In my life I haven't been one to physically challenge myself. I was devoted to ballet for around 10 yrs. of my life, I hit some milestones. I got pointe shoes. And honestly? It stood as the only physical achievement I felt like I had hit. It was my only athletic victory.
But with my whole "be healthy" lifestyle makeover that's suddenly changed. Suddenly I'm beginning to feel a small sort of pride in the things I can do.
I've cut naps out of my days in exchange for regular hour and a half exercise. I am able to push myself and go further and further each day. I can do 10 push ups. I beat everyone in the house on sit-ups and leg lifts. I can run around the block!!!
I eat more fruits and veggies that sugars or desserts. I eat mostly whole grains, meat usually once a day. I've cut out all high sodium, high calorie, overly processed, microwave, or fast food.
I have been many things. Fit or "in shape" haven't been one of them. Until now, that is.
Physicality isn't everything. Body shape and diet aren't always a priority. I understand that.
But it's nice for once to not have the shame of being the first out of breath or the one not eating the most. It's nice to not be embarrassed and worried about diabetes or not building enough calcium or blah blah blah.
Next on the goals list?
A job/career that I'm truly happy with.
Going back to school.
Saving money.
These are the things that I think will make me a real grown up.
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Thursday, October 20, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Doors
Last night I had this dream that I was in this large house getting ready for the end of the night. Before I went to be I needed to make sure all the doors and windows were locked, all the lights turned out.
I went from room to room locking door and door, closing the window shades, turning off the lights. Some of the switches would turn on more lights, others would turn them off.
As soon as I realized one door was closed I'd find another unlocked or completely open, swinging in the wind. Shutter and shutter needed to be closed. I went from room to room growing more and more afraid of open doors and windows and lights and how dark it was outside.
I was suddenly stuck in a maze of locked doors, needing to be behind the most locked door to protect me. To stop whatever was out there from getting me.
And then I realized.
I realized I was locking it in.
Locking it in with me.
I went from room to room locking door and door, closing the window shades, turning off the lights. Some of the switches would turn on more lights, others would turn them off.
As soon as I realized one door was closed I'd find another unlocked or completely open, swinging in the wind. Shutter and shutter needed to be closed. I went from room to room growing more and more afraid of open doors and windows and lights and how dark it was outside.
I was suddenly stuck in a maze of locked doors, needing to be behind the most locked door to protect me. To stop whatever was out there from getting me.
And then I realized.
I realized I was locking it in.
Locking it in with me.
Monday, October 10, 2011
My Productive Day Off
- Did the dishes
- Made PB&J + Tea for breakfast
- Browsed through wedding photographers
- Shopped around online a little (oops. that's not productive)
- Did at least 3 loads of laundry
- Cleaned EVERYTHING in the bathroom using various scrubbing chemicals and devices: Sink, toilet, shower, floor.
- Cleaned table
- Cleaned living room
- Made Tofu, Spinach, & Cilantro Miso salad Lunch. (Week 3 of diet commences)
- Applied to exactly 14 jobs online
- Went on a 40 min. run/walk (it was about even amount of running and walking) in the rain
- Did about half a million sit-ups, arm weight exercises, leg lifts, rises, push-ups, and stretches until I was EXHAUSTED.
- A 20 min. Wii Zumba thing (don't judge me!!)
And it's only 6:30!!
Next stops?
- Shower
- Blogging around
- Dinner
- More Cleaning
- Relax?
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Elegance.
First of all, I tend to dislike book reviews because they are a science created to criticize art and extract spindley, gangly bones to act as weapons from some living, breathing, beautiful creature. Thus butchering it.
So all my reviews are all very emotion-led, absolutely unrefined, and probably terrible.
But, I've just finished The Elegance of the Hedgehog and I need some sort of outlet for everything spinning inside of it.
I absolutely cannot believe it. Maybe a more cynical reader saw it coming from miles away, but I did not. I was so wrapped up in philosophical wonderings and the antics of intelligent children to guess. Of course, I had my guesses, but they were incorrect.
Some moments, while reading, I was so excited I could barely go on. I was quite literally gasping and jumping and screaming. Every chapter I had to give Adam updates on what was happening because I couldn't be this story's only witness.
The highs were so high. And the ending so graceful and poignant, I almost feel like I should ignore the tragedy and consider it a happy ending. But there is still a sort of empty cavernous feeling. A sad ending I don't want to come to terms with or feel.
How could that be it? How can life be so punishing?
This may sound really ridiculous but last night (which we spent in btw because I was sick. For the 7th day in a row) we watched a documentary on the animals living in yellowstone. I'm used to these sort of natural dramas playing out but somehow last night, maybe on account of my precarious health, I was more sensitive to the life-and-death-goings-on. The Buffalo would wade through the snow with the big necks and thick fur and infinitesimally forlorn eyes and I wasn't prepared for the cruelty of its death. The unjust way in which we are all dealt lives without consideration of our circumstances. Some people smoke every day for decades unpunished while some who have never even experimented die a terrible death. Some people work even though they're ill to the point of crying in the bathroom while others are rewarded for no good reason at all.
That damn buffalo worked so hard and so tirelessly in the winter for his 30 lbs. Or whatever of grass needed a day without harming or hunting anyone. And when it grew too difficult, as a last resort, it ate the grass near the geyser's edge. Causing it to collapse from arsenic poisoning. It succumbs to the snow and dies to be picked apart by crows and bald eagles (which are scavengers by the way. They're practically vultures but don't tell any patriots that.)
The natural way and cycle of things, by definition it seems, is terrible and nasty and completely blind to our silly woes and struggles.
We are all helpless in our fight against fate. But not fate in the predestined spiritual way. Fate in the endless unchanging ebb and flow of time sort of way. Fate that none of us can escape: the helplessness against pure chance. The arbitrariness of occurrences.
This french novel that spent far too much time building up and too much effort into the pretentiousness of philosophy was about just this feelings that I combat, we all combat every day.
Chance, or luck, whichever you prefer to call it, brings to life a woman who had long resigned herself to her lack of it. She had never any fight and wasn't planning or hoping for any. But with the quickness that only pure coincidence could give, her life absolutely blossoms. And my heart, as the reader, bloomed camellias in time with hers. My insecurities and fears welled up with hers. Only to be absolutely deprived of all possibilities.
By a stroke of luck. Fate found her. And with the unforgiving nature of blind happenstance she is victim. No one cared that she should have been spared. Fate did not inquire whether this was an opportune time.
Terrible life. Cruel life.
Some people can give themselves up to this. They can surrender themselves to the universe. For work I go to these therapy seminar things all the time and everyone's always talking about it. Being content that the world will work it out. This is all a little to zen for me. Maybe I am not yet advanced enough in meditation or wisdom to really just let go. Terrible things are happening without rhyme or reason and for some reason I want to fight it. I want to battle each and everyone, keep tragedy at bay by snarling my teeth and demanding control. I cannot accept injustice yet we are prisoner to it every day.
Maybe, to me, this was a novel about the frustrations that arise from this. The toils of working and fighting and struggling against that which cannot be tamed, predicted, or controlled: the unstoppable hand of life.
So all my reviews are all very emotion-led, absolutely unrefined, and probably terrible.
But, I've just finished The Elegance of the Hedgehog and I need some sort of outlet for everything spinning inside of it.
I absolutely cannot believe it. Maybe a more cynical reader saw it coming from miles away, but I did not. I was so wrapped up in philosophical wonderings and the antics of intelligent children to guess. Of course, I had my guesses, but they were incorrect.
Some moments, while reading, I was so excited I could barely go on. I was quite literally gasping and jumping and screaming. Every chapter I had to give Adam updates on what was happening because I couldn't be this story's only witness.
The highs were so high. And the ending so graceful and poignant, I almost feel like I should ignore the tragedy and consider it a happy ending. But there is still a sort of empty cavernous feeling. A sad ending I don't want to come to terms with or feel.
How could that be it? How can life be so punishing?
This may sound really ridiculous but last night (which we spent in btw because I was sick. For the 7th day in a row) we watched a documentary on the animals living in yellowstone. I'm used to these sort of natural dramas playing out but somehow last night, maybe on account of my precarious health, I was more sensitive to the life-and-death-goings-on. The Buffalo would wade through the snow with the big necks and thick fur and infinitesimally forlorn eyes and I wasn't prepared for the cruelty of its death. The unjust way in which we are all dealt lives without consideration of our circumstances. Some people smoke every day for decades unpunished while some who have never even experimented die a terrible death. Some people work even though they're ill to the point of crying in the bathroom while others are rewarded for no good reason at all.
That damn buffalo worked so hard and so tirelessly in the winter for his 30 lbs. Or whatever of grass needed a day without harming or hunting anyone. And when it grew too difficult, as a last resort, it ate the grass near the geyser's edge. Causing it to collapse from arsenic poisoning. It succumbs to the snow and dies to be picked apart by crows and bald eagles (which are scavengers by the way. They're practically vultures but don't tell any patriots that.)
The natural way and cycle of things, by definition it seems, is terrible and nasty and completely blind to our silly woes and struggles.
We are all helpless in our fight against fate. But not fate in the predestined spiritual way. Fate in the endless unchanging ebb and flow of time sort of way. Fate that none of us can escape: the helplessness against pure chance. The arbitrariness of occurrences.
This french novel that spent far too much time building up and too much effort into the pretentiousness of philosophy was about just this feelings that I combat, we all combat every day.
Chance, or luck, whichever you prefer to call it, brings to life a woman who had long resigned herself to her lack of it. She had never any fight and wasn't planning or hoping for any. But with the quickness that only pure coincidence could give, her life absolutely blossoms. And my heart, as the reader, bloomed camellias in time with hers. My insecurities and fears welled up with hers. Only to be absolutely deprived of all possibilities.
By a stroke of luck. Fate found her. And with the unforgiving nature of blind happenstance she is victim. No one cared that she should have been spared. Fate did not inquire whether this was an opportune time.
Terrible life. Cruel life.
Some people can give themselves up to this. They can surrender themselves to the universe. For work I go to these therapy seminar things all the time and everyone's always talking about it. Being content that the world will work it out. This is all a little to zen for me. Maybe I am not yet advanced enough in meditation or wisdom to really just let go. Terrible things are happening without rhyme or reason and for some reason I want to fight it. I want to battle each and everyone, keep tragedy at bay by snarling my teeth and demanding control. I cannot accept injustice yet we are prisoner to it every day.
Maybe, to me, this was a novel about the frustrations that arise from this. The toils of working and fighting and struggling against that which cannot be tamed, predicted, or controlled: the unstoppable hand of life.
Monday, August 15, 2011
It has been a LONG time since I have been on blogger. Too long. This is evidenced in my complete surprise at their having re-done the entire blogger website. Way to throw me for a loop. And guilt trip me for having neglected my blog.
It's hard to go online and complain about the same old sort of things I've complained about for years now. I'm in the this strange spot between, "who really gives a fuck about my blog?!" and doing it only for myself and feeling over-exposed and unimportant and embarrassed and pressured by this need to make myself look better than I actually am. Maybe that's some sort of eternal bloggers dilemma..... unless you're a popular blogger. Then I guess you have a slightly different dilemma.
My life has been a lot of the same. A whole lot of realizations on top of realizations on top of plans to completely change my life and then giving up on those plans and then making new plans.
Overall, I feel like I'm headed in the right direction. I'm just not sure if I'm the exactly right path.
In other news, VACATION SOON!d
I need a whole lot of time away. 4 days will suffice for now.
It's hard to go online and complain about the same old sort of things I've complained about for years now. I'm in the this strange spot between, "who really gives a fuck about my blog?!" and doing it only for myself and feeling over-exposed and unimportant and embarrassed and pressured by this need to make myself look better than I actually am. Maybe that's some sort of eternal bloggers dilemma..... unless you're a popular blogger. Then I guess you have a slightly different dilemma.
My life has been a lot of the same. A whole lot of realizations on top of realizations on top of plans to completely change my life and then giving up on those plans and then making new plans.
Overall, I feel like I'm headed in the right direction. I'm just not sure if I'm the exactly right path.
In other news, VACATION SOON!d
I need a whole lot of time away. 4 days will suffice for now.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
What is the meaning of the individual in the face of the infinity?
If there were another me, in another world, would I have anything to say?
Do I have any sort of advice or experience to speak of? Do I have the clarity and wisdom of distance? If there is another me with the same struggles and the same successes, what could there possibly be to say?
What is actually different?
Isn't it enough just to know?
Know that I am not alone?
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Friday, July 1, 2011
Fuck Fridays
I get in these moods sometimes, and I'll simply call them moods to degrade them and to give myself more credit than I possibly deserve. I get in these moods and I can't lie and I speak in a flatter tone and I swear more often and I roll my eyes a lot. I grow passively more angry at the world to punish it for giving me less reason to love it.
It starts small. I'll use "fuck" more often. "This fucking cabinet." "My fucking shoes." "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Until suddenly, in my head, I'm launching into whole diatribes about the lack of significance of some completely mundane object. "I hate the fucking post-it's with a passion! Look at these stupid notes with their stupid colors. I DESPISE the neon fucking post-its!! Everything about them! The size! The height! The shade! I can't wait to finish them so I can get an entirely new set."
In these moods I can think of no other term than "maladjusted."
This is a bigger problem now that I work with counselors. I feel this pressure to be more self-aware and functional and happy and process everything in due course. When really I just want to have a bitch and complain session. I want to rant and rave about the government and the presidential candidates and religion and my lack of faith. I want to list the million small things wrong with my day: I lost an earring, my new shoes hurt, my mom's facebook got hacked and keeps showing porn, I've been craving sex for weeks but somehow, at the same time, haven't been able to muster the mood for it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm pretty much an adult now. And this is just my train of thought. I do my best to not express all of this, and while I'm not always 100% successful, I try really hard to not take it out on anyone.
But these moods? Sometime I worry they aren't just moods. Maybe it's just a character flaw. Or a way of life.
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It starts small. I'll use "fuck" more often. "This fucking cabinet." "My fucking shoes." "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Until suddenly, in my head, I'm launching into whole diatribes about the lack of significance of some completely mundane object. "I hate the fucking post-it's with a passion! Look at these stupid notes with their stupid colors. I DESPISE the neon fucking post-its!! Everything about them! The size! The height! The shade! I can't wait to finish them so I can get an entirely new set."
In these moods I can think of no other term than "maladjusted."
This is a bigger problem now that I work with counselors. I feel this pressure to be more self-aware and functional and happy and process everything in due course. When really I just want to have a bitch and complain session. I want to rant and rave about the government and the presidential candidates and religion and my lack of faith. I want to list the million small things wrong with my day: I lost an earring, my new shoes hurt, my mom's facebook got hacked and keeps showing porn, I've been craving sex for weeks but somehow, at the same time, haven't been able to muster the mood for it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm pretty much an adult now. And this is just my train of thought. I do my best to not express all of this, and while I'm not always 100% successful, I try really hard to not take it out on anyone.
But these moods? Sometime I worry they aren't just moods. Maybe it's just a character flaw. Or a way of life.
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Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Cities
There are four places I've been that I have fell absolutely and completely in love with. That I will always love. That will always be deeply seated in my heart. And will make me ache just at the thought of them.
- Paris
- Madrid
- Santiago
- San Francisco
Call me typical. Call me silly. But sometimes you can't help but fall in love.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Dreams Last Night
- I had a dream that we were putting on space suits and hazmat suits as disguises to sneak into my sister's work to see the President. We got into the elevator with Michelle and Barack Obama and all their secret service. But then my sister's boss was coming, we were worried she'd get in trouble and get fired. But he got into the elevator with two shaved-head lesbians.
- We were pushing a big wooden boat (not a gondola) with a big stick when suddenly there was no more water for our boat to float on. We decided we could still float on over the grass, so we did. Standing in this boat, gliding through grass like water. When we came upon a cliff. There were bridges made from tied together cobblestones. A man urged us to get onto another large cobblestone so we could slide over the bridges. We were supposed to gain enough momentum on the downwards part of the hyperbolic bridge to push ourselves up the second half. We watched as the cobblestones swayed in the wind, dangerously daring us to play.
- As part of a gameshow or possibly just an ordinary game, all sorts of couples were drinking. It was the night before our wedding and we were trying to win something extra for our wedding, like those weird game shows. Instead I ended up getting shit-faced down on the ground drunk drunk drunk. I kept telling everyone that I had a BAC of .14 which is almost twice the legal limit to drive. Our parents came to pick us up like kids, and loaded everyone up into mini-vans. Before getting in I covered my eyes and spun in a circle, my finger outstretched, insisting that I could guess which car I was supposed to get into. I opened my eyes, astoundingly I had picked the right one. Everyone cheered and clapped for me.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Norwegian Wood
Officially one of my new favorite books.
It was sad and beautiful and absolutely captivating.
There was a light, airiness to it's sadness, a slow, gentle feeling that starts from the very bottom.
It felt like the real possibility of life.
I've read another of Murakami's books and I was relatively unimpressed. I didn't like the characters, wasn't drawn into the story, and I didn't buy the ideas.
I am SO glad I gave this writer another chance and read this book.
I've heard one of those dumb cliche-y quotes that you know its a good book because by the end, you feel like you've gained a new friend. For me, if I've really enjoyed a book, I find myself inconsolably sad that it's over. It's a wonderful experience that is done.
Sitting here in a cafe, with cheesy morning talk radio playing, and old people laughing over coffee in the background, I mourn the end of my book, and begrudge to start a new one. Begrudge stepping into a whole other world.
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It was sad and beautiful and absolutely captivating.
There was a light, airiness to it's sadness, a slow, gentle feeling that starts from the very bottom.
It felt like the real possibility of life.
I've read another of Murakami's books and I was relatively unimpressed. I didn't like the characters, wasn't drawn into the story, and I didn't buy the ideas.
I am SO glad I gave this writer another chance and read this book.
I've heard one of those dumb cliche-y quotes that you know its a good book because by the end, you feel like you've gained a new friend. For me, if I've really enjoyed a book, I find myself inconsolably sad that it's over. It's a wonderful experience that is done.
Sitting here in a cafe, with cheesy morning talk radio playing, and old people laughing over coffee in the background, I mourn the end of my book, and begrudge to start a new one. Begrudge stepping into a whole other world.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
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