10.20.2008
Math in America
There was a time when I was good at math. Then, came geometry, and I started to struggle. Proofs were the bain of my existence for about 4 weeks in high school and then it all of a sudden clicked & I was golden, but I started having to actually put effort into the subject that I had breezed through before and I gave up. I didn't like doing homework. I was used to (up to that point) doing a handful of homework assignments and acing the tests, and once I got to a point where I actually had to try, I decided I hated the subject. I made it through Algebra II (although I did have to take it twice due to my unwillingness to turn in homework). I never took physics because of my newfound hatred for math & I regret giving up on the subject. Looking back, the issue was never one of math being exceptionally difficult for me to understand or carry out, but that there lacked a sense of discovery. In math, two plus two always equaled four and what was the fun in that. If you're finding x, you use y formula and everyone should have the same answer. A little older and equally as inquisitive about the world, I wish I would have worked my way up to physics so I could get to the good stuff. If a teacher had told me early on that in some cases two and two could be twenty-five I would need to know how and why. If they pitched to me that I could possibly prove the existence or nonexistence of God with math, I would have been a Physics major instead of political science. When you learn about math no one offers up anything interesting at the basic levels and math remains boring and unmystical. I would like, one day, for someone to teach math the way it should be taught: as a key to unlocking the universe; as a strange and mystical wonder to be awed and enjoyed. The labor that comes with it is less burdensome if attached to it is everything wonderful.
4.16.2008
"Hey Baby" Inspired (Stephen Marley not No Doubt)
So I was compiling a playlist of the Marley family on Imeem and came across this song Hey Baby and thus a muse whispered the following into my ear. I am not stating that it is anything profound, but when words present themselves, you should just write them down.
Forgive the time that i been gone
My time away is not yet done
Too many roads to travel
‘Though i been down every one
Love i from afar my baby
Love i over distance lady
Don’t give i none too much care
Know i will return to where
My freedom was born in your eyes
You be my setting sun and my moon’s rise
I will come and go with the changing tides
But my love will remain constant
Forgive the time that i been gone
My time away is not yet done
Too many roads to travel
‘Though i been down every one
Love i from afar my baby
Love i over distance lady
Don’t give i none too much care
Know i will return to where
My freedom was born in your eyes
You be my setting sun and my moon’s rise
I will come and go with the changing tides
But my love will remain constant
4.04.2008
A Right to Die
I have thought about my death quite a bit in my lifetime. I was a morbid child which turned me into a morbid adult. I let my parents know by the age of 18 that if I were on life support, I want them to pull the plug. I was fair. I told them to give it two weeks, but if I am not awake at that point, let me die. It’s an odd thing, this mortality we endure. It is not that humans are the only specie to endure it, but we are the only that appear to brood over it and mourn those we lose. Somehow, as we get caught up in living, we ignore our mortality or we begin to fear our final crossing.
I kind of cannot wait to die, mostly to see what it is like to be dead. Is it Heaven and Hell with a giant scale to weigh your soul? Is Saint Peter standing at pearly gates handing out flight manuals and a set of wings? Is Cerberus hanging out at the river banks barking at all the new souls, sniffing and growling as souls procession into the underworld? Or, is it darkness—no consciousness or acknowledgement of one’s demise? This is the only reason I would want to die: to find out what is next. Believe you me, I am in no rush to die as interesting as crossing over could be, it could also be a big disappointment, but I do not fear it.
When I die, there are only two ways I want to go: either peacefully in my sleep, or a bullet to the brain. I’m a simple girl with simple needs, like a quiet and private death. If I should end up with some terrible disease with no chance of recovery, I will find an easy to clean place and end my life. Christians (mainly Catholics, but the whole lot of sects) feel that it is a sin to commit suicide. I do not understand why it would be a sin when the only person you harm is yourself. The internet is teeming with websites that tell people how to kill themselves, best time to not be stopped, etc. People argue that if one is ready to die, we must convince them that there is something to live for—that they should want to keep living. That may be a great idea for a sixteen year-old girl in a suicide pact with her boyfriend because they couldn’t get enough Romeo and Juliet by reading it, and she believes that the only way her much older sociopathic boyfriend and her can be together is in matching plots on earth and spiritually in the afterlife. (Actually, let her do it to help human evolution along.) What about the 65 year-old grandfather who found out he is in the later stages of colon cancer, who defecates blood, who they had to attach a catheter to because his intestines are shutting down, who will waste away until he is only 100 pounds, each moment in agony save the morphine drip which he runs out of by the second hour of his day, only to go into cardiac arrest while his family suffers with him as they watch grandpa waste away? Why is he not allowed to die with dignity? Why must we make him suffer if he wants to die when there is no chance that his quality of life will improve?
My mother and I spoke about her wishes if she reaches a point in her life in which she cannot carry on. She gave me her wishes for burial and service. It took place a short time after her mother passed from ovarian cancer. I remember the last time I spoke with my grandmother. The cancer was in remission. She was lively on the phone call, talking about the next time she would see me, preferably outside of the hospital, congratulating me on going to college. She was amazing and strong of will, unafraid of death. A few weeks later, she slipped into a coma. She passed within a week. I learned a few things from this loss. The most important things I took away from her passing was that death is very much an inevitable consequence of birth and that you cannot fear it. When the doctors found her cancer, they gave her a death sentence and she chose to make her peace with God and resign her soul to the fates. Do not misunderstand me; she underwent chemotherapy and had the tumor surgically removed. She took her meds and some days were better than others, but I think she continued to live in order to see her last grandchild and only grandson born. In my argument I sight my grandmother because when she was faced with death, she did not shy away. She had a strong faith that when her body expired, it was the proper course of her life. I am sure that at some point she may have thought she still had more to do or that there were things she would miss out on, but she also knew that no one lives forever. I remember feeling robbed because I did not have more time to spend with her; that she would miss my graduation from college, she would not be there when I got married, that she would not see the first of our next generation. What I felt for was not the end of her misery, but more my personal loss, and that is what it all boils down to.
We are selfish in our pursuits of “pro-life.” When we make these judgments regarding whether people are forced to live or die, we do it based on how we will feel and not on what the person wants for his or her self. We make these decisions based on fear of loss because we who remain on this earth want solace. We want to know that our mother/father/sister/brother/best friend will always be there, even though logic and history tell us otherwise. Death reminds us of our own mortality, of the futility of our existence and unnerves most people to the core of their souls. It means that, depending on one’s faith and style of life, we have to be responsible for our own happiness and the choices we make, live now, and find contentment in what we have because tomorrow is uncertain. People who willingly meet the final threshold of what we know or can know shake our beliefs in what life is and vilify those who seek to end “the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.” In Hamlet’s soliloquy, he questions whether or not to commit suicide. In the end, he dies at the hands of his enemy but of his own device.
We are fortunate enough to have free will and reason, but we rarely use either. We tend to make decisions based on emotion which make logical arguments moot. I have gone on a rant that comes no where near where I initially intended this to go, but it remains that I am irked by arguments against a person’s right to end their life. This is not to say that we should all go around killing ourselves, instinct tells us otherwise, but if a person reaches a conclusion to meet their maker, who am I to tell them that their appointment is later than the one they scheduled? I would want every person to have the chance at immortality but all good and bad things must come to an end and it is in understanding that which we can find comfort in such certainty.
“Don’t take life too seriously; it isn’t permanent.” – W. C. Fields
I kind of cannot wait to die, mostly to see what it is like to be dead. Is it Heaven and Hell with a giant scale to weigh your soul? Is Saint Peter standing at pearly gates handing out flight manuals and a set of wings? Is Cerberus hanging out at the river banks barking at all the new souls, sniffing and growling as souls procession into the underworld? Or, is it darkness—no consciousness or acknowledgement of one’s demise? This is the only reason I would want to die: to find out what is next. Believe you me, I am in no rush to die as interesting as crossing over could be, it could also be a big disappointment, but I do not fear it.
When I die, there are only two ways I want to go: either peacefully in my sleep, or a bullet to the brain. I’m a simple girl with simple needs, like a quiet and private death. If I should end up with some terrible disease with no chance of recovery, I will find an easy to clean place and end my life. Christians (mainly Catholics, but the whole lot of sects) feel that it is a sin to commit suicide. I do not understand why it would be a sin when the only person you harm is yourself. The internet is teeming with websites that tell people how to kill themselves, best time to not be stopped, etc. People argue that if one is ready to die, we must convince them that there is something to live for—that they should want to keep living. That may be a great idea for a sixteen year-old girl in a suicide pact with her boyfriend because they couldn’t get enough Romeo and Juliet by reading it, and she believes that the only way her much older sociopathic boyfriend and her can be together is in matching plots on earth and spiritually in the afterlife. (Actually, let her do it to help human evolution along.) What about the 65 year-old grandfather who found out he is in the later stages of colon cancer, who defecates blood, who they had to attach a catheter to because his intestines are shutting down, who will waste away until he is only 100 pounds, each moment in agony save the morphine drip which he runs out of by the second hour of his day, only to go into cardiac arrest while his family suffers with him as they watch grandpa waste away? Why is he not allowed to die with dignity? Why must we make him suffer if he wants to die when there is no chance that his quality of life will improve?
My mother and I spoke about her wishes if she reaches a point in her life in which she cannot carry on. She gave me her wishes for burial and service. It took place a short time after her mother passed from ovarian cancer. I remember the last time I spoke with my grandmother. The cancer was in remission. She was lively on the phone call, talking about the next time she would see me, preferably outside of the hospital, congratulating me on going to college. She was amazing and strong of will, unafraid of death. A few weeks later, she slipped into a coma. She passed within a week. I learned a few things from this loss. The most important things I took away from her passing was that death is very much an inevitable consequence of birth and that you cannot fear it. When the doctors found her cancer, they gave her a death sentence and she chose to make her peace with God and resign her soul to the fates. Do not misunderstand me; she underwent chemotherapy and had the tumor surgically removed. She took her meds and some days were better than others, but I think she continued to live in order to see her last grandchild and only grandson born. In my argument I sight my grandmother because when she was faced with death, she did not shy away. She had a strong faith that when her body expired, it was the proper course of her life. I am sure that at some point she may have thought she still had more to do or that there were things she would miss out on, but she also knew that no one lives forever. I remember feeling robbed because I did not have more time to spend with her; that she would miss my graduation from college, she would not be there when I got married, that she would not see the first of our next generation. What I felt for was not the end of her misery, but more my personal loss, and that is what it all boils down to.
We are selfish in our pursuits of “pro-life.” When we make these judgments regarding whether people are forced to live or die, we do it based on how we will feel and not on what the person wants for his or her self. We make these decisions based on fear of loss because we who remain on this earth want solace. We want to know that our mother/father/sister/brother/best friend will always be there, even though logic and history tell us otherwise. Death reminds us of our own mortality, of the futility of our existence and unnerves most people to the core of their souls. It means that, depending on one’s faith and style of life, we have to be responsible for our own happiness and the choices we make, live now, and find contentment in what we have because tomorrow is uncertain. People who willingly meet the final threshold of what we know or can know shake our beliefs in what life is and vilify those who seek to end “the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.” In Hamlet’s soliloquy, he questions whether or not to commit suicide. In the end, he dies at the hands of his enemy but of his own device.
We are fortunate enough to have free will and reason, but we rarely use either. We tend to make decisions based on emotion which make logical arguments moot. I have gone on a rant that comes no where near where I initially intended this to go, but it remains that I am irked by arguments against a person’s right to end their life. This is not to say that we should all go around killing ourselves, instinct tells us otherwise, but if a person reaches a conclusion to meet their maker, who am I to tell them that their appointment is later than the one they scheduled? I would want every person to have the chance at immortality but all good and bad things must come to an end and it is in understanding that which we can find comfort in such certainty.
“Don’t take life too seriously; it isn’t permanent.” – W. C. Fields
4.02.2008
Mark Twain is a genius
"The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year."
3.24.2008
hellos and goodbyes
There are times when tears are appropriate. They are most appropriate at times of loss. I cannot cry so I write my tears down and let words mourn for me.
We are fortunate to have great people come into our lives, shining lights that warm us and bring hope, but eventually these lights extinguish or are carried away to light other lives. I wish that it didn’t have to come to this, that we could be promised the eternal glow of those we cherish. Unfortunately, we must suffer as part of life; we must learn to accept loss. I have met some of the most amazing people in the last few months and they must continue on their journey. Our meeting was a mere layover and all parties involved were aware, but it doesn’t make the loss any less painful. I think it may in fact make it all the worse. So here we are with a choice: to carry on in denial of the inevitable loss that will come, or turn away from the world and live in solitude. My vote is for the latter, but it is almost impossible- "no man is an island" etcetera, etcetera...
Friendships and love stand in defiance of logic. We allow ourselves to connect with people knowing that these connections are fleeting. Why? I have been thinking about this question a lot recently. I can’t come up with an answer other than the illogical hope and self delusion that these connections cannot break or weather over time. Maybe it is that the beauty we allow into our lives however short it may be, it stays with us always. We have happy memories and laughter that echoes through the years. I am getting sentimental in my old age, I fear.
This is for my recent friends who travel on across the globe: you will be missed.
We are fortunate to have great people come into our lives, shining lights that warm us and bring hope, but eventually these lights extinguish or are carried away to light other lives. I wish that it didn’t have to come to this, that we could be promised the eternal glow of those we cherish. Unfortunately, we must suffer as part of life; we must learn to accept loss. I have met some of the most amazing people in the last few months and they must continue on their journey. Our meeting was a mere layover and all parties involved were aware, but it doesn’t make the loss any less painful. I think it may in fact make it all the worse. So here we are with a choice: to carry on in denial of the inevitable loss that will come, or turn away from the world and live in solitude. My vote is for the latter, but it is almost impossible- "no man is an island" etcetera, etcetera...
Friendships and love stand in defiance of logic. We allow ourselves to connect with people knowing that these connections are fleeting. Why? I have been thinking about this question a lot recently. I can’t come up with an answer other than the illogical hope and self delusion that these connections cannot break or weather over time. Maybe it is that the beauty we allow into our lives however short it may be, it stays with us always. We have happy memories and laughter that echoes through the years. I am getting sentimental in my old age, I fear.
This is for my recent friends who travel on across the globe: you will be missed.
3.13.2008
Hula
Had my first hula & tahitian dance class today. I suck but it's fun! Let me tell you, I was in a class with people who have been in it for months or years or since birth and then there's me & Maria... I am so happy she was there with me (with her daughters watching) otherwise I would have felt way out of place. It was bad enough that I was the only non Asian/Pacific Islander there, and then to be off beat! Damn that. In 2 weeks I am so going to be better. I had a 10 year old making fun of me. What is this world coming to?
2.29.2008
Cruisin
A year ago, if you told me that my 14 weekly party companions would break apart into party sects and disassociate with one another I would have laughed. Sure enough, a year later, my crew is down to only three key members and we as a foursome seem to party hearty. It's a little strange to think that a group of 15 20-somethings would drift into such different social circles in such a short period of time. I guess I always knew my core would be this group, though. I knew when Sue, Carla & I would go to Cantina & Micky's without anyone else and meet random people. Or we would hang out with Austen. We would laugh and joke and enjoy ourselves without the insane clamor of our complete entourage. Somewhere in there Vicki joined, and we became a recipe for trouble and adventure. In the end, I think we are satisfied with our group. It's just interesting how time changes people and perceptions.
2.21.2008
Black History and What Have You
It's three weeks into February and in case you did not know, February is Black History Month. I have worked very hard over the past three weeks to ignore it, not because I don't think it is important, but because I feel like it is trivialized and taken for granted. As we make our way through grade school, we are taught all of the great accomplishments African Americans have made to American culture, about acceptable Black people who changed the face of history, meaning we get Booker T. Washington, Harriet Tubman, George Washington Carver, Frederick Douglas, and Dr. King. We get the good, suffering, struggling to overcome while not too intimidating Black Americans in the history books. On the outskirts of history come the revolutionaries, the people who made it possible for the recognizable names in the history books (some of the following are also mentioned in history books, but as villainous foils to the prior group of Black History saints): Nat Turner, Malcolm X, W.E.B. DuBois, Marcus Garvey, and Huey P. Newton. The thing about Black history, something I never really understood, is that it is American history, but for the purposes of rainbow hugging baby boomer legislatures who want to prove how far we've come from our days as oppressors, there is a month dedicated just to Black America.
Do you want to know what happens during this month? The Color Purple plays every night on BET; Roots will be played on PBS; In Living Color Marathon on Comedy Central; and HBO has a list of Black films on Demand. What used to be a period of time to reflect on Americans who were faced with greater adversity because of what they were born rather than who they are-- a time in which we bridge the gap of racial inequality and take responsibility as a nation for the travesty that was enslavement and second class citizenship (not just with African Americans)--is now a month of superfluous apathy guised as social understanding. I am thoroughly sick of it.
I want to get into all of the issues I have with the Black community, and I want to discuss in depth my loathing of White guilt and cultural appropriation. I want to be able to tell you all of the things that swim in my mind about what being Black and being American mean, but there really are not enough words and is no where near enough time for me to lay it all out for you in detail other than to say that Black history is American history and there are things that we have to own up to as Americans and not brush under the rug. We have a responsibility to ourselves, to our ancestors, and to our progeny to tell the story honestly and offer them options for the future.
I think I am over Black History Month forever, but I will never turn away from Black history... or any history for that matter. I learn something new every day about different cultures withn America. Our stories are told as fragments when we see them intertwine and tangle everyday.
American Black History recap:
Declaration of Independence defines the patriots as not being slaves -> American Constitution is ratified after compromise met on slaves counting as three-fifths a human being in order for the South to obtain more seats in Congress-> Slave trade outlawed-> Missouri Compromise-> Frederick Douglas-> Dredd Scott sues for his freedom and loses on the grounds that he is not a citizen of the United States and has no right to use the federal courts ->American Civil War breaks out-> Lincoln frees slaves in already free states-> Confederacy loses the war-> XIII & XIV Amendments passed making the newly freed slaves citizens and granting suffrage to Black men-> Reconstruction-> KKK rises in the South-> backlash to recontruction-> Plessy v. Ferguson-> Southern sharecroppers migrate to industrialized cities in search of jobs-> unions refuse to allow African Americans in and industrialists begin to use them as scabs-> Booker T. Washington & W.E.B. DuBois begin a debate that would last years on the correct path for Blacks in America-> Marcus Garvey & Pan African Movement-> National Association for the Advancement of Colored People-> Franklin D Roosevelt refuses to pass an anti-lynching law-> Jackie Robinson-> Brown v. Board of Education-> Emmett Till-> Rosa Parks & Montgomery Bus Boycott-> Little Rock 9-> Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. & Malcolm X pick up where Washington & DuBois ended their debate-> Ballot or the Bullet-> I Have A Dream & March on Washington-> Passing of Civil Rights Bill-> Assassination of JFK-> LBJ appoints Thurgood Marshall to the Supreme Court-> Malcolm X assassinated-> Dr. King assassinated-> Bobby Kennedy assassinated-> Black Panther Party-> Black Liberation Army-> Assata Shakur imprisoned-> Huey P Newton imprisoned-> Angela Davis imprisoned-> systematic murders of members of black parties by the police and FBI-> Vietnam war ends-> Rainbow Coalition-> Jesse Jackson runs for president-> Colin Powell becomes Secretary of State-> Condoleeza Rice becomes Secretary of State-> Barack Obama leads in polls to become Democratic Nominee for President of the United States
Do you want to know what happens during this month? The Color Purple plays every night on BET; Roots will be played on PBS; In Living Color Marathon on Comedy Central; and HBO has a list of Black films on Demand. What used to be a period of time to reflect on Americans who were faced with greater adversity because of what they were born rather than who they are-- a time in which we bridge the gap of racial inequality and take responsibility as a nation for the travesty that was enslavement and second class citizenship (not just with African Americans)--is now a month of superfluous apathy guised as social understanding. I am thoroughly sick of it.
I want to get into all of the issues I have with the Black community, and I want to discuss in depth my loathing of White guilt and cultural appropriation. I want to be able to tell you all of the things that swim in my mind about what being Black and being American mean, but there really are not enough words and is no where near enough time for me to lay it all out for you in detail other than to say that Black history is American history and there are things that we have to own up to as Americans and not brush under the rug. We have a responsibility to ourselves, to our ancestors, and to our progeny to tell the story honestly and offer them options for the future.
I think I am over Black History Month forever, but I will never turn away from Black history... or any history for that matter. I learn something new every day about different cultures withn America. Our stories are told as fragments when we see them intertwine and tangle everyday.
American Black History recap:
Declaration of Independence defines the patriots as not being slaves -> American Constitution is ratified after compromise met on slaves counting as three-fifths a human being in order for the South to obtain more seats in Congress-> Slave trade outlawed-> Missouri Compromise-> Frederick Douglas-> Dredd Scott sues for his freedom and loses on the grounds that he is not a citizen of the United States and has no right to use the federal courts ->American Civil War breaks out-> Lincoln frees slaves in already free states-> Confederacy loses the war-> XIII & XIV Amendments passed making the newly freed slaves citizens and granting suffrage to Black men-> Reconstruction-> KKK rises in the South-> backlash to recontruction-> Plessy v. Ferguson-> Southern sharecroppers migrate to industrialized cities in search of jobs-> unions refuse to allow African Americans in and industrialists begin to use them as scabs-> Booker T. Washington & W.E.B. DuBois begin a debate that would last years on the correct path for Blacks in America-> Marcus Garvey & Pan African Movement-> National Association for the Advancement of Colored People-> Franklin D Roosevelt refuses to pass an anti-lynching law-> Jackie Robinson-> Brown v. Board of Education-> Emmett Till-> Rosa Parks & Montgomery Bus Boycott-> Little Rock 9-> Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. & Malcolm X pick up where Washington & DuBois ended their debate-> Ballot or the Bullet-> I Have A Dream & March on Washington-> Passing of Civil Rights Bill-> Assassination of JFK-> LBJ appoints Thurgood Marshall to the Supreme Court-> Malcolm X assassinated-> Dr. King assassinated-> Bobby Kennedy assassinated-> Black Panther Party-> Black Liberation Army-> Assata Shakur imprisoned-> Huey P Newton imprisoned-> Angela Davis imprisoned-> systematic murders of members of black parties by the police and FBI-> Vietnam war ends-> Rainbow Coalition-> Jesse Jackson runs for president-> Colin Powell becomes Secretary of State-> Condoleeza Rice becomes Secretary of State-> Barack Obama leads in polls to become Democratic Nominee for President of the United States
2.15.2008
V-Day Recap: Warhol, Wrestling and Writhing
cowboy-glitter
Originally uploaded by Unruly Julie
Let me set the scene. It takes place inside the Mayan, a beautiful venue when you want a theme of hedonistic pleasure. Palm trees in the corners of the lobby provide real life jungle temple experience (::thumbs up w/cheap grin::) while the faux carved stone walls are washed with red, purple and green lights. I walked in and became nostalgic for Legends of the Hidden Temple (but I sure was happy not to run into any temple guards because I left my pendants of life at home). My friend and I find seats upstairs and once people show up that she knows I kinda disappear for a while (figuratively speaking). I take this time to reflect on everything and I realize one very important thing: I don't belong at this event.
I looked around and saw Greasers, Scenesters, Avant Garde artist types. I look up the steps behind me and standing there is a chunky Andy Warhol (green hair instead of platinum blonde) with a crew of misfit neo-hipsters. To my right, a few seats over is this Rockabilly girl with full Betty Paige vamp but as a tough girl. Down below in the ringside seats is a costumed group which includes Marie Antoinette. There's also the hardcore Lucha Libre fans with masks on of their favorite wrestlers. Then there's me, watching in silence with a giant siren going off in my head saying I don't belong here. I didn't. I'm no artist, no scenester, no out of the ordinary searcher for fringe culture. I'm a Barney's Beanery kind of girl who just wants to see cool stuff, talk to interesting people, and on occasion get plastered with my friends. This is the heartbreaking part: since I realize that I don't fit into this world (my best friend who invited me there thus being my only real connection to it) I also have to come to terms that I don't fit into my friend's life either.
It basically broke down to her outgrowing me (eventhough I am sure she doesn't realize it yet) and me not matching her growth and I understand it. She's become an adult and I'm not there yet. To be perfectly candid, I don't know if I ever will be. We're opposites in a lot of ways that seemed far less important when we became friends in high school because we had similar backstories. Ten years later, those common foundations are not as important. She's always been artsy and flighty and free spirited and me not so much. We go to Lucha and it's like walking into her world and I do not feel any connection to anything. I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just noticeably out of place. It just stinks that on a day dedicated to "love" I find out that the best relationship I have had with anyone is falling apart and there is no way to fix it because we're not broken. We still talk and hang out and laugh, but there is just something missing, some sort of divide appeared and there's no bridge across it at this time. So, I end up breaking my own heart on Valentine's Day.
The lights go down, the show begins and everything is beautiful. The crowd laughs and cheers and dances. The luchadores flip and fly across the ring. The VaVoom aspect of the evening was my favorite, although Lil' Chicken and The Human Tornado made the night unforgettable. The night ends and I drive my friend home while we laugh into the darkness. Today is a new day, but my heart is still a bit bruised.
1.06.2008
New Year - New Lessons
I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday and she posed an interesting question. She asked me what my 3 major happinesses and 3 major concerns were and in answering I learned that I have a great deal more happinesses than concerns and I have found a lot of contentment in where I am. I've noticed that over the past year I have spent a lot of energy focusing on what I haven't done and then spent an equal amount of energy distracting myself from focusing on the long list of my lifetime "to do" list. What I did not do in 2007 was enjoy the moment, sieze the day, or find real time to just be in my own body. I make myself run around like crazy, always busy-- always with something else that needs to be done, but most of my days were filled with busy work, with white noise to drown out my overactive and very critical mind and I found that I'm never really happy; not a true happiness where I can sit with myself in silence and feel at ease-- more of finding a peace.
New Year's Resolution: Find my happy place.
New Year's Resolution: Find my happy place.
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