These sleeping problems.

Go with your gut. That's what these years have taught me. If you ever have the feeling "Oh, why are we together? We seem wrong for each other! Why is he interested in someone like me? Shouldn't he want to be with someone less...difficult? More boring? With less opinion?"

The answer is YES! Get outta there before you do something that you can't take back! He doesn't want to hear your opinions? That's a problem! You DO have things to say that ought to be listened to by, of all people, a significant other! This is not your overactive imagination talking. These fears are all grounded in truth. TRUST YOURSELF. You are smart and you know how things work. Jeez. What in the world.

I went swimsuit shopping today, which has never been a hobby of mine. I've worn this same swimsuit for two summers, which is much longer than Target ever intended it to be worn. I need to throw it out, it's almost in shreds. Anyway, today first one I tried on, I bought. That's a first. And you know what, I liked the way I looked in it.

My jeans are all too big for me these days. There's all this space between my skin and the denim. Combination of break-up diet of no appetite a few months ago, combined with yoga and running for my sanity, combined with no Alfonzo food for about...10 months will do that. And then when I'm a single lady I go out to eat a lot less. I'm feeling good these days. Feeling good.

Ok I have to stop with the drunk blogging. Nonsense. Also I have to stop eating in my bed while drunk. Both of these things seem like such good ideas at the time. Eh, such is life. Gotta deal with the effects.

The Book of Longing by Leonard Cohen is beautiful. That's about it. It's making me want to write poetry.

Oh you, a living, breathing things like me,

With your muscles stretched across your back.

And worry lines carved into your forehead

The place where I don't go anymore,

Where you undid me.

I was addicted,

to the recognition,

of myself,

in you.

You know quite well, deep within you, that there is only a single magic, a single power, a single salvation...and that is called loving. Well, then, love your suffering. Do not resist it, do not flee from it. It is your aversion that hurts, nothing else.
-Herman Hesse

Today was one of those days that made me want to slam my head up against a wall in the hopes that either a) I'll go unconscious for a little bit, or b) it'll somehow shake up my heart as well and everything that doesn't need to be in there will tumble out. And create space.

I hate to be all mer mer whine I'm so complicated and fucked up, but I am definitely feeling that way right now. I've got some serious problems.

I'm feeling the need to sleep through the next month or so. Two months. I don't know what's on the other side, is the thing, so it might not even be any better. I can't concentrate. Fuck. Jeez, send me something along this way to get me through it all. There is so much pent up in me, it's starting to mess with my mind.

There's rain outside, I had to walk through campus in it. And I don't see anything clearing up any time soon. Eventually, I suppose it will all become too exhausting and I'll finally let go.

I got to sleep in today, and I'm about to go to yoga. Seriously in like five minutes. I'm convinced now that it's saving my sanity. I would be in a different place entirely if I didn't have this to keep me grounded. It's really the ultimate self acceptance. Not acceptance, love. That your mind, your body, is more than enough. So stand up straight, dammit. Take care of yo'self. It's selfish in the best sense. Time devoted exclusively to me, without any real gain for anyone but myself. I suppose, though, that when you improve yourself, then that filters into the lives of those around you.

I woke up feeling off today. I need to learn how to keep my eyes on my own paper, as someone told me recently. Stop comparing, stop wondering what other people are doing, wondering how much better they're doing their life than I'm doing mine. Eyes on my own paper.

"And it was hard, but you were brave, you were splendid..."

For whatever reason, I'll always remember you in the car, in the pink interstate dawn, somewhere in stark Midwest America, sleepy in the driver's seat, my feet in your lap. I always wonder about the lives of those in the run-down houses we pass in the car. I wonder if they have fulfilling lives, if if it's possible to live a satisfying life in one of those drive-through towns. The visors were down because the sun was rising, and the air was a little heavy already. It's eternally summer in my memory. We talked easy, like brother and sister, arguing over something that didn't matter. The music, more than likely, you played that fucking song for the third time. And those strings that tied us together, the strings that were straining under the heaviness of us became a little thicker, slightly harder to cut. So slowly that I kept my head down and missed the glaring facts.

I think

that mostly we all live lives that are very distanced from on another. Even though I'm around people all day, I still have very few truly honest moments with people. It's not that we're all lying. But we all have some sort of face up most of the time. Sometimes, though, for a few seconds, you get a glimpse of that outside layer stripped away, and you connect. That's all I'm trying to learn how to do, is connect.

Home

And I hope when I get old I won't sit around thinkin' about it,

But I probably will.

Glory days. Shit.

I'm not terrified of moving somewhere else. Maybe eventually it'll hit me what it means to leave this behind for a couple years. Or longer. But I wasn't all that scared to move to Memphis. I didn't cry when my parents left, even though I felt completely disoriented and sort of lost. Beneath that was the confidence that this was where I needed to be, above all.

I don't think I've ever really been homesick...I'm sure if/when I go to Europe (Italy this summer, hopefully!) I'll get homesick for America. But even when I first came to CBU, I never felt homesick. Is this what people are afraid of when moving somewhere new--this homesickness? I'm excited. To be honest, sometimes I feel a little home-less now. This house doesn't feel as much like home as the apartments of the last few years have. Sometimes I wonder if I'll drive by it in a few years and...I wonder what I'll feel. Sometimes I wonder if I'll look back on it as an asylum.

I may be homesick for Memphis--I can't even describe the memories that live here. I've grown up here, in these streets, more than I've ever grown. The feeling of crossing the bridge is coming home. There's been a lot of screaming fun and also heartache in this city. You have to have both of those to appreciate and recognize the other one. I have felt almost everything there is possible to feel here in this city. At times, it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six-inch valley in the middle of my soul. I think that's how you know you have really lived. It's how you know you haven't stayed too safe--if you've made some choices that have brought on a lot of pain. So of course I'll miss it.

I usually don't talk about specific details of my personal life on this blog. It's all sort of distanced, in a way, even though it's definitely all sincere. But here's something: I unfriended the person I've been writing about for a little bit. On Facebook. It was a big deal as I sat on my bed, with the mouse hovered over the "Ok" button. "Are you sure you want to unfriend..." I want the best things for him. But I also want the best for me. I had to. I had a moment where my heart was beating really fast, which is how it began, I guess. It was like when you're daring yourself to jump off some giant rock somewhere into the water. We've all done that. Anyway, I was in a great mood for the rest of the day, like I had just cut myself free of something that was drowning me.

"I cannot cure myself of that most woeful of youth's follies--thinking that those who care about us will care for the things that mean much to us."

-D.H. Lawrence

This is/was my mistake. Thinking that everyone should care about the same things I care about, with equal intensity.

"You were born to glow majestically

and love her til your hands bleed."

Wow I am obsessed.

With blogging. It's my 300th post!

I went to my last homecoming of my college career last weekend. And don't make fun of me for feeling like silly college parties are a big deal, they just are to me, I enjoy them. I feel like I ought to document it.

I ended up dancing with the same people I danced with my freshman year, the ones who I've grown apart from. You know how it is when you come to college--you pretty much gravitate towards people you know already and stick close to your roommates. These are the people who have known me since I was an awkward freshman. I had my first drink with them, I played Guitar Hero with them in Rozier for hours and hours. Played actual guitar in too Rozier, and they told me to sing, and that was nice. We've been to New York together, New Orleans, multiple beach trips. We've gone arching and caused trouble. They've seen me cry over ridiculous things after drinking too much.

And now here we are, and standing on the edge of something big, all this responsibility, about to be thrown into the huge world, and we will more than likely be out of each other's lives for good. I don't know if we recognize it. We've been in and out of each other's lives in unexpected ways--big and small ways, and we've affected each other in ways we don't even realize now. I can't fully explain how important these people have been to me. Part of it is the acceptance and the friendship they've given me, even if it's been an on-and-off sort of thing. It was the epitome of bittersweet, it made my heart hurt and made me wish the best things for these people, and wish for each of them something unique.

"Joy

is distinct not only from pleasure in general but even from aesthetic pleasure. It must have the stab, the pang, the inconsolable longing."

-C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

I finally bought my own yoga mat today. I always use one at the studio, but I have decided that now that I've been doing yoga for about three years (on and off) it is time. And I need to learn how to practice on my own too. So then when (???!!) I go off to some other state, or country, I'll be able to do it myself. I'm gonna miss Midtown Yoga, though.

I'm gonna miss EVERYTHING here, actually. It's actually starting to hit me that I probably won't be here for much longer. Part of me knows that this is exactly what I need...to go somewhere else for a while. I don't think I'm running away. But it's just time to move. I can do this. I'm going to be happy. I moved to Memphis and built a life here. It was easy. I can't believe I'm going to have to leave it all. There's been A LOT here for me. Is there anything else though? I don't think so. Probably, but I think there's more for me someplace else. I'm young and I'm about to be free to do whatever I want to do. So that's what I'm gonna do!

I can always come back. I've put down such roots here.

I hate my bed.

It is TOO SMALL. The sheet always comes off on one side. It's not soft enough. There's no room to roll around or stretch out. My feet hang off the end. I. Want. Somewhere. Else. To. Sleep. I'll start taking applications soon for new beds. If you are good at cuddling, you will be at the top of the stack. But you can't cuddle with me when I'm actually trying to sleep because that's uncomfortable. I am generally not all that touchy of a person, but man, I would not mind some basic cuddling right about now.

To you

I hope that every day you have a jolting moment that reminds you that you are young and alive.

I hope that you get to travel and do things you haven't done before.

I hope you never want to disappear.

I hope that you get to live in a home and a community that makes you feel warm. With a fireplace and a dog and neighbors and shit.

I hope you eat lots of good food and have lots of good sex.

I hope that you celebrate yourself and sing yourself. I hope that you read a poem that punches you in the stomach (in a good way, of course).

I hope that you can write about your childhood and the way your mom scratched your back.

I hope that you grow.

I hope that you drive with the windows down with the sun on one side of your face.

I hope that you get to walk barefoot on wet grass in 70 degree weather.

I hope that you know your heart.

I hope that you wake up with the sort of hangover that means you partied all night long.

I hope you have the snuggly feeling of coming home after you've been away for a while.

I hope you have children.

I hope we can, one day, build bridges.

Man. Sometimes I feel strong enough to withstand just about anything, and other times, I feel like a total mess, like I get so emotional about everything. Anyway, today is Valentine's Day. I think this date should be wiped from the calendar entirely. For those in a relationship, it puts enormous pressure on both of you to show how much you love each other, as though flowers and candy could measure that. For those who are single, you are essentially excluded from this national holiday. That you didn't want to be a part of in the first place!

I don't have too much else to say.

Laaately

You know that feeling of wonder at the miracle of your own body? I lost that for a while...but it's coming back...when I'm at yoga, I just have so much fun. Just being aware of my body and my breath and stretching is very...healing, or exciting, or happy or something. Thankful. I'll try to describe it...it's a very physical feeling. like my skin is humming. Haha, is that weird? It's this sort of buzzing of oxytocin...the same good feeling I get from cuddling or hugging, etc etc.

It feels awesome, it's such a break from the monotony of forgetting myself and losing awareness of my body. It make me realize more and more that this skin isn't just something I walk around in and use, it's me in a very real way and deserves love and attention as much as any other part of myself. Attention from myself most of all. Awareness. And again, I think about being single versus being with someone...it's harder to find wonder in your own body when you're by yourself. I don't mean this in a sexual way or anything. What I mean is...when there's someone there, validating you, paying attention to your body, telling you that you're beautiful, then it's easy to be like "hell yeah I am" but when there isn't, you have to find that in some corner of yourself. It's there.

A little pre-Vday post

Falling in love is the most dangerous thing I know of, with the most painful consequences, and the highest failure rate. It's the only thing that people still continue to do despite the odds being against them. People get their heart all tied up with someone else's, even though they're risking it all--their sanity, their pride, their independence. A hundred other things. I am convinced that being in love is a legitimate kind of insanity. You basically hand over a huge part of your self, and sort of have this trust that the other person won't fuck it up irrevocably or forget about you or break promises. And you share all these things--jokes, food, roads, states, beds, families, hands, hopes, inexperience, experience, friends. It doesn't make any sense. But then your belief undoes your disbelief, I guess. Or that's why people keep doing something that seems so impossible, at any rate. Or a lot of times, I feel like we're all just selfish, love-sucking masses of hormones.

I'm not saying that falling for someone is a bad idea. It's one of the best ideas, ever. I just can't quite reconcile the before and after feelings. The before: I remember feeling with all of me that this was so unlikely, yet so pure, and I was terrified of destroying it.

I saw the condensation on your hands, I could feel the glaciers melting.

Wow. Snow days are fantastic.

Inspiration, if I consider myself enough of a writer to call it that, is a strange thing. I can pull it out of me, sometimes, but most of the time I only feel compelled to write when I'm being all torn up by myself or by someone else. And then I have to, sometimes I have moments where I'll be driving, or I don't have a pen and paper ready, and I'll have a couple of seconds of panic, because I just found the right words, or a phrase that somehow works, and I can't write it down. Sometimes I wonder how much I've lost simply because I got inspired, but couldn't write it down at that very moment.

Feeling quote-y today

"In a perfect world, you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart. And every glittering kiss and every touch of flesh is another shard of heart you’ll never see again."

-Neil Gaiman

"Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it-don't cheat with it."

-Ernest Hemingway

Last night, I woke up at 4am and couldn't stop thinking. It was this avalanche and I felt myself buried under all these pieces of thoughts, fragments, really, things that don't bother me when I'm awake. That's when it gets dangerous, I'm sure you understand, when I have to pull myself out and remind myself to exist in reality. And take it a day at a time--how can I not be joyful when I learn how to do that? When I wake up ready to crack open a new day, like it's all mine, holding it in my hands? If I do end up tripping and scraping my knee, or if I have a few seconds during which I have to remember to breathe in and out (these things are inevitable), I can recognize its transience.

Give me a notebook. Give me some blank paper and let me be. Give me a purpose, a house to build or a story to write. Or a home. Food to cook with bright-colored walls surrounding me. Give me lots of laughter. Give me occasional patches of nostalgia. Let me give and give, from my hands to yours, until I forget what it’s like to hold back. Give me a quiet space and good books to read. Let me feel paper between my fingerprints. Draw me a bath and sit there and talk with me about your father. Or your dog. Have endearing gestures and speech patterns. Save time for me and time for adventure. Yell at me when I’m being difficult. And put my face between your hands later. Know me like the back of your hand. Play with my hair, please. Give me a reason to stay up late.

Best morning ever.

1. Not working

2. Waking up at 11

3. Making coffee

4. Making pancakes

5. Making a fried egg

6. Ravenously eating/drinking all of the above like I didn't eat an entire bowl of guacamole at 3:30 in the morning.

7. Doing laundry

8. Taking a bath and reading Madeline l'Engle's diaries

Soooo luxurious.

Later today: grocery shopping, some light homework, yoga, and mass are on the agenda. I love today.

I've felt a lot of clarity in these past couple of weeks. I've felt a lot of peace as well. This is a very good thing. I think it comes from being alone, solitary. When I'm with someone, I am REALLY with them, so much so that I feel as though I've been woven into his life. I don't know if I can be any other way. There's so much force and motion and life in my days when I was with someone. There wasn't a lot of peace. That experience was still fantastic. I loved it. But this new solitary life is incredibly freeing, and I haven't really noticed or appreciated this until now. Sometimes in the early hours of the morning, when I'm driving home in the snow, there's that ache, but I'm learning to recognize it, acknowledge it, and breathe into it. It's part of me, part of my past and my present, so I have no choice but to let it exist and love it.

I wear my heart on my sleeve to a large extent with this blog. But again, I don't know any other way to be.

I read an article recently that sort of confirmed something I've known for a while. Or at least made me think about it some more. The argument is that when we make bad decisions that affect our lives in very negative ways, we always end up deciding after a while that ultimately, everything turned out okay. So we create this fake happiness for ourselves.

It made me start to wonder how much I twist my reality to make it seem to myself like I've made the best choice--everything has been for the best, ultimately. When I look back, I have little regrets, but nothing big. I wonder how much of this is me ignoring these big flaws in my life so that I can sleep easier. Anyway, the article ended by saying that this false happiness is just as good as the real thing--our minds can't recognize the difference.

I sometimes wish that I could really and truly step back and take a look at myself and my life and decide what changes to make.