2011

2011: I shake my head at you.  I ask, WTF?  Always taking pride in my resilient nature, green and cheerful and always there, like the thickest of crabgrass to the finest of blades, I feel my spry sprig of a soul wilting in the unrest.  This year has been the swing of a nine-iron, steady and assuming at first, then bashing through my brain and gouging out divets the size of craters from my heart.  Will these holes fill up?  Or cave in even more?

Questions questions all these questions.  Where do I belong? What should I be doing right now? What's best? Who's best? Why do I keep choosing half-hearted manboys? What are my talents? How come I don't use them? Why do I keep making mistakes? What is a mistake? Since when did I become dramatic and negative? 
...I thought I was positive? 

Where's the ying to this fucking yang, cuz I'm ready for some light.

Bugged Me

I consider myself addicted to observing humanity.  Not only do I find casual enjoyment in studying people's behaviors, actions and reactions to a situation, but that shit truly fascinates me because it's real and it's daily and it's life. 

Now, I also believe that we are a creative species with good and not so good functions.

Observed experience:  I was floating in the pool today, and a mother frantically swats at a bee and smacks it dead on the concrete with her flip flop bottom.  Her 10 year old son looks at her, confused maybe, curious a little, and asks, "Mom, why did you kill that bee and it didn't do anything to you?"  Mom very confidently snaps "You want that to sting you? No. Didn't think so. That's why we kill bees."

My thoughts:  Unless you or your kid is gonna drop dead from anaphylactic shock, alerted epi-pen in hand ready to jab... the fact is that bee won't sting unless it feels threatened (i.e. swinging arms, swatting).  So tone down the hype, preserve the peace and let it go and do its bee thaaaang.  Do you know what I mean?  It's like, people create an idea that they're threatened and panic and construct a disorder that then develops into a normalcy and is functional amidst the dysfunction, a new defense lens through which much, then, becomes bent.  The bee example is only the tip of the iceberg, people living for that one small percentage of a maybe-moment in concern that they might get hurt.  Hmm.

...

Deep into the night she and I would talk.  "I'm not long for this world, Steph."  She'd take a pause of silence and for me, that void of sound with her sigh of sadness peaked the comment's drama.  I hated the drama.  I'd rush a sprinkle of "Oh just stop it, stop saying that" into the conversation but she'd press her belief firmly into the mind of mine denying credence of her thoughts. 

But she was right. 
Just dead for a day and I already miss my sister.

Hurrrr/Identity

Ha!  So Ok.  My hair!  I got my hurrrr did a week and a half ago because I hadn't cut it in about a year and it was getting nasty.  Being a female and going to "salons" around town is just not in my budget or in my radar to really care, at all, but I care enough about my appearance not to go to Super Cuts (seriously though I've had some bad experiences there).  I got my hair cut by a new girl at a place I've been to twice before and she was cool and all, but even though I told her to cut off as much as needed to "Make it healthy!" she lopped off a full 3-4 inches of my identity and I can't even DO my hair like I've been doing it for years because it just looks sub-par to my "look."  So I'm just pulling it back in a bun every day! 

I always thought those people who cry were incredibly LAME on What Not To Wear when they got their hair done.  But now I get it!  No, I didn't sob as she was snipping away at my dead-ends, not at all.  I wanted it cut.  I told her to do whatever, really.  And now that it doesn't look the way it has looked in years (maybe you don't notice, but I do!) I'm like...Whoa, Identity CHANGED.  Identity taken!!  Identity GONE... I feel not me!  I want it changed!  I want it re-done!  Please!  I'm kind of floored at how much this whole hair thing has affected my mood and perception of self.  I'm kind of floored at how much my hair was a part of how I knew myself, at least on a physical level.  Yeah, floored.  Help, I've fallen and I can't get up.  Has 6 months passed yet?  Maybe it'll look like the me I know me to be more than it does now.

And to think my sister had to shave her head because of the chemo.  Damn.  I feel lame.

Morro Bay

Morro Bay...a strange place.  It just oozes run-down retro.  Built up in, what - the 60's, 70's? and not really renovated since?  Old school barber shops (with that spinning stripes thing twirling about--what the hell are those and why do they symbolize "hair cut here?"), antique stores and salted, tired beach shanties that house seemingly very satisfied human beings.  It took a while for it to grow on me, but something about Morro Bay keeps drawing me in and I'm proudly appreciating it more each time.

I drove there today because sometimes, I feel this magnetic pull and there's nothing I can do about it but just go to the water because it always has something to say.  And while the sea lions could be heard from blocks away, asking over and over again "Huh? Huh? Huh?" (I'm sorry guys, you're super cute and all but I just don't have the answer), I felt like.....Ahhhhhhhhhhh.  Om.  Namaste!  There's something real about breathing in the sea air, wafts of funky fish even don't seem so offensive as the inhale of such an odor is soothingly suitable, expected, comforting, thematic.  Although my excitement for that predictable drab grey of the Morro Bay skyline rerouted when I saw sun illuminate the rock, it was still just as enjoyable, if not more.

And what did the bay have to tell me, or really, what did I discover on my own?  Well gosh, I don't entirely know.  Except....I feel gratitude for feeling more peaceful and accepting of myself and the challenges I have faced, am facing, and will be facing.  I'm not who I was back in '07-09, when that was my rock-bottom of all moments to-date. (Pun intended regarding the rock).....so, with a small pat on my back all I can do is move on and forward.  Peace!

It's bitchin.!

Taken from my phone

So at work, at the Food Bank, I swear we celebrate every holiday over again at least twice.  Today we were reminded of Valentine's Day when one of the wonderful warehouse guys brought in a few of the "excess candy donations" (for lack of better terms)...and my coworker put this (see photo) on my desk.  I read it, I thought "ha, funny" then I thought of Iggy Pop's song which is STILL stuck in my head, then I thought "hmmmm...." and on instant, I identified with it.

Now I've never been a dramatic person or out of control by any means, (maybe?)....whatever that translates to.  I am pretty weird according to many and I typically have no shame in most instances.  But since I graduated college in 2008, and even before when I dabbled in 3 totally unrelated majors, I have struggled with having no direction and limited expectations for self and world.  And now?  What about the present?  Same thing.  I just don't know what I want because frankly, direction has been totally boring!  To me, I am wild.  A grenade hurling through the air after the pin's been removed, or the free-floating bag from American Beauty's plastic bag scene.  It's like I let fate take the reigns completely.  But I cannot do that anymore.  It's getting me nowhere but frustrated and unsure of the path my life is taking.

So how to take hold of these reigns?  I recently made a list of my goals for May, and my long-term goals for the next few months.  Before bed, I look at it.  When I wake up, I look at it.  Not sure it's really helping, but I feel slightly more solidified, even if it is just a mental confirmation.  Perhaps that's all I need.

But in recognizing that I can justify just about anything, and see opposing arguments almost equally and simultaneously, I do sense that my boredom I've experienced in the past with "planning on having a focus" is probably such because the focus in mind at the time has not been the right fit.  And shit, I can't EVER make up my mind.

When I was in Joshua Tree back in 2009 visiting my brother, I met the owner of some funky incense-clouded, magnet-selling, peace-sign poster covered shop.  He told me, and I wrote it down and have kept it in my wallet since, the following:  "Don't get yourself fuckin' locked into anything.  Be a vagabond for 2 year.  It's bitchin!!"  Probably one of the best things I've ever heard and admired.  For once, my wayside ways felt validated.  And what he said--I've done that, precisely.  Maybe I never left SLO, but my heart's been a poncho-wearing wanderer, in and out of various jobs, sampling life one employment experience, one roommate, one house and day-to-day randomness at a time. 

I love that.  And I'm happy with it.  And I think I would be missing something had I never experienced this current state of unknowingness that I am in.  It will happen again, even after knowing--if that ever happens--what I may want to be some day when "I grow up!"  But for now, I'm trying to 'get myself fuckin' locked into' something and I would like direction.  Security.  An identity of sorts that is more concrete than the spritely free-flowing mist of an essence that I am.  But what that is...I haven't a clue.

The Cure says...Boys Don't Cry?

Currently listening to The Cure's Boys Don't Cry right now...on this glorious warm night of Cinco de Drinko (de Mayo?).  I had me some 2 bottles of Guinness, and 2 glasses of a delicious white wine whose name has somehow slipped my mind.  I.e., feeling quite enlightened.  So please read on....

A current, and constant topic between my always-insightful and ever-curious roommate and myself: males.  Our latest agreement: "Males are the weaker sex, clearly."  Ha.  While I humorously agree with this I also ask myself what is the definition of weaker?  After a hearty number of experiences with the ball-bearing class I have truly come to realize that they are just as sensitive as their curvy ovarian counterparts, or really, are equally as likely to fall prey to feeling like a victim to those circumstances which hurt and break, but they're conditioned to leave it unarticulated.  One of my Life Hobbies, as I call it, is getting to know someone.  Sounds pretty general, but really, I just love learning about people and understanding their antics, noticing their patterns, and picking their brains when possible.  Gosh, I just love people.  By learning about you, I learn about myself!  (We are a fascinating species).  But in getting to know males: boys, guys, men....or, another coined term of mine is the quintessential "manboy"....(the guy who seems to have his shit together but then kind of flakes?  Yep, that's a Manboy, and I adore them too!).....I have realized that there truly is such a stigma in existence that targets the expression of sentiment by males, and defines it as cliche, gay, or, like I've even stated, "weak."

But it isn't weak.  If only guys were allowed the space to be sappy, to admit to feeling like they might want to cry, or an acknowledgment of vulnerability.  I don't think our American culture truly makes room for that, free of judgment.  Old news, I know, but really, I've discovered this for myself.  This could be why I am attracted to guys who are artistic/creative, or guys who appreciate children, (ok, not like that) because art and youth are media that make exceptions to the rules of closed-minded adulthood at all times.  There are no boundaries.  There are no guidelines.  Anything goes when you have the freedom to write, say, paint what you want, or be as goofy as Goofy himself.  And shit, I like a dude who is real.  It's just too bad our society feeds them a daily dose of "masculinity" which means they bury that freedom, that life inside; they don't feel it publicly or consciously, they move on quickly, and...of course, they for Goodness' sake don't cry.

But, that's just a generalization so I can validate my own overly-sentimental feelings.

Shell Beach

I love when skin, caramelized and rosie from warming spring sun, meets the crisp sting of salty sea.  Lapping waves slapping goose-bumped legs, and each succeeding foot blindly seeking squishy pebble-sand in the unseen terrain below. 

Nothing is quite like the ocean. 

A liquid womb of life and savage death, serenity, intrigue, and unmatchable aggression.  Tiny white boats bob atop the surface, giant humming cruise ships are toys in the breadth of the massive sea.  Chilled-out surfers straddle their boards in patient anticipation of that next wave.  Our greed and delusional dependency gradually grease its creatures into nonexistence.  And yet, it still remains to be a magnetic body of beauty.

The sea is life and yes, it scares me, but I love it more.

Today I jumped into the ocean.

To: Me, From: Me

Well it's been a while since I last updated!!!  Let me just say, I've been having a good time; a few frustrations here and there, no doubt, I'll touch on that another time.  However, I feel like I'm in the mood to "gift" myself, so ....... in a nut shell, I think I've just blown the roof off my little budget (kind of like the US Government?).  First of all, I splurged out of pee-my-pants excitement for the lineup of OutsideLands in San Fran in August, so I went ahead and purchased my 3-day festival pass for that.  Then, I went to Coachella which was kind of a mind-eraser.  I always loved music, experimenting with different genres and styles (favorite is anything with a unique and bumpin' beat, bass, and let's not forget talent).  Coachella though, lemme say....I have never felt so connected to vibrations in my life!  I was surfing music, catching soundwaves, and you know, I still think I've got my sea-legs on because my head still bobs to every beat I hear. 

That makes me happy.

You know what else I did for myself?  I bought a pair of nude colored stripper-esque shoes.  My roommate said, "You go from wearing flats and flip flops...to THESE?"  Oh yeah!  I enjoy variety, extremes, and opposites.  Check out these bad boys.  The lighting isn't too good, but you get the point.  I don't believe in violence or possession of weapons, necessarily, but I do believe in heels of mass destruction, on occasion!  They're Steve Maddens and yes, I can walk in them, but don't be surprised if you find them accompanied on me by a soft helmet, in case I eat shit.  Or, just keep handing me drinks because I always walk better in tall shoes when not conscious of myself ;)  I think my 5"3-and-some-change reaches to 5"9 in them and...on a non-boasting side note, my little legs look pretty effin' good.  They really make this hippy-ish chick feel like Barbie.  I can dig it.

Too much, too often, too little or too late do I live my life in haste from time to time.  I'm too slow when it comes to immediate answers or confirmation, and I can be too impatient when I want the answers now!  I slack-line my way through life, a tight-rope teeter totter and balance act of What do I do now? What's my next move?  I'm impossible when it comes to many things that require on-the-spot decision making.  I prefer weighing each side.  And that's my blessing and my burden: I can always see both sides of the same coin.  I might not agree with either side, or I might just agree with both.  But if I'm in the right mood....I can be so spontaneous and live in dime-dropping snap decisions for a short and charged moment in time.  (But that gets a little stressful!).

Whenever I want to hit the reset button, I go for a run.  There, between the creamsicle dream skyline and the blackened hillside cut-outs, I feel separated from distractions and connected to all that is greater than myself.  Then I feel whole again.  Calm, open-chested, ready for a challenge because I have finally unwound myself and let go of the trivia that clouds my very precious brain.  With my hip injury, I hadn't been able to run for several months.  It was sort of cool because I re-explored other forms of exercise: swimming, biking, yoga.....but nothing was comparable to that cathartic heart-beat thump-thump order of my feet slapping the pavement.  I have gotten back into running in the past 2 weeks, and it feels wonderful.  I am grateful every time I do it with less and less pain! 

The only reason why running has been suddenly more successful is because I discovered (again and again in so many forms of my life) that I need to slow down.  Slow down and listen to life's nuances.  Ice and stretch before, ice and stretch after!  Don't run 2 days in a row.  That's all it takes!  A month ago I randomly went for a run and neglected to ice and stretch afterwards.  I then had to resort to my vicodin.  Bad.

I suppose it's all about balance, but in a peaceful, ready and calm approach.  I am seeing that manifest in my life daily.  Hopefully for the better more and more.

gold vs. angel? material vs. spiritual and other-worldly? i really don't know.

Again, always dreaming of fish and water.  (Funny ironic sidenote, my iTunes is currently playing "Weird Fishes" by Radiohead).

My dream last night:

In a dimmed apartment on a rainy day, an old coworker of mine ran up to me, laughing and drunk. "Stephanie Stephanie my fish!  They're not in my tank anymore!" He was out of breath and rolling in laughter.  Being the animal lover that I am, I was more concerned if they were alive and okay, so I made it my mission to find the two missing fish.  I knew one was a goldfish, so on my hands and knees and quite tediously, I dug within cushions, under couches, everywhere.  Nothing to be found.  But beside the coffee table humbly laying on the carpet in all its smallness was a flicker of a flash of silvery blue.  Next, it rested in the palm of my hand, and I recognized it to be an angelfish.  I felt sad for it, concerned.  Like something precious and valuable had been lost, potentially forever.  But in a moment its gills flinched and mouth opened and closed and I knew it was coming back to life.  I dropped it into the tank, where it swam in circles and finally, came to a standstill to look at me.  I stared back in a calm and inquisitive communion.  Coming up behind it in some strange opaque orange mesh was the goldfish, which hadn't ever left the tank at all.  I was satisfied, but not completely at ease.   My coworker said to me, "Ah the fish - you found them! You know the goldfish is gonna get so big he'll outdo the angelfish!"  But I knew the angelfish would always capture me most.

I have yet to figure out what this might translate to...but...needless to say I'll probably be mulling over it all weekend!

Animal Ego!

I know that if I was an animal I would definitely be a bird.  Understatement.  Everybody knows that. 

Ok.

So my alternative animal ego is.......an octopus!  I totally realized that the other day and was like Ah Hah.  Pretty much up there in status with Lewis and Clark discoveries.  Columbus, even.........maybe not. 

A big decision is coming up very quickly in my life (AmeriCorps? Do it again? In SLO? San Diego? Stay... go? Stay go stay go I dunno?).  As one part of myself was telling the other part of myself basically to Chill the F out, dudette, this is when I realized this.  I'm an octopus because I'm always trying to get myself into too many things at once, whether they be activities or just ideas.  8 limbs = 8 ways to reach out, 8 things to do think touch see say at once.  I always want it all at once.  Pulled in 8 different directions and always getting nowhere.  Or creeping along a path slowly, barely.  One incongruity is the whole inking thing.  I dunno, I think I'm pretty non-dramatic about most things in life, but when confronted with a crux or a conflict, I do have my private--OK! and not-so-private (thank you all loving friends and family) Freak Out moments.  Sometimes I just think too much and get lost and stuck in the webbing I've created.  So I suppose maybe I do, in a way, "ink" my way out of a situation--get spooked and put up defenses and somehow slink away into the darkness.  But that's rare, and truly not for long.  Cuz anyone who knows me knows I gotta talk about whatever pressing issue is at hand.  And then generally within 24 hours I'm ok ;)

And hey, let's not forget how incredibly intelligent octopi are.  ((I am smart enough to open jars!))  So when put to good use, I can be very effective.  If only I could channel those energies more often than not!

just a sec

Too often in life, and no matter what age we are, we let our fears govern our actions.  I have recently reawakened to that ying-yang pull and pattern of victim vs. creator of one's own concerns.  And I'm really proud to say that as tempting as it is to allow myself to fall prey to worry, failure, judgment, I think I've been doing well in keeping my head above water during the unpredictable times of now.  Ironically, I've been having reoccurring dreams of myself floating on top of daunting murky rapids, or violently thrashing under crystal oceans.  Regardless, I'm surviving.  Whenever I'm under water I realize that I can breathe, and then it's really not so scary.  Discovering breath, discovering voice, rediscovering that I am capable. 

Hey...I have power!

And you know?  For a flutter inside a second...in the lightening-like shutter speed of a blinking lens, I am fearless.  Carefree.  Owner of who I am.  In just a moment!  That's all it takes.

OkBYE

I'm too tired to even think.  Last week I caught a head cold (sick again? WTF. NOT okay) and got 4 hours of sleep in well over a 48 hour time-span due to not being able to breathe.  And that was with double doses of Nyquil, chugging straight out of the bottle, no shame.  Not gonna lie, kind of proud of lil' old me that I made it without waking up to myself overturned in a ditch on the 101.  I can't believe I even functioned.  But maybe that's it.  Functioning.  It's been kinda funky lately!  Life has felt like I'm walking forward with my head turned upside down (maybe repercussions of so much Nyquil?).  Ever feel like a time of your life has a theme to it?  Well I definitely know what the bold word in this chapter is: communication.  There is no effective functioning in life without it!  I swear, I may be the biggest advocate of great communication skills but for whatever reason, I keep hitting walls.  Walls existing only due to the lack thereof (of communicating well).  At work, with my family, my friends, with the kid I tutor, with myself.  It's getting really old.  The only way to amend that is by prioritizing.  What's important and what isn't. (So like....having a beer or two? JK).  I'm so not in the mood to do all that dirty work but it really is the only way.  And I'm gonna do it, I know that, but for now, and for no apparent reason, this is all I can think of and say: Ugh.
OkBYE.

Multiple Valentines

My dad has told me on numerous occasions that if I am to be successful, I must marry a rich man, and soon.  Of course I don't believe that, of course I find it rather insulting, and of course I know that the differences in our generations are greatly expressed in his concern for my welfare.  And on the eve of Valentine's Day (as I stuff my face with chocolates, ignoring the fact that I've had a sore throat all day), I just wonder about my future in love.  Who will I end up with?  Have I met them yet?  When?  And will I end up with anyone?  Is it even just that simple?  Honestly, I don't really think so.  I don't believe in "The One" because we are humans; minds are ever-changing, circumstances alter us, affect us all in different ways, we react and create and shift with time.    It takes a lot of effort and willingness to roll with the punches and still maintain a healthy romance, and it is possible, obviously!  But I think there is someone for each of us at different times in our lives.  We may be suitable for several.  So how do you know?

I have encountered many females in my lifetime who whisk on that extra coat of mascara before leaving the house just "in case" they run into their Future Husband in public.  Gotta look good!  Or they just can't stay home because What if?  What if "He's" out there, somewhere tonight?  I really appreciate this mode of thinking, of preparing and excitement for the potential dream man.  It makes me smile and think of my favorite Jane Austen novels.  I just can't be bothered by thinking like that, at least all the time.  It's stressful!... and the over-analyzing (i.e. Could this guy I met last night be IT?) only sabotages the organic beauty that comes with the naturally flowing present. 

Basically, I don't think we have any control over when we meet someone who is right for us at any given moment.  It will happen when it is meant to happen.  It may fade if it is meant to fade.  I am comfortable being single and I have faith that there may be some guys for me in the future, but it isn't really up to me.  At least that's one thing I don't stress over in my life ;)

a thought....

She doesn't even sound like my sister.  Slurry speech, muffled marble-mouth pauses on elongated silence!  It just isn't her.  I want to hang up because I can't take it.  The decoding.  What'd you say, I can't understand?  The frustration I feel for her.  What is this cancer doing?  Redefining who she is to the world, to herself...to me?  I can't understand - but she's saying something.  Right?  She must have a point.  There must be a point to all this muddiness, this madness.  Cancer is ugly.  But not my sister.

my shakespearean dilemma

To go out?  Or not to go out?  .....that is the question....that is ALWAYS the question.  I'm so tired of never being able to make up my mind!  I suppose it's a fortunate problem: the option to rest in a quiet home with my cozy bird on my shoulder, or mingle with various groups of awesome friends and acquaintances.  Lately I've been lamer than lame.....L-7 Weenie status.  To the max.  Seriously.  Have I been enjoying it?  Yes and no....not to the greatest potential, at least.  Anxiety, my unwanted guest, who drops in with surprise visits doesn't seem to be any less-frequent either, but I do enjoy the down-time.  And with creeping guilt resides the thought that I should be living my life to its fullest at all times.  Half the time I know what I want to do, you know, bust out my party pants and dance (and possibly but certainly not always) drink the night into oblivion.  Then regret it in the morning with a secret smile and repeat performance.  Otherwise it's Grandma Stephanie ready to darn you a pair of woolly socks, Ovaltine in hand.  When I can't decide I typically leave my decision up to the passing of Time to sabotage any realistic opportunity of being social.  So then it's just too late, I'm just too tired, and I just can't go out anymore because I've waited so long to NOT figure it out that I'm already asleep and everyone's done for the night anyway.

Man, I really need to stop doing that!!!

Driver's ed / daily life's ed.

Sometimes I fixate on a memory, and when I finally come to realize I've been replaying this memory over and over again, I question its purpose.  Naturally, right?  The image I have on repeat is me, age 16, with my Aunt Dorothy in San Diego in a parking lot.  She hands me her keys, and without any confidence I take them.  Wide-eyed in my Abercrombie sweat pants, I sit in the driver's seat for the first time ever.  "Remember, you are in control of one ton of moving vehicle!" she didn't so much warn me as cautiously inform me.  "Check your rear view mirror."  Only at the end of the choppy, totally un-smooth circuitous parking lot driving, I realized I had been looking in the mirror on the flip side of the sun visor instead!!!  (Maybe it's the blonde hair, I dunno?).  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve replayed this on the silver screen of my brain. 

The significance of this snippet lies in my realization and belief of the following: that stepping out into the world each day feels a lot like driving for the first time.   Maybe that’s a little extreme, but think of it this way: I know my routine, but in a world that feels so happily familiar to me—much like a car to a passenger—I'm constantly challenged by the unfamiliar.   That’s life in general, really.   I have very positive challenges being a part of AmeriCorps, since I volunteer my tiny hiney off doing amazingly fun and communal activities I never thought I would do!!!  I have a neutral challenge at work at the Food Bank, and that would be overcoming my periodic boredom and finding how to constructively fill that time.  Then there’s that constant difficulty that has existed with me for several years.  Mostly the struggle is muted, and other times I am blown away by the force of the void.  In a nut shell, I describe today’s highlighted challenge as the pairing of intense anxiety with the complete and enjoyable thrill of my freedom living totally apart from my family with a foggy future in the distance.  Phone calls can’t make up for seeing someone in person, I’ve learned that.  I may have been living with my parents if they were still in LA, that’s for sure.  But since they’re in New Jersey, there’s just no way.  Not at all.  It’s a great place with great people, and so NOT for the Me of the present.  Being a person whose happiness is infinitely linked to my mindset, which consequently is less exclusively (but still intensely) linked to my location/lifestyle….well it’s just a no brainer for me to stay in CA or similar.  But that means I have to deal with the emptiness that I experience from time to time.  The echo of something that was there, and still is, but is so far away and often superficial.  The feeling of abandonment, the feeling of having disappointed, deflating their expectations of me to follow.  The pain that comes with knowing that all I want is a hug from a loved one today.

It is all my choice, every day, and all over again.

And no matter how much pain, my gut keeps telling me I'm driving in the right direction.

#1

How cute: my first blog....!  Inspired by none other than the introspective educator to many, occasionally extroverted wild-child, sisterly friend of mine, Miss Maddie.  I am a true believer in the power of suggestion, especially considering she only mentioned that I start a blog just several hours ago, and here I am. Perhaps it's time to move onto something that implies a little more substance and artistry than Facebook!  After all, I've been thinking since my 9-month stay in the womb, over-analyzing since I knew I could think, and journaling since age 7.  Blogging is only the next step.