Addressing: I don’t want to dress any topic with the dignity of minding it, because it hurts too much to cover even the smallest area. It is potential tumors. Pinpricks, microscopic little pinches that feel like massive atoms being split. I don’t know where they come from, why. It’s a problem I can’t solve and don’t want detected, but if I want the throbbing colors to stop, I’ll have to address it. It’s probably so far from causing hallucinations I can’t even fathom it, but the spots and floating fiber-like images persist. Psychosomatic or just symptomatic: it fucking hurts.

Experience, who knows a thing or two, has taught me the harsh consequence that comes with rash and desperate decisions. If moving to a new city, mull the pros and cons in your head and on paper, visit the area to judge your compatibility to its ambiance, vitality or lack of, imagine yourself a daily citizen well established with no further intentions of leaving unless your loaded. But I'm not about to be cautious, am I? I'm going to go for the thrill of the adventure, the ride, with little worries over mastering impulse control. If I can afford it.

The gym is sacred to me . One of my constants, although constantly irregular. What should be my safe haven, endorphin-inducing catacomb of revival in actuality has a lengthy lists of things that drive me absolutely insane. Focal point being: the other Central American member. SHE HAS NO NECK! She looks like she’s been cursed into a shoulder-shrug skull-hefting position for eternity. But she has the same shiny hair, Aztec nose, heavy upper body, shapely legs and curve-less hips. She is me with no neck! I wish I were blonde so I could envy being exotic to any varying degree!

Narcissism and Masochism. A paradox if not by scrutinized definition, but in its twisted form of winding, it works. It's no longer about anyone else. It's futile, because to aid a stranger, or even a friend is purely a selfish gain. Let's not talk about your vain pursuits. About me! Drinking anything that burns, smoking anything that lifts, taking every road that ends. Fucking Kerouak, erudites, solar systems, genetics and everything else that contaminates. What about a double-edged sword to drag through the diseased spot infixed in my heart. I would adopt a vice, but smoking would cease the trembling.

I assume because it hurts so severely, it's much more meaningful that the person who has never experienced the deepest end of the emotional realm. To dare think that pain is beautiful, which might be considered absurd, may be an appreciation that is handed in secret to only a select few. I would never want to see the suffering of a young girl, but I'm compelled to stare until its beauty is evident. I may be wrong. Maybe it's a mechanism devised to accepting suicidal torment, trying to make a home for the beast that never quite makes an exit.

There are times where I stand in the exact spot I did at an innocent age; the crucial turning point right before opening my eyes to a long life ahead and what it truly entails. It was a time brimming with excess joy to spare. The clouds line up in the same position. The color schemes brushed onto the sky are a perfect blend. Even the sunlight hits the skin at the same angles. Yet no matter how much you strain your will, until the juices of life leak from the pores, time will not fold and take me back.

It's an idea to toy with is all. It's in our minds, our hands, and we run with it, but be careful boy, cause you shouldn't be so careless to race with blades in your possesion. Don't wait for this thing to take form, to materialize, because material is vain anyway, and it's always been a thing of vanity for me anyway. These games are only entertaining if I win the crown, which is what but a shiny play thing with temporary appeal and deceitful honor that grows dull. It'll die down and then it'll be so easy part ways.

It was like watching animal instinct first-hand on the Discovery Channel. That little pale mammal with flopping limbs was bobbing in the water. Oblivious, he dangerously floated with the deceitful flow of the soft current. Without a cry for help, suddenly there was only ripple in the emerald surface to indicate someone just vanished. Then some frantic splashing. Before anyone grabbed noticed, the matriarch figure leapt into the depths that were swallowing what is rightfully hers in an infinitesimal second, fully clothed, and saved her wailing baby boy. She admitted she should've jumped in sooner. Beautiful, the call of nature.

My body knows itself well and will alert me of ways to assist its regenerating abilities. It'll slow me down, drag my weight and alert me to lay of the red meats. Or I'll wake up with midnight hankerings for milk and daytime yogurt breaks. My bones ease in appreciation. My liver knows to be flushed with water. For the most part I obey its demands. But when it hints restrictions toward refined sugar, I argue understanding their position, but my bank account can't afford the cane in its raw form that nature provided. So my moods end up paying.

Facial and bone structure symmetry are some of my most outrageous obsessions. It's not fair that some are born with one eyebrow higher than the other or askew hairlines. Hell, my nose isn't a perfect slope because I can't afford it. I pity the person with the same freak obsession that has to look at me. Maybe that's why I have troubles socializing as of late. The two more easy on the eyes in my life right now are my dentist and psychiatrist. Does it have something to do with education level? The smarter, the closer to perfection? Interesting theory.

These past few days I've left undocumented. Not that rainy days don't have much to account. Those affected by the drought I bet would prefer to be in my position, still and silent. In the most boring time periods of life, activity doesn't really cease to stir. There remain sprouts of opportunity and seedlings worth mentioning. I supposed it’s the thickness of the air that bogs my pen down and fogs my vigor. I just want to sleep. Swathe myself in soft heavy pillows and sheets until the sun comes up. Maybe the details will become obvious to me there.

If the tears haven't eased up by now, I've left two options:

I go on living through the wallowing or wait until it ends, whenever it chooses to do so.

Based on intuition and Occam's Razor, I'm sure its not going to get easier. Tonight I'm crossing that bridge. Literally. Like I did religiously for six months at the chime at five. I will speed like I always did. I will enjoy my favorite and most calming surroundings, minus one.

If I have to shout and cry all the way back in the morning, so be it. Life goes on.

"We do movies and restaurants. Or we play board games and pictionary." You kidding me?

"Well, there's Jazzfest and Oktoberfest coming up. Bring your own wine, snacks and lawn chairs, sit at the bay and listen to good free music.Or get your German fix, beer and bratwurst delight. What's bratwurst?"

"Sausage."

"Oh … sounds adventurous! We would love something different. You should let us know when it comes around."

"Next weekend there's going to be…"

"Next weekend is impossible. Gotta mow that lawn! Week after that, we're need to paint… something."

And I open my mouth because……

oxygen release?

My venture into the vegetarian world is starting out pretty easy. Chicken and meat has not been of temptation for some time now. I'm battling the shrimp and salmon cravings, but they're not as if cookies are forbidden. It's interesting to learn that tofu is coagulated soy, so I think that'll be a great source of protein, but I have to make nice with that rubbery texture. There's too much fun in almond milk and Tofruiti cream cheese to miss dairy as of yet. But first I will go ovo-lacto until I'm ready for the full blown transition into vegan.

This diet allows me to rekindle my love for fruit sprung from the earth. Papayas, peaches, watermelons and blueberries which I almost forgot are now favorable again to my palate. Even the grapefruit that was forbidden combined with western medicine is able to make it back to my list. Avocadoes, spinach, green and red leaves of all kinds, organic tomatoes, nuts and legumes, Ezequiel bread…straight from God's recipe. I'm making my way back to nature. Closer to divinity, grounded like earth. Since I'm fraying away from humanity, this shall make life richer until I can reintroduce myself feeling more pure.

They were so giddy and frilly even before the babyshower took place. This was as exciting as redecorating their front porches. They fed me every detail of the adorable table favors, (chocolates and little bears), every ridiculous game involving baby articles. I did my best to block the throw up with a tight pressed smile. In the end, I attended. After all, I had to provide the sparkling cider for the virgin mimosas. Ugh. I hate virgins. I'm undecided about babies. Imagine my surprise when I caught myself ooohing and awwwing when big momma opened all the pink miniature onesies.

I spot and error on the thirteenth. Well, I always find errors, but this one is huge and distorts the interchange of the dialogue that should've been. Would I not be so impatient to read and re-read the damn entries a few times, I wouldn't have to be explaining myself to you here. Not that I owe anyone an explanation. We are anyway inclined to err until the sun doesn't shine. My admitting to carelessness may well be more for my own chastising than to alert the masses. Damn, I can't stand minor mistakes. The bigger ones make more sense.

The breeze outside, free from moisture and trailing in new winds, is raising the bumps on my skin, reminding me that at this exact temperature a few years ago, things were about to get real good. I'll layer up some more to keep it distanced, but those familiar faces keep coming back. They made me laugh so unhindered and love so fully. I am down on my knees begging for the cool air to leave me alone if it's not going to bring anything but weathered flashbacks, but its sure good to know I had an unforgettable run of vitality.

One song played after another. It was the never-ending night that could've brought this parallel outcome closer to perfection. Few words were spoken. Inside fogged window we resolved everything gone wrong with kisses and sliding hands. More clear than yesterday's events are the visions of the parking lot lighting revealing his beautiful silhouette. Had I kept him then, right there and then, and ignored all the lies everyone whispered to me, would I be in solitude right now trying to forget the past? It took many misguided steps but now I'm sure he'll always be the one who got away.

What a joyous delight to find a book that knows you! Maybe the author knew me, long before I was born. See, I'm just as disagreeable and contrary as Mary. And being busy in India with the natives and the tigers, I don't know what to do with myself in a garden that is quiet and still where all you have to do all day is watch things grow. Days so slow that you have no anxiety, so much that you pick up a spade yourself and suddenly find yourself smiling at your own productivity. How will my story end?

For many moons, she would not look up at the sky. With crossed arms and a pouting lip she deliberately focused on sidewalk cracks. She was communicating her contempt toward the clouds, stars and all other heavenly body residents her feelings of abandonment. She expected this from man, beast, even angels, but not from her means of illumination. Nights slowly shone brighter, and when all was blinding in the midnight wake, she had no choice but to gaze upward and see what the swirling and whirling commotion was about. They were apologizing, ready to tell their side of the story.

The Alltel representative chuckled when I asked if my personal credit was connected to Ex-boyfriend's account. We were the third break up this day. Couples that can't handle two year commitment. I immediately imagined little teen punks believing in 'love lasts forever' and 'nobody understands how we truly feel', 'we would never part'. Three months later they can't remember a single common ground. I wonder if they were already budgeting for their wedding. I sure had no intention of breaking contract. Here I am, stiffing him, wondering at what point I believed him responsible enough to punctually pay the bill.

How I do miss having a beautiful set of eyes to gaze at. To look into a pair of irises, down through the fibers and gelatinous textures, to see how much is stored and collected within. I loved searching thoroughly, yet delicately for the hidden passageways that took winding twists and turns toward the veins and capillaries stretching out toward the heart. What I don't miss is finding the dead ends, the discovery of necrosis or the hollow insides. There's nothing more disconcerting than dried up tear ducts that never produced or never will produce a physical manifestation of emotion.

Blood must taint the ivory, making them slippery as I race my way down the scales. My fingertips should be hard as granite and swollen from the demand of blood rushing to them. I should pound the keys like a madman and slam the pedals live a devil possessed demon. The only faux pas I shan't commit is the unruly hair many geniuses do not preoccupy themselves to tend. Other than that it shall be the most fantastic interpretation of what happens when pianissimo shifts gears violently to fortissimo and back, except with the delicate grace of my petite personality.

Mother Nature has grown old, been used and abused to the point where it's lost its natural regenerating abilities. Too haggard and burdensome to go on, she's been dropped off at the old folk's home. There they finish withering her away. What are we gonna do about it? Just because we cannot relinquish the power of her exploitative authorities doesn't mean we can't visit her during our time. So, what the hell are people still buying Styrofoam for? You don't stop aiding the person that bore you because they're dying, even if with all your heart you can't save her.

There's a blinding lamp overhead. I'm laid motionless on the chair for an uncalculated movement means a hole in my cheek. The rims of my lips are blood encrusted, my mouth open to fit two fistfuls and a heinous clamp on my molars. This particular moment, out of the two nerve-wrecking wait hours I was there, is when he decides to hit on me. I mumble something (which was stupid to begin with because my tongue was numb) and smile very carefully. I stare up into his gray eyes wondering why he chose to flirt while I was so vulnerable.

It was heart crushing to find out the unicorn was not a real animal. I truly believed it was kin to the horse. I was skeptical about its magical abilities, but accepted it anyway. I did, though, fully infer that a winged horse wasn't fathomable. But there came that age where you stop clapping and the fairies die. You stop spending hours watching seas because you know you won't catch a peek of a mermaid. And every wondrous legend or tale becomes someone's delusional storytelling or a perfectly reasonable reaction of natural phenomenon we have yet to unlock its mystery.

Those walls are paper. I don't mind hearing her shuffe into pajamas or knowing when she rises to poop. I don't mind her turning on nite-lites throughout the house. Although I hadn't much to do before bed except read and inspect my body for moles and excess flab, I tiptoe around my air mattress and tuck in quietly so she has no idea what I'm doing. I don't like people knowing my business. Then her husband came in a day early from Vegas and I was worried I'd hear them fucking, but it was even quieter than the previous nights.

This weekend was insanely active, I vaguely recall. Cooking, living out of a suitcase, shopping, living, associating… I did it all. Yet I was bored the entire time. I might as well have ended Friday's shift, slept a few hours, and returned straight to work. It's all a blur of nothing. I remember at one point straining my brain so hard I could've shat myself, all to find something interesting enough to change all the subjects I was given. No matter where I was and with who it was, I wanted to be in the next place, with someone else.

Compulsive email checker: my new eccentricity. The cyber world is paused otherwise. I ridiculously hammer at the button on the mouse: Check New Mail. As if a nanosecond is plenty of time in between to have received a bombarding of messages. Of course they don't come. Just a few here and between the end of the day. (Spam doesn't count). I wonder… Where are my people? What are they doing? Why aren't they emailing me? Why do I need the bold headline of familiar contacts popping up on my screen to get through the work day? Hope this is temporary.

It might be that time where I have to admit I could use a bit of attention. The kind I know I'm better of without or at least declaring it quasi-platonic before it becomes a full-fledged relationship. It just seems natural to canoodle with a warm body on the couch while watching TV or someone calling to ask if you want Chinese for dinner or having a heated discussion why cats are better pets than dogs. I would prefer to not love, than have and subsequently lose it. But just tonight, just tonight I want to remember what its like.