At some point in the last few years, I stopped using 100words as a creative outlet as it naturally transformed into a place where I can analyze my perspective on humanity and a general blue print of how I strain myself so carefully to try to influence the way people perceive me . All I can think, although my intentions mainly altruistly, selfish only for survival, and a mix between a mournful cry to the world, yet universal optimism... I'm still trying to hard to please. Although genuine, I need to zoom in on my moral code and not question it.

The ultimate vacation, perhaps honeymoon (crosses fingers), can be accomplished one latte at a time. One step in trained self-abnegating sacrifice so I, perhaps we (rubs rabbit foot), can indulge one week of hedonism in a white sand beach with our very own butler. For a middle-class girl on the verge of poor, I'm still very spoiled and undisciplined, preferring to buy bottled water and protein bars for lack of planning, than prepare ziplocked snacks and canteen water so I can drop mad money on breakfast champagne and unjustifiably expensive lingerie that'll hardly get wear time (prays hard).

Stress inflames the nerve, which releases painful chemical signals that numb my face, paralyses certain parts of my head and makes eye movement awkward and caustic.

Everytime I log on to write, all symptoms activate. I fear being shallow. I fear what I use to be and no longer am. I fear finding a life that although not dul, is not satisfying enough to me.

What I should focus on is that I can always make adjustments to my liking that enhance life. It's harder with another person in mind, but not impossible. The blood vessels must learn to vasodilate.

Complaining is not inhuman. I condone the act of stating frustrations and factual problems. However, I propose there be a universal law that if you must whine that you please have a logical delivery, free of nasal emissions and prolonged whines. There would be an allocated, optional bitchfest sessions during the day, with the exception of unforeseen occurrences. You get a few minutes to bitch and moan before you are officially cut off. Groans and mutterings are earned and limited. Otherwise, if you're not actively creating solutions to a problem...your tongue is removed by way of a dull machete.

Maybe I have too much time on my hands. Maybe I'm too analytical. But I can't stop reeling in my head the powerlessness that we have on the treatment of our world. What a precious earth, that can regenerate bad lands and clean its own air and water! What a luscious variety of foods that grow on their own and the self maintaining cycle that humans need not micromanage! Yet, as tennants, the greedy men in power are irreversably abusing of this gift. Had I created this masterpiece, and creautres lesser than I destroyed it, I would send divine retribution.

Growing up, I understood emotions and colors were happening. I knew they were significant. But all the other relative things that enhance these, such as perspective, perception, reality... I did not understand what role they played in molding the objects in their respective dimensions. I was sent to school, not taught to learn. Godly and impeccable behavior was demanded of me, but I did not know what benefit it had to offer other that I wouldn't die. I was under the impression learning was in vain. I still get mad because grasping basic concepts is often difficult as an adult.

Before I was conditioned to always assume it was a mental disorder. I still don't know how far a stretch that is from a neurological deficit. But with experience behind me, I know my physical body -our bodies, some more than others- undergo enormous shifts in our sympathetic nervous system when stressed. I'm facing real life fears that my mind isn't geared up for at the rate I'm moving. Fight or flight is the state I reside in. Systems breaking down. Freak outs. Misfiring and blockages and wars triggers a panic, causing chaotic duress... only until my heart catches up.

My health has deteriorated because of over processed foods, additives, preservatives. MSG, sulfites, nitrates, color dyes. Who knows what toxins poison the meats I eat and what hormones are injected in the chickens shitting themselves when their beaks are hacked off? Out of the thousands of potato varieties emerging naturally, there are only four that America markets at a reasonable price. All of them have genetically modified seeds, with fertilizer and bacterial restructures added to their DNA helix. Forget terrorism, I'm afraid there is nothing sacred about the way we're forced to treat our bodies, starting with our nutritional paradigm.

I think about what life would be like if I were an atheist. At the least, agnostic.

First of all, there's not way I could be a non-believer. We were created with spiritual drive. A need for something bigger. There is no denying there is an artistic Architect and Mathematician behind everything.

But an agnostic? I would be lost. I would be hopeless and still a misanthropist. I would be on a mad search for answers and constantly rage sadness in my head.

I'm glad I have the accurate Truth. Otherwise, nothing would possibly justify a sense of being.

These television shows I'm watching, they're based on crime, immorality, infidelity, disgusting things. But I'm so relieved the end chapters captures the big picture of how this all ends. Hurt, humiliation, loss of loved ones, loss of dignity, loss of control. The murders and betrayals are crimes of passion. Yet people continue seeing, hearing the outcome of negligent behavior and loose morals only to continue their transgressions. And I honestly judge them not. They're not heartless and they're not even always to blame. But how the sacredness of marraige, the sanctity of marraige is history reapting itself...breaks my heart.

Last post segues into: and now I'm up to bat. The most expected rite of my life. Out of nowhere a perfectly cut solitaire emerged in all its angled rays of shine. The glimmering waves softly rocked in the falling light of a reddish and gold sunset. I was robbed of words, clinging all limbs tighter to his wet skin. The silence of shock eventually turned into super sonic squeals successive 'yes's'. I know exactly what this means. I'm making a solemn vow that should not be broken and will not be unless one of us murders while sane in the mind.

I take messages for a living. Our frugally efficient office occasionally orders the minimalist of supplies; one of my monkey tasks. I copy bundles of paper and print emails. I have to pay bills, listen to music, watch online shoes while multitasking one time entry at a time for the surveyors who don't like to type in their work just to keep me motivated enough to execute my simple responsibility. My IQ drops by the second. There are plenty other ways I contribute to others and make something of myself. But what consumes my day, is what pays the bills.

It takes serious balls to admit that I'm hopelessly needy today. I wish I could miraculously transform ovaries into testicles sometimes. The difference between now and then is that I don't have to binge eat on bakery goods or shoes to replace that serotonin drop. I can call him up and tell him I need to raise my oxytocin levels, wrap my arms around him while he starts covering territory all over my body as my fulfillment levels rise. I mean, I still went shopping anyway, but a corset doesn't really count as indulgent replacements for temporary plunges. Wink, wink.

Just finished polishing my new diamond with a baby's toothbrush purchased specifically for the little treasure I haul on my left hand every day for the rest of my life. The dainty little white gold ring had soft bristles tapping every so gently around and in the grooves. I've never been one to put value on material things. If you asked me what single item I would rescue from my burning house, I'd probably say a bible or the picture albums. But this jewel was made from blood and sweat. Opened wounds. Literally and figuratively. Meticulous planning and everlasting thought.

The Healthy Choice Cafe Steamers promises a lotta shit. AHA approval. USDA inspected. No preservatives. The packaging includes a plan for a Balanced Life provided by myPyramind.gov. What I'm putting in my mouth scares me shitless. It tastes like hormone-intoxicated chicken doused in formaldehyde. I believe nothing the government admonishes for our health. People just looove fighting for our country, but they're poisoning with the only food we could affordably access. The expensive natural almonds I bought are kin to cardboard. The more affordable ones contain high sodium as if it didn't occur to God to add flavor.

My bank account is in the negative. I need a book in my hands. That is the conflict. Credit debt is unthinkable unless it's for emergency health or a start up home like we're saving up for. But isn't preventing the brain for muscle atrophy considered emergency. Can't I sacrifice $25 to nourish neurons? My goodness! I need words and visuals so bad it hurts my brain. The tv, film, movies, are not enough because the frames and plots move to slow for my current speed. I need to determine my own pace. I need complex theories to skim through.

Instead of working it out in my head, I'll work it out here. Like a journal, not a piece of art. The goals I had when I started years ago have shifted majorly. The inconsistent posting -gaps and with unwarranted subject matter changes- make me uncomfortable. The addition of another person in my life makes it more personal. How do I have an anonymous relationship of secrets, when I'm not supposed to keep any secrets from him. Can I even still have secrets?

I don't know if I will continue writing on 100 words. Makes me sad just thinking it.

There's no way I could give up writing. I haven't used a pen or pencil lately because of my arthritis. I have played a song, top to bottom, because my wrists throb the next day. This is why I end up neurotic. No outlet. I always come back, with new characteristics of artistic desperation to scribble phrases that pop into my head with font and color. I always hear a melody that needs to be brought to life.

Instead of depriving myself totally, I'll have to come to terms with 1/2 assed expression so that I don't have withdrawal.

The previous entry answers my dilema. I'll keep writing. I won't necessarily lower my standards and demean the discipline of committing to monthly batches. I can only keep up with so well with so much going on. If I can prove to do better than my best, I'll claim a bit of pride. If I'm temporarily scattered, I'm no different than that of my distracted personality. Balance is my life long battle , but it would speak poorly of my supposed coping skills if I just toss out what matters when I don't get it perfect. Bunnybutt is all growed up.

I ain't no beauty queen. But I ain't no ugly duckling either. With a little mid-level maintenance, I can make em look. It comes easy to me to. I just have to want it bad enough. He knows this type of seductress like the back of his hand, so that man locked me down right quick. They were all flocking to him, yet his vision was solely centered on me. I understood the significance of timing in this situation and took the plunge almost blindly. But here I am, by his side still. Turns out I'm a great swimmer.

Using thumbs at the distal end of the banana, like a chimpanzee, I peeled it down thinking it would be average fruit like any other. Biting into it, by the sweets and bitters swirling around on my tantalized buds, I knew something was about this primate favorite. It took logical reasoning to refrain from calling up a few friends and telling them I'm chomping at what seems to be the best banana in the world, probably picked this morning from the lush green leaves of a Caribbean tree. I closed my eyes and imagined eating fresh, remote-island produce everyday.

Lace, leather, straps, garters and spiked heels. I can't get enough. I'm building such a collection that is limiting the amenities for the wedding reception. The wedding itself for that matter. Honeymoon celebrations like the one I'll have are an uncommon star-aligned miracle in the days we live in. My dress may not be heavenly white, but I'm still virtuous. The groom gets a brand new toy to customize to his liking. It's not only going to be a night to remember, but it'll continue into day. Sleepless newleyweds. Thirsty and hungry. All night show. And years to come.

Reading this woman's nightmare phenomenon, a complete anonymous stranger, sent chills down my spinal cord, as if mercury was oozing its length. It was the same exact experience I felt and saw. A body involuntarily frozen, a mind attacked by paranoia, a terror that doesn't fade within a reasonable time frame, an evil presence that usurps your bedroom. In her case, she was possessed not in spirit, but by fear of the unknown. The only occult truth about the demons I've encountered is that scientist have yet to understand why and how sleep paralysis happens. Incubuses don't visit my bed.

For a second, I worried that I'm convincing myself the entities I sense on the hour of the dead are a scientific malfunction, rather than the veiled truth, that I'm truly being harassed by the other side. However, don't you nor I forget the spirit world haunts in sly, indirect ways. For the pervasive nervousness brought on by the neurological after shocks of night terrors led me to my old medicine cabinet. Therein lies an ancient relic of my past: a barely touched orange cylinder of alprazolam. Maybe the demon that smothers my life essence will be my own ghost.

Gourmet hot coffee, French vanilla, Irish cream, hot chocolate, black currant tea, warm apple cider, espresso, cappuccinos, lattes, eggnog. Crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, egg salad sandwiches, cucumber cream sandwiches. Wedding cupcakes, sheet cakes, cookies, brownies, trifles, scones, chocolate swizzles, cheesecake bites. Yellow cake, red velvet, cream cheese, mocha swirl. Snowflake garlands, velvet throws, silver accents, hanging blue twinkle lights, glowing sunsets, soft audible jazz, gulf breeze, shawl wrapped bare shoulders, chilly hands wrapped around mugs, tinged with brandy. A modest length ivory train swishing on the sand. A man's warm breath tucked into my diamond-lined collar bone.

There's got to be an easier way. I've got to have rights somewhere. Our ancestors were apparently recorded in history as servants of the king of Spain. Not sure which one. Galda means lush land. Mez is a formal recognition of our service to the royal court.

If I travel to the beautiful European country, I'm entitled to land.
Mountainous land.

What the hell am I going to do with green that no one will capitalize on?

The other route of research should ensue.

The Mayan ancestry.

I'm pretty sure I'm a reincarnated princess that repossesses the throne on 2012.

My mother slid my bedroom doors open, without knocking as usual, and unveiled the opaque curtain following it. She asked me to look up area code 956. I offered up New York. No, she said. I sprung it up online. Laredo, McAllen, Brownsville, Southern Texas. We had received a voicemail from prison. Her cousin was caught at the country's border. He'd trekked from El Salvador all the way up here only to fail, losing time and money he was hoping find in America, while his family awaits his return. He'll get deported and he'll try again later. Un freakin believable.

I think I'll be able to run again. Maybe not 11 miles, but 3 would suffice. I think I'll be able to lift again, maybe not four days a week, but 2 would keep me strong. I'll start learning about the way a car is systemized. After that, I'd upgrade to enhancing engines. That would be my spare time. For income, I will study nutrition. I think my mind will thank me. I'll thank my spouse for supporting and encouraging me. I'll thank God for finding me someone who realizes my potential was withheld, but needs nurture to bear fruit.

That pink little teddy, simple and adorable and with a detachable strap between the legs... I think I will return it. Part of me bought it because the mesh was incredibly soft on my belly. The other because it was Playboy. Brand name doesn't mean quality.

The point is, I haven't used it and it'll be a few months before I do.

More than anything I want to buy his subscription to Performance VW, especially if he wins the race at FixxFest. I'd love to see his portrait and whip on a high gloss international magazine.

So this is love.

For a non-celebrator, I still had opinions on all holidays.

Which are pointless.
Which ones are pretty.
Which ones are pretty pointless.
Which ones are plain stupid.

I never yearned to participate, which is partly an autonomous dislike for tradition. Even the events we do celebrate, I usually resist anything annual or created for shits and giggles.

Obviously, I thought little of Mother's Day, less of Earth Day.

Christmas: glamorous, but commercialized.
Valentine's: emotionally distressing to all, including the committed bastards having to remember yet another important date.

Halloween seemed most fun, but I hate its origin the most.

Undeveloped thoughts:

The chai latte I spilled in my car. The roll on my lower belly. The fats under my arms. The late apology acceptance email I received. The deceitful narcissistic mentor I will not invite to the wedding. Being abandoned. Surviving abandonment. Imagined parallel lives. Owning a dward rabbit. My parents growing old. The other side of the world. The other side of the human realm. The possibilities of current quantum mechanic findings. Stimuli input. A Love Sac on sale. Cooking healthy for two. Sugar-free traps. Scripture reading routine. The social shift. Love. Sex. Success. Failure. Life. Death.