REPORT A PROBLEM
At this point, I worry Iím too unaffected to love wholly and heartedly. Itís not that I donít have the potential. Itís been pending. But I donít get enough practice. My perception of giving what is necessary for true adoration and longing may have become warped. It may take too long to bring it back once I have you. So I beg you to forgive me if it takes a while to figure how to wrap my arms around you. Maybe you could grab my hands and swing them around your neck for some direction until I get comfortable again.
The human is so shamelessly exposed. We try hiding it with clothing. Occasionally, it backfires. When a manís excited, we see it through his pants. A chilly woman, her pointed blouse does the outing. If weíre down, a smile does not guise depression. Our gait denounces our disposition. Itís hard to be private. Inside weíre chaotic and constantly trying to organize and categorize the appropriate emotion in proper placement. We manipulate ourselves to act, to portray, what side we choose to show. Weíre lucky were not like dogs with our assholes on display, but even that can be sniffed out.
You extend my life span.
This is not meant to be poetic. Itís not a verbal Hallmark card. You must understand what effect you have. That light beam ancient history tales about is actually true. I saw it and found it too bright. I was ready to for the darkness. I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep it away. And then I saw your silhouette making shadows. I heard your voice faint and faraway calling me. You didnít pull me out, you gave me reason to willingly come back. This world needs people like you, to increase longevity.
Between yoga, running, weight lifting, permission to speak freely and the approximation of daylight time savings clock resetÖthe blocked and tangled fibers of my physiology have been releasing tension, allowing the blood to flow freely and the oxygen to circulate liberally. The end of winter, the beginning of the brighter seasons. All these things are opening up the creative passage ways. Iím charged by sudden bursts and blooms of color and song. Itís all coming effortlessly. I wonder how I didnít figure this out sooner. I think I knew I always knew the solution. Actual application takes coming to terms.
All the excitement will die down. This perpetual adrenaline deluge cannot deceive me again. Iím preparing now for the gradual descent of events, of endorphins, serotonin and hormones. Eventually, itíll turn into another wave of periodic stagnation. I shall be ready to come down and accept the time to regroup, reenergize and revitalize for the next flurry of non-stop traveling, courses, appointments and parties. Learning to manage the tides. Using the buoyancy in my favor, not against it. Thatís where Iím at. In the interim, I love not requiring sleep. I need to actualize what I dreamt during last slumber.
We nourished ourselves on wine, coffee, lentil dinners, natural peanut butter bumpers, fresh fruit, rice crackers, veggie dogs and spinach bites, organic soup, Ezequiel bread. Dining out, we had garden salads, black bean burgers, tortillas and rice. It began to get a little difficult, even with the wheat-free pancakes piled up and ready for breakfast, so I caved for some eggs. Yes, they were delicious. As long as Iím confessing, the enchiladas I had contained cheese. Okay, alright fineÖ.I ate pork! There you have it. Itís funny how I can eat an unclean animal but I adamantly refrained from chicken.
Throw seven girls in one Texan apartment from all over the states and what do you get? Raw bonding! That or complete madness. We were of the former. We waxed each other, pee spotted, shared sloppy seconds, put deodorant on each other. Swapped boob cups, offered brusque critique, sling(ed) compliments of the dearest kind. By the time we readily lined the aisle with our lily bouquets, we were unified souls. We displayed our bare true selves and not one bit of cattiness emerged. Thatís rare in the female kingdom. But we had to give one up to the alpha male.
The Italian terrace overlooked the hilled homes fitted to the undulating landscape. From the balcony, we looked down to see the guests sprinkle in. A few minor adjustments to the strapless, the gloss and the set curls and I swung myself down the spiraled iron stairs into the dance floor converted theater. Back in the dining room the wine flow during dinner was generous. My head was woozy from that, and the week that blurred by, wrapped into one big beautiful night. I had no idea things would get so crazy once she left for her honeymoon and we scattered.
ďYou canít board without shoes!Ē he hollers down the corridor, my flying feet picking up grit on the way. I slap on the ballet slippers just scanned at check point. I grab the first available seat and quickly rummage through my purse. He must know he caused me to be the last passenger. My blood dives when I realize the phone is still on the security conveyor belt. I ding the flight attendant and wait. I have a second to taste his cigarette on my tongue. Five minutes go by and they usher in my pink phone. We take off.
I come close to feeling sorry for acquaintances who want to lose weight, dissatisfied with the excess on their sides. Then we go out to eat and they order the alfredo fettuccini, extra garlic bread and my favorite tritenessÖ a diet coke. This one I know goes off about his diabetes, and stinks up the place with Lean Cuisines and Healthy Choices. I know all about his pizza delicatessen adventures and steakhouse revelries. And not one of these fat ass whiners has thirty minutes to walk in the evenings. Put the fork down! Youíll see how much time you save.
Itty-bitty. Tiny. Bones. This is how they describe my build. Why do I still internally flab wrestle with the fat girl? Inhaling the aroma of a burger and fries makes me regress to childhood pudge days when I would heavily scamper up to my food and rabidly chomp down with stumpy sticky fingers. Today I eat tofu sandwiches and whole wheat pasta, but I still feel like an uncontrollable ponderous monster if I see or hear about cookies, pizza, Snickers, ice cream and fried steak. All I can think about is rolling around in chocolate cake and dying sinfully sweet.
The book is moving along. Tidying up stray ends. Refining them in line. I need an outside perspective and a few children. Then thereís the illustrator problem. I refuse to share the glory of my story with another name. The character must spring from my imagination. I should learn to draw motion, because of course, he/she is naturally energetic. Will it be through lessons, teacher, online courses? Not sure. But at my pace, I will be ready to publish byÖ sayÖ. fifteen years from now. Hopefully nobody will telepathically pick my brain and the idea will still be novel then.
Eating meat doesnít bother my conscience. I didnít strike it off the menu for moral reasons since Iím helpless to change the accelerating mass production of livestock. I wonít bite into cow because of the arsenic, hormones, antibiotics and toxins. What does bother my daily Jiminy is making monumental stacks of wasteful copies to disperse physical documentation, only to rot in large corporation filing cabinets. How does law compliant record keeping justify killing priceless tree loads of paper in this electronic age with scanning and viewing capabilities? As a clerk, Iím accessory to the murder of our dying defenseless ecosystem.
He fancies me. He made it clear when I tried to nonchalantly dash past him without contact. He requested my smile and so I melted into it. Does he see me watching as I pretend to focus on the horizon while I run my daily mileage? Does he think Iím so enthralled by controlling my anaerobic breathing that Iím not staring at him, imagining how he would feel pushed up against my body? So why all the kindergarten flirting and no action? He must have a girlfriend. Heís just enjoying the girl he can convert to mush. So am I.
If I had a more personalized pool of friends, I wouldnít buy skyrocket priced shoes to enliven the dress. I would borrow and still look dashing, they would seem just as new and Iíd hope to outshine likewise. But their style, presence, or adventure sense is as dull as their 2Ē heel bargain pumps. Matter of fact, they wait on my hand-me-downs, but never fit them in right. You can tell a lot by a persons shoes. You can tell where I am today by not having girl friend within a 500 mile radius whom I can swap pairs with.
There was no telling if the jet line row of smoke was descending or the partial moon was rising. Another little plane was traversing this panorama diagonally and a commercial freighter was taking its time across the scenery. The sky was so busy which would usually bother me except this was happening way above the electrical lines and cell phone towers. Life was occurring beyond stratosphere, where weíll all be lining up to get there anyway. Iím practically already there, which is why Iím always looking up, hoping my body will catch up with my mind somewhere amidst the clouds.
He wasnít supposed to be interesting, just a tool to pass time. He wasnít supposed to be such a hypnotic kisser. His hands, not incredibly strong and yet almost creamy. Not supposed to still have big begging brown eyes after the liquor was dissolved. Most importantly, heís not supposed to be fascinated by me. But he is. So now I do the inevitable. Keep him around until I find enough defining factors and defects that deflect my captivation. Let him see parts of me that could drive anyone away. Gradually, I can part ways with this serendipitous finding of mine.
My feeble indiscretions warped, from early on, the awesome friendship we were looking for. Luckily, sheís too disillusioned by reality to have expected great things from her new friend. I never would willingly leave her hanging. I loved her immediately and had planned on keeping her. But my MO is automatic on a night with tables and poles. I shouldíve warned her before it happened so she wouldnít feel so disappointed when she saw us slipping into the menís bathroom. Sheís over it, but I donít dare contact her like I hoped we would be corresponding. I did it again.
The form of communication I blame for societyís inability to interact properly irks me today. Letter writing taught patience, promoted mental exercise and emotional restraint. Waiting days, even months to hear from someone loved built anticipation and further fondness toward that person. Editing is also a great upside for paused compliments and to prevent regrettable expressions. But nowadays we use instant communication. And if that receiver doesnít reply immediately after what you imagine is plenty of time to read it, you sit at the screen pulling yours hairs out one by one, wondering why he relishes in tormenting you purposely.
Typical to be nervous about the class before showing up. I already predetermined Iím either an innately prodigious oriental brush painter or a shame to artistry. I will either create the most beautiful lotus in bloom, or it will wither muddy rice paper tears. The other worry is that of feeling self-conscience in a room full of people with potential to be sketchy. Our madam instructor for instance, sporting two over bitten buck teeth, spaced gums, European accent, sibilantly saying stroke repeatedly without guffawing as if itís not a double sided word. Iíll just tell people Iím a pathological laugher.
Upon discovering a wonderful song, I add it to the Soundtrack Of My Life mix. I swear Iíll never tire of it. It becomes an obsession, played over and over, back to back. In the car, on the iPod, in my head, in my hum. The poor track is worn, each time picking apart a different instrument or harmony until I memorize every lyric and break in melody. I become quality control to ensure it was composed perfectly. Not a note missing, not a skip in the beat. They thought of everything! Thatís when it all starts sounding the same.
I guess Iíve no choice but to acknowledge this day. A milestone. Not birthday. I presume some forthcoming years from today Iíll be clicking through random entries and find this glaring at my older self. Iíll regret it was written with such reluctance, without emphasizing the achievement of still being alive and well, actually having more potential than ever in various aspects. Itís a big deal really, but I canít help downplaying it. As if I wasnít ready for this age. All I can tell my future self is to remember the gift I received. Remember how awesome it was.
Desserts whip up complex emotions. Iíve been really emotional lately. Sickly sweet indulgent daydreams about cupcakes. Individual tokens of sugary heaven, all mine to unwrap, no one else. Oh so succulent. I assume the obsession devouring my concentration has something to do with other kinds of icing I crave to taste but cannot acquire. I mean, the dreams are so delectably vivid, colorful and buttery, I wake up flushed with the kind of shame stirred up by raunchy porn. Bite worthy, mouth watering, finger lickin good. I could drown happy in a sea of frosting. Thank god for vegan cupcakes.
The hole I burned in my pocket from impulsive Starbucks escapades was enough to land me in the ER. For March, Iíve decided to buy soy creamer and make home brew from the free complimentary machine we received in the mail for subscribing to a club membership which we immediately canceled. So far, itís like replacing bean juice with green tea. Some habits have nothing to do with consumption, but with the ritual of instant gratification and comfort. Anyway, I love cradling a Venti cup with the cute boxes you can check off. I have no excuse for the scones.
The one I least thought Iíd like, has made his way in. Heís entangled somewhere between waking up, driving to work, changing clothes, transferring accounts, brushing my teeth and going to sleep. I try to push him out before it distracts me, but this feeling seems to grow severely. The little flashes of fingers grasping clumps of hair, legs sliding and head hitting walls become clear and live in color. Itís so unexpected to have something normally insignificant and transient, to become intrusive. I didnít bother to think that someone could possibly have an effect on me again.
There is so much to say. I may end up telling the wrong people in the wrong context. Itís just a lot that doesnít make sense. Endless what ifs. Could be, would beís. Itís released in the morning. Itís hysteria midday. Its hyperbole by dinnertime. Writing it here, however it wants to come out whether in its entire truth or severity scale, is better than letting any one person see the whole lot of it. Itís residual brain slop that my subconscious doesnít excrete in my REM cycles. Itís also never having found the person who can take it all in and be ok with it.
The other gift to myself, other than curly fries, chocolate chip waffles and a round of Absolut Citron for everyone was a bikini I canít really afford. Because even after all that gluttonous debauchery, Iíve never been more slender in my life. This is my first experience trying on a bathing suit and not wanting to set a legal ordinance restraining me from food. When it came time to exit the pool, the weight of the water didnít pull anything down. Everything corporal remained firm on my muscle and I earned some ogling from both genders. Happy Birthday to me.
Receiving 13 gallon sized garbage bags was a treat. Hand me downs. Iím sure my sister understood what was happening, but I didnít. A normal clothing transaction involved monetary exchange. I thought it lucky to constantly get mounds of free clothes. To this day, shopping second hand doesnít negatively affect me. Someone elseís trash is not necessarily my treasure, but it clothes me, keeps me warm and in current fashion. Especially, if I hunt for items still originally tagged. Especially, if I come across a vintage jewel, but that only happens in romance movies, where Chanel can transform your life.
Told myself, told everyone else I wouldnít think or talk about him. Not one more word about our dirty, filthy and grimy delicious night. I will mention nothing about the hair pulling and teeth involved. No biggie. Heís no big deal. Iíve got other things to think about that have nothing to do with perfect conversations, footsie games or freckled men. No, Iíve definitely moved on. Done, on to the next one. Iím just gonna leave my phone on the highest ringer setting and make sure I donít stray far from it... but I wonít be waiting for his call.
Every distraction I could get my hands on, Iíve been taking. All to avoid what I donít want to admit. Iím scared. In so many ways. If I donít take this opportunity, Iíd be responsible for not acquiring a specialty and everyone should have an expert domain to their name. But if I take it, and it so happens that Iím not good at it, I will lose essential pieces of my dignity. Do I have the strength, the endurance, the retention, the discipline, the true will, the passion to carry it through? There. Itís stated. Now, for the actionÖ.
Spray tan platinum beauty on the stairmaster wears next to nothing. Sweat illuminates her feminine figure. How much crack does one have to snort to flatten the abs and distribute fat perfectly evenly across the bodyÖ.and whoís her tambourine man? The guys must love it when I stare her down. Itís not like that though. Wanting to look picture perfect isnít lewd. However, I also sighted a poised, caramel brunette. Her frame slim. Her skin bore an appealing sheen. Wouldnít mind looking like her. Then I saw her exiting the locker room and realized I headed toward the mirror. Grinning.
The Tip Jar