tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66202805440221119482024-02-19T17:01:03.264-08:00Random MusingsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-42167534474219205662015-06-29T11:43:00.001-07:002018-07-21T18:19:37.222-07:00The F Word<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Fat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My entire life I always felt fat. Obese even. I noticed how my thighs touched or I would pinch my skin in front of the mirror and just cry because I felt so huge. I couldn't understand it. I ate right and worked out and always the girl in the mirror looked so fat. My ass. My boobs. My thighs. Everything! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Looking back at photographs, I don't think I have ever been fat. I just didn't believe it though. I wasn't perfect and I wasn't happy with my body.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I just gave birth to my son almost 2 months ago. I felt so comfortable with my body (usually...) when I was pregnant because I accepted that I was not in control. I could control what I ate but ultimately that baby had to grow, and I had to grow, and I felt adorable with my baby belly. I loved it! In the back of my mind though, I kept thinking "what happens after? What happens if I can't lose the weight? What happens if I have saggy skin and stretch marks?" I didn't want to dwell on it, but I was wondering if I would become very depressed or if I would ever be happy with myself again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, the fateful day came and I met my son. It was by far the hardest, most incredible thing I have ever done. My body did that. My body created this little boy who stole my heart. My body got him safely out. My body continues to keep him alive with breastmilk. My body, the one I always hated, created and sustains life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am about 8 lbs away from my pre-pregnancy weight, and it's more like 18 lbs from my ideal weight. You know what? I have never felt more beautiful. Sure, there are a few stretch marks here and there. Sure, my belly hasn't recovered from having the abs literally ripped apart by my uterus. The scales say this is the largest I have ever been but it doesn't bother me. If I went shopping before and I had to look at larger sizes, I would leave and starve myself until I fit into the smaller sizes again. It would ruin my whole week. The Man just took me shopping for my birthday and I hardly glanced at the tags. If it fit well, I was happy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My body didn't let me down. It did what it was supposed to do. It bears the signs of bringing my snuggly, sweet boy into the world, and I feel fucking beautiful.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love my imperfect body.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-19961218514311931202014-07-13T20:55:00.001-07:002018-07-21T18:19:37.134-07:00Sunrise Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
If one year ago you told me what my life would be like right now, I would have had you committed to an insane asylum. It would go something like this:</div>
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<b>You:</b> "A year from now, you're going to sell cars, and you're going to be really fucking good at it. On your days off you are going to model and be happy with your body. You are going to live in Phoenix and you're going to like it. Oh, and your friends? Just wait. They would jump into a volcano for you if you asked them to."</div>
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<b>Me: </b>::dials 911:: "Operator? Yes, I have a raving lunatic at my house. They are talking crazy. Send help."</div>
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It's funny how life changes...very slowly, and then all at once.</div>
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Here's a sneak peak of my last modeling shoot with Duane Furlong! </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-4683157523104021722014-06-23T12:55:00.000-07:002018-07-21T18:19:37.278-07:00Supergirl<div style="text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Don't you think that it's boring how people talk,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Making smart with their words again, well I'm bored,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Because I'm doing this for the thrill of it, killin' it,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Never not chasing a million things I want,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And I am only as young as the minute is full of it,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Getting pumped on the little bright things I bought,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But I know they'll never own me.</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTy5r5W6MmHh-cFW2ogAG2MPxRnNQ8z-LvDmMLbn3_IdJH1E6q-r2v1-HKTV8mHbOQcJOhjj8aK357BmhE1an5Q39bbz4i6Cib91wKKrpthuCxLGnGPieqIqrG7nuD_frykQ9e9FOtL1m/s1600/Supergirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTy5r5W6MmHh-cFW2ogAG2MPxRnNQ8z-LvDmMLbn3_IdJH1E6q-r2v1-HKTV8mHbOQcJOhjj8aK357BmhE1an5Q39bbz4i6Cib91wKKrpthuCxLGnGPieqIqrG7nuD_frykQ9e9FOtL1m/s1600/Supergirl.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Something has changed. Maybe it's a culmination of a myriad of small changes, but the picture of my life is entirely different now. I think that quote from Perks of Being a Wallflower is true- we accept the love we think we deserve. That said, I think I had the best birthday of my life.I had a mild moment of panic right before midnight on the 19th, when I realized 23 is pretty close to 25, and people are supposed to have their shit together by now. I'm getting there, only now there isn't really room for major mistakes. I have to get things right the first time. All day on the 20th, I felt so appreciated. I felt so loved. Not everyone gets cake on their birthday at my job. I got TWO cakes. I got to blow out a candle. I got sang to. People brought me Starbucks all day long. I got the most gorgeous new dresses, bathing suit, and shoes. Someone got me a coffee maker. A beautiful bouquet of roses was delivered to my work in the middle of the day, and my heart melted. It's the thought behind each gift that matters to me. Every one was so personalized. It's nice when people care about you, and pay attention to everything you say. It's nice when people go out of their way to make you smile. If you have people like that in your life, hang on to them. I know I plan to.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMo1zS8xYMsfnE7boZExtooNRdk0PRLTQIAPqo69dIRpbi3VsMqml43WFaNpM78-iW92xIcsoVhhdTzDXUbuCgAvOSXzQ03neqx946HKeqJvXmWQ0z5wDwdnBob6bDKtnoHl_KgeEc5rHR/s1600/IMG_20140620_121644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMo1zS8xYMsfnE7boZExtooNRdk0PRLTQIAPqo69dIRpbi3VsMqml43WFaNpM78-iW92xIcsoVhhdTzDXUbuCgAvOSXzQ03neqx946HKeqJvXmWQ0z5wDwdnBob6bDKtnoHl_KgeEc5rHR/s1600/IMG_20140620_121644.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTAns-c_8j82M-5jwLxEY08jM-xv_NhB_9y3GNqIvvty_IK5OMPsqqgZlOYLkMiOIttampKvy5IaNxnDUX9hoUYFwgBXO2mXtSzQ4LwSZE5W6EJSuaF33-26V0gaYTqYRcepoYCq2gVcc/s1600/Snapchat-20140623124725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTAns-c_8j82M-5jwLxEY08jM-xv_NhB_9y3GNqIvvty_IK5OMPsqqgZlOYLkMiOIttampKvy5IaNxnDUX9hoUYFwgBXO2mXtSzQ4LwSZE5W6EJSuaF33-26V0gaYTqYRcepoYCq2gVcc/s1600/Snapchat-20140623124725.jpg" width="179" /></a><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-78276742209178428642014-06-04T12:03:00.001-07:002018-07-21T18:19:37.393-07:00Vroom Vroom<div dir="ltr">
It's funny how life works. I always had a plan. I was supposed to be a veterinarian or go to grad school for neurobiology. My life was all about science and love, and I liked it that way. When it all changed, I tried to fight it. I didn't want to accept it. There wasn't anything else that piqued my interest. Old friends gave up on me too. I knew I was the problem, but I didn't care enough to change. Or rather, I didn't know how to. I was miserable and I wouldn't want to be around me either, so it was for the best that I was alone. Sometimes I would wonder why, if maybe there was something else I was supposed to do with my life, and this drastic end to all my old plans was the only way to achieve it. Then I would immediately think I was stupid, there is no higher power guiding my life, we are all alone and our choices make or break our lives. Still though... sometimes it was like the universe was laughing at me, and whispering "Just wait..." <br />
Even, a month ago I had no idea what I was doing. I had a job that I liked and I wanted to get promoted and move to Colorado. The job was just that. A job. I met tons of people every day, but I worked alone. I got fed up when they kept making payroll errors. I looked on Craigslist and there it was:<br />
"Bilingual salespeople". <br />
Did I ever in a million years imagine that I could sell cars? No.<br />
Now that I'm doing it, I wonder why I didn't start sooner. It's not for everyone. The hours are ridiculous. You have to actually know about every car. You have to know how to talk to people. I love it. I've been there 3 weeks and I already made sales alone and with coworkers. It's addicting. I thrive in high stress environments.<br />
I can actually envision this as a career path. It's not just a job anymore. We all basically live there, so our teams are like families. What's even more awesome is that my motivation and skills are actually recognized. It's not like I've sold 15 cars in one month, <i>yet</i>, but they all see that I will. I can't wait to prove them right.<br />
Take notes, parents. When you believe good things about a person, they will do anything to prove you right. After my mom died, I had no one left that believed all those wonderful things about me so I stopped believing them myself. I have that again. I have a whole slew of people that believe the best, so now I believe it again too. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-82528463775738832202014-05-21T21:36:00.002-07:002018-07-21T18:19:37.451-07:00My Summer Wine<div style="text-align: center;">
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"<i>Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time..."</i></div>
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So... I haven't posted in a while. I need to unload some brain vomit.</div>
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I have so many plans, hopes, dreams, and fantasies. Unfortunately, I have a tendency of making rash and impulsive decisions that end up backfiring and costing me everything, financially and emotionally. Call me crazy, but I think maybe, just this once, I am going to plan. The last time I planned, it also backfired and ruined my life, but this isn't the same. It's more of a loose plan. A rough outline, with wiggle room. I was so eager to go, go, go, get the hell out of here, but I'm ill prepared. It was a possibility with my last job, since they were promoting me and transferring me to Colorado. That was a plan! However, due to issues with payroll (the issue being, they weren't paying me!), I had to leave that job. I was pretty bummed and saw this as a huge setback. Leaving that job is starting to look like something religious people refer to as a "blessing in disguise". I see it as an opportunity to regroup, refocus, and make a solid plan. When I finally do go, I don't want it to backfire. I don't want to come crawling back, depressed and penniless. When I go, I want to have a real chance at life and achieving my dreams. <br />
So, I took a logical step and found a new place to work. The new place happens to be the number one Nissan dealership in the state. My last job was in sales, this one is even bigger sales. The hours are insane, the office is like the car dealership equivalent of Mercy Grace hospital (Grey's Anatomy), but I'm loving it so far. I think my brain was so starved for knowledge, that it doesn't matter that it's cars I'm learning about. It's just happy to be studying <i>something.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwG4GrZvcfqIFgd6sqtpgBoSB8rN1rybqVJ7qEk8XpvQ-WnbPP7L3eB4tP9HaIEZa5w5DMZ-vmDFYOH-OnXyg5idFSFUVdZPleFanUMWpqEQ6Z3mI4X1erwLOwPPn1oUJTHoNK77lWXH8z/s1600/lunalovegood.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwG4GrZvcfqIFgd6sqtpgBoSB8rN1rybqVJ7qEk8XpvQ-WnbPP7L3eB4tP9HaIEZa5w5DMZ-vmDFYOH-OnXyg5idFSFUVdZPleFanUMWpqEQ6Z3mI4X1erwLOwPPn1oUJTHoNK77lWXH8z/s1600/lunalovegood.png" height="400" width="307" /></a>From there, all the pieces seem to be falling into place. I am very grateful to my dad for letting me stay here for a few months, but let's be real. I need to move out. The perfect opportunity arose, and come July I will be back in a house in Tempe with my best friends. Even better is the fact that one of these friends has cast me as the female newsanchor in a new ASU film department newscast. It's going to be news for ASU, in the style of Weekend Update from Saturday Night Live. I will obviously update my blog when there is more concrete information. I just know we start filming in August, and the garage has been converted into a studio for this project. Funding has been provided by varios organizations on campus. I am so beyond excited about this. I get to act with one of my old theater pals! <br />
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Life has also had a funny way of surprising me lately, in a good way. <br />
For the first time in a long, long, time, I'm not just pretending to be happy or pretending to be excited. I am! I am genuinely pleased with myself, and curious about the future. My last year, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Looking back, I can say with complete certainty that I can survive anything. I depended <i>on myself</i>. I got through it <i>on my own.</i> There will be dark days, everyone has them. Tomorrow is the second anniversary of my mom's death. The day, this whole month, is not easy. I don't have a time machine, though. I can't go back and fix anything. Dwelling doesn't help, clearly. The only thing I can do is <i>keep going</i>. People can't help you if you don't want to be helped. They especially can't help you if you don't ask, or if you don't try. I learned that I can rely on myself...but I learned that it's okay to lean on friends during the bad days. Knowing that is priceless.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-77671860673256244702014-03-20T12:37:00.001-07:002018-07-21T18:19:37.335-07:00Be Happy<div dir="ltr">
Why are people so opinionated about other people's lives? Let people do what makes them happy. Your life might be perfect for you, but it's somebody else's worst nightmare. <br />
I can't stand the idea of living in the suburbs with a mortgage, credit cards, a job that doesn't travel...but that's so many people's dream. If that's what you want, go for it. Get it. Just understand that to people like me, that's hell on earth.<br />
I want green, I want animals, I want to travel around the world. My goal is to move to Europe, but in order to do that I need to make sacrifices now. To me, less is more. I don't want stuff. I just want a place where my pets and I can live without stressing about ending up on the street if I don't get my next paycheck on time.<br />
I've been having to rethink everything. Clearly I need to get out of Arizona for my health. I'm allergic to every native tree and bush. It's causing circulation problems, peripheral neuropathy, and misery. It's not a sustainable life for me here. I always owe at the end of the month. <br />
I talked to an airforce recruiter, so that's still an option.<br />
I also floated out the idea of Colorado to my boss. My company is opening a branch there, and the sooner I go the more likely it is for me to get a promotion. <br />
I even seriously considered living in an RV for a bit, with a minimalist mind set for the next year. Maybe it sounds trashy or ridiculous to you. I don't care. It sounds like freedom to me. I could cut my expenses to less than $300 a month. That's including gas to get to work, and food. I could save a lot, pay any debt. I could actually enjoy my time between paychecks and spend time with people that matter. I could write, paint, read all the books, and ride horses. I could afford to go see my favorite bands play. Maybe volunteer at the Humane Society. <br />
Quality of life is more important than how much shit you can buy. Experiences matter more than staying in the (not so comfortable) comfort zone.<br />
I'm ready for more change. I control what direction my life takes. You do too.</div>
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P.S. I don't take life advice from people who don't lead the kind of life I desire for myself.</div>
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Photo courtesy of an imaginary Twitter friend. :)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-41888006682680255682014-02-12T15:20:00.001-08:002018-07-21T18:19:53.317-07:00The Dancing Dragonflies<p dir="ltr">The girl lay in an empty apartment, counting the dragonflies on the ceiling and the stars in her eyes. The room, somber and silent, came to life. The patterns were undulating around her, and the still air became restless.  She ignored it,  her gaze transfixed on the ceiling. The wind whispered and sighed, attempting to capture a moment of notice from the starry-eyed girl. She seemed to grow weary, and at last let her eyelids drop. The black oblivion she longed for did not engulf her yet. Instead, the familiar kaleidoscope of her mind greeted her warmly. A breeze fluttered through the open window, and the wind delivered an echo of sound from a different time to the helpless form on the ground. She heard a clinking of bottles, the sound of a screen door, and unfamiliar laughter. The colors in her mind rearranged themselves into still frames. She saw the door. The sweat forming on the cups. The dark night. The smoke swirling towards a ceiling, before dissolving into the night. Another echo, different laughter. She recognized this. More still frames, this time of all of their faces. Her. Him. A cat. Him. A set of fingernails with chipped black polish. That guy's tattoo. Her necklace. Warmth.<br>
At this point the girl tried to open her eyes, but it was as if they had been glued shut. She tried to scream but the sound caught in her throat. Another echo...the same laughter from earlier, but sharper, more defined. The still frames enveloped her body, this time showing her the dripping wax, the ash on the ground, the cuts behind her knees, the aching in her throat. The sparkling laughter still resonated in her mind. It seemed out of place, a sharp contrast to the images, like someone started playing a movie with the wrong soundtrack. The breeze calmed and the scene dissolved. She was back to her familiar view of dancing colors in the darkness of the room.<br>
That's when the girl finally understood.<br>
She opened her eyes.<br><br></p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-61530303846123309832014-01-23T08:38:00.001-08:002018-07-21T18:33:26.171-07:00A Second WindI'm still trying to get used to my new life. Everything's new. Nothing, except for 2 of the cats, is the same.<br />I miss going to school. I miss...everything. Sometimes it's easy to get so caught up in missing things and people, that I fail to realize what's in front of me. I was starting to feel defeated, like maybe this acting/modeling thing was just a pipe dream doomed to fail and maybe I threw everything else I ever loved away for nothing. I haven't been this poor since my freshman year of college. I was applying to normal, 9-5, soul-sucking jobs again. I was losing faith...<br />It always seems to go like this with acting though. Just when you think your passion is going to bankrupt you, opportunity knocks at the door.<br />
Now I have an audition tomorrow. I have a photoshoot this weekend. There will be talent scouts at said photoshoot.<br />Maybe it's not a lot to most people, but it is to me. You don't have to be famous to act for a living. Everyone has to start somewhere.<br />It's getting a lot better, but I had been so sad... so I agreed to start anti-depressants again. Unfortunately, they did not react in a good way. They made everything worse. I felt like giving up. It exaggerated any negative thoughts I was having. If you or someone you know suffers from depression and needs meds, it's important to note that sometimes they do make things worse. Luckily I was warned, and luckily I made peace with my brother and we're friends again. He noticed. Sometimes all you need is for someone to notice. It was a rough patch, and I'm getting out of it. Everyone has to get out of it on their own, to some degree. I feel like I have a lot of reasons to be sad, but sometimes there really is no reason. I hope it's situational, and not something I'll have to deal with forever. I was a very happy kid, and a very happy teen, and I just want to get back there again. <a href="http://thebloggess.com/">The Bloggess</a> taught me that depression lies. Sometimes she writes very candidly about her struggle, and she offers encouragement. It's a hard thing to do. Being candid on the internet is a scary thing. People can use it against you. People can judge you for it. The Bloggess puts it all out there anyways, and I love her for that. <br />So, since I'm on the other side of the dark fog now, maybe I can offer encouragement for someone else.<br />What works for me when I'm so sad and every little thing seems so overwhelming and I feel like a failure is...my wanderlust.<br />I think of the places I haven't been. I step out of myself and try to see a bigger picture. I think of the history of this
planet, and all the landmarks I want to touch with my own hands. I think
of how foreign air smells. I remember how I felt on my honeymoon at the Mayan pyramids. I remember my walks around Alster Lake in Hamburg. I
picture myself on the ocean, floating on my back. Just floating. Many people might not know this, but I was a
beach baby. My parents had a timeshare in San Carlos, and we were there every year, without fail, for my birthday (until Alexa was born). Of course I would also tag along any time anyone else in the family went to Guaymas or San Carlos. So it helps me to remember the salty smell, the sound of the waves crashing on rocks. I
remember that time when I was left unsupervised at a new beach. It was
really clean and I had those goggles that covered my nose so I could
swim underwater like a mermaid. I swam out, squirming my way on the
seafloor, when suddenly there was a steep drop. I came up for air and
down I went again to explore. I could feel this cold, cold current coming from this
steep, dark drop. I went down as far as I could. Obviously that
situation could have ended badly, but something scared me and I came
back up. As I did, I thought to myself "I'll be back when I'm bigger. I need to
know what's down there."<br />
I guess...that. I need to know. I need
to know what's out there in the world. I need to know what's on the
bottom of the ocean. I need to know what's under the polar caps on Mars.
I need to know what else is lurking in the rainforests. I need to know how my story ends.<br />
Curiosity might kill me one day, but it's the only thing saving me right now.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-7475585155347867502014-01-13T13:36:00.000-08:002018-07-21T18:31:48.701-07:00Luna<br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I write all the damn time, in a notebook. I was talking to my brother about this. I have a bit of a dilemma. I actually uttered "some of my stories are just too real, even for the internet." ... :p<br />I guess what I meant was that...I want to publish some stuff. It is very personal, but also stuff that happened a long time ago. These aren't problems I am currently facing. A lot of people advise me against putting problems on the internet, but, well, what good are these stories if no one's ever going to hear them?<br />So, to lighten the mood in preparation for my first "I almost got shot" story, here's this awesome song I was sent!</span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-31260919761588852014-01-09T09:24:00.004-08:002018-07-21T18:20:11.003-07:00The Girl at the ShowIt's true that you don't get to choose what stays and what stays behind. I'm sure we all have some really random things we remember years later. When I am really sad and just don't have time to feel it all, I make myself imagine the happiest things that I can to bring out warm and fuzzy emotions instead.<br />
I used to sit and reflect on the endless directions that life can pull us, and would get lost in elaborate daydreams of the various different places I could end up, the different types of work I could be doing in 15 years, and wondering about the people who will become crucial to me whom I don't yet know. It always filled me with hope and determination. However, time seems to become a scarce resource as we get older, so I found something that requires much less of it: pulling from my happiness memory bank.<br />
<br />
A really popular mental destination of mine is the first Florence and the Machine concert I went to with my friend Kitty.<br />
It was a weekend trip, because did I mention the concert was in Los Angeles?<br />
The drive there was pretty spectacular. We shamelessly jammed out to our favorite ladies to get in the concert mood. After we got a couple of date milkshakes, I passed one of the ultimate friendship tests back then (somehow), because Kitty was actually letting me drive her fancy car. <br />
It was shortly after she let me take over that she discovered one of my most endearing qualities: my intense phobia of semi trucks.<br />
The rest of the ride was just a thrill for her, and a test to how well I could hold my pee in (from the intense laughter...and scares) for me.<br />
We realized as we were entering the Wiltern that night that most of the concert goers were females, in relationships with other females. We thought that was adorable, and I tried to hold Kitty's hand and pretend to be her lover but I don't think she was amused.We got an amazing spot. We were as close to the front as we could be without being in the pit, standing against the dividing wall. We had a better view than those in the pit, anyways. <br />
I'm super impatient and wanted the openers to hurry up so I could see Florence already.<br />
I was not expecting to fall in love that night, but I did. With Grouplove.<br />
They opened for Florence and the Machine. I still don't know if it was the caffeine pills I took before the show, or magic, or what. All I know is that I suddenly felt...alive. I felt like I was waking up from a coma. I felt like how someone must feel when they get told they're going to Hogwarts. Fireworks were going off in my head. The band just seemed so happy, liberated, and connected to one another. It was palpable.<br />
I think they were playing Gold Coast when I noticed the girl. There was a girl in the pit, dancing. She wasn't...dancing with anyone. She wasn't doing conventional dance moves. She was just dancing. It was like she could feel the music in her soul, like she anticipated what the next note would be before it was played.<br />
She was surrounded by people, but she was in her own world. She didn't care what anyone thought. I don't know how to describe this emotion. I watched her and I simultaneously wished I could be as free as she was, but also wished I never had to know what that was like. It was tragically beautiful.<br />
I don't know that girl, I don't know her story, I just know that at that moment I wanted to know everything about her, and I wanted to give her a hug. I didn't say anything to her though because I didn't want her to stop dancing.<br />
I'll never forget what it was like watching Florence and the Machine at the Wiltern, the dress malfunction, the electric energy, or singing myself hoarse. I'll never forget how excited I was about Grouplove, buying their EP, and meeting Andrew afterwards (and telling him he smelled good, what?). I also won't ever forget that girl, dancing in the pit.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-53871779889714760422013-09-04T18:55:00.003-07:002018-07-21T18:18:56.758-07:00Dizzying, Dazzling, and Tragically Beautiful<blockquote class="twitter-tweet">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I know this Vevo video is ten minutes long so, but the opening includes a poem/intro that I adore. I have a bit of a Lana obsession because while yes she's the singer and songwriter, but she makes some <i>b</i>eautiful videos to go with her words. They're haunting, enchanting, ethereal, melancholy..there's a beauty in the sadness. I think sadness might be the wrong word, too. (Forgive me for sucking at words sometimes)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When I watch films and I know what fate eventually befell the great actors in the scenes...well, it's almost....I can't describe the feeling I get, and hopefully I'm not alone and someone can help me expand my lexicon. It's like the feeling I get when I'm laughing and crying at the same time. The feeling I get when I accept the absurdity of life. The feeling I get when I watch the sunrise by myself, or lightning in the night-time rain. There is so much beauty around us, so many touching moments in the natural world that we may catch glimpses of, every sunrise will look different and so will every sunset. The clouds, the trees, you, will never be in quite the same position, the light won't refract in quite the same ways, the color combinations wont be quite the same... Beautiful but fleeting. Shining then gone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I'm learning to notice beauty, and I don't mean that in the shallow, put-on-makeup, posed portrait type of way. It's the behind-the-scenes, candid-photo type of way. We can always put on make up and dresses and fake smile until our cheeks hurt and get some pretty pictures, but a candid picture can capture that ephemeral moment of joy</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There were times when I was struck with an urgent need to memorize everything about a moment, commit it to my treasure trove of blissful memories before it ended. It's like I knew I would need those memories to sustain me someday. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This is a double-edged sword though, because I can't control which one of those scenes play out in my dreams. They're too real, too good, too happy, and my mind makes up new scenes that never happened and they feel so real. When I wake up I actually do have a few seconds of stillness, before that feeling in my stomach returns and I want to roll over and die. This is why the sharpest objects allowed near my bed are....cat claws? Archer takes the task of not letting me roll over and stab myself to death with his paws very seriously. He's waiting with fresh cat snuggles instead.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Having to remember so many changes, so many <b><i>losses, </i></b>and deal with all of it all over again whenever I get out of bed....that's why I loathe going to sleep. At a time when I needed my home more than ever to cope, there was no home to go to. I knocked on all the doors I knew, and there was simply no answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So I mourned</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> all the reasons I had to want to be a good person. I mourned the feeling of having roots firmly in the ground. And I mourned the future I had meticulously laid out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I don't think many things can feel worse than this, and I certainly do not wish to live through whatever IS. Before you waste your time typing, just keep reading. Yeah, sure, this is totally like that time your dog died and I should be over it. Got it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Yet...the worst I ever experienced prior to this, I was 16. In the aftershocks of that event, I was in a mini-freefall. After years of being a vegetarian,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I ate burgers again for the first time. I went to school with smirnoff in my coffee mug once or twice, I may have skipped a class or two, embraced the black nail polish, dyed my hair magenta, and just stopped caring what people thought. Rock bottom, looking back, was apparently not turning in an essay for Karen, and dropping that hard-won A.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I would be lying if I said that back then, a small, dark and twisty, <i>integral</i> part of me wasn't kind of relieved when some innocence or naivete was chipped away though. Falling can be exhilarating, freeing. It's when it happens all at once and I just hit the ground that's a problem. But I wouldn't be me without those falls, even the really bad or embarrassing ones. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Anyways, some of Lana's words and videos capture that a feeling of chaotic change for me, a feeling that's tragic and beautiful, between hope and despair. The feeling that <i>anything is possible</i> and like <b>nothing matters </b>at the same time... </span></div>
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</span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Edit on September 5, 2013 @ 3:56 PM.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-86930661376713737782012-06-25T20:28:00.001-07:002018-07-21T16:13:52.002-07:00Driving and BabiesDriving and babies make me cry. Today I got a little of both.<br />
I went to Goodyear to visit my dad. It is so hard not to scream and throw things every time I walk into that house. I just want to go plop on the bed next to my mom and tell her every meaningless thing that is happening in my life and then listen to her prattle on about the latest thing the babies she nannies for did. Instead I am greeted with her pictures in the living room and flowers that are there to remind me that she's gone. Her urn was there but my dad has taken it into their room now. My dad. Seeing him breaks my heart all over again. She was his life for 35 years. He is just so lost now and I can't stand it. Today I was in the living room and I heard clear as day the exact sound her slippers made when she walked into the kitchen from her room. <i>I know</i> she's gone but that didn't stop my heart from doing a little joyous back-flip and it certainly didn't stop me from looking up really fast. Even as my heart broke all over again, I got up and walked over there, just to make sure.<br />
There was nothing there. <br />
Any time I go visit and drive back home I cry the whole way. The stark contrast between what my visits home used to be and what they are now chip away at my soul and I cry. Today I stopped at Target before driving off, and I had to pass by the baby section. The only thing I can think of when I see all the adorable baby clothes, car seats, and nurseries is: who is going to care about my babies? I mean, aside from Anthony, I can't imagine anyone is going to care the first time my kid smiles or rolls over or sits up. Who the fuck is going to care when they are just sleeping really cute for the 200th time that week and I HAVE to take a picture? No one is going to want to see that many pictures. Who am I going to call freaking out when I don't know how to do something baby-related? Who is going to call me ten times a day just for me to gush?!? No one. No one is going to do that. I know how crazy my mom was with my nieces and nephews and how often she called my sister and how happy she would be to hear any little thing about the babies. I feel like other moms aren't like that, not to the extent my mom was anyways. My moms' ideal vacation was one surrounded by grandkids, and all of the vacations she ever took were to Mexico to see them. My mom was a nanny since I can remember. She has raised so many children from little babies until they start school. She was an infinite source of baby knowledge and I was so thankful for her. She has been curious as to what my kids will look like and act like since I was about ten. She really wanted to meet them. At the end, that was all she wanted. She would pray to God that she could be here at least for my first. She wanted to see me pregnant and to see how in love Anthony would fall with a little tiny blend of us. We aren't having kids for a while, but it already breaks my heart whenever I see little baby clothes at the store or see a pregnant girl out shopping with her mom.<br />
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This is all so fucked.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02731696595107022340noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6620280544022111948.post-53524499040907013182012-06-15T19:22:00.000-07:002018-07-21T16:13:51.678-07:0016 Percent Chance...Well, I wrote this last January, after my mom was diagnosed with cancer. If you are reading this, chances are you already know what happened. I meant to post this and other things a long time ago and update on how my mom was doing. Too late. But here they are anyways:<br />
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<b>January 28, 2011</b></div>
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I'm unhappy. I'm stressed. I'm
guilty for taking the time to write this instead of being at work, doing
homework, or being with my mom. I'm also kind of empty and numb. I don't WANT
to feel this, I really don't. My chest feels tight all the time, and the tears
are always just under the surface. If I lose my composition for even a second,
I know they will come rushing out like a cascade of water breaking through a
dam. And just like that, I will be powerless to STOP the tears until there is
not any more water left. This is what happened the first time I let myself cry
over this. It was awful. We had been drinking, my friends and I, and when I
knew I could retreat into my room without anyone caring I did. And I cried and
cried and cried for HOURS straight. There was no break in my crying. I took
sleeping pills during this hysteria so I could pass the fuck out and after a
few hours I finally did. One minute I was blowing my nose and wiping tears and
crying and next thing I knew it was several hours later and I was waking up on
a still-wet pillow with the tissue in my hand. Needless to say I felt awful and
don't ever want to repeat that ever again. So that is why I have to repress
this thing that's in my chest. It almost feels like it's a little dragon in
there, and it started out as a vaguely uncomfortable little dragon egg that I
could ignore but now he's hatched, and every day that I don't completely lose
my shit it gets bigger and stronger, and now he has claws and is scratching at
my chest from inside, and every now and then he breathes fire, because he
recently learned how to do that. In fact, I
know EXACTLY when this dragon learned to breath fire. It was the day I
decided to do more research on the internet to "make myself feel
better" about my mom's cancer. It
was also the day I discovered the number sixteen. Sixteen percent survival rate
after five years, that is, for stage 4 breast cancer. </div>
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Five
years. In five years I will be twenty four years old. That is WAY TOO FUCKING
YOUNG to have an 84 percent chance of not having my mom around. I know, I know
worse things have happened to other people. Some people never get to know their
parents, or their parents die suddenly in a freak accident when the kids are
young. There are natural disasters and poverty and wars. I honestly don't know
how the world isn't a more fucked up place than it is, considering all the
horrible things the majority of the world's population is subjected to on a
daily basis. I can't even imagine. But then again, I could never imagine one of
my parents getting cancer, either. </div>
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Most
of the people my age I know have never experienced death. Sure, they had a pet
die. Or maybe a distant relative, or a grandparent died when they were little.
Some kid they saw once in the hall at school died in a car crash. That is not
what I am talking about. Those people might think, "Oh, I've experienced a
death and it isn't as terrible as some people make it out to be." It's so
much worse. I lost my grandmother when I was 7. We saw her every day, and the
last few weeks she was alive she was living in my house. So yes, I knew her and
was close to her. Was I super upset? No. As a child, death isn't that terrible.
I didn't grasp the PERMANENCE of it, nor had I yet started to question whether
people go to " a better place" or whether I would ever see my grandma
again. I KNEW I would see her again, I didn't see why everyone was so sad if she
was somewhere better than here, having a ball. When I was in maybe 8th grade an
uncle died. Again, we weren't that close. This time, I was very, very sad that
he left behind a little boy, and my cousin was absolutely HEARTBROKEN at losing
her husband to cancer so young. I cried at that funeral, and I was genuinely
very upset for my young widowed cousin. But again, I wasn't in mourning. It was
sad, but I could leave the funeral and return to my life and not be consumed by
it. I thought I understood death then. Sadly, my cousin was the one who got
that horrible understanding then. She couldn't just "leave the funeral".
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Then
Austin died. The grief was all consuming for a very long time. I spent months
crying at night. Our lives are irreparably changed because of his death. My
family, his family, completely changed. There will ALWAYS be a piece missing.
It is still so hard to think about and I still cry. The crying is a lot more
spread out now. Usually something triggers it, or on New Years I don't know but
I was just hysterically crying about it. Heavy drinking triggers it too,
apparently. So it doesn't ever go away. It never will. Eventually during the
grief you just accept that this is always going to hurt and that you can't fix
it and that you can't give up on the rest of your life. The show must go on. The
whole process is so long and exhausting and fucking sadder than anything I had
ever known before. Before Austin died, when I read a book and someone died I
would get sad and think "oh that would be so sad". Now when I read a
book and someone dies I start bawling, because I know. It's one of those
feelings that you absolutely cannot imagine no matter how hard you try until it
actually happens. Then, no matter how hard you try, you can never forget. It's
kind of like being in love in that way I guess. You don't really know what it's
like, no matter how many romance novels you read as a tween or whatever, until
you actually fall in love. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
So having the experience of death in my
repertoire of memories is not helping me in the least right now. It's not one
of those things that will become easier because I already went through it once.
Nope. Now that I know... the remote prospect of losing my mom is so much more
horrible and breath stopping than I ever could have imagined when I was
younger. The whole process...of
grieving...is SO EXHAUSTING. It takes a part of your soul and keeps it forever and
ever. Not only that, I think of how many things would trigger a hysterical
crying fit for my mom, and it's basically anything imaginable would trigger
one. I feel like I am staring up at a mountain. A mountain on Jupiter. And I
know that somehow I have to get up that mountain and to the other side, and I
can't turn back because there is suddenly a moat full of alligators cutting me
off from my old life, and I can't just sit at the base of the mountain and
carve out a life there, because there's a group of orcs hunting me. So,
somehow, someway, I have to get over that impossible mountain that doesn't even
EXIST on earth, because if I don't climb it I will die, but getting up the
mountain might kill me too <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">because I'm
not a fucking mountain climber and I didn't even bring any water.</i> Fuck. Oh yeah, and I've never been to Jupiter so
just breathing is a huge hurdle at this point, not even taking into account the
orcs and the poisonous mote. </div>
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