Provocations

I am comfortable... which is strange, as I used to fear being comfortable... I attributed comfort to laziness, I thought it would evoke complacency in me.  Conversely, contentment seems to have acquiesced a sense of warmth within me... It's renewed me as opposed to bringing me down... It's ignited a passion for the intricacies that are normally so engrained in my day to day, that I often missed them.  Each sunrise and sunset seems to be more radiantly awe-inspiring these days.  The details of those austere moments have been electrified.  I am hyper aware of each moment... savoring them on the tip of my tongue, like a child catching snowflakes for the first time.  I'm suddenly acutely cognizant of all those little things I had closed myself off too, and I am so humbled to be able to experience them with this keener vision. 

I think, at some point, I had convinced myself that my 'fairytale' was long ago written, and the sooner I accepted the alternate ending, the better off I would be. I think that is what I have been doing these last few years... living out that alternate ending... there were no white horses, and I was the one wearing the armor.  As a writer, I told myself that tinge of bitterness gave me an edge, it's what fueled my sharp tongue and often times shrill tone, but living each day of that story made life a little more dull.  Each day, another tiny piece of me withered and decayed.  Despite having kept myself occupied in order to ward off that complacency I feared so much, I actually sank right into it... I totally bought into the finality of that alternate ending.  I completely dismissed that my story continues to be written every single day, and discredited myself as the author...

Then one day, suddenly things changed.  My world-view was flipped on it's end. Having that jadedness flushed out of me has been a scary, but refreshing, rush and I have never been so obliged to be proven wrong.  While I have always been grateful for the time, perspective, and consciousness afforded me, that gratitude has been reaching new heights as of late.  To say this was worth the life time wait is an understatement that dwarfs Mount Everest into a tiny pile of pebbles.

The view is stunning from up here.  It's serene and limitless.  Vast and panoramic, as I survey the landscape, it takes my breath away- time and time again.  Whereas this site would have previously exhausted me, in this moment, my energy abounds.  I want to explore every single inch of it with you.  I want to discover every cave, peak, and valley.  I want to sink into the depths of this... into the depths of you...us.  Basking in the ataraxia that exudes from each moment spent with you... even when we are apart I can't help but revel in how amazing this is, how inspired I am.

The inspiration piece is intense... I'm bubbling over with it, and yet I can scarcely get it out. It's the most obscure sort of writer's block I've ever encountered... ideas so fleeting I cannot possibly commit them to type, the next flies in before the last scampers off... multiplying like rabbits with each tick of the clock.  I supposed I am more accustomed to brooding then musing... Don't get me wrong, I am in no way lamenting, I am just learning what it is to surrender to this state of mind... I haven't lost my voice, but merely found another intonation, each separate, but dependent upon one another, the task is now to teach them to dance...

I wanna lock arms with you and get lost in this... find a tiny cabin on the side of a mountain and just soak it all in.  Stripped of the burdens of day to day...if only briefly...construct our own blanket fort,  untethered from work, technology, time, and responsibility.  Just crisp air, brilliant stars, you, me, and this intangible euphoric propensity .  I wanna lie next to you and forget the rest of the world even exists. Losing myself in the cadence of your heartbeat, commingling with the swirling of my own...moving to the provocative symphony composed from two souls pulsing to the same oscillation ...a synergy that arranges itself and produces a sound so silently sweet. 

Ataraxia

After years of fighting I find myself no-longer holding back... hanging on every moment... letting each one drip from the very depths of the leaky faucet of my soul. Never have I found myself so at ease in someone's arms...I find Tough Bitch has all but disappeared.

I've dueled with her for years, my body and soul bruised and scared from battle, beaten until I scarcely have a Pulse.  But when you walked in... it's as if none of that ever mattered... like she never existed. And it was completely effortless.  The armor that once encased my heart, dismantled without my even knowing it. There is no need for it. No need to front, or pretend or hide or run.  For the first time ever, I surrendered from the start... and it feels amazing... no defeat and no need for strategy, because this time it's not a battle, it's a complete infiltration of my soul. 

Spilling over with an energy that until now, I kept steeled away.  My heart skipping multiple beats and my insides knotting so as to capture the butterflies that seem to have been released inside me.  Swirling in the intensity that is my heart soaring and my brain scrambling and my voice hushed... because given the words of the entire English language still,  I can't even begin to scratch the surface as to what I am experiencing.

I love your silliness- The way you can turn a serious moment into a burst of laughter in seconds flat, and I love your laugh, and your smile, and the way your eyes light up when you're telling a story.  I love your nerdiness... that you seem to have limitless knowledge about all sorts of things, and I love that you are not only willing to share it, but have the patience to catch me up when I don't understand.

I love your sincerity- that you are not afraid to say what you mean, and I know that you mean what you say. I love your kisses, passionate, sweet... never rushed or forced, slow and gentle, always leaving me wanting more. I love that I can't get you out of my head. I love your patience and insistence. I  love that you hold my hand, I love that you open the car door for me.  I love that you let me know when you are thinking of me. I love the little ways you protect me. I love that you'll talk about it.

I love your emotion, and your depth.  The way you connect with people and situations and life in general.  I love that your soul is both tender and seasoned with life experience.  I love your passion... the way it pulses through you with each beat of your heart, and how you do everything possible to nurture it. I love that it knows no bounds, and your innate desire to honor it by sharing it with the world. I love the way you think, the way you write, the way you play.  I  love your voice... singing softly... your words dancing in my soul...

I love that you walked into my life and disarmed me completely. I love your touch... how you have this way of melting every inch of me into a shivering puddle. I love that your eyes have this way of penetrating every brick in my Wonderwall.  I love the feeling of shelter that I find in your embrace.  I love the experience of complete peace I get lying next to you.  I love that after years of paralyzing fear about it, vulnerability seems easy and natural with you, it's with you I feel at ease being truly Naked. I love that my little girl in the Freshly Pressed Dress feels totally free to come out around you. 

 I love the way you love.

Crazy Life

Holy shit. I just read THIS and every single bit of it blew my mind.  Ever stumble across the right thing at exactly the right time?!

For the last week, I have been piecing together my next move and as if my other posts haven't spelled it out...it has been incredibly scary and draining.  Being torn as to whether I should stay or go... having to take a long hard look at where I am in my life thus far and judging myself so hard on all the shit I have not accomplished.  Wondering if I will ever accomplish anything that is anything at all.  It has made my head swim, made me feel totally and completely insecure and inadequate and enveloped me in a thick blanket of self doubt.  And goddamn did that piece put into perspective why it is such a struggle.

That first bit about not having found my life niche- that shit has bothered me forever... it seems as though every single fucker I know has some undeniable talent, gift, or passion for something... and I enjoy many parts of that in others... I wrote about this all the way back in 2011 in a post called OPP.  Here I am 3 1/2 years later, amidst practically the same struggle... that is where I have my head has been... and then I read this-

"It is in these seemingly unlivable opposites that we are most ourselves. This is where we question the world around us and the world within us, and it is only when we question everything that we start to know anything. Our questions are what shape us. Where our wonder lingers is where our heart lies."

Sometimes. I forget that I am where I am because of the principles I have for myself, and my present situation is no exception.  What I have been struggling with is whether or not I have the energy to fight for what I believe to be right or if I am ready to fold and run.  The fact that I am wondering if I have the energy to (essentially) stick up fop myself is laughable.  Just because my ego got bruised, does not all mean that I am broken, and I will be goddamned if I go out without a fight.  I have worked far too hard to just roll over and submit.  That is not how I roll, never has been, never will be... even if I got the wind sucker punched out of my sails for a minute. Of course, that does not mean I know how this will end (and fuck man, I am a great lover of limbo, really).  Maybe I will stay, maybe I will go, but either way, I will play this hand all the way through. As she so beautifully puts it-

"This process is slow going, and quite probably never ending. It is imperfect, far from foolproof, and there are no shortcuts."

Maybe we all need that reminder once in a while- I need to take a step back and give myself some mother-fucking-grace.  Even if I am uncomnfortable because my core seems to be in juxtopostion at the moment, I need to remember that this is where the real work is done... in the end, it ain't about a paycheck, it's about self... and if I can't be true to me, what the hell is the point?

Fuck, I needed that.

Castles Made of Sand

I spent the last three-four days working on a post in draft mode.  Sometimes I have this overwhelming need to get something out and when I sit down to open the flood gates, only a trickle comes out.  Ugh, the old mental constipation-such an uncomfortable and dis-satisfying feeling... So I sat down today to finish what I had started 7 million times over and instead, I  deleted the whole damned post.  Maybe whatever it was I had been trying to say wasn't what I needed to say at all.  Instead here's the dump that came out-

Mental masturbation- the temporary unraveling of the intricate labyrinth woven into the patterns of my mind.  Sometimes, I catch it before it frays completely out of control, and other times I entertain it like the itch that refuses to be scratched.... the more I scratch, the more it itches and the more it itches the more I feed the urge to scratch it.  Bloody and scabbed, picked, and then bloody again... There is something about that secret self-torture that draws me back time and again.  And I know, this ain't no new revelation... it's not as if this is an awakening I am experiencing for the first time, but every fucking time it's so raw that it feels like the first time.

Over the years, I have come to embrace my mental masturbation, I have accepted that I over think constantly, but the wear and tear it takes on my soul is exhaustive at times.  This is probably where the extreme introvert in me was born... that need to remove myself from the outside world for periods of time so that I can collect both my thoughts and re-tune my energy.  It's weird because while I know it to be necessary, it is not always the most pleasant experience.

Most of my posts are a direct result of said mental masturbation sessions.  Sometimes I'll ruminate on something for months before I even realize what (or for that matter why) it is that I my consciousness is hung up on.  More often than not, I'll write about it, presume I have worked through whatever it was and move on, only to have the subject resurface weeks, months or even years later... then I go digging in my archive, find the applicable post and expound upon it if necessary. 

The most recent theme in my consciousness has been about intimacy.  I may as well call it the big I word, because I treat it like the plague.  I have been scared of it for a long time, while craving it at the same time.  When I wrote Naked a little while back, I mentioned that I had finally come to the realization that I had been running from intimacy... and that I was ready to own that intimacy is in fact what I want.  A real and true connection with another, based upon building an authentic relationship.  Once I made that admission to myself, it was as if pieces of the old wonderwall began to crumble, like a castle made of sand... and all the skeletons that had been hiding in my fortress came out to play, and what a ride that has turned out to be.  Vulnerability scares the ever-loving-shit out of me,  but I am convinced that is what my soul has been craving. 

I am diabolically opposed at all times on the inside... there is the part of me that allows vulnerability to slip in through the cracks, the part of me that cannot help but love with my whole heart every second, despite the other part of me that stands at the gate, arms crossed, shouting that I am a fool, this never ends well, and happily ever after is for fucking suckers.  For years now, I've let that cynic rule my mind and close off my heart.  Sure, every once in a great while, my heart wins out for a moment and I will entertain the idea of being vulnerable (but rarely does that translate to the act of me actually following through) most of the time, Tough Bitch swoops in and poisons my mind with self doubt... and usually, I get too tired to fight and let her win. 

Not this time though.  Falling is Like This is my ode to outing Tough Bitch once and for all, and since writing that, she has tried to make me pay, and I continue to refuse to take the bate. I may not always recognize the traps she sets right away, but I am getting better at not letting her occupy as much real estate in my mind.  Not allowing others to treat me like shit seems easy compared to not allowing me to treat myself that way, but I have become aware and ever more vigilant.  I have taken to sinking into the awkwardness my mind produces and really exploring it.  Becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable... it's tough, but I feel as though that is the only logical next step... this is the epitome of viscerally ruminating, it has only taken me my lifetime to get there. At the end of the day though, I am good with it all. Tough Bitch served her purpose and I do not live in the kind of fantasy where I think she is going anywhere soon...and I am also aware that the girl in the freshly pressed dress is no where close to setting up permanent residence. What I do know is that everyday I am a little closer to embracing the redeeming qualities of them both.

Falling is Like This

Press play


The process of coaxing the Girl in the Freshly Pressed Dress out of the depths of me has been a slow and arduous process.  For the last 3 or 4 weeks Tough Bitch and I have been sparing and MOTHER FUCK can that bitch fight.  She'll reach right down my throat and rip my fucking heart out, and hold it in front of me, still beating and bloody.  Just to prove a fuckin point. She knows I don't fucking want anything to do with her anymore.  She knows I am over the games she makes me play with my own damned head.  And she ain't goin out without a fight.  She's been working over time filling my fucking brain with doubt, and insecurity.  She's takes every opportunity to remind me that I am not worth it and never will be.  She's wearing me down by making everything visceral as fuck. And I am tired. And I am angry. And that is what she wants.   

And just as I begin to wonder if our dueling has scared off the girl in the freshly pressed dress forever, she comes padding out of the darkness... and I am so relieved to see her.  I immidieately run up and embrace her.  I want to hold her tightly, protect her from the frightening spectacle that tough bitch can put on if she feels remotely threatened.  I want to melt into the crisp lines of that freshly pressed dress and dissappear.  I want to drink up that raw and unharmed innocence. I want desperately to find a way to make space for her to stay. 

But sometimes it seems like that freshly pressed dress, those innocent eyes, that firey hair... it's all just an illusion.  Like she is the mirage in the desert hell that Tough Bitch rules, and I will forever be her prisoner.  Some days, the venomous bites Tough Bitch inflicts are too much.  I feel like I am doomed to that desert forever.  Yep, more often than not, I succumb to my own fucking fortress of defenses, and yet again I let the little girl down.  I hate that feeling. The fucking sinking feeling that comes after a brief time spent with that little girl and the excruciatingly painful punishment that I allow tough bitch to fucking inflict. 

I look at my peers and I wonder how they manage to get through life without totally succumbing to their own tough bitch? How is it that some people just trust (and then seemingly don't get screwed) while others of us are bound so tight in the fortress that is our Wonderwall... I believe it is probably 97% self fulfilling prophecy... I had a conversation today about how girls who date douche bags are just as much to blame as the douche bag themselves... and I gotta say, it is totally true.  At the end of the day we all choose how we are going to allow ourselves to be treated... I allow tough bitch to walk right into my soul and rape it... violently and repeatedly.  And, by not standing up to her I also send the signal to the girl in the freshly pressed dress that I am not willing to stand up for her. God. Fucking. Damn. It.

If I stop and think about it, and I am truly honest with myself, this has not a god damned thing to do with getting beat down by my defenses... it has to do with not standing up to myself for myself (I feel like I am writing my own pledge).  It's time to dissolve the fucking metaphors and stop riding some fucking fence I created in order to not take responsibility for my own shit. I can be happy or miserable... I can be vulnerable or guarded.  I can be brave or a coward.  I can love me or I can hate me.  I can own my beautiful disaster or I can run from it. What I cannot do is play both fucking sides- because doing that- is driving me in-fucking-sane. 

She's Alright

Ever come face to face with a personal pattern you were either unaware of or had forgotten about? It's definitely a weird sort of out of body experience to have someone point something out to you and it suddenly become totally illuminated.... So recently I had a couple of friends point out a pattern in me (that I knew was there, but had forgotten about) concerning work...I am a self proclaimed adrenaline junkie, control freak, and workaholic at times. After talking to my friends I dug back in my blog archives and found this post from a few years ago- Adrenaline. Re-reading that was a great reminder of how deeply embedded my patterns are.  All of those adrenaline junkie, control freak, workaholic characteristic work pretty well for me in my chosen profession of promotions/event coordination...  What those things don't work well with is the fact that I am a fucking crippling introvert. The two are like oil and fucking water!

Sure, I can put on the face, I can turn up the energy when I have too... but not generally for extreme stints of time without a break of some sort to re-charge.  I have written about how I am often envious of those of you who can somehow harness your energy from being around other people... goddamn, if I could do that my job (and life, really) would be a piece of cake!  But unfortunately, I am on the opposite end of that spectrum... while I can display those extrovert qualities if I need to, it totally drains me. People drain me.  No, that doesn't mean I do not like people (although... some days I don't, haha) it just means that in the Olympic sprint that is any given day, I have to find a way to conserve my energy...Sometimes, I just wanna sit in silence.  Sometimes I just need to retreat to my cave and recharge... sometimes I just need to be away from people so that I can shut my fucking brain off for 14 seconds and stop over thinking every fucking thought that runs around my mental hamster wheel.

The funniest part about this is that I FORGET ALL OF THIS about me when I am back on the adrenaline junk.  In the weeks leading up to an event, I take on every single solitary responsibility possible.  I wake every morning (if I am lucky enough to sleep), take that first hit, and I am off to the races so to speak.  And I shove that proverbial needle back in my vein 100 times or more in the course of a day.  Occasionally, I will find myself clenching my jaw, or notice my heart is pounding right out of my chest, and shit will catch up to me.  There are definitely crashes... there are also solitary moments of peace, however few and far between they are...

Yeah, yeah, what's the fuckin point already? The point is that having had my neurotic tendencies pointed out to me, it reminded me that I REALLY need to appreciate those people in my life who have not only recognized this pattern in me, but do everything they can to just support the fucking cyclone that is me before an event.  I have friends who check on me in 50 different ways everyday... it's like they have all silently taken on a role in helping keep me afloat in the weeks leading up to events...some help me remember shit, some know what I am thinking and speak it when I am too wound tight to speak, some people anticipate things that need done, some listen, others talk, one friend knows I am an insane insomniac when I am stressed, so she keeps on me about attempting to keep a regular sleep schedule.  Another friend knows that I tend not to eat when I am stressed, and constantly (in the sweetest way possible) badgers me about that.  Others will just cuddle with me in silence... some people are the huggers, and when it is alllll tooooo overwhelming, I have designated people who will just let me fucking cry and snot it out without judgement.

As always, it comes back to my fucking soul tribe. You all continually remind me that my life is really the best fucking show I will ever attend...this is only one leg of an extensive world tour... and I have the best fucking crew EVER!!!!  They say it takes a village, well, I will take my tribe ANY FUCKING DAY.  Because without you all, this crazy little introvert would cave in pre-production ;)  You all are the most amazing fucking rock stars ever, and I fucking love all of you.  Thanks for hanging in there with me, 10 more days, and I will be back to my usual neurotic self :)

Naked

So for the last month or so, one of my dearest and best friends and I have been having this discussion that I wrote about in Connecting the Dots.  We talk often about what it is like to 'date' in your late 20's early 30's... ESPECIALLY in the age of instant gratification, fueled by texting, facebooking, instagramming and whatever other fucking ridiculous means we use to converse rather than actually communicate or (heaven for-fucking-bid- CONNECT). The beauty of dating and the intricacies of getting to know someone coupled with delaying gratification is quickly fading into oblivion in favor of late night texts for hook-ups and one night stands. Like everything else in our culture... people and connection are becoming more and more disposable. In fact, she recently wrote a similar blog about this same shit- check her out... Tight Pants, Half Shirts and Hook-ups.

  Now, I will be the first to admit that in my life I've done the hook-up thing. I've done the one night stand thing, I've had friends with benefits and fuck buddies... and they all served a purpose, at the time.  But at some point, without my knowledge or permission, all those surface 'relationships' began to shift my view of what it means to be intimate with someone.  It created a big void that no amount of great sex could ever fill.  It took me a long time to realize that the reason I felt empty was because I was essentially tossing experiences into the abyss.

Honestly, until recently, I have never challenged myself to really experiencing that whole delayed gratification thing... because there is a huge amount of vulnerability that goes along with that.  It's pretty easy to just pick a persona and be that when the extent of your relationship with someone is the late night hook-up.  It is also pretty easy to paint the other person in whatever light you want... because there is only one dimension to the relationship.  In order to keep that surface game up, ya gotta grow thick skin and pretty much detach... people have to become objects or conquests in order to keep up the mutual I use you, you use me contract.

What I had to deny in that abyss was the sappy romantic that I really am... it made me jaded and, it fueled that surface-relationship-fire, and mostly, it made me doubt myself and what I really wanted.  There is no space for having feelings and ESPECIALLY no space to talk about them... because the minute that happens, the surface contract has been broken, and there are only a couple of ways things can go from there...either the contract is severed and both parties resume regularly scheduled life programming, as if nothing ever happened, or...(and this was generally my route) you shame yourself for having said feelings and apologize to the other party, and you both pretend like the subject was never breached in the first place, and lemme tell ya kids, that kind of shit will eat your soul, even if you don't know it...

The process of realizing how I have been slowly etching away at my own soul and self worth has been a slow one, but I am glad to be on this side of that awareness.  No doubt this is part of a larger cultural paradigm shift, but with this awareness, I can now safely say it's one I want no part of anymore.  So, a couple days ago, amidst this most recent glimmer in consiousness, I stumbled across this quote-

“Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep…wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you’re just as pretty without makeup on. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky his is to have you….The one who turns to his friends and says, ‘that’s her.’”
~ Chuck Palahniuk

It struck me in such a way that I threw it up on my facebook page with the disclaimer that if that were unrealistic, then I'd rather stay in my fantasy world.  Because really, I am coming to the place where I will no longer be ashamed or apologize for wanting that or for having emotions or for craving connection.  If wanting that scares people off, then good on them.  Because I am over the surface game... in fact, I am over the game in general. The responses to that quote were all over the map... some people responded with that same, old, familiar jadedness, others suggested that it was not at all unrealistic, but the best response was this-

"Those people are out there - just remember it goes both ways!! It is worth the wait and you are worth waiting for ."

For some reason, the thought that it goes both ways hadn't really crossed my mind... and I have been looking into that, but that is a post for another day.  All I can say is this- I am so fucking glad to have a few awesome people in my life who are self-evolved enough to have these conversations with in real life, because otherwise, I'd prolly still be spitting surface game.

Glimmer

Normally, I am not the one to jump on the celebrity death wagon (I don't even think that is a thing, but after seeing all the buzz about Robin Williams death, it seems to me it should be a thing.)  I just find it incredible to see all these responses to the death of someone none of these people actually knew.  Maybe it is because his work touched so many people, maybe it's because his death touched so many people... perhaps its a smattering of both.  I would venture to guess we all have some sort of experience with depression... either we've experienced it ourselves, or someone close to us has struggled with it.  So we all have a common place from which to draw empathy to a certain degree.

I have waged the inner battle with depression since my early teens. I spent most of my late teens and early twenties in a pharmacological haze of anti this and that meds.  At a certain point I decided the drugs, albeit prescribed, were actually doing me more harm than good.  So I went through the long and arduous process of getting off of them, which was no small feat, considering I was on enough drugs to tranquilize an elephant at the time and had been for a good long while.  In the decade or so since cleaning out my system I have had my fair share of lows, some frighteningly low, there have been moments (which have seemed never-ending) of what I can only describe as the darkest depths of desperation.  They are impossible to predict, difficult to manage and sometimes equally as difficult to climb out of.

It's a pretty tough subject to breech in conversation.. already plagued by the anxiety that seems to come as an added bonus with the depression I experience, thinking about telling someone or even thinking about trying to find the words to talk to someone about it drain every single of iota of energy out of me.  I don't want to be a downer to those around me. I don't want people to think I am crazy, or weak or any other of the labels we dole out to people dealing with the intangible issues of the mind.  There are moments when I can stand in a crowded room and feel as though I am the only one there... standing amongst the crowded chaos... hoping that someone or something will distract me from that black hole that seems to be sucking the life force out from within.

In the space between those dark stretches, I am entirely aware of the fact that those anxiety riddled depressive moments are just that- fleeting and temporary. BUT, when you're in it, the mind becomes a long, narrow, tunnel... and although it's path is linear, there seems to be no light illuminating an end.  Appearing as though the darkness will stretch on forever, the mind can be at once a powerful tool, and a debilitating enemy.  The more you try to talk sense into yourself, the faster the train car seems to travel down the track... with it's speed climbing, and what seems to be miles upon miles covered in milliseconds...reality begins to distort at this velocity.  The space between remembering what it feels like out of the tunnel and what it feels like in it begins to widen so much that the memory of what was is as intangible as the idea that this ride will pass.  Anxiety fuels the vortex, engulfing everything in it's path.

The swirling thought pattern that is depression is a lot like listening to a song that has begun to skip- at first it's a momentary interruption, and then it skips again, and I have that conversation with myself- it will pass, just let it play out. The skipping becomes more frequent.  The song, ever more mangled from it's original beat.  What may have started as a remix becomes a complete melodic mess, the familiar tune now an indistinguishable cacophony, and instead of reaching over and skipping to the next song, I sit there, entranced by the noise, unable to pull myself out long enough to recognize whats happening.  There's something about that song. It's draining and alluring simultaneously. It's deafening and soothing.  It's paralyzing.

At a certain point, there's a fleeting glimmer of hope.  A blip of light will illuminate the radar of the mind's eye.... and, depending on how strong that dark, powerful vortex has gotten, there is a chance it will be enough to alter that destructive thought pattern.  When it happens, its as if the track restarts, and I snap out of that maddening trance, like just as I was about to free fall into that super massive black hole, gravity grabs me, defying it's own laws, and hurls me back down to reality.  And I can't tell ya what triggers it, because if I knew, I would make it happen, I am not even sure it is a particular thing.  I know that my thought pattern changes, but I have yet to figure out how to make that happen of my own volition, and trust me, I have tried. I have tried every single fucking trick in the depressive handbook... exercise, eat right, sleep well, change your attitude, be around people, don't be around people, meditate, be grateful, stay in the moment, am I missing any?? Everyone's got advice, everyone wishes they could help. But the truth is, they can't. And sometimes, I can't help myself-to the best of my knowledge, it's as much a waiting game as anything else. Sure, I can check the shit off the self care list, but sometimes, none of that helps. And when all the normal tricks don't work, all I can do is white knuckle through, and hope like hell that I can remember that this time, like all the others times, it will pass.  'Shhh, baby listen. Hear the train?'

Connecting the Dots...

Every now and again something sparks my memory and I go on a dot connecting conquest.  Welcome to one of said conquests... we shall see if combing through all this shit actually helps me make a connection.

So, I recently read a couple of things that fired my consciousness up.  First- it was this- We Are Not Here to Fix Each Other which was a really refreshing reminder for so many things, I am pretty sure I was also absent on the day they taught us how to 'close our hearts off'.  If I am not super vigilant about it, I am prone to let other people's shit overwhelm me.  This is why I am so fiercely protective of having one day a week to unplug and not be around anyone.  Gives me time to re-center myself, gather my thoughts and get hold of all the crap that isn't mine that I may have collected over the week.  Being empathic aint all that glamorous, I feel as thought I have a responsibility to myself to keep my shit in check... ya know, so as not to inadvertently spill it all over somebody else's shit.  And, I will be honest, it still happens. In fact, it still happens far more frequently than I would like, but I am definitely ever more conscious of it.

Sometimes, the empathy thing can be overwhelming- like in crowds or even at parties, it's as if I accidentally tune into somebody elses frequency... and sometimes it's multiple people's frequencies at once.  Trying to have a conversation with someone while picking up 32 other signals at the same time is fucking frustrating and confusing! Not to mention, all that unintended mental chatter can make it tough to concentrate on whomever I am actually interacting with.  This used to be a lot worse, especially because I, like the writer of that piece, continuously felt compelled to 'help people'.  I thought it was my calling.  I worked in the 'helping field' in any number of capacities for years... working with everyone from juvenile sex offenders to adult inmates to drug addicts.  And, ya know what? It was a pretty short crusade.  When they say the social work field has a high rate of burn out, they are not fucking joking.  All the 'worst' cases flocked to me like white on fucking rice.  If there was a borderline in ANY of the facilities I worked at... they would find me.  And suck every last fucking drop of energy from me.  And I let them.  Because at some point I subconsciously decided it was my calling to save them from themselves. All of them. And, I had yet to learn how to keep my own shit in check.

Anyway, so I took a 180 with my career path and thought that would make it better... but it didn't.  It was like I had some sort of beacon, if a person was damaged, or hurting, or emotionally unavailable or just down right crazy... I couldn't go to the fucking grocery store without having someone pour their heart out to me in the fucking checkout line.  And I began to really resent the whole empath thing.  I felt as though I were (if I may be so trite) carrying the weight of the world on my damned shoulders and it was fucking exhausting.  I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out how to make it stop, at the grocery, at the bar, at work...  And then, one day in conversation, a wiser, older, soul than I helped me to see that it was me luring them in. That by not being conscious about my own shit, I was seeking these people out.  After all, if you surround yourself with people who 'need you' all the time, then there's no reason to look at your own shit, because my life was a fucking cake walk compared to some of the stories I heard on a daily basis.  But when I stopped and evaluated the whole thing... it wasn't everyone else using me, it was ME allowing it.  My ego was in the drivers seat, and we were charting a course to save the world.  When I realized that, I immediately felt an immense amount of shame.  All I could think was who the fuck am I to think I have that kind of power over anyone?!!!

It took a little bit of time to get over the shame in realizing what I thought was doing good, was really doing harm... I do no one any favors by trying to fix them, in essence, none of us has the power to cheat another out of this experience we call life.  The shame was in the fact that in my crusade to 'fix it' I was actually cheating myself.  I think we as humans do all possess the capacity to be empathic... some of us have the skill more finely tuned then others, and some of us work really hard to ignore it... but it's there.  It all boils down to our own level of consciousness. 

So all of these realizations have been recirculating in my brain and then I read this- Sexy Consciously Awake Women the two are seemingly unrelated, but in my mind, they are.  A few weeks back I was able to reconnect with a dear, dear friend I hadn't caught up with in over a year, our conversations are generally part hilarious, part ironic, part stimulating, and always real. This one was no exception. As we laughed and caught up a few things became apparent to me- I fucking love that chick- she's raw and empathic and we are FRIGHTENINGLY similar.  We both wear our hearts on our sleeve, but front like tough bitches, to mask our insecurities...  The downside to that is that we both experience the same sort of unlucky-in-love relationship bullshit. 

The connection between my own conscious journey and connecting with others pinging on a similar consciousness level has LONG eluded me... Beginning this conscious journey was pretty much the final nail in the coffin of my last serious relationship 4 or 5 years ago... so, really I only know how to be conscious and single, because thus far, doing the work on myself has not meant that I am instantly attracted to conscious people, or that I attract them... in fact, the few people I have casually dated in the last few years have been anything BUT conscious.  And the funny thing is, my friend and I discovered we both do it.  It's like we have some beacon for dating partners that are in need of 'emotional potty training' as the Sexy Consciously Awake chic phrases it.  The kicker, for me, is that NEITHER of us want to potty train.  In fact, we both got fired up by that SCAW piece (and it's follow up, did you catch that second piece? Dude. Read it- An Open Letter to Men From Sexy Consciously Awake Women). 

In these last 4-5 years of singledom, and nearly as many writing out my observations on this blog, I have made so many realizations... but we all know there is a marked difference between making realizations and putting those realizations to practice in our lives. I would really like to connect those dots in my own life. I want to be in a space where I feel comfortable letting myself just be.  Someone called me out on my 'fronting' this weekend and it's true, at my core, I am not the person I present at first, or even second, third, fourth meeting.  Sometimes I feel like I will never have the courage to be able to just be...I have made this realization eleventy-gillion times, what I need to remember is-

"You are what you do, not what you say you’ll do.  Knowledge is basically useless without action.  Good things don’t come to those who wait; they come to those who work on meaningful goals.  Ask yourself what’s really important and then have the courage to build your life around your answer."

I think I am coming to a place in my life where I only have space for real and meaningful connections... I don't want or need time fillers or place holders.  I want to share a meal and great conversation.. I want to hold hands. I want to snuggle while watching PBS.  I want to laugh with someone. I want to drink the last drops of summer up, whilst swinging in a hammock at dusk...reveling in a moment shared. I want someone to be as genuinely interested in me as I am them. I want to give myself the freedom to cry in front of someone and not immediately feel as if I am a burden or an emotional basket case.  I want to recognize when the opportunity to do any of these things presents itself, and EMBRACE IT instead of running away or being awkward.  I want to take Tough Bitch, find the girl in the Freshly Pressed Dress and  go dance in the rain with them both.

Soul Tribe Gratitude

About a week and a half ago, I fucked up my back pretty good.  So good that a week and a half later, I am still unable to do even the simplest of tasks by myself- picking my clothes up off the floor, mowing my postage stamp lawn... grocery shopping etc.  I am in general a fiercely independent chick- I LOATHE having to ask for help.  But these last few weeks, struggling with my back, have made it impossible not to give in and accept a little help.  It's given me the opportunity to be humble, and spurred ENORMOUS amounts of gratitude. Seriously, I have some of the best fucking friends a person could ever ask for, it makes my heart full just thinking about it.

In the first year I started this blog, I wrote a post about what I call my Soul Tribe. It was an attempt to flesh out the inter-connectivity that I experience in relationships with people... to remind me that in my life I have made some fucking fantastical connections, and I refuse to believe those connections were made coincidentally. I wanted to remind myself that having some of the super deep relationships I have are gifts- ones that if treasured, can lead to more deep connections, in effect, we reap what we sew.  So, if I sew the seeds of meaningful interactions a sort of domino effect happens- out of one great connection the energy is spawned to forge other meaningful connections, even if they are seemingly unrelated.

And that is pretty much what continues to happen in my life- my tribe is more abundant today than it was years back when I first wrote about it.  What I  realize now is that while the magnetism that is pinged out of soul tribe connections is undeniable, it doesn't mean that every magnetic interaction will be with a member of one's soul tribe. In the last 6-8 months this whole concept of attraction (as in who I am attracted to and why) has been a recurring theme for me.  It has come to the surface of my consciousnesses that in almost any interaction I have, I am attracted to some intangible aspect of the person. For instance- in a conversation with a stranger, I may be highly attracted to what they say, or more subtly, maybe I am attracted to their body language or their tone.  Conversely, there are other instances where something someone does instantly repels me, and I am unlikely to continue a conversation with them or further pursue a friendship.  All that said, I would say I consider myself a decent judge of character when it comes to the people I will give my energy to in terms of friendship. 

Those same visceral ques I pick up on when conversing with someone on a platonic level seem to get muddled to the point of being indiscernible when it comes to being attracted to a potential romantic partner. Firstly- it's rare that I find someone attractive on a romantic level.  I mean sure- I am a 32 year old chick, sexual attractions are copious.  Romantic attractions are different.  These are the multi-level attractions, where I am interested in what a person has to say, what they think, obviously, being physically attracted to them is important, but it is nearly always secondary... like the attraction to the mind spurs the physical attraction in an almost synergistic way. And looking back, this is the way it has been most of my life.  Line up all my past partners and it would be tough to find a physical 'type'.

Really, it's the mind that attracts me to anyone... people who think deeply... people who feel deeply. People who strive to continually experience the depths of what life has to offer. Consciousness. That sort of connection is far more rare and endlessly more desirable to me then some spur-of-the-moment physical attraction.  Minds that happen to meet on the same ruminating plain, in the same moment, however brief, vibrating at the same frequency. That's the kind of shit that can make my knees weak. The connections where silence has just as much meaning as the verbal interaction. Where nothing is forced or rehearsed, there is a flow that can be felt between the two people, but the words to describe it escape them. 

Since I've hemmed myself up, there have been countless moments where being single has seemed like a real burden... I have thought many times over about how it would be so much easier to accomplish the silly little routine things if I had a significant other- but just as that thought enters my mind, on it's heels I am reminded that my soul tribe is always here for me-my friends who have helped me out in countless ways this last week...  It has truly put the whole independence thing into juxtaposition for me. I often pride myself on doing things by myself, Ms. Independent, blah blah blah... but ya know, when I think about it- the whole independence schtick is pretty ego centric. I read somewhere that there is a difference between loneliness and solitude- loneliness is born out of fear, solitude is created out of the confidence in ones self.  The former driven by ego, the latter anchored in authenticity... Damn! It seems sometimes like every damned thing I write about is interconnected. Without my soul tribe, I would be dead in the water right now, and it's my tribe that demands authenticity of me.  Significant other or not- I have an entire fucking tribe pulling for me- and that, it pretty fucking amazing. 

Now, I am reminded just how fucking grateful I am for you all- seriously.  I have certainly had my moments of frustration, but when I stop and actually take it all in, I think I needed this little reminder that we're in this together.  I needed a little restart with the energy I had been vibrating... out with the stress, out with the ego, in with gratitude. So long as I've got my tribe to feed my soul, things will flow- and there is no need to force any connection-romantic or otherwise.

Fireflies of the Soul

Today is day 2 of a 21 day 'cleanse'.  Nothing too crazy... just eating clean, cutting out booze, and making a commitment to get back to some of the self care stuff I have slacked off on these last few months.  Hopefully the next few weeks will give me back some energy, patience, clarity and awareness...a little reset, if you will.  The first three days are always the hardest for me... my body and brain are working overtime to pump out all the toxic shit I have been collecting in them for the last several months... I do this 2 or three times a year... generally spring and fall, and I sometimes wonder what it would be like if I could just stick to it as opposed to jumping on and off and on again... I suppose self discipline for me comes in incremental doses, alternated with periods of self indulgence.

I have been called 'overly sensitive', emotional, hell- even crazy.  I have written about the intensity that comes with feeling all the feels, it's exhausting sometimes, beautiful other times, and sometimes it's confusing.  It takes an immense amount of energy and vigilance to consistently monitor what I am taking in and also what I am filtering out.  And because I have been burned pretty hard before with respect to being authentic with people about it... I often am not.  I scale back, I hide, work hard at only letting parts of myself come through. It's a tough spot to be in sometimes.  Sometimes, it's lonely and frustrating.  Sometimes I want so desperately to just let it all out... and sometimes I do let it all out... I will hop on here and write, or lose myself in a great book or I will meditate or walk or cook... occasionally parts of it trickle out in conversation... sometimes the flood gates open and it comes out in sobs or laughter, sometimes I just brood quietly. 

For the most part, I have learned how to embrace it (or at the very least, manage it) I have developed an elaborate system of self care that seems to work... when I actually practice it-which of course I fail at often, but hey, we're all human-right? I have written at length about how my self care regiment is an awkward stream of ebb and flow... sometimes I am super on it, sometimes I am not... and the benefits are obvious when I am, the consequences just as obvious when I am not. I suppose I wear a lot more on my sleeve then I would like to admit sometimes. 

I stumbled over this article on Survival of Super Sensitive Souls this morning, it was a nice little reminder that I am not the only one who requires a little conscious upkeep.  For the most part, all of those tips are things I do on a regular basis...  I am not always great at recognizing number 4, which is why number 5 on that list is so damned important.  When surrounded by people who understand, the chances of picking up what's not mine or being judged for being who I am diminish and therefore authenticity is almost guaranteed, in time. 

Number 6 is that ebb and flow I was talking about.  When I get stressed, I tend to put self care shit on the back burner, which launches this vicious cycle where I eat shit, don't sleep, and dive further down the rabbit hole of unconsciousness.  This in turn distracts me and allows for people and 'stuff' that isn't mine to sneak in through the window of stress, robbing me of what little energy I have left for myself.  I get run down, overwhelmed, and start making terrible choices and my mood and attitude follow suit... this goes on for days, or weeks or months, until something will finally sound the alarm loud enough for me to stop, take a breath, and actually listen to myself. 

At some point in all of this, I realize that taking care of me requires much less effort than not doing it... even though I may whine and complain to myself about how it seems like consciousness is sometimes the short straw... like those who are living unconsciously seem to have it so much easier, that ignorance does seem to be bliss at times, and why can't I just stick my head in the sand like that person...or why can't someone just take care of me... and then I remember, we all have some beautiful disaster in us, and it's the beauty that makes the disaster worth it.  And then it dawns on me-I am good with taking responsibility for me, because I know I will come through for me. I know that even when it seems pretty deep and dark and self deprecating in my own mind... The darkness provides me with the opportunity to appreciate my soul's fireflies because it's that same darkness that gives them something to illuminate.

The Fear Factory

So, I have been thinking a lot about fear lately. This post: FEAR GOGGLES is pretty good. Read it if you want.  It made me think about all the different sorts of fears we all face.  Well really, to be honest, my own fears.

Within that post are some great examples of  things we as humans fear:

The fear of being alone, of being abandoned, of being cheated on, of being harmed, betrayed or used.
Alright, let me own that. Some of those are things I fear. So what drives them? What fuels them? Where do they begin? I mean, mine can basically be boiled down to two separate, but related fears-fear of disappointing others coupled with that intense fear of rejection I have written about many times before in posts like Pulse...

Reading through back posts, it's obvious that this fear topic pops into my mind often.  I try to both stay aware of it, as well as push myself beyond my warm and cozy comfort zone as much as possible.  Which means being aware of when I am avoiding things for the simple fact that I have some fear surrounding it... In the last year I began conquering one of those fears by starting to go places solo, which may seem like no big deal to many of you, but for the girl who would NEVER so much as THINK of rolling up to a party (even if it were a party of my closest friends), let alone a bar, or far scarier, a restaurant without some sort of wing man or posse as a buffer, I had this intense fear of being alone, with myself. So, this has been a gigantic step.  I think it's interesting that it took almost four years of singledom to get to this point of comfort with myself amongst the outside world. And I won't lie, when I started challenging myself in this way, it was fucking scary, but now, it seems pretty second nature.

I think some fears are much more predominant in our lives today because there are so many ways to AVOID facing those fears.  For instance: it was a hurdle to start doing shit on my own, but the bigger hurdle came when I challenged myself to do it without having my face buried in my phone as a crutch (yes, there's ALWAYS another layer). With the litany of social networking sites and the like around the web, it is easier than ever to have my best face forward (or buried) in all sorts of arenas... as I have mentioned before, this is not necessarily a bad thing; I do not believe it is possible or plausible to let every single person know every single side of us. I mean come on, that's TMI with a capital everything.  Where it does become problematic though is when all of our authenticity is lost in that process AND the very act of doing so leads us further away from any sort of self evident truths. 

A friend shared this post the other day, called 7 Reasons Why You Will Never Do Anything Amazing In Life and as I sat at my computer, reading through the list, I was struck by how many of those things (albeit unintentionally) I am guilty of.  That first reason, because you haven't failed enough, struck the biggest chord with me in respect to all this best face forward shit.  A few years back, I wrote about being ready to fail a lot in the post Shutter Speed. I went back and re-read that post and thought, huh. It all still applies, and.... I am STILL doing my best to avoid failure, which is at once a frustrating and refreshing awareness.  It's frustrating because confronting awarenesses over and over IS fucking frustrating.  It's fucking tough to once again gnaw on that old shoe-leathered-humble-pie.  But, at the same time, I am grateful to make the connection (again) and begin (again) to work through the awareness, discovering new (as well as forgotten) ways to apply it in my life.

So, with my own fears, I find there are generally two paths that I take, one is the above mentioned old familiar path of avoidance.  The other, is to keep them locked up in the dark, slyly thinking that if I don't let them out, no one else will notice.  I visit them often, I feed them an organic, high fucking protein diet and I allow them to exercise daily, in the back corners of my mind.  And, over time, they grow.  They become fit and far too big for that closet I originally housed them in. And at some point, they break free. 

And there I am, standing in front of the mangled closet door, completely flabbergasted as to how my fears could have so easily escaped. And all of the sudden, panic sets it. H-O-L-Y F-U-C-K, HOLY FUCK, HOLY FUCK! The tidal wave of anxiety hits me. The autonomic fight or flight response sets in. And, I begin searching desperately for those ripped, gnarly, fears.  I am pissed and hyper focused on finding those fears and re-caging them. But my focus is misguided.  Because the point, all along, has not been to cage my fears. The point is to either let that shit out or step into the cage and fucking fight it out.

...So you must fight hard to express it. You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it. Because if you don’t, if your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to future attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you. ~ Yann Martel (Life of Pi)

That's a quote from a quote in How to Be Afraid & Do It Anyway, which helped me really bring some of my fear shit full circle.   I am tired of continuing to nail the fucking closet door shut for fear of my fears getting out.  I am good with having fears. I am not good with letting them rule me. So, as the chick so brilliantly suggested, it's time to introduce those fears to the light of day. Perhaps the most striking quote from the above post is this:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.”
I think I have come to the realization that all of my fears... in whatever skewed form they take on in a particular moment are less about my own perceived inadequacies and more about claiming my own power.  Sure, I know that I have the power to change my life, or my perceptions or my thoughts, but I don't know that I have ever allowed myself to truly and completely let the depth of that sink in.  Usually, I think of this in terms of 'not giving my power away' now I am starting to see that it's about truly owning that power.
What would happen if instead, I chose to embody it?  What if instead of worrying about what others think, or avoiding things for fear of failure, I were to focus completely on what I think, and how I can manifest things in my life?  Perhaps then, I can make some real progress.  Pretty sure that the lack of commitment to myself is what feeds the fears.  Devoting so much focus to keeping those fears in their cage (or chasing them back into the cage) allows me to temporarily 'forget' these awarenesses...ya know, like the awareness that avoidance is a detour, not a solution.  Sometimes things are so damned simple, it's the over thinking that gets me. Every. Fucking. Time. 

I let my mind run wild with fears and endless inner chatter.  As a result, I lose focus and I lose that cage fight with my fears. When it comes down to it, I can choose to let my fears rule me or I can choose to quiet my mind and center myself.  So simple... yet so very easy to forget, if I allow myself to. 

Freshly Pressed Dress

Do yourself a favor and read this. 


I frequently rail about the special, unique, and important generation Mr. Rogers aided in creating.  I am not a fan of the modern concept of individuality, in my opinion it is a sick and grim outlook that is perpetuating stagnation and allowing us to pat ourselves on the back for really accomplishing nothing.  I do not consider myself to be any sort of special gift to mankind, I am a human.

I was the first type of kid he talks about, growing up. Awkward and unsure how to take praise that seemed unfounded... but as the years went on, I wove those baffled moments into a my super hero cape that masked my own insecurity.  Slowly, tough bitch was born, I walked around smug and arrogant.  If you didn't like me that was your problem, I pretended not to care. And that attitude became so second nature to me I did not even realize it WASN'T ME.  I totally bought into the "this is me, take it or leave it" power-trip. 


 I can see that this was all a part of that crazy web of self defense I crafted for myself.  It goes way, way, way, back to the little girl inside me that is desperate to come out. To be vulnerable, the little girl that wants to take the complement, the little girl that wants to be praised.  That little kindergartener that just wants to play in the finger paints with all the other little girls.  And even now, as I become more aware of her, as I get to know her, STILL, I diminish her. Still, I tell her that this is a silly song and dance.  STILL I tell her that she needs to get over herself.  I sit in silence and I judge that little girl. She's five and full of innocence, and I cannot help but to fill her little head full of doubt. 

She wants to be friends. She frequently approaches me, with her sweet smile and wonder in her eyes, and I shoot her an angry glare and I chase her off.  I tell her I don't have time for her stupid little games, and the wonder in her eyes dissipates, and they well up with tears. 

Stop crying little girl! I shout at her. 

It scares her. She runs off into the distance and I don't see her for a while.   I wonder where she went... I worry that I may have scared her off permanently.  I feel bad for making her cry.  I start looking for her.  And at some point, she re-surfaces...Eventually, I find her, playing in the deep forests of my mind. 

As I approach her I can see she is happily nestled into her own world of imagination.  She's sitting alone in the clearing of a meadow, in her little white dress, freshly pressed and pooled around her, her copper colored locks seemingly set ablaze from the sun filtering through the trees. She looks up at me as I approach her, eyes, crystal blue, once again shining brightly with wonder. She smiles and reaches up to grab my hand. 

Come on, she says, lets go for a walk...

Her innocence, her trust, her sweet smile, that twinkle of wonder in her eyes.  It's all quite enchanting as we walk hand in hand in the forest.  She points out pebbles and sticks... leaves and insects... each one a more astonishing find then the next.  Everything seems so illuminated through her eyes. And the further we walk, the more I begin to see it too.  The raw beauty overtakes me, and for a moment... or an eternity... it's not me and the little girl anymore, it's just me.  Me in the crisp white dress.  Me with eyes full of wonder, locks ablaze, innocence abounding, and then... something startles me.  I jump back, my heart racing, I glare at the little girl...

Where have you taken me? I snarl.

She stammers to reply, but before she can, she vanishes.  Back into the thick of the forest... and I am left standing there stunned and I wonder...maybe that little girl is onto something.

Wanted

Sleeplessness engulfs me when my mind goes on the run.  Thoughts speed through my mind at a ferocious  pace, one I am scarcely able to keep up with.  In those adrenaline fed moments, as the chase ramps up in my brain, I want to be able to sit down and hammer it all out...to strike a deal with my captures and vomit up whatever venom is pulsing through my veins, and I don't care what form it takes... words on paper, conversations, tears, hysteria, whatever. But the bargaining chip of self expression was abandoned at the scene of the crime, and I am over taken by this fierce inability to concentrate, even if I knew what I wanted to say, the words to articulate myself elude me; making talking damned near impossible.  Forgetting what sparked the chase before I've reach it's end point.  Wasting loads of time retracing the mental footsteps as my mind spins around it's hamster wheel, searching desperately for the clue that will proclaim my innocence. 

Being on the run can get pretty lonely at times.  There's an undeniable hunger for human connection, but it seems as though no matter how much I yearn for it I cannot manifest it.  An urgency to both connect and disconnect at once.   Like a fucking junkie whose just shot their very last morsel of dope, now high and searching desperately for the next hit...  In times of even a little more mental clarity I can recognize this as the game my monkey mind plays with me, and that it persists for only as long as I'll allow it... 

Everything seems so scattered and I fear I will never make sense of anything when I am in the middle of those marathon mental quests. Somewhere in the pursuit, the scene changes. Atop my bench I sit, in solemn  judgement of myself as I hold court...  what the fuck is wrong with you?! Judge, jury and executioner.  The burden of proof is on me, each side presents it's case:

The jaded prosecutor shouts-

"The evidence is clear! LOOK at all this PRODUCTIVE time being wasted... an extra 6-8 hours a day...the defendant could be accomplishing things."

And the bleeding heart defense fires back- "not all productivity can be measured with linear and tangible parameters."

Witnesses are called, experts weigh in, and one by one, they are all consequently discredited.  

And so, the trial trudges on for days.  As does the self imposed gag order.  And things get messy.  Each side is thoroughly convincing. But all the evidence is circumstantial. When both sides have exhausted their arguments, the jury is dismissed to deliberate my fate.

Truth is, productivity comes in many, many, forms.  Sometimes it looks the way I think it should... in the form of measurable gains at work, or a clean house, or some beautiful bit of creativity.  But sometimes, it's disguised as 'wasted time'.  Encrypted in long hours of seeming idleness... but in all actuality this is when the raw assembly begins.  Below the surface of consciousness.  Exhaustion strips away the guards I normally carry around... the ones that I don't even realize I have until they disappear in the long black stretches of night, somewhere between the high speed chase and subsequent hours spent in solitary.  And in reality, there can be no deal cut. This goes one of two ways...and the jury comes back

Could it be? The jury is hung, a mistrial is declared. As I emerge, I feel the sun beat down on my skin, I gulp in the fresh air, and I walk away. I will most certainly have another trial, but today freedom is mine. I can't help but realize it's that point I was running from all along.  There is no production.  There is no progress.  The crime is in murdering the present with the past and the future.