I'm so cold!

This is part of a vintage yarn painting kit - um, Last Christmas anyone?

It started raining this week. I guess it's rainy season now, since it went from lovely spring temperatures for President's Day, which I spent at a bicycle race out of town, to today, where I only wore a sweater to work, and I looked awful because I was so cold. Someone even commented on it at the market where I was getting a burrito for lunch (my new favorite place - it's awesome and close to work), because I was chattering and moving back and forth trying to stay warm. Ridiculous. Totally ridiculous.

I have a small heater in my office, which gets used to abate the chill that occasionally takes over the room, and I kept it right next to me today, along with a cup of hot tea. If my appearance weren't so important at my job, I would wear a ski sweater, and a knit hat, and jeans, and boots every day. I can't even think about it - it sounds sooooooo nice.

I don't know why I'm so susceptible to hot and cold. I got over it a few years ago. Going on insulin made it livable in the summer, but the cold is definitely still difficult.

Maybe I'll start wearing a hat. I think that's a good compromise. I can rock a hat. I'm gonna need to start looking for some more hats then :)

Regroup, keep movin'...*

Vintage I. Magnin Pottery - Pretty neat, huh?

I am currently sitting in a whole house, looking onto a rain-spattered patio, two needy poodles by my side, French Toast and coffee in my belly, and listening to talk radio, ensuring that my extreme liberalism is mediated a bit by the other side.

What is it about me and the fall that makes me such a mess? What is it about me that makes me such a mess? At this time last year, I was working through my final year of grad school, and it felt like agony. It felt neverending, like every day was scheduled to the minute, and I had no room to move. This is different. This is emotional exhaustion, and I'm going to sit in this chair until I figure out what to do about it.

How did this happen? Well, it was a confluence of events, really: I haven't been doing so well on reaching my goal of no more freak-outs and no more chasing men (I know - I'm sorry), and I'm dirt poor and constantly worrying about money and blaming myself for my own choice to work in a field that will never help me leave the garage, and I'm in a weird spot where my support system has changed pretty drastically and I'm still trying to restructure and rebuild.

And then there is the reality of being a grown-up, that relationships are difficult, work is everyday, and sometimes low blood sugar becomes life threatening. Sometimes I want to scream at my friends who don't see that the answers are right in front of them, but right now I'm on the other side, unsure that there are any answers or solutions to what are really pretty small problems that I have allowed to overwhelm me.

I don't believe in "God's lessons" or that somehow I'm in a complicated play where in the end, I will be wiser because everything has worked out perfectly for the best. I believe in choice, and human nature, and this morning I am really, really stuck.

I'm taking some time off from life, gonna regroup, try to make sense of it all. Peace out :)

*The title is part of a lyric from a math album I sang on in elementary school. The full lyric goes, Regroup, keep movin', don't let the numbers get you down. Classic.

Delusion.

Pewter and Turquoise - pewter is a funny word.

I'm attempting to sort out some things in my brain at the moment. I use the word attempting loosely. I've been doing it for a couple days, but mostly I'm left just staring at the ceiling, in a daze. I think I've written some poems, and I'll probably write some more, but I don't know if that's even sufficient.

I like to have control. It's a safe feeling. It's a delusional feeling, but safe all the same. But these past two months have been completely out of my control, bringing things into my life that seriously seemed previously unthinkable and impossible. When I was in school, there was a rhythm. Predictable things happened. I worked all the time, and I was exhausted most of the time, and my brain was tired with all of the neurotransmitters being connected. But in the midst of exhaustion was a sense of certainty, that there was a goal at the end of every road, even an ultimate goal. But now there is no ultimate goal, just lots of learning new things and falling down, and standing back up and continuing on. There are no grades, no end to projects, no certainty about the future (again, delusional thinking).

I wonder how much most people fear stability, the quiet of the present moment, the constant unknown and lack of control. My insides get twisted up, and have to be untwisted, and that takes a little while, and a lot of staring at the ceiling.

Peace out :)

B I K R A M

Revue Eyeglass frames, from France!

My bff has become completely and totally a Bikram convert. She talks about it all the time. I've been hearing about it for three straight weeks. And since I'm already a wannabe yogi, I figured it was worth my time to give the whole thing a shot. I knew what I was getting into. It would be hot. I needed to be still. I needed to be prepared to sweat a lot without wiping it away, etc, etc. So I waited until I was actually up to the challenge, and went to the studio yesterday afternoon.

It felt like I walked into an oven. It felt oppressive without moving. I've lived in hot, humid places. I've exercised in said places. But I was not prepared for the heat of that room. It was unlike anything I have ever felt, save the moment I stepped off the plane into the equatorial heat of West Brazil six short years ago. But I was committed, and I didn't doubt that I could do it. And I was able to do the first maybe 25% of the poses, when I stood up and felt sick to my stomach. I knew my blood sugar had plunged, and I knew that I had to get out of that room, but the teacher told me to stay and sit, and I did not feel like I could do anything else. So I sat, and I sat, and held back tears that came out of nowhere.

Eventually, I caught the teacher's eye and asked if I could leave. Her response was not positive, but I was adamant. I knew I needed to check my blood sugar, and I needed to not feel so sick for another minute. I sat for a while in the front room, and drank my water. My sugar was 75, which is not pre-comatose, but not okay to keep going in the negative direction. I had to leave. I had to go home.

I wailed all the way home. It was bizarre. There were no feelings or thoughts associated with the wailing, just a raw, guttural noise from my soul. Eventually, it ended, and I ate dinner, and slept through the night.

It wasn't a good day to go, and I want to go back. But I don't know when I'll feel up to it. I think that heat is a really big stressor to my body, and I'll have to be in a perfect place blood-sugar and energy wise before I try again. It's difficult for me to accept defeat, even temporarily, but if I'm learning anything at this point in my life, it's that I need to have patience to get the things I want.

Peace out :)

Victorian Romance

Vintage Fire King Milk-Glass Tulip Saucer :)

I'm still listening to Taylor Swift. Whatever. My mom thinks my life is a Victorian romance novel, but I know better. Pathological delusional thinking does not a romantic life make. My life is below-the-fold material.

I think my love life makes me look like a little kid who doesn't know anything about life or commitment. It makes me look like a stupid single girl who thinks she knows things she could never know. Maybe those things are absolutely true. Maybe I am stupid and silly and immature. Maybe I'm seriously emotionally disabled and operating at a 13 year-old level. I think I'm okay with those things being true right now, mostly because who I am is who I am, and there's nothing I can do about it.

So maybe I'm a hopeless romantic, combing the landfills of love, looking for something salvageable. Maybe you've heard this all a hundred times, and thinking, "What the hell is this blog about anyway, and when is it going to get interesting?" Well, sorry. I'm just a poor little orphan girl, looking for a home, and trying to make sure that people stop looking at the new, and start looking at the old.

Ingrate.

A mug depicting Picasso's 1954 bullfighting poster

You know when your friends are the biggest jerks in the world, and you feel like such a martyr, but also an awesome person because you forgive them and continue to love them? Yeah, that's you being an asshole, and by you, I mean me. Because it feels like shit on the other side, to be that friend who is a humungous jerk, who didn't do it on purpose, who felt completely justified in the moment. Oh man, I'm remembering all those times I felt like a pious martyr, bestowing grace upon my poor ingrate friends who couldn't hold it together long enough to treat me well.

Well, it doesn't feel so great on the other side. It feels really scary, scary because your friend might decide that enough is enough and call it quits, or they might treat you as you deserve to be treated, like the asshole that you are. Or they might just be the bigger person, and forgive you. Man, life is hard, and not at all black-and-white. It takes work to not throw people away.

My Spanish vocabulary words for the week are pundejo (asshole) and junta or reunion (meeting). I have been working really hard at watching seasons of Weeds to learn Spanish, and listening to people talk to one another in thrift stores.

Mira, Mama, mira!

Hope for better.

Vintage Christian Dior Eyeglasses - yeah buddy :)

There's a Lori McKenna song that I listened to on repeat last fall. I couldn't get enough of it. It made me feel like someone was speaking from my heart; someone understood how it felt to always be the most honest and vulnerable person in the room.

It seemed like I'd always been in a relationship with someone who cared enough to sleep with me, but not enough to be seen with me. And over and over I felt alone in my feelings, judged by my friends for staying with men who treated me badly, and judged by the significant (?) other for always being too much.

I suppose those experiences taught me to be less expectant, less dependent upon other people for supporting my emotional well-bring. And that's a good thing, no matter what. Today, I'm pretty glad I had a tough time after my first big heartbreak. It's been thirteen years, and I've learned so much about life and love and other people. It's difficult to be bitter when so much good has come out of so much pain. But I'd never tell that seventeen-year-old that her heartache was a good thing. I'd tell her that it was going to hurt more than she ever expected, but that many many years later, things would get better.