It is a very depleting sense of self when that which you were once passionate, no longer feeds the fire within your core.

Damn, that sounded a bit more profound that I had anticipated.

For years I didn’t want to EVER go to college. There was just no need for me, no passion or desire. It wasn’t until I had reached a place in my life where I needed a life-changing alteration to my path that the word “school” even received a nod let alone a spotlight. I had been married and divorced, I rushed into a new relationship and then couldn’t get out of it without the help of involving police. I was finally working at job that I truly enjoyed, only to leave it all behind by mailing 20 small to medium sized boxes of my life to friends in NY then hopping on a plane ride one way with a suitcase at my side.

I had been to NY twice before in my life. Once during the winter, once during the summer. Neither of which were treacherous or crazy in weather-form. After a few friends had had their NY experience I was due for mine, and mine involved returning to school with a passion and drive to achieve a degree in theatre. (currently) Still does.

I have yet to experience much that this city, or island or historical place has to offer. My life has been a series of classes, homework and shifts at work. I’m unable to make time for much else. But when I do, I convince myself I’ve earned it–only to wake up the next day and feel that I wasn’t nearly productive enough the day prior.

Letting myself down isn’t something I like to do. Letting others down is just as bad, but there is something about letting myself down that is worse. Others may forgive me, I never forgive myself. I am very hard on myself. I set expectation bars high and when I don’t even seem to come close, I give myself no credit for even trying day in and day out. It is a sport I’ve never truly learned how to play, the rules are confusing.

I need a life teacher/life coach. I look around my room while sitting on my uncomfortable bed and see the closet doors ajar, the cabinet that won’t close because the boxes in it are too big, the overly-saturated-with-crap desk in the corner housing everything from notebooks to a bottle of wine and the wax-warmer, with my window a/c unit beneath it. I have no chair for that desk, I don’t know if i’d ever sit at it if I did, it’s too cluttered–I wish I had shelves. There is a well-used cork board above the messy desk with projects and lists attached next to stamps and a small maze someone made for me once to explain two different scenarios. The clutter wall, that’s what I like to call it, is beautiful. It houses one picture of my siblings and I on a red couch in our standard “order” and it is surrounded by postcards, cards and love notes from people that send me them. They have advice on them, nonsense, perfect sense and common sense things. There are pictures and clever sayings, special quotes and warm wishes. Beneath the clutter walls are 2 roll-a-bouts full of T-shirts and sports bras and bandanas, I wish I had a dresser. Above the roll-a-bouts are boxes of craft projects, scarves and beanies–which I recently was told are called “hats” or “skullies,” either way, a box of them sits there with no real place to call home. On the floor there is a box of dance shoes and leg warmers. The silver pole and box put out the heat to the room, I’m thankful that they work so well. The shelf next to that holds all m DVD’s and some books on it, along with some jewelry, candles and another picture on a red couch with family members. The white roll-a-bout circulates the ‘middle’ of the floor with no home base. It serves as a place for business things, school information and underwear. There are hallmark cards that can’t wait to be written in and sent out with those stamps over on the cork board, and my CA esthetician license. My bed, here, serves as a place to sleep but also store clothes and an alarm clock and whatever school work I’m in the middle of at any given time. My robes (3 of them) are hung behind the door and the red towel gets rotated with the other red towel whenever laundry happens, which is about once a week.

This little life I live in this all too messy place seems to define me more lately than any “real” work, or “real” art, and it’s a shame. I used to be a very well-organized person. Now I tend to feel lucky if I pack my bags, note the plural, correctly the night before.

I sit up against this wall on my bed and take in the mess and clutter that is my room. The parts that are on purpose, the parts that are because things have no other place to call home, and I think to myself “I just want to curl up in this corner and fall asleep.” I have no want or drive to do anything. Not homework, not job search, not clean my own room.

I’m not this person.
Who have I become?

It’s just…a little disconcerting to realize where I am in my life and what happened to get me here. My friend asked me how I became a “CA transplant,” which is quite possibly the most clever way I’ve ever heard my life put and it took me a while to answer, and I’m not even sure I like the answer. But, here I am. Attempting to take things “one thing at a time” or “one day at a time” and not let my mind become as over-whelmingly mess and clutter as that which is collected around me. Attempt is the correct word.

I guess the next question could be “what would my perfect world look like?” that way maybe I could look past the practicalities of my current life-style or rather life-situation and maybe remind myself of all those really important questions…

So, there I was hanging out with some family at my Dadda’s house while visiting in CA.  My youngest brother Rik was with me, Dadda n Terry, Michael (my step-brother) & Rayna and their children Jason and Zachary.  We eat my favorite chicken which my Dadda specially prepared for my arrival on Wednesday January 19th and also which I had two fairly large servings of (white rice and corn in tow, like you do).  We are talking and visiting and we begin to play Hang Man.  It is fun, we even continued playing after the young boys disappeared off into their room.  Shortly after the decision to not play Hang Man anymore, Rayna busted out the Mad Libs.  We do a few rounds and my Dadda is having a bit of difficulty understanding what we’re going for when we look at hi and say “noun” or “adverb” so each time we ask him, we also have to explain what we mean: “noun: person, place, or thing” or “verb: an action, something you do” We go a few rounds and end with Rik holding the notebook calling out to people what he needs in order to fill in the blanks and then read us our story.  The very last thing he needs, he looks to my dad and says “Dad, Celebrity Male” and without missing a beat my father says “oh, That’d be Christ”

and we all rolled on the floor laughing.

Mad Libs: The Breakup Soliloquy

 
This isn’t working out.  I’ve enjoyed stripping with you and getting to jump you, but we come from two happy worlds and want different budweisers out of life.  For instance, I want a family and you want a cell phone. I want a sticky career and you want to pull your toilets.  I like to golf with my friends and you enjoy luminescent  evenings at home with your collection of gay sisters.  You hog the bucket, you hate slapping and you barely tolerate Rasmussen  You don’t kick my family and you even think I look tired in my favorite frame and that my haircut is smooth.   This just won’t do.  I deserve better.  I deserve Jesus Christ.  In this case, it’s not me, it’s you.

For no reason at all today I recalled a conversation I had with my Logic Professor.  I was learning Derivations and I was stuck on a problem because I had to derive something, from nothing.

Prof: …so when is A or not A True?

me: if either one is true.

Prof: right, so when is A or not A true?

me: if…um…if A is true OR not A is true.

Prof:  Right.  So–when is A or not A true?

(I make a sad, puzzled face)

Prof:  Make a truth table

(I draw a truth table and fill it out)

Prof:  and…when is A or not A true?

(I stare at the truth table, then exclaim)

me: Always!

Prof: Always! And what’s that called?

me: A Tautololgy!

Prof: And what’s the opposite of a tautology?

me: A CONTRADICTION!

Prof: And what can you do with a contradiction?!!

me: ANYTHING I WAAAAAANNNNTTT.

That’s all.  Made me laugh…hysterically…all by myself in my room.  Back to my Philosophy homework.

The song had been left on repeat for hours and she sang along with it each time as if it was new.  The little things that needed to be done, had gotten done.  The preparing for the next day’s schedule of nothings had all been cleaned and laid out, gently set in a pile having double and triple checked all she needed.  It didn’t matter how busy she kept, the tears continued down her face.  Everything was fine, truly.  Sometimes one just needs to cry.  There was no sadness, not that she knew of or could feel within her self.  The song continued to play and she sang along.  Sometimes she’d hum, sometimes she’d stop  and drop that which was in her hands and cover her face firmly letting out the sighs and letting the air fill her lungs.  They begged for air, those lungs.  Whatever was going on in her heart or mind was causing a block of willingness to let air in.  It was a constant decision to take in air and exhale it.  Air was work.  Even though she thought the breathing had been getting better, the last couple days she found herself sinking to old thoughts of worth.  Worth was such a tricky word to her, she’d sit for hours and contemplate the different kinds of worth and how to weigh or measure it.  This did not make her sad, she genuinely had been curious as to how she could be measured, how she measured others, whether it was a good or bad thing to do, and who decided what was good or bad?  Her mind had been rarely centered as of late, her lack of focus had been chalked up to not having many responsibilities.  She was thankful for the break, but could clearly see she was better off with a bit more discipline.  Making lists helped, setting timers or limits, then rewarding herself with goodies like cake or cookies.  It was the little things.

And the song played on.   She sang and sang, quietly, then loudly.  She sang out loud as if she was singing it to someone though she didn’t know who it could possibly be about.  Music and songs were like mini-time machines, able to bring memories of different times and place to the present.  She’d find herself standing still staring, then she’d laugh or cry, or both.  The song reminded her of feelings, not people.  Even though she knew she was singing to someone, she couldn’t see his/her face.  Not wishing to spend too much time analyzing the reason behind setting the song on repeat, she just honored the need to let it echo in her ears and mind–for hours.  At times she’d close her eyes and they would sting.  She was so tired, and the tears didn’t help, or did they?  The dancer she used to be would occasionally stretch her arms out and feel a spot light.  She’d point her foot and place her leg out then realize what she was doing and open her eyes, ashamed almost.  Her body language apologized to no one as she gathered herself and continued her mindless cleaning and organizing.  And the song played.

The bed had been made, the food was eaten, the black bag was packed, the clean clothes were put away, the homework had been set aside on the cold tile in her room and  the book laid open and face down on the blueish grey sheets, saving her place.  She stood and reached for the door knob when something in the song sounded different.  She closed her eyes and listened.  Flashes of people raced through her mind, all smiling.  She smiled back, and the smile brought a flood of tears.  They were all so encouraging with their embraces and the joy glowing on their faces, and she held the tightly until the disappeared, leaving her alone.  It was a happy and terribly sad feeling.  How did both exist?  Then more flashes crossed her mind.  Faces of doubt; unfamiliar faces.  She felt the sadness pulling at her chest and struggled to reach for anyone left smiling, to no avail.  Eyes still tightly closed she held her breath trying to push the darkness out.  It pulled at her, with it’s own kind of gravity.  It was gentle and easy to slip into the sadness, though she struggled to not let it consume her.  She sang with the song and the words began to take more focus.  She was directing them to the image in front of her.  But this image knew everything about her, strengths and weaknesses, and every time she pulled away from it, it would pull her back–reminding her of her actual weakness.  Like a coward she let it begin to consume her and her head began to drop and she sang “set me free, leave me be, I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity…”  The darkness was something she could always curl up to, it blanketed all the wrongs and mistakes it was her excuse for giving up on anything.  It was what justified her failures.   It knew every dirty little secret, weakness or ache.  It was not mean to her, it was as if it was trying to remind her–that she was nothing, and would never be anything.  And she believed it. “Something always brings me back to you, it never takes too long”

She opened her eyes, slowly and her vision was blurry “no matter what I say or do, I still feel you here ’til the moment I’m gone…you hold me without touching, you keep me without chains” Was it possible that she actually did know who she was singing too.  That the busy work was a way of waiting for the realization?  A few steps forward “you loved me ’cause I’m fragile, but I thought that I was strong” and she was standing before that which was constantly holding her back.  That which never gave her permission to be truly strong or truly vulnerable without feeling fake or weak.  Would she ever break free of the comfort that doubt and failure constantly covered her in, like a baby blanket?  Would she ever let the joyous glow on everyone else’s faces reflect on her own?  Could the darkness release her, and give her permission to try and escape again?

And she sang.  And she cried.  And then, she stopped.

“We are heading into the most challenging times … help as many as possible and alllow yourself to be helped.”

–Maamm

I want to run.  Often throughout the day I want to run.  I wish it was not 20 degrees outside and slippery and snowy and sloshy, because I would like to run.  It is only as of late this want has been surfacing.  It is only since I laid down my cards, my shield, my torch–whatever you want to call it– that I have this need to move faster.   I don’t know why I need to run, I only know that I must honor the need to run.   I cannot run great distances.  I cannot run very fast for very long, but the serge of energy or the power within me that is stirring is increasing and pushing me to obey ..the need…to run.  So I do.  I warm up, and then I run.  I run for five minutes, then I walk up hill for 10, then I run again, then I walk again, then I run again…until I am drenched in sweat and realize my body’s demand for air.  My body is also not asking for air, like it normally does, it is taking it.  The anxiety that has been fluxing within me for some time, over a few things,  has repressed my ability to breathe.  I find myself holding my breath or taking very small and shallow breaths.  Which only causes more anxiety.  When I run, I do not have time for anxiety, I have only one thing to do–run.  My body will take air when it needs it, it will tell me to slow down when it needs to, it will tell me to speed up when it needs to.  Somehow in there I am finding what I am truly made of; having never been someone to run–from anything–perhaps I am running to something.  Perhaps my mind and body and heart are finally synching and allowing me to focus on the task at hand, and what is that task?  Perhaps I am redefining balance within myself.

This evening I sat and chatted with my best frienchy (yes that is correct) and we talked about balance a little bit.  For years we balanced each other, playing opposites, seeing things differently.  These talks never brought us to arguments but rather a sense of well-roundedness.  Our eating habits were never the same, we weren’t excited about the gym at the same time, or relationships or family life.  We lived in a sort of …opposite place and with that opposition came an understanding of how we needed to be there for one another.  Tonight, however, we may have crossed into new territory and changed our future for the better.  It would seem that we are both gaining strength in aspects of our lives.  Strengths where normally only one of us would feel it.  Tonight we sort of embarked on what could quite possibly be the beginning of our true adulthood.  The kind of place where we come to terms with our mistakes and stop attempting to justify our childish actions or behaviors.  The kind of place where both sides of the scale are filled with delicacies and one wouldn’t want to burden either side without careful consideration.  We are carefully considering our steps, and yet…jumping in.  We are realizing that instead of balancing the world in which just the two of us reside, we can stand together and face what else is out there knowing we have each others backs.  I will not have to look back to know he is there, running with me.

There comes a time for sprints, where nothing else matters but the speed–and the air will come.

There comes a time for slow motion, where everything else matters but the speed–and the air will be controlled.

There will be balance.

There will be breath.

It is time.

Dream 02:

I’m on a beach. Me?  Yah…I don’t know.  I’m on a beach and the sand is very light brown and very soft.  There are black rocks forming a wall behind me.  I am in a black bikini.  Me?  Yah…I don’t know.  I’m in a black bikini sitting on a black lawn chair facing the water.  The kind of chair we use to have for going to the park, or …beach…and I’m wearing black sunglasses.  This body I’m in, does not look like mine by the way.  It’s an awesome body without rolley-polley-ness.  At some point I stand up and run to the water, it’s only a few feet from me.  I submerge myself in the water once then start to head back to my chair when I look back and see a huge tidal wave…of snow…coming down at me.  It hits me and buries me briefly.   Everyone on the beach looks terrified and starts running away from the snow tidal wave, I am now walking up to my knees in snow towards my chair when another huge wave of snow falls on me, burying me again.  This time I remain buried.

Then I wake up.

Definitions brought to you by dreammoods.com

Beach: To dream that you are on the beach and looking out toward the ocean, indicates unknown and major changes that are occurring in your life. Consider the state of the ocean, whether it is calm, pleasant, forbidding, etc.

To dream that you are looking toward the beach, suggests that you are returning to what is familiar to you. Alternatively, you may be adapting or accepting to the changes and circumstances in your life.

To dream that you are relaxing on a beach, signifies that the coming weeks will be calm and tranquil for you. Your stress will be alleviated and you will find peace of mind.

Black: Black symbolizes the unknown, the unconscious, danger, mystery, darkness, death, mourning, rejection, hate or malice. The color invites you to delve deeper in your unconscious in order to gain a better understanding of yourself. It also signifies a lack of love and lack of support. More positively, black represents potential and possibilities. It is like a clean or blank slate.

Rock:  To see a rock in your dream, symbolizes strength, permanence, stability and integrity, as conveyed in the common phrase “as solid as a rock”. The dream may also indicate that you are making a commitment to a relationship or that you are contemplating some changes in your life that will lay the groundwork for a more solid foundation. Alternatively, a rock represents stubbornness, disharmony and unhappiness.

Bikini: To dream that you are wearing a bikini, suggests that you are feeling exposed. You may feel unprotected emotionally.It may also signal a return to innocence or youth. Alternatively, a bikini indicates superficial desires.

Sunglasses: To dream that you are wearing sunglasses, indicates your poor perception of some issue. You tend to be pessimistic and see the dark or negative side of things. Perhaps you don’t want to see or be seen

Chair: To see a chair in your dream, symbolizes your need to sit down and take time out to contemplate a situation before proceeding. Or you just need to relax. Alternatively, it indicates that your feelings or ideas are being dismissed or cast to the side.

Ocean/Water: To see an ocean in your dream, represents the state of your emotions and feelings. It is indicative of spiritual refreshment, tranquility and renewal. Alternatively, the dream means that you are feeling empowered and unhindered. You have a positive outlook in life and are not limited by anything.

Underwater (when I submerge): To dream that you are underwater, suggests that you are being overcome with emotions and are in over your head regarding some situation. You need to gain greater control of your life.

Snow: To see snow in your dream, signifies your inhibitions, unexpressed emotions and feelings of frigidity. You need to release and express these emotions and inhibitions. Alternatively, snow means that you are feeling indifferent, alone and neglected.

Wave: To dream that you are caught in a tidal wave, represents an overwhelming emotional issue that demands your attention. You may have been keeping your feelings and negative emotions bottled up inside for too long. You may be holding back tears that you are afraid to express in your waking life. On a positive note, the tidal wave symbolizes the clearing away of old habits. If you are carried away by the tidal wave, then it means that you are ready to make a brand new start in a new place

Buried: To dream that you are being buried alive, suggests that you are being undermined or stifled in some way. You are feeling trapped or helpless

Thoughts?…comments?  I have my understanding of what this dream means.