When asked, "How was your day?" All I could do was be truthful, "I've had better."
Life is oh so good, but DAMN, Smokey, couldn't it be just a little bit easier.
I'm getting tired of this mental mantra that's skipping over and over in my head, "There is a lesson to be learned from this. There is a lesson to be learned. There is a lesson to be learned from this."
Sometimes I just don't have a fucking clue what that lesson might be, or maybe I do, but I don't want to put forth the exhausting amount of emotional grunt work that is needed to fix it.
My roomie and I have many-a-tradition, but one of my favs is what I like to call, "The Nightly Spill." These sessions include massive amounts of spillage and questioning and brainstorming about jobs, this god-damn cold weather, money (Or shall I say the lack there of), boys, moms, more fucking snow???, and doctor reports (We really should be considered MD's. "Ahhh, yes, I see. Yep, I'm going to suggest you drink three vodka and crans and call me in the morning.")
Half of a deliciously dikey duo once said, "You have to laugh at yourself because you'd cry your eyes out if you didn't."
Amen, indie girl, A-fucking-men.
You know how some people use the word "literally," but they don't really mean literally?
When I say that tonight we were rolling around on the ground laughing. I mean...we were literally rolling from side to side in the fetal position on the kitchen floor, with laughter-induced stomach aches and erratic snorts (Grathias, Bonita, for the killer ab workout).
P.S. My favorite part of this commercial is the woman screaming in her car. I tried it the other day. Put it on your to-do list. So very well-worth the sore throat that follows.
interesting, very interesting. Talked to Brent for a little bit after taking one of his classes. He helped me see some stuff that had been piling up right smack in front of me. I knew it was there, I just didn't know exactly what it was. Identifying the pile of shiziit gave me the ability, the power to start cleaning it up. I think I need this apron for the job.
Growing up I was a tightly woven ball of emotional silence. Looking back I barely recognize her. I can pinpoint the shift to openness to my early 20's when I fell in love and experienced an honest, open relationship.
Years later, I'm still growing into my skin. I started this blog over two years ago as a stepping stone to continue my growth of self-acceptance. Whether one person or one hundred people click on my page, doesn't matter, because I post for me. I still keep oh so much to myself or tucked away in my journal pages or spill it into the ears of my friends and sisters. I still question how much and what I should share. Too much? Not enough?
At first I only gave this site address to a couple close girlfriends...baby steps to accessibility. Now the worry of judgment has diminished.
Welcome to my little piece of cyberspace. My words are here for you to read and do with as you please.
An experienced Chicagoan once told me that when the last leaf hits the ground and the winter chill rolls into this windy city that it's an absolute must to have a "winter boyfriend" waiting on the back burner. Someone to hunker down on the couch next to. Someone to take the place of my heating blanket. I didn't think much of her advice until this week came and so did the negatives, degrees that is.
I walk into my apartment at the end of the day and my grand plans vanish...poof, gone. I really, really do try to get up and get out the door, but my cozy couch and warm blankies and vanilla tea and the damn internet, and that unbelievable documentary about three guys that ran for 110 consecutive days across Africa, and my books and journal, and the perfect pile of meditation pillows, and the space heater just WILL NOT let me go.
This whole Facebook thing is plain old weird. Little Evan Easter who I haven't seen or for that matter thought of since fifth grade is on my computer screen. Weird. I hesitantly checked yes to the friend request of the boy I went on a date with last week. Basically this kinda-stranger that I think is cute and who I'm totally trying to trick because it's the early dating stage, you know trying to make him think I'm smart and funny and well, flawless...HE can see my pictures and comments? Cringe. Weird. Dude, my mom is on Facebook. She and I are so not going to be friends. Hello, I need privacy. Wait, so my freshman year older bad-boy crush can know what's going on, but not my mom? Yep. Weird.
Today I sat in my comfy white nest and flipped through a few of my journals from this past 365 day revolution. Reflecting on my reflections.
Here are a few things I've learned about myself in 2008. The good, the bad and the ugly...here it is. Splat..right there for you to read.
Patterns, patterns, patterns. Holy shit! The shit I do over and over and over again and then I honestly feel duped when I get the same results. Moral of the story: Do the same think, get the same results.
When being stuck with my family for an extended amount of time, I revert back to a 13 year old. You know zitty, hormonal, over-emotional, bitchy, but best of all sure to laugh until I cry or even let a little tinky sneak out.
Pardon me for a moment while I go a little Eckhart Tolle or Don Miguel Ruiz all ova' ya. I'm happy to say that the chatter in my head is just a little bit sweeter. A little more patient and loving. It feels good. With a little help from my sidekick and some distance from my family, I no longer have to take on the judgment that once felt so normal. My good friend Tim Gunn once compared a designer's work to living in a monkey house. Oh wise one, I was living in the stink for so long that I didn't even realize how bad it smelled.
I always want to get my way. You're probably saying, "Who doesn't, fool." But no, really, I really don't like not getting my way. I'm 30 years old and have just now begun acknowledging this feeling and making myself sit in it, feel it, understand it, and then let it go as best I can. I'd like to say that I'm embracing this feeling, but fuck no I'm not. Putting 'er on my 2009 to do list.
Regarding relationships and dating...heavy sigh, followed by laughter. This year I have spent much too much time worrying about boys and love and sex and feelings. I've tried falling in love with the one that is "dating material." You know the one that is kind and loving, treats me like I am the most amazing woman in the world (even though sometimes the Kim Anderson cards made me throw-up in my mouth), has a healthy 401K and a beautiful six-pack and shoulders to match. The rest of the time I have spent with boys that are sooooo, let me just emphasis the sooooo, not "dating material." Oh girls you know what I'm talking about. He might live in his parents' basement, swipe gym cards for a living, spend a little time in jail (yes, jail, I know) and even stand you up for your New Year's Eve kiss. Regardless of what kind of material these unique souls might be to me, I have loved their special parts. Ha..that came out really inappropriate, but so delightfully inappropriate that I can't possibly backspace over that naughty Freudian slip.
Growth..though at times so gradual that I felt stuck, wondering if I'd ever move again. In my mind I would love to be the runner, the leaper, the no-lookin'-backer, but in this wonderful world of reality that I sometimes choose to live in, I'm quite happy with these precious baby steps that have gotten me right where I'm supposed to be.
Oh my dear 2008, you have been good to me. You've have allowed me more joy than sorrow and made me laugh far more than cry.