Sunday, August 16, 2009


I had plans today. Fun plans, plans to which I had looked forward for weeks. Roller-blading in the park with Eula today, maybe lunch and a drink or two. Definitely laughing.

But I cancelled. No roller-blading. No lunch. Certainly no laughing.

I woke up at 7am feeling like I was in someone elses' skin. I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling for two hours trying to convince myself that I just needed more sleep or some coffee or less activity in my brain.

Sleep and coffee didn't help and the only ways I know of to shut off my brain are either too permanent or the sort of thing that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

So I cancelled my plans and went back to sleep.

I feel bad, but I'm really terrible company today.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Eating leads to heart burn

A week ago I ruined a box of macaroni and cheese. I grew up making mac-n-cheese for myself. Standing at the stove, I'd stir the noodles constantly while reading a book. I would test the noodles, sucking them into my mouth off a wooden spoon, chewing them fast so they didn't burn.

I never timed the noodles. I don't know what the instructions on the box say.

Last Sunday, I timed the noodles. I used the timer on my iPhone, cause it's still brand new and shiny and it is far sexier to use that timer than the old boring one that is stuck to the stove.

I set the timer for ten minutes and walked away. Probably playing with my phone like a child with a new toy; I didn't stir. I didn't even set foot back into the kitchen until the timer went off, the horrible buzzing alarm that I'd chosen as an alert clanging in my ears.

I had ruined the mac-n-cheese. Soft, soggy noodles made me think of over-cooked bits of brain. I ate it, because I'm like that, but every bite was like chewing up squishy cheese-flavoured maggots.

Today I wanted a sandwich. Or fresh, hot pizza. Or home-made chili. I have none of these things, but I have more mac-n-cheese.

I stood at the stove, reading Carlucci's Edge and stirring my noodles like a good girl. I put the stopwatch on my phone on, so I could determine exactly how long to cook my noodles.

It turns out, I like them at right about three and a half minutes.

I ate my food too fast, and now I have something like heartburn.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Bad words

I don't know what my words are doing. I sit before a blank page, willing words onto it.

But they are all stopped up inside me. How do you say it? Blogstipation.

Half the time I can't stop them. They bounce around in my head, like unruly brats hungry for dinner. They wail lustily at me, eyes scrunched up, tugging at my shirt-sleeves.

Begging for attention.

Other times... they're more like sullen teenagers hiding in their rooms with headphones on. Refusing to come join the rest of the family. Moping and rude, ignoring chores and shirking responsibilities.

Ungrateful words. I'm grounding you. No TV for a month!

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Leaking crazy

Other people's words light fires in my soul. I wish I had my own sometimes, words that would flow out of me, like a giggling stream. Or a stream of giggling.

I think poetical thoughts in my head, clever phrases dressed up like a princess. But they don't make it outside my brain.

They get trapped there, stuck in my head like something too large to fit down a drain. They swirl and flirt, dancing in their pretty pink dresses in the dirty water of my mind.

Never going down. Never finishing up. I can't shut them up, and I can't wash them away.

Dirty, unwashed thoughts inside my dirty, unwashed brain.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

A new sort of Sunday

The Husband started a new schedule at work recently, working weekends for the next six months. Today was his first Sunday at the office. I was looking forward to the time to myself, the quiet solitude. I had many big plans for today which included yoga, maybe a run (yah, right) or weight training in my gym-ling, a haircut, some knitting, and grocery shopping. I traded the workout and haircut for laundry and WoW and spent most of the day a small state of confusion.

Even though I was looking forward to the solitude it was a little more difficult to get accustomed to than I anticipated. It reminded me of what Ajahn Brahm says about letting go of expectations. He tells me to let go of circumstances for the sake of the circumstance, and experience what is right in front of me in this moment instead of focusing on what is missing, or what may have existed here in the past. Or, even worse, focusing on what might be here in the future. I spend enough time focusing on what will happen in the future...

I missed The Husband today because I enjoy spending time with him but I was also happy to have the entire apartment to myself for a day. I felt almost guilty enjoying myself today, because I don't not want to be around him. But I did enjoy filling up the space here with only my sounds.

It's an odd dichotomy and makes me feel weird inside. Like everything else inside me, I'm not entirely sure what to do with that.

Next weekend, more yoga. I could have used the grounding today. At least I got some laundry done and now there's food in the house.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Food decisions make me cranky

Food is a big problem for me. I haven't been able to figure out why, in years of trying to sort it out, that planning meals puts me in such a bad mood. I recently admitted to Mr. J. that the nightly discussions of what to eat for dinner make me want to run away from home.

It was sort of a shock to hear myself say it, and I'm sure it was a little bit of a surprise for him too. I felt badly about that, but it's the truth.

When I was growing up, mealtimes were serious business. My mom did lots of cooking and freezing, so dinner was always cooked even if she was at work or home late. Breakfast was always hot, lunch was always brown-bagged, and dinner had most of the necessary food groups. Even though money was tight and schedules conflicted for much of my childhood, we had that meal-time problem sorted out.

I don't remember having a lot of input on what we ate as a child. I was given choices if I didn't like what was prepared, but mostly food just showed up on the table and I ate it.

And maybe that's where my frustration comes from: maybe I just don't want to have to make decisions about it. Maybe I just want the food to magically appear for me. One facet of my marriage is that neither of us make unilateral decisions. Which, really, is perfect half the time. Some decisions, though, I honestly don't care about and can't bear to have conversations about them.

I know this makes me incredibly unreasonable. I am trying to figure it out, but mostly I don't know where to start.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Yoga, interrupted

I went to yoga yesterday, for the first time in a long time. I took my step-daughter with me and we had a blast. I'm not as limber as I used to be, and certainly not as centred. I felt off-balance, physically and emotionally.

Not helping my sense of balance and compassion was the woman who came in fifteen minutes late, her thongs clap-slapping the floor and her children giggling and whispering. She took her time setting up, instructing her girls where to put their mats. They unrolled said mats, and not quietly. As each of the three mats slapped down on the floor all at once, I had to fight not to scream. They settled, eventually, and just as I started getting back to my zen-place the mother began whispering instructions at one of the girls.

This is such a difficult situation for me. I want to be all happy and peaceful and understanding about how I have to share the world with others. I want to stay grounded in my bubble, not letting others intrude on my space. I really, really want to disassociate from reacting based on my environment. I try to have compassion and understanding; I try to let my heart fill up with good-will towards others; but really, I just wanted to yell at them until they cried and fled the studio.

Clearly, I have a long way to go.

Please, please, if you are going to bring your kids to yoga at least be on-time and considerate of others.

Also, don't wear shorts that gape at the leg if you aren't washed and shaved.

Saturday, August 1, 2009


When your eyes are an inch above your path, how do you gain perspective? Is it better to hover above your path so you can see in all directions, then choose a course based on some data? Or is it better to keep your eyes an inch above your path and simply deal with whatever you encounter?

What if we could rise above our paths and see the obstacles and lessons that lie in each direction, and choose based on what we thought we could handle?

If you could have your choice, if you could know ahead of time, would you? Would you fly far above and search out your futures, or would you stay closer to the earth and let it all come at you at its own pace?

I read a story about a grasshopper today. It was five sentences, and I can't remember it. Profound though, and thought-provoking. I felt blissful and alive just reading it, and then I promptly forgot it.

The really great thing about being me though, is that I hold onto that blissful feeling even if I don't remember the reason for it, or the words behind it.

Some days I really love being me.

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