clueless to the fact that the very short shorts they wear during practice, shows a little more of their anatomy then they might prefer to reveal. I have seen so much pussy in the last 4 weeks, I don't even know what to say. (A note to guys who want a cheap thrill, take a Bikram yoga class.)
There are so many people who haven't a clue what the words respect and discipline mean. It's sad. And frustrating. But, I don't have patience, so I guess this is my path to learning it by dealing with some of the ill-mannered, undisciplined people in this class.
I'm having really crazy, extremely vivid dreams every night. They tend to be completely nonsensical by the time I'm conscious and am thinking back on them, but during my slumber, they seem so real and practically 3-dimensional. The only other times I've had dreams this dramatic is when I've been experimenting in the expansion of my mind by alternative and/or commonly prohibited means. This yoga is a trip.
I run the risk of sounding like I've gone completely schizophrenic, but I'll say it anyway, just the other night as I was dozing off, I swear to God, I heard a voice, as clear as day, shout out my name with such exclamation it was as though they had been looking for me for days or weeks even and finally just bumped into me on the street unexpectedly. Only this street was some astral plane somewhere in the cosmos. I hesitate to say I heard it inside my head, because that does sound crazy and it's not at all what it felt like, it was just there in my altered state of consciousness. I was so surprised by it that I feel I was jarred from that place or space, so unfortunately I didn't hear anything else. But, with as tripped-out as I've been feeling lately, hopefully I'll manage to have another astral encounter again soon. Have I already mentioned that this yoga is a trip?
I've become hooked on the coconut ice cream at a local ice cream shop. They open at 6:30 am and close at 11:00, this is great news for me and my schedule.
There was finally a memorial for Don Ho, I didn't go, but I heard it was nice.
I just learned that box jellyfish infest the shores about 7 days after a full moon, leading warnings to be posted for the beach bound. I still have not found out why they do so, but I find it quite fascinating nonetheless because apparently you can set a watch to their timeliness. Weird.
Quieting the mind is one of the most difficult tasks to accomplish. I am a wanderer. During yoga, mostly because we're doing it so damn much of it, I find myself thinking about an array of different things. Food, the ocean, whose fart it is that's stinking up the room and what the hell they could have possibly eaten for dinner, music, sex. Sex is a pretty dominant thought on the wandering days. Well, I'll be honest, sex is a dominant thought most days for me, yoga or no yoga. I consider myself to be a very sexual person. I like it and I'm not going to pretend I don't. I'm not slutty, not just anyone gets invited in to my personal space. Why I'm thinking about it so much here, who knows, maybe it's because it's been so long, maybe it's because I'm constantly twisting and turning myself into funny little positions that make me think back to earlier, enjoyable times when I was doing kind of the same stuff … only naked … except maybe for a pair of knee socks, just for fun.
Sigh.
But back to quieting the mind. It is said that humans have anywhere from 12,000 to 50,000 thoughts per day. No wonder it's hard to quiet that shit down. Not to be misunderstood, I like my thoughts, but boy is it hard to shut them off when you just want a little moment, even 20 seconds in Savasana, of silence. Nothingness. Peace. Calm. I never realized how much I drift, until I tried not to think for 20 solid seconds. They often say that Savasana is the hardest posture, because humans tend to find such difficulty in attempting to still not only their body during those short moments, but also their mind.
My body is getting so stiff that my postures are getting worse. This was to be expected, but it's still frustrating. Many of us are worse than beginning students right now since our hamstrings seem to have turned into concrete blocks and our flexibility has become non-existent. My arms feel like they are going to snap off at the shoulders during half moon pose and I'll be left standing there like the Venus de Milo in hot pants. From what I understand, there is no breakthrough point during the training, pretty much everyone's practice is going to continue to suck until the end of the 9 weeks and only after we leave and begin to conduct our practice in a more normal manner do we see the progress we've actually made. This I cannot wait to see.
There are so many more things to write, but as usual, my mind is beginning to wander and I'm feeling quite lethargic today – today's class was the first one in which I wasn't bouncing off the walls afterward – so I'm off to an astral plane to quiet my mind, maybe collide with some cosmic mind and have some mind blowing sex since I can't get it any other way right now. (Aside from drugs, alcohol and cigarettes being forbidden during this time, sex is a no-no as well.)
Sigh.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
We are all millionaires
It's the end of week two (of nine) Bikram Teacher Training and it's as though the first seven days didn't even exist since they were so different, so far away from the changes that have already presented themselves in days eight through fourteen.
My body is experiencing some serious pain. The pain likes to travel, go figure, just like me. My horrible knees from 6 years of basketball are strengthening, but of course they are letting me know how much they dislike the process. Today, however, I was able to do standing head to knee, full on, the entire posture, beginning to end. (I haven't been able to do it once since I got to Hawaii for some reason.) My right hip hurts so badly that it is keeping me from doing triangle, which is frustrating the hell out of me, because although there are many in this class of 311 people who sit out of more than a few postures, I don't want that to be me. But, I've had to tell my foolishly stubborn side to take it easy and let myself heal before really fucking things up for myself. I somehow seem to forget that I have 7 more weeks of this.
7 weeks. It's funny. During our first 3 days here, many of us felt like we had been here for 3 weeks with all the commotion and adjustments being made. Now, I feel it was just three days ago that I was thinking about how I had 9 weeks ahead of me. Time is a funny thing.
My days have been long, we wake up no later than 7:30 am, go all day, sometimes until midnight or 1 am. We have two breaks in the day that are roughly about 45 minutes to an hour (by the time you get out of the class, up the crowded elevator – or stairs when you're really impatient - and up to your room) in which time you have to shower, eat, wash clothes, prepare for your next class and possibly even start making something to eat for your second break just because you have an extra 6 minutes that day. Anyone who has called me, know that this is why it is damn near impossible for me to talk during the week. Unless of course you are up around 3 or 4 am Pacific Standard Time, in which case I would LOVE to talk as this is about the hour that my insomnia takes over and I would love to hear your beautiful voice.
On the days we plan ahead, which is most days now that we're getting our routine down, a handful of us sprint to the ocean right after our morning class. More students are starting to catch on, what has taken them so long, I have no idea. Maybe because we insist that they are crazy to miss out on such a reward after a tough class. We don't have much time, but as I said, if you've planned well, you can be out there for a good half an hour at least. The salt water is so good for sore muscles and ironically, because of our limited time, we find ourselves even more grateful for every grain of sand we step on along the way, every wave that hits our aching bodies and every drop of sunshine that reminds us that no matter how fucking hard this is, we're in Hawaii. It is so true that you indeed do not appreciate things if they are simply handed over to you. You cherish and value everything much more when you've had to work for it. And if you've had to bust your ass for it…there's no describing how invaluable that thing, whatever it may be, becomes to you.
I can already see physical changes in my body, in just two weeks. I ran my hand across my abdomen while waiting in line, just sort of unconsciously and I didn't even recognize that it was me I was touching. I have the beginnings of what may be growing into a six pack. Another bonus is the fact that I can eat whatever I want. I eat pretty healthy as it is as I've never been a fan of fast food and all that, but I have always been a sweets whore and I justify my cravings for chocolate and cookies and ice cream even more now. I can honestly say that it is pure satisfaction to eat a decadent chocolate mousse cake something-or- another with ice cream and not even think for a moment that it's bad for me. I'm eating an ice cream sandwich as I type this…if you could see my smile you would see it covered in edible, chocolaty sweaters. One sad food note, the imported avocados are $3.50 each. And the locally grown ones are just not as good. I miss California avocados. The best ones I've had back home were the ones I've picked myself. Another testament to the "things are always better when you've had to work for them" philosophy.
I find this whole experience to be strangely parallel to my Ayahuasca adventure last year. Many of us have been drawn to this, as if by some invisible force, many of us started this journey to be healed in some way, be it physically, mentally, emotionally or all of the above. There are people here from all over the world, with many different motivations and life stories. Not at all unlike the very different, yet exactly alike group of strangers I met in Peru. Even the aesthetics of our practice/ceremonial area has similarities. Everyone is to take off their shoes before entering the room. Not only to protect the carpet, but as a sign of respect. We sit on the floor as we listen intently to our Guru, just as we did with our Shaman in the jungle. We never fail to show our gratitude for the gift of his time and knowledge and compassion that he so generously gives to us…(of course we've paid him, but that's besides the point.)
Aside from the physical challenge, which is intense for me, but not totally unbearable – YET - I am being challenged mentally and emotionally as well. I have shed a few tears in class, not big deal it's happened before, and it is expected to happen to many of us. Last night's class was especially emotional for me. As usual, I'm never quite sure why the tears come, but it's such a nice release. I welcome it. The instructors have told us several times that we will hit a wall or some form of 'rock bottom' in the weeks to come – somewhere around week four or five, they say. It's a little disheartening to hear this considering that we all seem to be at a high point currently, feeling sore, but accomplished and positive in our outlook of the near future. It could be likely that next time I write, I will be depressed and beat, angry or frustrated or God only knows what.
Though I've never experienced a 12 step program, I get this feeling like this is the boot camp version of one. As a matter of fact, there are many people here who have openly admitted the horrible addictions they have suffered, and the only reprieve and viable cure they have found is Bikram Yoga. Go figure. I find myself wanting to right all my wrongs, even ones that have long been forgotten, because somehow Bikram makes them resurface (because they never really go away…you hold on to everything, whether you intend to or not. Everything. Coincidentally, I've been told by several instructors that people hold deep-rooted emotional pain in their hips. Funny that my right one is killing me.)
I find I want to say I love you to every single person in my life. Especially those I've neglected to tell recently. And those I haven't talked to in quite some time. I find that I can't wait to truly reconcile the lingering misunderstandings or arguments or just plain old stupid reasons that have made me grow apart from some very special people in my life. And boy, does this make you realize that pretty much every reason is a stupid reason to lose touch with someone you love. And boy, does this make you realize how much you love. And how much you love to love. And how much love you have to give. And the millions of ways there are to give it. And how unbelievably grateful you are to be able to do so. Without even a remote risk of ever running out of it. An endless, eternal supply, at your fingertips, whenever you wish. God, we are all millionaires, to have this something…that costs absolutely nothing…yet is beyond priceless.
I have no idea what the next few weeks have in store for me, but the intensity of the feelings that have grown, re-emerged from somewhere deep down inside, appeared out of nowhere, blown up like fireworks right in front of me are nothing short of mind-blowing. I like having my mind blown. A lot.
My body is experiencing some serious pain. The pain likes to travel, go figure, just like me. My horrible knees from 6 years of basketball are strengthening, but of course they are letting me know how much they dislike the process. Today, however, I was able to do standing head to knee, full on, the entire posture, beginning to end. (I haven't been able to do it once since I got to Hawaii for some reason.) My right hip hurts so badly that it is keeping me from doing triangle, which is frustrating the hell out of me, because although there are many in this class of 311 people who sit out of more than a few postures, I don't want that to be me. But, I've had to tell my foolishly stubborn side to take it easy and let myself heal before really fucking things up for myself. I somehow seem to forget that I have 7 more weeks of this.
7 weeks. It's funny. During our first 3 days here, many of us felt like we had been here for 3 weeks with all the commotion and adjustments being made. Now, I feel it was just three days ago that I was thinking about how I had 9 weeks ahead of me. Time is a funny thing.
My days have been long, we wake up no later than 7:30 am, go all day, sometimes until midnight or 1 am. We have two breaks in the day that are roughly about 45 minutes to an hour (by the time you get out of the class, up the crowded elevator – or stairs when you're really impatient - and up to your room) in which time you have to shower, eat, wash clothes, prepare for your next class and possibly even start making something to eat for your second break just because you have an extra 6 minutes that day. Anyone who has called me, know that this is why it is damn near impossible for me to talk during the week. Unless of course you are up around 3 or 4 am Pacific Standard Time, in which case I would LOVE to talk as this is about the hour that my insomnia takes over and I would love to hear your beautiful voice.
On the days we plan ahead, which is most days now that we're getting our routine down, a handful of us sprint to the ocean right after our morning class. More students are starting to catch on, what has taken them so long, I have no idea. Maybe because we insist that they are crazy to miss out on such a reward after a tough class. We don't have much time, but as I said, if you've planned well, you can be out there for a good half an hour at least. The salt water is so good for sore muscles and ironically, because of our limited time, we find ourselves even more grateful for every grain of sand we step on along the way, every wave that hits our aching bodies and every drop of sunshine that reminds us that no matter how fucking hard this is, we're in Hawaii. It is so true that you indeed do not appreciate things if they are simply handed over to you. You cherish and value everything much more when you've had to work for it. And if you've had to bust your ass for it…there's no describing how invaluable that thing, whatever it may be, becomes to you.
I can already see physical changes in my body, in just two weeks. I ran my hand across my abdomen while waiting in line, just sort of unconsciously and I didn't even recognize that it was me I was touching. I have the beginnings of what may be growing into a six pack. Another bonus is the fact that I can eat whatever I want. I eat pretty healthy as it is as I've never been a fan of fast food and all that, but I have always been a sweets whore and I justify my cravings for chocolate and cookies and ice cream even more now. I can honestly say that it is pure satisfaction to eat a decadent chocolate mousse cake something-or- another with ice cream and not even think for a moment that it's bad for me. I'm eating an ice cream sandwich as I type this…if you could see my smile you would see it covered in edible, chocolaty sweaters. One sad food note, the imported avocados are $3.50 each. And the locally grown ones are just not as good. I miss California avocados. The best ones I've had back home were the ones I've picked myself. Another testament to the "things are always better when you've had to work for them" philosophy.
I find this whole experience to be strangely parallel to my Ayahuasca adventure last year. Many of us have been drawn to this, as if by some invisible force, many of us started this journey to be healed in some way, be it physically, mentally, emotionally or all of the above. There are people here from all over the world, with many different motivations and life stories. Not at all unlike the very different, yet exactly alike group of strangers I met in Peru. Even the aesthetics of our practice/ceremonial area has similarities. Everyone is to take off their shoes before entering the room. Not only to protect the carpet, but as a sign of respect. We sit on the floor as we listen intently to our Guru, just as we did with our Shaman in the jungle. We never fail to show our gratitude for the gift of his time and knowledge and compassion that he so generously gives to us…(of course we've paid him, but that's besides the point.)
Aside from the physical challenge, which is intense for me, but not totally unbearable – YET - I am being challenged mentally and emotionally as well. I have shed a few tears in class, not big deal it's happened before, and it is expected to happen to many of us. Last night's class was especially emotional for me. As usual, I'm never quite sure why the tears come, but it's such a nice release. I welcome it. The instructors have told us several times that we will hit a wall or some form of 'rock bottom' in the weeks to come – somewhere around week four or five, they say. It's a little disheartening to hear this considering that we all seem to be at a high point currently, feeling sore, but accomplished and positive in our outlook of the near future. It could be likely that next time I write, I will be depressed and beat, angry or frustrated or God only knows what.
Though I've never experienced a 12 step program, I get this feeling like this is the boot camp version of one. As a matter of fact, there are many people here who have openly admitted the horrible addictions they have suffered, and the only reprieve and viable cure they have found is Bikram Yoga. Go figure. I find myself wanting to right all my wrongs, even ones that have long been forgotten, because somehow Bikram makes them resurface (because they never really go away…you hold on to everything, whether you intend to or not. Everything. Coincidentally, I've been told by several instructors that people hold deep-rooted emotional pain in their hips. Funny that my right one is killing me.)
I find I want to say I love you to every single person in my life. Especially those I've neglected to tell recently. And those I haven't talked to in quite some time. I find that I can't wait to truly reconcile the lingering misunderstandings or arguments or just plain old stupid reasons that have made me grow apart from some very special people in my life. And boy, does this make you realize that pretty much every reason is a stupid reason to lose touch with someone you love. And boy, does this make you realize how much you love. And how much you love to love. And how much love you have to give. And the millions of ways there are to give it. And how unbelievably grateful you are to be able to do so. Without even a remote risk of ever running out of it. An endless, eternal supply, at your fingertips, whenever you wish. God, we are all millionaires, to have this something…that costs absolutely nothing…yet is beyond priceless.
I have no idea what the next few weeks have in store for me, but the intensity of the feelings that have grown, re-emerged from somewhere deep down inside, appeared out of nowhere, blown up like fireworks right in front of me are nothing short of mind-blowing. I like having my mind blown. A lot.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Aloha and Maholo
I have been given a few lovely bon voyage gifts by a few lovely human beings and I am just overwhelmed at the generosity and thoughtfulness of my dear friends.
One gift is a book called Ever Wonder? by Kobi Yamada. It is a poignant little book filled with questions meant to…well…make you wonder. I wanted to share some of my favorite ones. If any of them happen to make you wonder, maybe take a moment to really answer them.
When was the last time you did something for the first time?
What do you pack to pursue a dream, what do you leave behind?
When will you ever have more time than you do right now?
What are five things you value most in life?
What is the one thing you think of that always makes you smile?
Can you really be brave if you've only had wonderful things happen to you?
If what's in your dreams wasn't already inside of you, how could you even dream it?
Do you know that you know far more than you know you know?
What good has worrying ever done?
Where do you draw the line between possible and impossible?
How do you want to be remembered?
What makes something beautiful?
Are you the type of person with whom you would like to spend the rest of your life?
Are you making new mistakes, or the same old ones?
If you had five minutes to live, who would you call? And why are you waiting?
Aloha and Mahalo until June 16th, I will miss each and every one of you. I hope to see you when I come back ripped and cut and tanned. Or dead.
One gift is a book called Ever Wonder? by Kobi Yamada. It is a poignant little book filled with questions meant to…well…make you wonder. I wanted to share some of my favorite ones. If any of them happen to make you wonder, maybe take a moment to really answer them.
When was the last time you did something for the first time?
What do you pack to pursue a dream, what do you leave behind?
When will you ever have more time than you do right now?
What are five things you value most in life?
What is the one thing you think of that always makes you smile?
Can you really be brave if you've only had wonderful things happen to you?
If what's in your dreams wasn't already inside of you, how could you even dream it?
Do you know that you know far more than you know you know?
What good has worrying ever done?
Where do you draw the line between possible and impossible?
How do you want to be remembered?
What makes something beautiful?
Are you the type of person with whom you would like to spend the rest of your life?
Are you making new mistakes, or the same old ones?
If you had five minutes to live, who would you call? And why are you waiting?
Aloha and Mahalo until June 16th, I will miss each and every one of you. I hope to see you when I come back ripped and cut and tanned. Or dead.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Ode to Penny
For anyone who's not old enough to remember, Penny was a claymation character on Pee Wee's Playhouse who had pennies for eyes and would just ramble on and on about random stuff that most of the time didn't really go together or make much sense. This might be why I liked her so much. She also did a PSA spot on drugs. She would say things like:
Hamsters are good.
Pizza is good.
Drugs are bad.
Short and simple, but so sincere as though it was coming from the bottom of her Play-doh filled heart. Unfortunately, her anti-drug campaign apparently had zero effect on me since it's fair to say I've indulged in my share of recreational amusements. Whoever created Penny was probably guilty of placing a few squares on his tongue too, so thanks anyway, Penny. But I always seem to recall her funny little way of saying things. She came up twice this weekend, so this is my ode to Penny. From the bottom of my Play-doh filled heart.
Love is good.
Friends are good.
Fair-weather friends are bad.
Integrity is good.
Sharing is good.
Desire is good.
Insatiable is bad.
Crushes are good.
Vegetables are good.
Feeding the soul is good.
Feeding the ego is bad.
Yoga is good.
Hawaii is good.
Not taking the kitties to Hawaii is bad.
Breakfast is good.
Breakfast in bed is good.
Spilling breakfast in bed is bad.
Clean sheets are good.
Cold pillows are good.
Cold feet are bad.
Hugs are good.
Kisses are good.
Saying goodbye is bad.
Skydiving is good.
Parachutes that open are good.
Parachutes that don't are bad.
Heroes are good.
Winks are good.
Smiles are good.
Frowns are bad.
Laughing is good.
Laughing uncontrollably is good.
Chocolate is good.
Strawberries are good.
Strawberries in your teeth are bad.
An excellent dinner made for you is good.
Great company is good.
Wine is good.
Music is good.
Pictures are good.
Books are good.
Phone calls are good.
Trader Joe's is good.
Recycling is good.
Saying thank you is good.
Walks are good.
Holding hands is good.
Kisses on the forehead are good.
Sleeping in is good.
Spooning is good.
Loving is good.
Being loved is good.
Being good is good.
Forgetting to be grateful for even the teeny things is bad.
Remembering that bad things don't have the power to last very long and that lovely things always live on in your heart is good.
Hamsters are good.
Pizza is good.
Drugs are bad.
Short and simple, but so sincere as though it was coming from the bottom of her Play-doh filled heart. Unfortunately, her anti-drug campaign apparently had zero effect on me since it's fair to say I've indulged in my share of recreational amusements. Whoever created Penny was probably guilty of placing a few squares on his tongue too, so thanks anyway, Penny. But I always seem to recall her funny little way of saying things. She came up twice this weekend, so this is my ode to Penny. From the bottom of my Play-doh filled heart.
Love is good.
Friends are good.
Fair-weather friends are bad.
Integrity is good.
Sharing is good.
Desire is good.
Insatiable is bad.
Crushes are good.
Vegetables are good.
Feeding the soul is good.
Feeding the ego is bad.
Yoga is good.
Hawaii is good.
Not taking the kitties to Hawaii is bad.
Breakfast is good.
Breakfast in bed is good.
Spilling breakfast in bed is bad.
Clean sheets are good.
Cold pillows are good.
Cold feet are bad.
Hugs are good.
Kisses are good.
Saying goodbye is bad.
Skydiving is good.
Parachutes that open are good.
Parachutes that don't are bad.
Heroes are good.
Winks are good.
Smiles are good.
Frowns are bad.
Laughing is good.
Laughing uncontrollably is good.
Chocolate is good.
Strawberries are good.
Strawberries in your teeth are bad.
An excellent dinner made for you is good.
Great company is good.
Wine is good.
Music is good.
Pictures are good.
Books are good.
Phone calls are good.
Trader Joe's is good.
Recycling is good.
Saying thank you is good.
Walks are good.
Holding hands is good.
Kisses on the forehead are good.
Sleeping in is good.
Spooning is good.
Loving is good.
Being loved is good.
Being good is good.
Forgetting to be grateful for even the teeny things is bad.
Remembering that bad things don't have the power to last very long and that lovely things always live on in your heart is good.
Friday, March 30, 2007
What do the Stock Market and a mattress have in common?
Inspired by a conversation I had this evening with a male friend of mine, I've summed up how women feel about sex and men in three sentences:
Women are sexual creatures, just like men, we love sex, we really do.
We are also, however, instinctively built to be investors of our, let's just call it, time.
In other words, if you don't show promise of future, prospective growth and the best return on my investment, then logically, there is no reason for me to continue contributing my (ahem)…talents.
Women are sexual creatures, just like men, we love sex, we really do.
We are also, however, instinctively built to be investors of our, let's just call it, time.
In other words, if you don't show promise of future, prospective growth and the best return on my investment, then logically, there is no reason for me to continue contributing my (ahem)…talents.
Monday, March 5, 2007
The difference between being and adult and being a grown up
The day I turned 31, I had an interesting realization. Interesting only for the fact that I had uncovered this consciousness at 31 years of age. On that day, I remember it distinctly, I officially became fully aware of my mortality. It was the first time ever that I truly grasped the fact that one day I was going to die. I'd thought about death before, tried to imagine my own and how it was going to happen. Much like Emma Thompson's character in Stranger than Fiction, as she insists, we all do it. But it was just that, imagination, it didn't feel real. I don't know why it hit me that day, there are probably a number of things that finally came together in just the right way to make me 'get it', but I do know that everything changed in that instant. While I had been an adult for quite some time, choronologically speaking, it was that day in December that I finally felt I had grown up. I remembered thinking, I'm 31 there's no denying shit anymore, there's no pointing fingers or placing blame or stomping my feet and throwing a tantrum when things don't go my way. I have to be accountable for me. I'm not just an adult anymore, I am a grown-up!
I also realized the vast difference between the two.
As an adult, I can:
drive
vote
drink
get married
get a credit card
As a grown up:
I can handle uncomfortable circumstances with tact, decency and maturity. I don't run from awkward situations because I'm afraid of conflict. That's life, that's human interaction…that's what is so beautiful about the fact that we get to mingle with one another in the first place.
I can realize that sometimes things are going to be wonderful and perfect, other times they are not. As a grown-up, I realize that those imperfect times are not my cue to put up my defenses or simply act like I don't care.
I can argue like a grown up. I don't feel the need to be short with someone to avoid the confrontation, I don't feel I have to be unpleasant or mean to them just because we're having a disagreement.
I can hold people accountable for their actions. If you've done something shitty, I'm going to call you out on it. Why shouldn't I? It's how you grow as a person.
I can hold myself accountable for my actions. If I've done something shitty, I know it, so there's no sense in me denying it. And you should call me out on it too. It's how I grow as a person.
I can let go of my ridiculous hypocrisies. Just because you project something on the outside, if you're not sincerely practicing it at home, ALL the time, you're nothing more than a fraud.
I can tell you how I feel and if you don't feel the same, I will not falter and change my mind just to falsely protect myself.
I can have enough love and respect for you to look you in the face and tell you the worst truth rather than the best lie.
I also realized the vast difference between the two.
As an adult, I can:
drive
vote
drink
get married
get a credit card
As a grown up:
I can handle uncomfortable circumstances with tact, decency and maturity. I don't run from awkward situations because I'm afraid of conflict. That's life, that's human interaction…that's what is so beautiful about the fact that we get to mingle with one another in the first place.
I can realize that sometimes things are going to be wonderful and perfect, other times they are not. As a grown-up, I realize that those imperfect times are not my cue to put up my defenses or simply act like I don't care.
I can argue like a grown up. I don't feel the need to be short with someone to avoid the confrontation, I don't feel I have to be unpleasant or mean to them just because we're having a disagreement.
I can hold people accountable for their actions. If you've done something shitty, I'm going to call you out on it. Why shouldn't I? It's how you grow as a person.
I can hold myself accountable for my actions. If I've done something shitty, I know it, so there's no sense in me denying it. And you should call me out on it too. It's how I grow as a person.
I can let go of my ridiculous hypocrisies. Just because you project something on the outside, if you're not sincerely practicing it at home, ALL the time, you're nothing more than a fraud.
I can tell you how I feel and if you don't feel the same, I will not falter and change my mind just to falsely protect myself.
I can have enough love and respect for you to look you in the face and tell you the worst truth rather than the best lie.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
The Kingdom of Heaven
From a religious aspect, there are hundreds and hundreds of interpretations of "Heaven". While the, let's call them minor, details of whether the corner of the cosmos reserved for Heaven is flowing with milk and honey or brimming with indescribably beautiful flowers and jeweled trees or 72 naked virgins can be argued or rearranged or misunderstood, the fact that every version seems to share some unmistakably common and extremely pertinent points is quite promising actually. No suffering, no hunger, utter happiness, complete bliss. The list goes on. Oddly enough, even the extreme ends of organized religion have a version of heaven that highlights some form of unity, contentment and peace. But do we really have access to it only after we die? If heaven is so great, then why would we have to spend a lifetime waiting for it?
I saw heaven the other day.
No death or near-death experience required. It was right there, I could touch it and talk to it and even take a picture of it. Why? Because it was distinctly all around me. It was in the gesture of a man who woke up early to make an amazing breakfast for all of his friends. It was in the laughter that danced around the table as everyone gave thanks and then enjoyed a good meal. It was in the smile of a girl who along with sugar and flour, baked a whole lot of love into the cupcakes she had made. It was in the twinkle in his eye when he brought her something sweet because he knows that chocolate is her favorite. It was in the gaze of two people who finally acknowledged a long, unspoken connection. It was everywhere, day and night, in whispers and giggles, in hot cups of tea and bowls of guacamole, in blankets and socks and warm, cozy fires. And it was beautiful.
I watched a group of people care for one another, look out for one another, pick up after one another, applaud one another. Without any motive, without expecting anything in return, yet in my opinion, we all received so much more. It's so unbelievably easy that it's almost hard to conceive, I've realized. Heaven isn't a place we should all be waiting - and dying - to see...I was raised Catholic. (Dying to see if it actually exists.) Heaven exists because we make it. Right here, right now. All of those ideas put forth by religion can so easily be practiced, in a literal and earthly sense, daily. Create, be and nurture whatever your idea of heaven is…here on earth. It's so simple. We've all heard the notions and dreams of what heaven might be like. What about knowing exactly what it's like?
Heaven
noun
1. The expanse of space that seems to be over the earth like a dome.
2. A spiritual state of everlasting communion with God.
3. A place or condition of utmost happiness.
4. The abode of God, the angels, and the spirits of the righteous after death; the place or state of existence of the blessed after the mortal life.
If you ask me, those first three sound pretty close to the place I'm sitting right now. And the 4th one, if there's more of this after I die, bring it on.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Letters arranged into words never spoken
Words gathered together
in a letter
never
sent.
To the one I secretly admire,
I have always thought of myself as an educated and well-spoken human being, yet when you walk into a room, I turn into this perfect, bumbling idiot. I watch you walk in my direction and suddenly I cannot speak. I can't catch my breath when you're standing too close to me sometimes. God forbid any part of you should so much as graze any part of me as you walk passed. It is then I am rendered completely useless.
There are so many things I long to tell you, yet I continue, as I have for more days than I can remember, to shelter my thoughts of you. My cowardice prevails time and again, concealing evidence that I might possess an ounce of courage with which I could reveal even one affection I hold for you.
If I could pretend for a moment that I was unafraid, I would express my respect for your brilliance and your generous nature. If I were brave, I would whisper in your ear that I find you incredibly sexy. And hysterically funny. And admirably kind. I would draw you a picture of your immensely big heart along with a note saying I could never grow tired of just looking at your face.
I think of you. Often.
Gutlessly yours,
Alexis
in a letter
never
sent.
To the one I secretly admire,
I have always thought of myself as an educated and well-spoken human being, yet when you walk into a room, I turn into this perfect, bumbling idiot. I watch you walk in my direction and suddenly I cannot speak. I can't catch my breath when you're standing too close to me sometimes. God forbid any part of you should so much as graze any part of me as you walk passed. It is then I am rendered completely useless.
There are so many things I long to tell you, yet I continue, as I have for more days than I can remember, to shelter my thoughts of you. My cowardice prevails time and again, concealing evidence that I might possess an ounce of courage with which I could reveal even one affection I hold for you.
If I could pretend for a moment that I was unafraid, I would express my respect for your brilliance and your generous nature. If I were brave, I would whisper in your ear that I find you incredibly sexy. And hysterically funny. And admirably kind. I would draw you a picture of your immensely big heart along with a note saying I could never grow tired of just looking at your face.
I think of you. Often.
Gutlessly yours,
Alexis
Happy Valentine's Day...or something.
"Valentine's schmalentines. Bah humbug."
~Alexis Fedorowych
"The world as a whole has forgotten the real meaning of the word love. Love has been so abused and crucified by man that very few people know what true love is. Just as oil is present in every part of the olive, so love permeates every part of creation. But to define love is very difficult, for the same reason that words cannot fully describe the flavor of an orange. You have to taste the fruit to know its flavor. So with love."
~Paramahansa Yogananda
~Alexis Fedorowych
"The world as a whole has forgotten the real meaning of the word love. Love has been so abused and crucified by man that very few people know what true love is. Just as oil is present in every part of the olive, so love permeates every part of creation. But to define love is very difficult, for the same reason that words cannot fully describe the flavor of an orange. You have to taste the fruit to know its flavor. So with love."
~Paramahansa Yogananda
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Second Life...
This gives a whole new meaning to the words Virtual Reality.
This might be the craziest thing I have witnessed in my life thus far. Second Life is a virtual world, similar to the Sims video game, but then again…nothing at all like it! (By the way, I’m not a video gamer in any way, shape or form, but I know the premise of the Sims games). Be a character, build a city, theme park, whatever…entertain yourself, work, basically engage yourself in virtual world for however long you feel it necessary to keep yourself away from those 3 dimensional people called...humans.
Second life, is literally what its name states. You are creating your own second life in a virtual setting, however just like in the real world, the smarter you are and the more you prosper, the more money you stand to make. Wait. You actually make money? Yes. The virtual world of Second Life has its own economy – it is based on the Linden dollar. As Linden dollars are spent, let’s say in your virtual guitar shop, they are exchanged into real American dollars. You earn money for some virtual character walking his virtual ass into your store and dropping 100,000 Linden’s on a custom guitar. Let me remind you that this guitar doesn’t even have to actually exist. Out of curiosity, I checked the website for the exchange rate for today: L$267/US$1.00
Does anyone else find this absolutely genius and altogether terrifying?
You create a pretend, non-existent, 3-D avatar, buy a pretend, non-existent parcel of virtual land, start a pretend, non-existent business or build a make believe cottage, make an imaginary product or sell a fictional service. Buy…sell…trade! In all actuality, these products or services you made up CAN exist for sale in the real world as well, as you retain your Intellectual Property rights over anything you create, but that’s just too much to get into at this late hour and my head already feels like it’s going to explode. Current enterprising SL residents (of which there are 3,414,980 - in case you were wondering if this was HUGE or not) have founded and currently run such businesses as tattoo artist, wedding planner, private detective, bodyguard, aerospace engineer, hug maker – I had to include that one because it’s just too awesome - and the list goes on and on. You can literally do or make or sell absolutely anything.
I don’t know who has time to start and run a business in computer land, as it makes me wonder what they are doing at their real life job, however…there is evidence that some successful business owners “in-world”, as they refer to it, are making thousands of dollars – a day.
I have no idea where I’ve been, obviously living under a rock somewhere...as I’m just learning about this from a friend of mine at 2:00 in the morning, but it’s been around since 2003 and quite obviously thriving. And here I thought I was ahead of the game because I had already watched The Secret before it was featured on Oprah today. :) So now, not only do I have the demands of thriving in the land of people who breathe, I now have to concern myself with my virtual success in a world where the selling point of the home I’m about to buy is that it was once owned by Lara Croft.
Oh the pressure, it’s just too much.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
There's this one moment...
...in the middle of the night, in a teeny, little place between wake and sleep, that I wish I could stop time. Right there. It's my favorite time. The curtains are drawn, but you can tell it's still dark outside, completely silent. No cars, no creaks, no birds. It's as though God pushed the mute button so that if you happen to stir during this fleeting moment, you can experience actual peace and quiet. I wake here quite often. There are some days I realize and appreciate (and move closer to) the warm body lying next to me in this split second of silence…and I smile in the dark and close my eyes, willing time to stop right there.
But more often than not, it's just me awakening to complete consciousness and becoming slightly bothered by the realization that I have to pee.
Naturally, I muster the energy to get up and shuffle myself to the toilet. For the better part of 7 years, I have lived alone (aside from the cats). For the better part of those 7 years, I have not flushed the toilet in the middle of the night, just because I peed…I am a subscriber to the whole "if it's yellow, let it mellow" theory. Seriously, it's just pee. And if you're a girl, a little bit of toilet paper. No need to waste all that water for an ounce or two of sterile, albeit slightly yellow, liquid to be flushed out of the bowl. Did you know that your pee is sterile? Did you know that soldiers have been known to use urine to clean wounds in times of desperation? The fact is, you're probably spreading more germs by touching the handle TO flush rather than just ignoring the pee in the bowl and running back to bed to try and get the moment back.
But lately, for me, a small dilemma has presented itself. See, there's this cat that has lived with me for 13 years, who has decided, and increasingly so in the last 2 years, that she cannot drink from her cat bowl of water. No. This is not suitable for her. She must drink from the toilet bowl of water. Therefore, she waits, sometimes rather impatiently, for me to…er, finish, then she slips in and watches while the magic bowl serves up what she considers to be suitable and, more importantly, preferable drinking water.
(I've asked a few vets about this peculiar behavior and as it turns out it's not entirely peculiar. Some cats like 'running' water better, no matter that you were running to that same bowl just a few minutes before to relieve yourself. The consensus from the docs has been, either let her drink out of it - or - shut the lid.) Shut the lid. Have you met my cat? This cat does not meow, she waahs. Some friends of mine swear that she also emits a sound that resembles the word 'Mom' being whined by a two year old who is not getting the attention she thinks she deserves. I have shut the lid. I have shut the lid while I've been on the phone with customer service people and they have said to me, on several occasions, something to the effect of, "Ma'am, do you need to put the phone down to get your baby?" They believe there is an infant - CRYING - in the background in my house (not to mention the fact that they think I'm ignoring it). Shutting the lid is not an option. I know now why parents cave to the kid throwing a tantrum at the store. You just want them to shut up. Plus, tantrum or not, this is the cat that plants herself under my arm, resting her head in the same spot a girl might rest her head on the shoulder of a boy she likes…and then purrs me to sleep, every night. She has me totally whipped.
I bought her, especially for her… one of those cat fountains that keeps the water running constantly, as a gesture to keep her happy and frankly, out of the toilet. I think I actually saw her roll her eyes and shake her head when I brought it home.
So back to the dilemma, I have always been a light turner-offer (thanks mom…good habits start young). I don't leave the water running when I brush my teeth, I recycle my bags and bottles. Since I do my part in these other areas, can I just let go of the fact that I have to flush for the sake of quenching the cat's thirst? Do I have to feel guilty about this? I do have those low water yielding toilets in my place, which use about a third of the amount of water in a conventional toilet tank…which is nice, but...
Two part dilemma.
If you're a mellow yellow person and you're at someone else's house and it's the middle of the night when you have to pee…is it acceptable to not flush?
But more often than not, it's just me awakening to complete consciousness and becoming slightly bothered by the realization that I have to pee.
Naturally, I muster the energy to get up and shuffle myself to the toilet. For the better part of 7 years, I have lived alone (aside from the cats). For the better part of those 7 years, I have not flushed the toilet in the middle of the night, just because I peed…I am a subscriber to the whole "if it's yellow, let it mellow" theory. Seriously, it's just pee. And if you're a girl, a little bit of toilet paper. No need to waste all that water for an ounce or two of sterile, albeit slightly yellow, liquid to be flushed out of the bowl. Did you know that your pee is sterile? Did you know that soldiers have been known to use urine to clean wounds in times of desperation? The fact is, you're probably spreading more germs by touching the handle TO flush rather than just ignoring the pee in the bowl and running back to bed to try and get the moment back.
But lately, for me, a small dilemma has presented itself. See, there's this cat that has lived with me for 13 years, who has decided, and increasingly so in the last 2 years, that she cannot drink from her cat bowl of water. No. This is not suitable for her. She must drink from the toilet bowl of water. Therefore, she waits, sometimes rather impatiently, for me to…er, finish, then she slips in and watches while the magic bowl serves up what she considers to be suitable and, more importantly, preferable drinking water.
(I've asked a few vets about this peculiar behavior and as it turns out it's not entirely peculiar. Some cats like 'running' water better, no matter that you were running to that same bowl just a few minutes before to relieve yourself. The consensus from the docs has been, either let her drink out of it - or - shut the lid.) Shut the lid. Have you met my cat? This cat does not meow, she waahs. Some friends of mine swear that she also emits a sound that resembles the word 'Mom' being whined by a two year old who is not getting the attention she thinks she deserves. I have shut the lid. I have shut the lid while I've been on the phone with customer service people and they have said to me, on several occasions, something to the effect of, "Ma'am, do you need to put the phone down to get your baby?" They believe there is an infant - CRYING - in the background in my house (not to mention the fact that they think I'm ignoring it). Shutting the lid is not an option. I know now why parents cave to the kid throwing a tantrum at the store. You just want them to shut up. Plus, tantrum or not, this is the cat that plants herself under my arm, resting her head in the same spot a girl might rest her head on the shoulder of a boy she likes…and then purrs me to sleep, every night. She has me totally whipped.
I bought her, especially for her… one of those cat fountains that keeps the water running constantly, as a gesture to keep her happy and frankly, out of the toilet. I think I actually saw her roll her eyes and shake her head when I brought it home.
So back to the dilemma, I have always been a light turner-offer (thanks mom…good habits start young). I don't leave the water running when I brush my teeth, I recycle my bags and bottles. Since I do my part in these other areas, can I just let go of the fact that I have to flush for the sake of quenching the cat's thirst? Do I have to feel guilty about this? I do have those low water yielding toilets in my place, which use about a third of the amount of water in a conventional toilet tank…which is nice, but...
Two part dilemma.
If you're a mellow yellow person and you're at someone else's house and it's the middle of the night when you have to pee…is it acceptable to not flush?
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
A study in human behavior on The Master Cleanse
This weekend, three of my friends decided to commit themselves to the world famous Master Cleanse, a fast consisting of absolutely zero food and drinking a mixture of water, maple syrup, lemon juice and cayenne pepper. Since they are all residing under one roof, they could easily be each other's support system if any one of them began to have any doubts about their deliberate choice to starve themselves for 10 days straight.
Concoctions were mixed, lemons were juiced, charts were made to log their progress. There were even stars that came in the form of stickers to be displayed proudly under one's name on the log; motivation by public recognition and praise if you drank your sea salt breakfast, some ridiculous number of ounces of your maple syrup punch and took a few healthy poops (or peed out of your butt, whichever came first). This commitment was ON.
As a food-consuming spectator to this fasting folly, I have never in my life witnessed so much hilarity revolving around things that could be eaten. Edible or not. As they rounded the corner of only their sixth hour on the fast, the participants were already daring themselves to imagine what kind of desperation they might face in the days to come and what exactly would constitute 'cheating'. "A pencil…does a pencil count? What if I ate a pencil?" One contender went so far as to stomp on a perfectly good avocado because he knew that if he didn't, he surely would have eaten it.
I spent time with each of the participants throughout the weekend; sometimes one-on-one, sometimes in pairs, sometimes all three of them together. This proved to be positively enlightening in the ways of human behavior. The group conversation, quite predictably and without fail, became about food. Someone could be talking about roof shingles and three seconds later it turned into how awesome it would be to eat a burrito. In the one-on-one conversations, I learned about their favorite foods and the particular cravings they were having at that specific moment. However, the undisputed highlight of my surveillance of these fine creatures, was when I chatted with them in pairs. Any combination of two of them (it didn't matter which two), would result in their immediate suspicion of the 3rd teammate - and soon they would be absolutely convinced that he was somewhere…EATING. Every. single. time.
As it turns out I'm not very good at being supportive, at least not when it comes to starving oneself. When the hunger pangs kicked in and the sincere longing for the ritual and comfort of food was realized, a motherly instinct kicked in and I wanted nothing more than to help my starving friends. When one would teeter on the edge of a breakdown, I wouldn't even try to cheerlead them into sticking to it. I immediately offered up my services as: Accomplice. I offered up spoonfuls of peanut butter when no one was looking. I'd present my arguments on why eating an apple couldn't possibly be considered cheating, it was organic for God's sake! While I was away for a few hours and found that some were resorting to sending me text messages about the unspeakable hunger, I made sure to bring my leftovers back in hopes that I could slip 'em a french fry on the DL. Funny as all of this is, it's pretty intense to see how quickly the body experiences the effects, both physical and habitual, of the absence of food. Their feet dragged with the saddest sound across the floor, one considered locking himself into solitary confinement in his room just to make it through 8 more days, another took to cleaning the kitchen counters…with a toothbrush. Anything to keep his mind occupied.
I left yesterday, I can only imagine the antics that are taking place right now as the saga continues. I'm not getting any text messages, maybe that's a good sign. Or maybe it's just because I'm too far away to be of any help.
I've heard much about this diet over the years though I've never had the motivation to try it myself. But I have seen a few friends try, only to give it up after a day or two. So I sincerely commend them for their effort and pledge to this fast. My only wish is that someone had thought to make a video journal, the raw emotion that comes from three grown men denying themselves even a morsel of food is truly priceless. That and watching how fast they run to the bathroom after drinking their daily 32-ounce dose of salt water. Truly something worth commemorating with moving pictures.
Concoctions were mixed, lemons were juiced, charts were made to log their progress. There were even stars that came in the form of stickers to be displayed proudly under one's name on the log; motivation by public recognition and praise if you drank your sea salt breakfast, some ridiculous number of ounces of your maple syrup punch and took a few healthy poops (or peed out of your butt, whichever came first). This commitment was ON.
As a food-consuming spectator to this fasting folly, I have never in my life witnessed so much hilarity revolving around things that could be eaten. Edible or not. As they rounded the corner of only their sixth hour on the fast, the participants were already daring themselves to imagine what kind of desperation they might face in the days to come and what exactly would constitute 'cheating'. "A pencil…does a pencil count? What if I ate a pencil?" One contender went so far as to stomp on a perfectly good avocado because he knew that if he didn't, he surely would have eaten it.
I spent time with each of the participants throughout the weekend; sometimes one-on-one, sometimes in pairs, sometimes all three of them together. This proved to be positively enlightening in the ways of human behavior. The group conversation, quite predictably and without fail, became about food. Someone could be talking about roof shingles and three seconds later it turned into how awesome it would be to eat a burrito. In the one-on-one conversations, I learned about their favorite foods and the particular cravings they were having at that specific moment. However, the undisputed highlight of my surveillance of these fine creatures, was when I chatted with them in pairs. Any combination of two of them (it didn't matter which two), would result in their immediate suspicion of the 3rd teammate - and soon they would be absolutely convinced that he was somewhere…EATING. Every. single. time.
As it turns out I'm not very good at being supportive, at least not when it comes to starving oneself. When the hunger pangs kicked in and the sincere longing for the ritual and comfort of food was realized, a motherly instinct kicked in and I wanted nothing more than to help my starving friends. When one would teeter on the edge of a breakdown, I wouldn't even try to cheerlead them into sticking to it. I immediately offered up my services as: Accomplice. I offered up spoonfuls of peanut butter when no one was looking. I'd present my arguments on why eating an apple couldn't possibly be considered cheating, it was organic for God's sake! While I was away for a few hours and found that some were resorting to sending me text messages about the unspeakable hunger, I made sure to bring my leftovers back in hopes that I could slip 'em a french fry on the DL. Funny as all of this is, it's pretty intense to see how quickly the body experiences the effects, both physical and habitual, of the absence of food. Their feet dragged with the saddest sound across the floor, one considered locking himself into solitary confinement in his room just to make it through 8 more days, another took to cleaning the kitchen counters…with a toothbrush. Anything to keep his mind occupied.
I left yesterday, I can only imagine the antics that are taking place right now as the saga continues. I'm not getting any text messages, maybe that's a good sign. Or maybe it's just because I'm too far away to be of any help.
I've heard much about this diet over the years though I've never had the motivation to try it myself. But I have seen a few friends try, only to give it up after a day or two. So I sincerely commend them for their effort and pledge to this fast. My only wish is that someone had thought to make a video journal, the raw emotion that comes from three grown men denying themselves even a morsel of food is truly priceless. That and watching how fast they run to the bathroom after drinking their daily 32-ounce dose of salt water. Truly something worth commemorating with moving pictures.
Monday, January 15, 2007
The last 10 minutes...
...of my thought process.
I've decided:
That of all the varieties of apples, I like Fuji ones the best.
That I am positively moving away from LA. It's been great, but I'm done here.
That I love aloe vera juice. At first I thought it had the flavor of what a mild poison might taste like, but now I love it and find myself craving it.
If guacamole isn't spicy, it almost isn't worth eating. I said ALMOST.
If in 6 months, I'm as happy as I am right now in my yoga classes, I'm going into teacher training.
That in 6 months, if it's possible, I want to be as bendy as this one chick in my class. She is un-freaking-believable.
That I have the world's best couch. And my friend that's been crashing on it thinks so too.
That if I really miss rollerskating as much as I say, I need to go very soon.
That I am so happy to no longer be in my twenties. Without a doubt.
That I love this poignant, well executed line from the movie All the Real Girls.
Paul: "I just want to be sure that a million years from now, I can still see you up close and still have things to say."
That true love isn't just about pretty and perfect, it's about ugly and flawed.
It's about old and feeble and gray and wrinkled.
It's knowing that there's no such thing as perfect and that's what makes him perfect.
It's about helping her to the bathroom when she's 80 and still thinking of her as your girlfriend.
It's having the desire and the courage and the devotion to surrender to the entire experience, not just the storybook stuff.
That I am a big chicken shit and I have one thing I really want to say, but I just don't have the guts.
I've decided:
That of all the varieties of apples, I like Fuji ones the best.
That I am positively moving away from LA. It's been great, but I'm done here.
That I love aloe vera juice. At first I thought it had the flavor of what a mild poison might taste like, but now I love it and find myself craving it.
If guacamole isn't spicy, it almost isn't worth eating. I said ALMOST.
If in 6 months, I'm as happy as I am right now in my yoga classes, I'm going into teacher training.
That in 6 months, if it's possible, I want to be as bendy as this one chick in my class. She is un-freaking-believable.
That I have the world's best couch. And my friend that's been crashing on it thinks so too.
That if I really miss rollerskating as much as I say, I need to go very soon.
That I am so happy to no longer be in my twenties. Without a doubt.
That I love this poignant, well executed line from the movie All the Real Girls.
Paul: "I just want to be sure that a million years from now, I can still see you up close and still have things to say."
That true love isn't just about pretty and perfect, it's about ugly and flawed.
It's about old and feeble and gray and wrinkled.
It's knowing that there's no such thing as perfect and that's what makes him perfect.
It's about helping her to the bathroom when she's 80 and still thinking of her as your girlfriend.
It's having the desire and the courage and the devotion to surrender to the entire experience, not just the storybook stuff.
That I am a big chicken shit and I have one thing I really want to say, but I just don't have the guts.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Blood, Sweat and Tears
First and foremost, high fives and a slap on the ass to all the guys in my yoga class. I probably shouldn't be, but I am genuinely surprised to see just how many men practice yoga. There were just as many men in my class tonight as women. I don't know what you do with your junk in some of the poses, but God bless you and I hope you don't hurt yourself.
Speaking of hurting oneself, I kicked my nightstand the other night while I was attempting to climb into my bed. My bed sits unusually high off the ground, making it difficult for one of my cats to jump up on the bed and apparently difficult for me too. I have placed a trunk at the end of my bed for kitty to use as a launch pad, I might need to look into some steps or something for myself. Anyway, it happened so fast I couldn't even process what exactly I had done, although I do know I laughed out loud at how it must have looked. It didn't begin to hurt until like 2 minutes after the fact. And it didn't bleed until my yoga class. Who bleeds in yoga? Me.
The sweat is pretty self explanatory. It's hot in the room, it's hard as f*** doing these poses..there's sweat. And it burns like a mother when it gets in your eyes, kinda makes you look like you might be crying.
Unless you actually are, crying that is. Who cries in yoga? Me. In all my years of on and off yoga binging, this has never happened to me. Tonight was the second time it's happened in just one week and I gotta admit, aside from feeling slightly exposed, I kinda liked it. The therapeutic effects of crying in general cannot even be argued, but this is not like sitting down to watch the movie that never fails to start your waterworks. Or grabbing a box of tissues and some candles for chick night with your favorite heart break, sob CD. After laying down for Savasana, the tears that streamed down my face were unstoppable. There was no mistaking it, I was crying. I have no idea what the hell I was crying about, but man it felt good. So good that oddly enough, I actually look forward to it happening again.
I played sports competitively from the time I was in sixth grade. I have had coaches that were like drill sergeants. I cannot count how many sprints, lunges, laps, push-ups and sit-ups I've done; this is harder to me than all of those combined. Well, I was a lot younger then. Never in my life though, did I think that I would actually pay someone to enthusiastically surrender my blood, my sweat and my tears and love every damn second of it.
Speaking of hurting oneself, I kicked my nightstand the other night while I was attempting to climb into my bed. My bed sits unusually high off the ground, making it difficult for one of my cats to jump up on the bed and apparently difficult for me too. I have placed a trunk at the end of my bed for kitty to use as a launch pad, I might need to look into some steps or something for myself. Anyway, it happened so fast I couldn't even process what exactly I had done, although I do know I laughed out loud at how it must have looked. It didn't begin to hurt until like 2 minutes after the fact. And it didn't bleed until my yoga class. Who bleeds in yoga? Me.
The sweat is pretty self explanatory. It's hot in the room, it's hard as f*** doing these poses..there's sweat. And it burns like a mother when it gets in your eyes, kinda makes you look like you might be crying.
Unless you actually are, crying that is. Who cries in yoga? Me. In all my years of on and off yoga binging, this has never happened to me. Tonight was the second time it's happened in just one week and I gotta admit, aside from feeling slightly exposed, I kinda liked it. The therapeutic effects of crying in general cannot even be argued, but this is not like sitting down to watch the movie that never fails to start your waterworks. Or grabbing a box of tissues and some candles for chick night with your favorite heart break, sob CD. After laying down for Savasana, the tears that streamed down my face were unstoppable. There was no mistaking it, I was crying. I have no idea what the hell I was crying about, but man it felt good. So good that oddly enough, I actually look forward to it happening again.
I played sports competitively from the time I was in sixth grade. I have had coaches that were like drill sergeants. I cannot count how many sprints, lunges, laps, push-ups and sit-ups I've done; this is harder to me than all of those combined. Well, I was a lot younger then. Never in my life though, did I think that I would actually pay someone to enthusiastically surrender my blood, my sweat and my tears and love every damn second of it.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Round Two of The Naked Truth
(Ding!)
I found myself in a curious but familiar place recently, which curiously led to getting even more familiar with the anatomy of one stimulating young gentleman. And coincidentally, it was here that round two took place.
(I have to take a moment to clarify the 'how many times' thought process of mine from an earlier blog. It occurred to me that three 'times' was not the most accurate terminology to use, considering that I had made a comment to a trusted confidant a short time ago that certain activities had taken place in the evening as well as in the morning. This, of course, would add up to 2 of the 3 times I had suggested for this extremely precise research I was attempting to conduct. And frankly, I just don't like the way that works out, therefore I amend my terminology to be considered in 'rounds'. A round equaling any consecutive, yet unspecified, amount of time spent under one roof...what happens and how many times it happens in that duration...God bless you. And it still counts as one. I'm allowed to change the rules, it's my experiment.)
And so the observations and interpretations have been logged, in journals that will remain undisclosed. I may talk big sometimes, but when it comes down to it, me and my pajama bottoms are incredibly shy and fiercely private. I know what happened and I'm pretty sure he knows what happened, so there's really no need to expand on the exploits. Well, all right, in technical, laboratory analysis speak - he rocked my world.
As I'm sure it goes without saying, I look forward to a round three, and perhaps by the time it happens, I'll have found a way to justify another modification, maybe just a simple...uh, extension in the parameters of my study in unclothed activities.
I found myself in a curious but familiar place recently, which curiously led to getting even more familiar with the anatomy of one stimulating young gentleman. And coincidentally, it was here that round two took place.
(I have to take a moment to clarify the 'how many times' thought process of mine from an earlier blog. It occurred to me that three 'times' was not the most accurate terminology to use, considering that I had made a comment to a trusted confidant a short time ago that certain activities had taken place in the evening as well as in the morning. This, of course, would add up to 2 of the 3 times I had suggested for this extremely precise research I was attempting to conduct. And frankly, I just don't like the way that works out, therefore I amend my terminology to be considered in 'rounds'. A round equaling any consecutive, yet unspecified, amount of time spent under one roof...what happens and how many times it happens in that duration...God bless you. And it still counts as one. I'm allowed to change the rules, it's my experiment.)
And so the observations and interpretations have been logged, in journals that will remain undisclosed. I may talk big sometimes, but when it comes down to it, me and my pajama bottoms are incredibly shy and fiercely private. I know what happened and I'm pretty sure he knows what happened, so there's really no need to expand on the exploits. Well, all right, in technical, laboratory analysis speak - he rocked my world.
As I'm sure it goes without saying, I look forward to a round three, and perhaps by the time it happens, I'll have found a way to justify another modification, maybe just a simple...uh, extension in the parameters of my study in unclothed activities.
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