Tremendous Blondette

at Best Buy.

Here is my lesson learned and my plea to all–design your public restrooms with stalls that allow people to see clearly (but not clearly) if a stall is occupied.

Also, stall doors should lock. And you shouldn’t sit down to potty in a stall before checking to ensure that your stall does indeed lock– if there are 4 other stalls and you choose to poop in the one with the gimpy lock, well then, I feel less bad for opening the door on you.

Thank goodness all I saw was your hand.

Design smart people.

Everyone should wander around naked. As I was driving to work this morning I realized I am my biggest obstacle. Some people smoke, some people lie, some people just don’t eat right and exercise enough in the right combination. In this country, lovely wonderful country of my origin, we have a fixation with a standard of appearance and obesity. It’s an interesting paradox isn’t it? The more we advance our abilities and message about being healthy, the more we notice how fat we are.

Let me back up. Over a month ago, for some unknown reason (okay I know the reason and I just don’t want to tell you) I started classing up my look–meaning, I started wearing makeup, attempting some sort of hair fixing, and wearing decent outfits not consisting of sweatshirts and old man cardigans.

Interestingly enough, I felt better about myself. Even on a day off of the “look” I put on makeup and used–get this–the blow dryer on my hair. I looked less lazy! I love my old man cardigans; they are scholarly and warm (and have nice pockets for tissues) but it sure does feel good to put on a nice shirt and a corduroy jacket every once in a while.

So, let’s circle back to my first statement: everyone should wander around naked. We should not fear our bodies. We should not fear other people seeing our bodies. That’s what I say. I know I’m not perfect, but there are some nice things about me. And hey, the fewer clothes you wear, the less laundry you have to do! So, take it off!

While holding a paperback at Target, skimming the first chapter of what is best termed “chick-lit” (not to be mistaken for Chicklets the delightful square sugary shove as many in your mouth as possible and chew for approximately 5 minutes before the flavor is gone gum) I for a few moments, disconnected from myself. But where have I been?

I keep trying to find pretty words and explain everything, but why? Do you really need to read though my convuluted, unhealthy thought process? The simple truth of the matter is I had a couple of bad experiences in December that caused me to hate myself and lose some friends and I’ve been dealing with those feelings all year. On top of work, wisdom teeth, Weight Watchers, and getting sick repeatedly, I’ve been trying to get to my Denouement.

I’m conflicted with wanting my friends back (if they will have me, which is a BIG if) and wondering if it will lead me right back to where I was last year and derail my current life corrections quest.

I would say that I’m living in a bit of fear of making mistakes and taking other people with me. In essence, I’m afraid of myself and hurting people again.

I didn’t write about 2008 during its waning moments; in fact, I will call 2008 a year of lessons that I did not want to learn. It was a year where I found out more about myself than I’m comfortable knowing; a mirror too true to deny any longer. The seven deadly sins, the ten commandments, the golden rule- all tested in 2008.

I’ve tried to reconcile what I think I know about myself and what I have seen of myself. The end of 2008 was what I would call my moment of “rock bottom.” Haven’t I done this before? Is this going to keep happening?

At 28, I cannot relate to my peers. Normalcy so long sought, still unattained. When I lose the ability to relate, I become a fuzzy whisper of myself. I lose my sense of belonging and status.

Instead, I connect most fully with that which is not real; books, television, movies, everything a mirage. A wooden puppet wants most what it cannot have, humanity.

I learned that I do not face up to my own anger. I never have. I let it burn.

Lately, my dreams give me a hope and sadness that I cannot shake until long after my morning coffee. To see me at work during the day, humming and keying formulas into spreadsheets you’d think I was someone else.

To gently ruin one’s own life is actually quite easy. It is as easy as a bottle of vodka. I am one of those people who has trouble with moderation. I become someone I hate, untrue to my core and wicked in my turn. I abuse in an effort to hide, calm, and exhilarate.

We can not take back that which we have done.

There are things we’d never think ourselves capable of, but we are all flawed. We are all human. We are not as good as we think.

For most of 2008, I knew I was not living as I wanted to live- there are plenty of posts on this lovely blog detailing the goals and dreams I have. What you don’t see are the posts that never made it past draft status that were written following any of the stumbles I’d taken.

Shame is an interesting ally. Now in 2009, I’ve undertaken healthier initiatives as I work my way back to not just good physical health, but good mental health. I’m working on feeling worthwhile and forgiving myself–it’s not working so great right now.

The title of this post is a song by U2. I can’t help but remember a chain of emails between friends where several people talked about how much they hated the band U2 and then there was much quoting of lyrics (not just U2). Why do I remember it, and why can’t I go back? Would I go back?

I look at how I’ve matured in certain areas of my life: fiscal responsibility, work responsibility, but yet, I went backward in other areas of life. I regressed socially and interpersonally.

I don’t think I even know the answers to my questions. I keep writing and trying to figure out what I think and feel about everything and how to write it in a way that does not garner feelings of hostility in my readers. Instead, I hope they will read and understand where I’ve been, where I’m going, and why things have changed.

I must admit, I like this QuickPress thing (I wonder how long it’s been around?) This blog is sort of bare with this new theme (not a knock on the theme, but I still need to personalize it a bit more.)

Here’s some pictures you might enjoy.

i broke a few mugs

It was festive and pretty.

I finally upgraded Wordpress and it was 8000 times easier than I thought–yes, my host has 1-click upgrade. I felt kind of dumb once I saw that.

Writing is uncomfortable. It’s all about figuring out what you think, feel, and then how to say it without sounding like a jackass. You have to construct a theme, something to unify the piece. For example, this post is about the craft of writing, and more specifically, how hard it can be and my process. There are so many points to juggle– does it sound trite? will readers catch a reference made with some form of figurative language? does each paragraph ultimately contribute to the meaning of the whole?

Here’s my writing process.

1. Stew.
2. Ruminate.
3. Stare at something, surf the internet, close my eyes, rock back and forth, drink lots of coffee, sing, stare, got down notes
4. Pick a topic (based on a catchy phrase or title)
5. Write several disjointed sentences.
6. Write several more disjointed sentences.
7. Edit some and delete some. rearrange order of sentences.
8. Decide I’m tired and give up.
9. read, re-read, edit
10. Fresh burst of inspiration–write more
11. re-edit
12. Post.
13. read posted content and find typos–correct typos and think of other things to change and/or add
14. Re-read
15. Wait for comments.

So why is it so uncomfortable and labored? Because to me writing is a portrait of me that I paint with words and one wrong stroke can ruin the entire interpretation.