I've been sick most of the week. Not like, death-bed sick, but sick enough to be displeased about the situation.
Today I'm finally starting to feel better and I'm easing myself into the master cleanse. Currently I'm replacing one meal a day with the lemonade mix, hoping to get to two by Wednesday, then a total fast for the next week. And I know, I know, you're not supposed to ease into it, technically, but when it comes to dietary changes, I do much better on a gradual scale, so that's what I'm doing.
Why the heck am I doing this at all, you ask? Mostly I'm just curious to see if I can do it. You know how much I like food.
But what do I love even more than food? That's right, a f*ing challenge.
Which brings me to my next point: I am so bored without school. I am constantly trying to find things that both consume my free time and challenge my being. The last couple weeks, for example, I've been super into handstandmadness, but then once that started going well I totally convinced myself that I could probably do the scorpion pose unaided, and fell over and smacked my spine HARD on the bookshelf.
It somehow refused to bruise AT ALL (but then again, I've never been easy to bruise), and yet simultaneously hurts like hell whenever anything brushes my back within 3 inches of the impact site. (A week later no less). Lame.
So now I'm sort of off the yoga/handstand/fitness challenges for the time being, and onto other things.
Speaking of other things, I MISS YOUR FACE!
So much.
I've been thinking about you all day, and hoping that today was better than yesterday, and that all the....you know, drama is over with now and things are (more) peaceful.
I still can't link from youtube, inexplicably, and yes, I am still annoyed about that.
And, I think that's all I know...
All my love.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Still frustrated...
...with the youtube/blogger issues. I am however, now able to post written posts...I think.
We'll see. Hopefully this works.
There's not a lot going on here in the desert, but I'll fill you in on the mediocrity anyway. :)
I recently stumbled across my old livejournal entries I exported to my computer back in 2006 before I deleted my account. As I was going through the 122 pages of entries two things occurred to me.
First, that I literally have NO IDEA how I survived my early twenties. You couldn't pay me to be 21 again. No way, no how. Such a fragile, broken creature I was. Whatever suffering I think I may be plagued with these days seems almost insignificant when held up against my bleeding-heart entries from my youth.
Second, I had no idea how carefully I'd documented so much of my life.
I never really thought of myself as much of a journal-er. I never kept a diary, at least not in any regular fashion as a kid. I mean, I had diaries, lots of them, and of course, the infamous fuzzy notebook, but I never could manage to stick to writing in them in anything even vaguely resembling a consistent manner. It just seemed like bad form to have my thoughts lying around where they could be used against me. So I'm sure you can imagine my shock when I found I had written 122 pages worth of entries in between September of 2005 and January of 2006. Craziness.
Even stranger, after I'd read through them all (and what a read that was!) I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd written a lot more posts than were in that file. After some research, I dug up a second livejournal account that stretched from March of 2006 clear through August of 2010. How on earth had I managed to forget (in the most total, and complete sense of the word) about something I'd so religiously updated for so long I'll never know.
Anywho, I (somehow, buy the grace of what Gods there may be) my login/password, exported the millions of entries and then deleted that account as well.
It's been a really strange experience. Even more so, perhaps, because I don't have any hand written journals from my childhood, and so am not adjusted to being able to go back and read over events that I have no recollection of. Still, I'm grateful for having found them, and for the perspective it's given me. Good, solid evidence that life goes on. That I am constantly changing, and that all bad things eventually pass. :)
Other than that, there's not much to report. The weather is lovely right now, mid 80's to low 90's. I've taken up mountain biking with the boys from work. I miss you fiercely all the days. And I'm excited for the summer to get here.
Hopefully this posts correctly.
All my love.
We'll see. Hopefully this works.
There's not a lot going on here in the desert, but I'll fill you in on the mediocrity anyway. :)
I recently stumbled across my old livejournal entries I exported to my computer back in 2006 before I deleted my account. As I was going through the 122 pages of entries two things occurred to me.
First, that I literally have NO IDEA how I survived my early twenties. You couldn't pay me to be 21 again. No way, no how. Such a fragile, broken creature I was. Whatever suffering I think I may be plagued with these days seems almost insignificant when held up against my bleeding-heart entries from my youth.
Second, I had no idea how carefully I'd documented so much of my life.
I never really thought of myself as much of a journal-er. I never kept a diary, at least not in any regular fashion as a kid. I mean, I had diaries, lots of them, and of course, the infamous fuzzy notebook, but I never could manage to stick to writing in them in anything even vaguely resembling a consistent manner. It just seemed like bad form to have my thoughts lying around where they could be used against me. So I'm sure you can imagine my shock when I found I had written 122 pages worth of entries in between September of 2005 and January of 2006. Craziness.
Even stranger, after I'd read through them all (and what a read that was!) I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd written a lot more posts than were in that file. After some research, I dug up a second livejournal account that stretched from March of 2006 clear through August of 2010. How on earth had I managed to forget (in the most total, and complete sense of the word) about something I'd so religiously updated for so long I'll never know.
Anywho, I (somehow, buy the grace of what Gods there may be) my login/password, exported the millions of entries and then deleted that account as well.
It's been a really strange experience. Even more so, perhaps, because I don't have any hand written journals from my childhood, and so am not adjusted to being able to go back and read over events that I have no recollection of. Still, I'm grateful for having found them, and for the perspective it's given me. Good, solid evidence that life goes on. That I am constantly changing, and that all bad things eventually pass. :)
Other than that, there's not much to report. The weather is lovely right now, mid 80's to low 90's. I've taken up mountain biking with the boys from work. I miss you fiercely all the days. And I'm excited for the summer to get here.
Hopefully this posts correctly.
All my love.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Tuesday.
Tuesday was one of those days where everything just systematically went wrong.
I was crying out of frustration long before 9am.
By noon I was mostly dead on the inside.
We had tacos for lunch.
And shortly thereafter I threw my back out.
I limped home feeling morose and tried to take a nap.
I woke up to cramps that I'm pretty sure could have ended the world.
I took some medicine and went to bed.
Hours before the sun even set.
Ick.
But now its over.
I'm feeling better.
And I love this song.
I love you too Dear Friend.
Always.
I was crying out of frustration long before 9am.
By noon I was mostly dead on the inside.
We had tacos for lunch.
And shortly thereafter I threw my back out.
I limped home feeling morose and tried to take a nap.
I woke up to cramps that I'm pretty sure could have ended the world.
I took some medicine and went to bed.
Hours before the sun even set.
Ick.
But now its over.
I'm feeling better.
And I love this song.
I love you too Dear Friend.
Always.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Men Have Called Me Mad
“Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence--whether much that is glorious--whether all that is profound--does not spring from disease of thought--from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their grey visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awakening, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil.” (Eleonora, E.A. Poe)
Reading Poe today, feeling exhausted and melancholy. It's one of those February days where everything is off. Nothing tastes good. Nothing appeases me. All things are irritating and sub-par.
I've been making mental lists of things that I dislike, which are really much more like lists of possible things I could find to dislike about the things that I actually like.
It's not a terribly productive use of my time.
February is gay.
And not the fun kind of sexy gay that I am, either.
Just the bleak sort of Heart of Darkness kind of gay.
And there doesn't seem to be any foreseeable end to the suffering.
Uuuuuugghhhhh
Can you hear the whining in my voice? It seems to permeate my being.
I've been avoiding writing here for days now, because it seems all I manage to do is complain. I'm actually not that despondent.
Mostly I'm just restless.
Restless and bored.
Restless and bored, and waiting for the end of February.
Ha!
I miss your face.
That's all I know.
Reading Poe today, feeling exhausted and melancholy. It's one of those February days where everything is off. Nothing tastes good. Nothing appeases me. All things are irritating and sub-par.
I've been making mental lists of things that I dislike, which are really much more like lists of possible things I could find to dislike about the things that I actually like.
It's not a terribly productive use of my time.
February is gay.
And not the fun kind of sexy gay that I am, either.
Just the bleak sort of Heart of Darkness kind of gay.
And there doesn't seem to be any foreseeable end to the suffering.
Uuuuuugghhhhh
Can you hear the whining in my voice? It seems to permeate my being.
I've been avoiding writing here for days now, because it seems all I manage to do is complain. I'm actually not that despondent.
Mostly I'm just restless.
Restless and bored.
Restless and bored, and waiting for the end of February.
Ha!
I miss your face.
That's all I know.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Song of the Day.
For the record, I still fail to be able to listen to Rihanna without thinking of lunch at the Heart Attack Cafe with you. You should be here.
All my love.
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