What/Who/When is the Cure?

This morning I almost admitted defeat. I almost embraced the weight of helplessness, and the fact that the blue sky and most beautiful clouds I'd ever seen in my entire life couldn't penetrate the fact that I was tired, and in over my head. And you know what? Maybe I am. But after a nap and a warm pair of dryer-fresh pants, things started to turn around. I made a playlist I could bounce along to, and work was awesome. It always is. How can things change so quickly? Part of me wants to feel afraid that this won't last, and that I'll fall back into whatever had me cliche-shower-crying earlier this morning. I'm not scared, though. The chest bubble of light feels like it's burst and spread throughout my entire body instead of restricting itself to outward-bound channels. I've infused my flesh with the love I wanted to share, and in that, I can share it with everyone, anyone. Everytime someone takes a paper or a pair of tickets from me, a little bit of it rubs off on them. Then their own light mixes with it, and soon we're all infected. If you'll excuse me, I have to eat, sing and sleep. Goodnight.

Imitation Imitation Crab

I just wanna be where I wanna be. I think it's safe to say that it's worse at night, with fractured memories of the day cycling through my head. The ups, the downs, and the moments where I just so badly wanted to feel, but I didn't know where to start. Where are the boundaries? Where do we start anew? I just wanna be where I wanna be. And I don't want to think or judge or fear, I just wanna be. Something warm would so perfectly balance out the could rain. Something solid and strong would balance out the watery consistancy of my equally rainy mind. I just want to be grounded, a treehugger. And if there's any tree I know who's suitable... Ah, but alas, such thoughts are inspiring a tiny 'tsk tsk' in my cortex. It's echoing from this tiny little lady who likes to keep rules in check. She's such a very small part of my decision making-process. My heart is home to a big, buoyant and jubilant African woman who laughs too loudly and drinks to much wine and snore when she sleeps. She will not be quieted - especially by the bony, dusty elder in my head. I make less and less sense each day. My habits are changing - my sleep schedule is entirely reversed. I get up at quarter to five at the earliest and seven at the latest. I get to bed between ten and eleven thirty. How strange all of this is, it makes me uneasy. Though I know this is what I am supposed to be doing and I feel I am just needing to grow accustomed to these new things. They are lovely - the candid and playful banter at my work place, and the simple pleasure of tearing tickets or folding papers. I'm gaining financial independance, too, so I may travel and throw myself, entirely helpless, into even more unknown. I'm going to go now, I'm tired. I have to get up at four fifty. I am not unhappy - I realized today that though I was shattered entirely the last few days, I am still whole. My heart aches, but it's not broken. I just feel lost, though I know, of all things that've been happening, I've been found. I just wish for my tree.

Spaghetti and Meatballs

Work's fun. Hectic. Ridiculous. But it gets me out of my head and into customer relations, which is nice. My kitty's head is the nicest to kiss, even though she's only putting up with me due to hunger. Heh. How am I? Man, I don't know. I feel different. Everything is painted a different shade of whatever colour it was last week, but what does that even mean? I glance into the living room to my left, and it's the same array of warm earth tones and books. But it's not the same place, almost. Or maybe it's not that the living room's changed, but I have. The steam coming off the spaghetti noodles in front of me and the burn on my left pointer finger - feel different. Strange. Maybe I'm strange. Psh, not maybe. The rain was witness to that proof. I've got to get up at 5 tomorrow, so I should go to bed around ten. Strange, again. I don't think I like it.

Euughghehghehghhh

My eyelids are so swollen SPONTANEOUS RACE CHANGE

When spring blooms, then you find a love that's true
But you don't know what now to do, because the chase is all you know
And she stopped running months ago

I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me.
I played pretend between the trees, and fed my houseguests bark and leaves, and laughed in my pretty bed of green.

I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest swing.
I had a dream.

Long walks in the dark through woods grown behind the park, I asked God who I'm supposed to be.
The stars smiled down on me, God answered in silent reverie. I said a prayer and fell asleep.

I had a dream
That I could fly from the highest tree.
I had a dream.

Now I'm old and feeling grey. I don't know what's left to say about this life I'm willing to leave.
I lived it full and I lived it well, there's many tales I've lived to tell. I'm ready now, I'm ready now, I'm ready now to fly from the highest wing.

I had a dream

Shrunken Lungs

The entirety of today was beautiful. Perhaps the pathetic fallacy was a little opposite, but that's part of the bittersweet smile on my face. In the morning when it was sunny, I was crying, but then the sky showed me up in the evening by raining cleansing energy down on me. I was so free, running up the driveway to the River, barefoot. Stomping into the hardwood floor, I was free and happy and God had kissed me on the top of the head so I know I am his daughter, full and true.
(I almost wrote 'but', but there is no 'but' in love.)

I was comforted, and now I am sad once more. Not to say that the wonderful night had no effect on me - I think it's exactly what I needed, and the fact that everything is so okay just makes me yearn. That bursting feeling is in my chest, still. I've never let it stay and grow for so long before - usually I chase it off by running away, and away from it. But now it's celebrating so vibrantly and relentlessly in my chest that it's a ceaseless thrumming that drums out tears because it can't get outside of my body through my arms and my lips and my fingertips. And how alone I am in this, it seems. I feel. I think. I mostly feel so horrifically alone in my own growth because it's down some side road I thought I wouldn't have to venture alone. I think this isn't appropriate, divulging all of these intimate emotions via blog.

Just stop me if I post my social insurance number. Yeah, numbers are much less personal, but identity theft would just really suck.

I don't know what to do.
Why do you have to do anything?
Because if I don't, I might just crack and shatter into a million shards of rose quartz, or explode into a million daisies, that will float down to the floor and land in my empty shoes. What a beautiful mess that would be. And that's what it would be, because it's something so huge and glorious that's threatening to burst me. How do I even try to contain it?
Don't try. Explode, you beautiful mess.


"Come down now", they'll say; but everything looks perfect from far away. "Come down now"-
but we'll stay.

Words can't express, but the look on my face can. I wonder what you'd see.

Pheonix

Hah. Pushing back against the sadness by having hope. Suck on that, emotional oppression - if you want to stick around, that's fine, but let's talk this out instead of you just leaning on me. You're too heavy; come sit down with me in my living room. I'll work with you, and you're valuable in your own way. I guess you must feel really underappreciated, huh? 'Cuz very few people want to be sad. I'd feel shitty too if noone wanted me. But you know, sadness, I believe you have a purpose. I believe you have a season and a place, and I thank you for that. Thank you for driving me to realize the value of what I feel I've lost, not in a sad way, but so I will appreciate and cherish my memories and the tools I've gained. Thank you for being there to wash me out with my own tears, and to keep things moving. You're tough to take, sometimes.

But I'm sure your brother will be along any minute.

Mmm.

It all goes by so fast. In the moment, though - this specific 'right now' seems frozen. It's not. It's molten and twisting and falling in on itself before it expands once more.

They always say 'it'll be better in the morning', but this is the first time that wasn't true. It's one of those jarring moments when you realize that your reality isn't actually what you were dreaming. It's this consciousness that has the potential to be so many diverse things - even as you're scraping at one face of the crystal, you realize you could look at it through another facet. Relocate yourself until you see magnificent spectrum of colours.

I don't know, I have a headache. I woke up this morning wanting to fight, which was unexpected after the peace of 3:30AM. I woke up wanting to do anything humanly possible (but most just yelling and fist-clenching and breaking small things like pencils) to turn this whole thing inside out, upside down. There's a tiny voice in my head telling me to chill out, but maybe later.

This whole thing feels like a ridiculous ocean metaphor, and the tides are hitting me hard. First there's an "Alright. This makes sense." But then a wave of my previous hopes sneaks up to the sand and I'm reminded. I know, however, that it's only a matter of time before it's k.

To those of you reading this, I hope it's vague. Though I also hope you know that this emotional state is only visiting me. Don't fear for me. Pushing through all of this is still love. It's having a bit of a hard time because it's kinda crowded up in here, but it's there and it's winning.


Sigh.

Hypocrisy

lol.

should.

Chill as a Crisper

Duality.
Relaxed, mellow, flowin'.
On the other hand,
confronting blooming fury. Fear. Angerangeranger and I know this was bound to happen, but it's a touchy (ha) subject, and it's easier to believe that the past is the past and I'm good at forgiveness. And maybe that was true, for a time, but Leonardo DiCaprio ruined it for me. Now I have my own baggage to discard, and after that I'll be free from this.

I still feel super chill, though. Like all this other stuff is a subtle current flowing through me. Like the television is on in a different room - I could go into it and watch the program, or I could let it play and know it'll be over soon.

I really don't make any sense to most people. I think that's the beauty of human relation - on the off chance we decide to share ourselves with another, to really try to figure ourselves out enough to make it even remotely comprehensible to another being, we have to try really hard. And even in that, I have no doubt that we learn about ourselves more extensively, too. Weird.

Love you all. Love us all. I should go clean my room.

No Expectations

Bittersweetener in my coffee, please!

Tonight was amazing. Not a long and smooth amazing-curve, but a very rugged lightning-bolt-line amazing curve. Strangely vulnerable and teary at the beginning at the night, turned to confident, belting songs teary, turned to torn-between-family and friends heart struggle.
Maybe I should've stayed for the karaoke, but I was bound to pursue the ifs.

So it's one thirty and I'm home alone with my silence and the weight behind my eyes. My lips are still curved up into a smile but my eyes seem to want to release something. Tears, it feels like. Or maybe it's dozens of little tiny pink crystal shards - the ones that've been building up this last week. This last day. This last few hours.

The words I sang so long ago are finally becoming true. So true, in fact, that there is tangible proof left on me in the form of a blister on my strumming thumb. Picks are for dicks.
Just kidding, it's a personal preference.

Disappointed, yes. But oh well. My family's home now. I had a good night, and I'll cry if I want to.

Saturday Morning Cartoons

Uh oh, you guys. I'm getting moody.
The first thing that strikes me is fear, because whenever I get the urge to post "fuck all of it" as my Facebook status it means that I'm feeling;

A) Reckless as fuck
B) Silly as fuck
C) Crass as all heck, and
D) Rash. Impulsive.

Now, these moods aren't bad, per se. They've only ever been a shaky-but-confident step forward - or, leap forward, in most situations - in my life. Put they aren't painless.

All of this considering, of course, that I'm just experiencing another simple bout of impatience with the way my life is going. I was going to mutter all this business about being ungrateful, and how I shouldn't, but I'm aware of that. I can be thankful and pissed off at the same time.
I don't even know why I'm pissed off - and don't 'hormones' me because that couldn't biologically be the case - but all I know is that I had dreams about getting superstabbed last night, so I'm experiencing some psych wounds. Weirds.

Just thought I'd document this, in case it turned out to be another emotional precipice. It'd be fun to look back on this post and say, "Well, hey. I wrote that right before I decided to move to Mexico to be a tattoo artist." Or, "Well, hey. I wrote that post right before I became a nudist."

You never know, when I get like this.
I'll just eat some toast and paint a pretty picture.

Sucker for Vintage Violence

Why can't it be my birthday now?

Pretty...

Fragondry

A Hunter In The Tulips

I feel like a pacing jungle cat. However, the title of this post actually refers to my house cat, Cleo, who was stalking birds outside from behind the blinds and a vase of flowers. But I still feel like a jungle cat held captive. I hope you'll permit me to let my imagination take me away for a while.

Maybe it's because I was reading about Eve or I'm infused with the words of Clarissa Pinkola E., but I'm just bursting with romance. This is what happens when I listen to charismatically old and tasteful swing music. It's a slow one - I just want to dance the eight count steps in that red dress I have and pretend I'm in France or something helplessly cliche like that. I always hear about all these girls wanting to fall in love in Paris and I'm like, "Love is love, why does an accent make it better?" Anyways, that's just the BBC Big Band Orchestra talking through me. Not my fault.
*raises hands*

I just wanna dance.

Wrap It Up

"Oh, if only they could know the passion with which I sing!"

Luminescence

So, it's 20 to 8. AM.

It's maybe a little bit odd for me to be up so early, but on the other hand, it's not very odd for me to be doing odd and unexpected things. By this point, it's expected for me to be surprising. Hm?

Anyways, I'm just about done Eternity In the Palm of Her Hand, which is a little novel about the Fall after Creation. It's rather beautiful, and Adam and Eve strike me with a pleasant and amusing familiarity. Eve and I bear likeness to each other... Anyways.

Maybe I'll go back to sleep after I finish reading, but right now the tranquility of the book, the cat and the couch seem rather appealing to me.

Assumptions

The shirt I'm wearing still smells like Army and Navy. Weird.
Today I've done a lot of housework, drank my cup of protein powder like the doctor said, and even tidied my room. Good girl.
But now what? Why am I sad?
Sometimes I think it was easier before I was so aware of my feelings. They're just so vivid and dynamic, now, but I think that's just something I'm going to have to accept. Well actually, I don't have to - but it's an inevitability. May as well get it out of the way now, before it explodes in my face.

Speaking of "inevitability", I swear that Mr. Smith, the agent from the Matrix, was driving the 112. It was crazy. I'm pretty sure I just stared at him while I put my change in the machine, willing myself to turn into Neo. Wouldn't THAT have been trippy as hell, eh?

Wrists

If the tables were turned, would you feel the way that I feel now?
Would you yearn to see and smell and hear and feel and taste the city lights
As they call to you from the endless darkness of the urban night

Would you be drawn to the highest point in your small neighbourhood
Just to see as much of the view as you possible could?
Would you do all this despite the dropping temperature?

I'd do all those things, if the tables were turned.
If there were two clouds of rising breath instead of one.
I'd do all those things if the snow hosted two sets of footprints,
Differing in size and stride.

Stamping on that wooden floor in the overturned ark,
I am often struck by a paradox. You are everything and nothing
My heart is so bursting with love that sometimes it's aimed at you
But sometimes it's like there isn't room.

This isn't doubt. I'm sitting here in the darkness, singing
Feeling like a daughter.
Feeling like the moon is reaching down to us on earth to say,
Sleep, now. But those who wish to keep me company, I will soothe you.
And I am soothed.

The price to pay is a melancholy ache, but it is tame.
There is still a smile on my lips as I think about raising my burdens to God.
I am laying on a moonlit field with my heart wide open like a blooming lotus.
Oh, if I had the paints and canvas, I would bring this to life.

I won't need patience when I understand. And I do understand - I just forget.
I forget that I am not alone.

I want to remember how to run wild through the flora.

Ruffle My Tailfeathers

Some things just seem to make sense.
Let's apply them.

Hope

I feel opressed by sorrow, but I know in my head, even, that that isn't what will help the Earth. Faith and a good, strong heart will help, yet I feel heavy. I feel sad for the people who were lost in Japan, and for their families, be they living or dead. However, my sadness makes me realize that people are lost every moment of every day, and just because it isn't covered by CNN or Fox News doesn't mean it doesn't matter. It doesn't mean that those people who die obscured by the veil of distance or disconnection have any less value or merit any less love than those whose deaths are widely publisized. It shouldn't be this way - instead of just feeling sad for those whose losses we witness via the television, I see two options:

1. Feel sadness for all losses, including those unknown (In which case we would all be but Weeping Yogis, carrying the weight of death upon our shoulders without letting the Light dissolve our burdens)

or,

2. Sympathize, but refrain from getting too caught in the pain of others.



I feel as though my energies could be put to better use by shifting my focus - weeping alone in my room at night for the victims of a natural disaster will not help those still in need. How ignorant a race are we to ignore the threat until it has already been made manifest and taken lives? At risk of sounding cynical or abusing dark humor, I feel as though (myself included) we carry on our lives with blinders on, worrying about comparatively trivial problems (I don't have enough money for this video game that I want) when people are suffering and struggling to fulfill the bottom of the hierarchy of needs.



But how can this possibly be sustainable? How can one live a life of unrest until these problems are solved? One can work tirelessly and endlessly for years and it will not stop the waves. It will not stop the fires or the quakes or the car accidents. There is death and sickness in this world.

So why is this sad?



A Buddhist would tell me that the root of all pain and unhappiness is attachment. Perhaps this is logical and true, but does that mean we should not grow attached to things? Does the love of God not flow through attachment?

So let's say both these statements are true: pain roots in loss which is a situational consequence of attachment; while these attachments are fulfilling to the human spirit and educational to the soul. What is the answer?



I believe Yoda puts it best:
"Death is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. Mourn them do not. Miss them do not. Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is."

It is difficult. Maybe you think I'm heartless by saying these things, and if I ever shed a tear due to a loss, think me not a hypocrite. I'm not attempting to communicate there will be no pain, or that there should be no pain. My point is that there will be, because death is an ending. My point is also that there is birth, and it is beautiful, and when we get caught up in one or the other we lose balance. What if CNN reported the birth of every new and healthy baby in the world? Would that not lose it's novelty? However, death is perpetually frightening. This is still a mystery to me.
I have to go now, but I pray the best for Japan, and I pray for the grief to be lifted from where it weighs the heaviest. I pray that light shine on the darkness and the will of God be carried out in love. I love you all. Sleep well, now.

Confusing Dreams

Totally woke up thinking it was Monday - in my dream it was a Monday morning at 6AM.
Then I awoke to find it was Sunday at noon -
Then I went upstairs to find it was Sunday at one.

Next thing I know I'm going to get a mysterious letter in the mail, printed on a laminated poster of the Prince of Bel Air, telling me that I am actually an alien observer from some unknown planet who was implanted into the body of a blonde teenager to observe the seismic patterns of North America. "Stop playing video games," It'll say. "You're losing focus."

But how was I supposed to know I'm actually an alien?! And then I'll get all defensive and I'll sprout two extra arms.

Do you see what happens when I blog right after waking up?! My dream body's still playing.

Endlessness

I find it hard to hookshot the future.
Zelda reference, anyone?
Leave it to me to incorporate nerdy references into colloquial philosophical rants. Sigh.

What I mean by my first phrase is that I found myself mildly panicked at the thought of cancelling my plans this evening. I had set up a schedule for myself, but alas, I am too tired and broke and sore to do anything but venture into Ferelden. Is it really escapism when I am conscious of the current world? Or, when one is reminded that time is simply a fabrication of man? We all exist simultaneously, and by 'we all' I don't just mean our separate human forms. I mean our pasts, our presents, our futures. I am me, but at the same time I am me, had I made different choices in my past. All of those parallels reside within my soul, dancing joyfully together in celebration of the path I have chosen to take - be it wisest or not, that is not subject to anyone's judgement but God. And he will do with me what he pleases, as I am submissive and willing. I am not a sucker - I will fight like a feral wildcat to love in freedom and to be free in love - but I will not bloody my sword. I identify with a warrior and a pacifist; predator and prey.

I find it quite amusing that these thoughts and spiritual wonderings that so frequently occupy my thoughts rarely manifest in anything other than this blog, which few read. Do I really write for the masses, though? Or is it the curve of the font and colour that soothe me when I translate from heart to tapping of keys?

I'm gonna go crack open a beer and play some Dragon Age. Talk to you later, kiddo. <3

This Is The Funniest

You see, kids, hormones are a dangerous thing. "WHY ARE YOU WRITING THIS

Can you at least be cryptic and poetic about it?"

"HahahaHAAAAAAAA"

"Why... You're a terrible person"

Well, maybe I am, but this is hilarious and ridiculous because I'm not even depressed about this. Not even lonely. Not even frustrated.

I am in the eye of a storm as an accidental observer.

I want some tew

/D:

International Womens Day

"There is probably no better or more reliable measure of whether a woman has spent time in ugly duckling status at some point or all throughout her life than her inability to digest a sincere compliment. Although it could be a matter of modesty, or could be attributed to shyness- although too many serious wounds are carelessly written off as "nothing but shyness"- more often a compliment is stuttered around about because it sets up an automatic and unpleasant dialogue in the woman's mind.

If you say how lovely she is, or how beautiful her art is, or compliment anything else her soul took part in, inspired, or suffused, something in her mind says she is undeserving and you, the complimentor, are an idiot for thinking such a thing to begin with. Rather than understand that the beauty of her soul shines through when she is being herself, the woman changes the subject and effectively snatches nourishment away from the soul-self, which thrives on being acknowledged."

"I must admit, I sometimes find it useful in my practice to delineate the various typologies of personality as cats and hens and ducks and swans and so forth. If warranted, I might ask my client to assume for a moment that she is a swan who does not realize it. Assume also for a moment that she has been brought up by or is currently surrounded by ducks.

There is nothing wrong with ducks, I assure them, or with swans. But ducks are ducks and swans are swans. Sometimes to make the point I have to move to other animal metaphors. I like to use mice. What if you were raised by the mice people? But what if you're, say, a swan. Swans and mice hate each other's food for the most part. They each think the other smells funny. They are not interested in spending time together, and if they did, one would be constantly harassing the other.

But what if you, being a swan, had to pretend you were a mouse? What if you had to pretend to be gray and furry and tiny? What you had no long snaky tail to carry in the air on tail-carrying day? What if wherever you went you tried to walk like a mouse, but you waddled instead? What if you tried to talk like a mouse, but instead out came a honk every time? Wouldn't you be the most miserable creature in the world?

The answer is an inequivocal yes. So why, if this is all so and too true, do women keep trying to bend and fold themselves into shapes that are not theirs? I must say, from years of clinical observation of this problem, that most of the time it is not because of deep-seated masochism or a malignant dedication to self-destruction or anything of that nature. More often it is because the woman simply doesn't know any better. She is unmothered."

— Clarissa Pinkola Estés (Women Who Run with the Wolves)

Growing Pains

Okay, so 3 hours or so.
Still...
I'm good, don't worry.

Technical Difficulties

UGH EVERYTHING SUCKS

but watch me get over it in like 45 minutes-an hour

Assassin's Creed II

Man, I'm so tired from all the gaming.
It was just so much gaming today,
I'm pretty gamed out.

I think the low point of this gaming day was when I realized,
"Damn. I'm such a gamer. A gross gamer. A gross girl gamer."
Because you know what?
I really needed a shower.
It was sort of refreshing. I guess I had night sweats last night.
Go figure.
Then I didn't shower right away, since I had nowhere to be,
and I just started gaming.
So much gaming.
I've never really basked in my own wonderful aura of smell before.
It was gross, but I was just so into my gaming.
And then it was kind of fun to be a gross gamer.

But you know what I did?
I paused the game.
And took a friggin' shower.

It was good, y'know? But I wasn't a gross girl gamer anymore.
I was a soapy-fresh girl gamer. In clean clothes and smelling like clean.
It was dumb.

Oh well. If I ever want to be a gross girl gamer again, I just have to wait.
And... not hang out with people...
That's just rude, though. Hangin' out with people while you smell gross? No.
I will be disgusting in my solitude, thank you very much.

Good game.

wtf

I am a cranky asshole.

Junk food + Saving Private Ryan is my forseeable plan of action.
Fuck.

Coca-Cola

Mum's not home yet, but she should be soon... Even then, she's got to make a call and won't be able to go to Chapters with me... There's a prayer book I want to get my own copy of. Anywho.
At the moment I'm sitting at a desk, facing the screen that is the portal into an endless, eclectic world of Internet.

So why do I feel so recreationally stunted?
(I know "recreationally" isn't a word)

I've, for some reason, just got this vision of going out for Italian food. Dressing up a little too much, putting on MAKEUP, and totally disregarding the funny looks I'd get. Pretending it's a fancy restaurant when, really, kids swerve in the aisles to avoid servers and people don't put their napkins on their laps (gasp!). I just want some Italian food fun. It maybe feels like this is a date sort of situation, but it's hard to say. I just have this image of a red booth, lasagne on the menu, and a warm, comfy atmosphere. Huh. I guess I'll store that until I find out to which lock it is the key.

Till then I suppose I will await the return of my mother. I've been quite sluggish today, but I got some cleaning and Assassin's Creed done. I wanted to go out and get flowers, but I didn't care enough to call and ask for flower money from my mom. She's busy enough, and anyways, I got sucked back into the city of Florence. I am Ezio Auditore!

I think I'm a little sleepy, but I feel like I haven't done enough today to merit sleep.
I just want to stay wrapped in blankets, all warm like a Sarah burrito with a cat on my lap, and have the lovely times come to me. Selfish? No. PMS? Lol.

Strange pang, like I miss someone. A lot. Oof, ow. I don't know why I feel lonely sometimes.
Hm, the image of a rainy city...
Maybe my clairvoyant tendencies are stretching and waking up.

...neat.

Part of me wants to just get on a Skytrain and talk to strangers, but Skytraining alone to nowhere seems like something that might just make me sad when I'm on the brink of sad.
Weird.

I want to go to a theatre.
I want to perform in one.

Two Pitchers, Please.

I've ingested so much water today. My naturopath would be proud... What's my secret, you ask?
Well;

1. Get home from a sleepover with your GF KG at around 10 o'clock. No later, no earlier.
2. Change into a shredded Jurassic Park shirt and dance shorts, opting for comfort rather than actual clothing.
3. Watch a few episodes of Friends while eating footlong Subway sandwich.
4. Get bored of Friends, fill water jug, bring to coffeetable.
5. Commence the cycle of drink, pour, drink, pour, drink, pour, refill.
6. Continue cycle while playing Assassin's Creed II.

This is the only sequence of events that has led me to drinking enough water in a day.
I think it's a good thing, too, because I'm in an awkward stage of cleansing and rebirth that isn't quite intense enough for me to do focused therapeutic writing or meditating, but I know it's there.
There are definitely somethings inside myself that need to be put to rest, though I can already feel the strengthened current of God's energy coursing through my ever-cleaner channels. I'll get there one day, and hopefully one day soon.

I'm frequently thinking about getting my eyebrow pierced and my belly button pierced, and I feel as though I should direct my attention to why. Maybe I've grown bored with my appearance, but I know better than that! I should learn to take care of myself and lend more energy to health than aesthetics. Even with that in mind, I can't shake this strange craving. Is it a craving even if it doesn't involve food?

The pearl barbell is, yes, strictly aesthetic I believe. Maybe pearls have some energetic properties I'm yet unaware of, but I like it because it's pretty. I want pearls on my face!
The belly ring is more of a dual pretty/functional piercing... I wanted to get a belly button ring with a semi-precious stone in it to perhaps keep me grounded during my ever-so-often fainting spells. My body type, I have heard, is prone to airy-ness and physical instabilities. Flighty spirit, I guess you could say. :) Advantages and disadvantages, always, but I digress.

In order to restrict this self-centered and perhaps somewhat vain trend to as short a time period as possible, I would like to have one day in the near future during which I will get my two piercings, and get a haircut. However, the time leading up to this 'Day of Decorative Transformation' will be cluttered with thoughts and anticipation. It seems silly to spend so much time thinking about little bits of metal in my skin and my hair an inch shorter, but I believe there's a symbolism that has to do with metamorphosis or something like that...

Perhaps I need to admit to myself that my transformation into a butterfly isn't determined by when I decorate my body. Yes, I think I do.

Ah, whaddaya know? Blog therapy.

Blooming

Like a flower knows how.

What would you do if someone said to you,
"Be prepared for your dreams to come true"?

That happened to me this morning... I also received the assignment of learning the song, "Dream A Little Dream Of Me". I'm going to go do that now.