White Foxes

Today seems to be one of those days where, if I don't look too closely or too far away, I seem to have the hang of things.

My day today has been pretty positive. Yesterday evening was the beginning of this streak, I think. I was visited by a friend who not only destroyed my plans for the future, but she also encouraged me to keep doing what I'm doing. She also recommended an author for me, which was prime timing since I'm about finished my Smile When You're Lying by Chuck Thompson. The author's name is Anais Nin, and I hadn't heard of her, but apparently she's a pretty big deal. She wrote erotica before pretty much anyone else, and she also kept journals for nearly her entire life. I picked up the first volume of her journals. 

The woman I bought the book from, who I assume owns the store, knew exactly where Anais' books lived, even though they were spread across three sections. I wonder if she could do that for any author. I was very impressed, but maybe Anais Nin is a way bigger deal than I know.

I feel like I'm also being tested. Yesterday, I expressed to the aforementioned ground-breaking friend that I seem to be falling for guys who are unavailable to me, for one reason or another. That's what I wrote Dear Somebody about, in case that theme wasn't obvious, though I feel it was... Wanting someone who's in love with someone else, wanting someone who has forgotten me and moved away, and wanting someone who I know exists but haven't met yet. This friend laughed when I said, "Maybe it's some profound level of me acting in self-preservation - I get heavily distracted by boys, when I would greatly benefit from focusing on my own passions." She replied, "So this is probably exactly what you need."

And I'm glad we had that conversation, and that I have that intention - to focus on my passions instead of being sidetracked by the seductive and persuasive prospect of a lover, or lovers. Hours later I learned that one of my pseudo-prospects might not be as unattainable as I thought. I feel I'm handling the situation quite gracefully. Anyway.

Some music inspires me so much. Certain chord progressions or voice types seem to remind me of some lost home I once knew but will never remember. 

Like Ophiocordyceps unilateralis

1A. Why is it that I ache to connect to people, but I can't look a waitress in the eyes?

2A. Why is it that I am so passionate on the inside, but I feel like there's some sort of disconnect?

3A. Why is it that I'm smirking and nodding and saying it's all cool, but really, all I want is for you to turn around and kiss me on the cheek in a way that suggests you understand? That you get it?

4A. Why is it that I'm asking a hundred million (likely) unanswerable questions, like I'm going through one of my adolescent existential crises?

1B. Because a very vulnerable and beautiful part of me is blooming, and it needs to be protected.

2B. Because once I realize I can become what I want, what I strive to be, there may be nowhere to go. Because maybe the happiness is in the idea, or maybe in the journey, or maybe in the fruition.

3B. Because I'm scared to be real and potentially unaccepted. Potentially hurt, rejected. I could handle that, though. Maybe that would be a greater gift than getting what I want.

4B. Because I'm going through an existential crisis. Or perhaps just living. 

I could go on to list, with passion and zeal, all of the wonderful, artistic, creative, espressive things that I want to do. I've recently made the observation, however, that this has become a pattern. 

1. This is where I am. Thus,

2. This is where I should go. Thus, 

3. I'll write a list of steps I need to take. Thus:

Step One: Get started.

...

Cue crickets. 

Cue tumbleweed. 

Cue vulture's cry. 

Exit motivation. 

And here we are. I am left back at the beginning of one of those trippy-ass time loops that makes your head spin when you see them in the movies or on the tv. And you think to yourself, "Shit, that was so complicated and yet so simple. Like, a paradox or some shit. What's a paradox? Imma Google that and then go eat some Sun Chips."

That's where I'm at. I'm in some spiral limbo, eating Sun Chips with a look on my face that could be described as a cross between doe-eyed and removed. Aloof, but slightly vulnerable, but aloof to the fact that I'm vulnerable. You get the picture. Do you? Do I? Who am I? What flavor are these metaphorical Sun Chips, anyway?

I want to write letters, so I'm going to. I think I'm going to, anyway. Maybe I should (See? Do you see what I do to myself? Even when I'm about to express that I'm hoping to release myself from the obligations to follow my heart, I'm employing the word 'Should'. I shouldn't do that) relax. 

Relax.

Feel your body, and the space it's occupying.

There is a duvet covering the majority of me, but my arms are cooled by the air. There is a slight weight on my chest because of Sally, my doll. I like to think she's comforting my rampant, confused heart. She knows what's up. She's a little pink doll with a tiny green bowtie and a bear onesie, and she's always smiling. Her arms are a little stubby, but they're always stretched out. She's kind of starfished. Her pose makes me feel really accepted, like she's happy to be my doll. Like she's not judging me for being 20 and still finding comfort in what most people would assume to be a child's plaything. Clarissa Pinkola Estes has some very powerful opinions about dolls. I wish I could reiterate but my memory and my willpower are out for mochas.

I read somewhere that a large number of teddy bears have an intentionally neutral expression so children may easily project emotions onto them. I don't know how I feel about that. I think I'll go to sleep soon. There's still noise in my brain, but now that all of these thoughts have been transmitted to the incomprehensible entity that is the Internet, it's just lonely, wanting noise. I wonder if I can make any of these primitive, mournful emotional cries at all poetic. 

Dear Somebody, 

It doesn't matter who you are, but it does. I'll take anyone. I'll take anyone who will not make themselves available to me. Is that too much to ask? To be with somebody I can't be with? I don't think so. My friends say I have self-destructive patterns, but they just don't see the appeal of a man who loves somebody else, or who lives across the ocean, or who doesn't technically really exist. They just don't see it. I see it though, and I want you to know that I love that about you. I love that I don't know what your eyes look like. 

I love that I can't tell you how I feel, even though I want to shout it at you every time you catch me by surprise. It's like, I'd look up from my inventory paper, and you'd be there, you'd just be there all of a sudden and my heart would skip and my stomach would churn and I'd feel like I was plummeting and my eyes would bulge and I'd just yell a reactionary, "I THINK MAYBE I LOVE YOU!" And then my cheeks would flush and I'd be dewy-cheeked from the stress of exploding into a million shreds of wanting you to touch the spot between my shoulder blades with the pointer, middle and ring finger of your right hand. Slowly, like you were hesitant, or curious, or savouring the feeling of a little bit of my skin on a little bit of yours. I love how I'd burst into a million shreds of impossible for you. 

You make me smile with your silence, with your platonic flirtation, with your e-mail correspondence. 

It's so frustrating, trying to make a kiss into a stamp, but I'll keep trying. I'll keep hoping you remember me, and how my lips first felt on your collarbone, even though every ripple, every wave that passes through the oceans between us laps away at the memory. Hundreds and thousands of ripples and waves have probably already cleansed my name from the sand of your shores. At least they were gentle about it. They took their time. Two years ago I was your rock, but when you went back over the water, it knew to break me down, over time, back into sand. And now I'm here. Maybe someday a child will make me into a glorious castle, with turrets and a little flag made from a granola bar wrapper, and you'll call me beautiful again. 

The sound of you not knocking at my door resonates through my chest each day. As soon as I open my eyes, and stretch, and greet the day, you are the first person who leaves a voided silhouette in my mind. I'll get up, not thinking of you. I'll brush my teeth, not thinking of you - I'll hope my skin stays clear for the dinner date we won't be having tonight. I imagine sleeping in an empty bed, and my heart feels filled, fit to burst from not having you. Not knowing you. I want to say yet, but yet is a threatening word and I won't let it harm you. I miss you so much. I wish you were here, and you were taking me on a dinner date, and I wish you would hold me in your empty arms and not tell me that you understand me. Because I know you're the only one who does. Who really, really does. But your side of the bed is still cold, and my hand is grasping at the fabric of the air. 

I've fallen for you, all of you, and I am overwhelmed by all of the love I feel. I am pouring out, I am overflowing with affection, but I am alone. I am unseen. I am invisible. I am nothing because I choose to be the wallflower, the shadow, the breeze you don't notice until someone points it out. I'll cool the sweat on your brow, lover, when you get just a little too warm. I am the comfort taken for granted. I am the weeping yogini. Don't you see fit to love me back?

Body Lullaby

When he got off of the train, I jolted, mostly due to the fact that I was under the impression he was going in to hug me. It was an arm pat though, so I smoothly saved some integrity by waving. He walked away. He didn't look back.

And this is all fine. The surprise and the deflation I felt were fine. My unspoken words,  my chained-down heart, they are - it is - fine.

Maybe it shouldn't be, and maybe it won't be for long. It's hard to tell, I think. Is this person a crutch for me to want and not have? Somebody on whom I can lean while exiting a separate emotional situation, but who will not be coming with me? Probably. 

It was funny how vividly I could hear and see him singing Moondance, in my head.

I am a confused little bear. I've been trying so hard to write more, sing more, feel more, be more, but I had a little inkling today that maybe I should just relax. I should do what I want to do, relax into the flow, and perhaps it'll all come that way.

I should sleep. I want to sleep. Maybe I'll do some trip planning tomorrow. 

I am so full of love for everything, everyone. Goodnight, world.

Magic Words of the 21st Century

First, let me introduce myself.

My name is Sarah. I’m a 19 year-old woman with a 6 month-old kitten, a rampant donut addiction, and a predisposition to liking pretty things.

I am a consumer.

I am part of an age-group that is targeted time and time again by companies that want to sell me anything and everything. Apparently I need to wear makeup to be attractive and successful, laser hair removal to keep me from being an undesirable Sasquatch, and a gym membership to keep my buns in tip-top shape. I am bombarded all day every day with messages from bus benches, radio stations, newspapers, all telling me who I should be, and what I should want. It's been a while, and I’ve begun to notice a pattern.

To begin, (and, everyone probably notices this) there are trends. Similar to how body shapes go in and out of fashion, certain lifestyles also become more or less vogue as time goes by. For example, in these most recent years, it is extremely hip to be eco-friendly, health-conscious, and open-minded. Obviously these are not negative things – in fact, awareness of your body and planet shouldn’t be this innovative, new-age concept; it’s common sense to give a shit about health and environment, no?

There are certain words that appeal to the folk who’ve jumped on this bandwagon; words that have been taught to us by Professor Widescreen and Dr. Oz. Without further adieu, I present to you the words that will make your wallets cream themselves.

1. Antioxidants!

   -No frills, antioxidants are molecules that inhibit the oxidation of other molecules. How does this translate to health? Perhaps the inhibition of oxidation in cells has some way of keeping us humans intact, but my point is: there is no way we (the consumer) deduced, for ourselves, that antioxidants are beneficial for our bodies. And where is this information coming from? Qualified professionals? People who genuinely care about our well being? Or is it a company who wants to make a couple bones selling us some pseudo-quick-fix for our shitty lifestyles?

 (Also, a quick Google showed me that while everyone was crapping themselves about the efficacy of antioxidants at the start, large clinical trials have actually indicated that some antioxidants are not beneficial, and when subject to oversupplementation, can actually be harmful)

2. (Blank) Technology!

   -I think it’s a crime that you can use the word “technology” whenever the hell you want. You usually hear the word “technology” used in toothbrush or face wash commercials, and this implies that you are buying a product that was painstakingly honed by the world’s top scientists. My favorite product features are ‘crossed-bristle technology’ and ‘foaming technology’; they really give an unrivaled boost to my morning hygiene regime. Here's a fun facial cleanser commercial. I know they don't say 'technology', but they lip-sync, and that's just as bad.

3. Probiotics!

 -As someone who has done a lot of informal research on probiotics (anyone who has ever had a yeast infection probably hears me on this one) knows exactly what probiotics are. Simply put – good bacteria. They make your tummy (and your vagina!) happy. A lot of yogurt commercials will beat into your skull that their yogurt has ‘live cultures’ of probiotics. Rad, otherwise they won’t do anything. My issue with this one is the implication, however subtle, that probiotics are solely for fixing the digestive tracts of women. Luckily, I've found someone who agrees with me. Take it away, Sarah Haskins.

 (Also, did you know that it’s apparently kosher to put really scientific-sounding but entirely fabricated words into your yogurt commercials? Me neither!)

4.  Vintage!

 -I get the appeal of this one, I do, and I'm aware of the fact that some people take it a lot more seriously than I do. Vintage is environmentally friendly, and if done right, looks fresh as hell. However, some outfits (and their price tags) can not be justified by the fact that they're old. 'Cuz that's really all it is, man. In twenty years (I looked it up), all our new, modern clothes will be 'vintage'. You can just look at it as... thinking ahead. It's an investment.

Well, kids, the moral of the story is to be discerning in what you hear. Just because Dr. Oz says Pu'erh tea will help you lose weight (and he has said that, I work at a teashop and had to deal with the aftermath of that episode), does not mean it will do the work for you. Your toothbrush is probably not all that fancy, and yogurt (unless unsweetened) has enough sugar in it to encourage yeast infections despite the probiotic content. Do your own research, but in the meantime, enjoy kale chips and mason jars before they become "so last season'.

-ST

 

Home

Life is just so damn weird.

No More Masks

I want to be fit. I want to be able to run and climb and vault and sweat without it being new, without fighting to continue, without fearing I can't go any longer. I want to know my body, know my limits, know how to transcend them. I'll start how I can but I want to become more intense. I want this.

No more masks, I was told. I see all of these beautiful shells, all of this beautiful skin and find myself wishing it were my own. I change myself to fit into another person's clothes instead of expressing my own wants and desires and potential. I see something I like and I want to consume it, become it. No more.

The answers lie within.

They lie within the queasy, insecure, shaky young woman who writes this blog post, all the while taunting herself with the apparent reality that it will sound foolish to her later. So be it. If she decides to be mean, there is no one to stop her.

It's so important to care about yourself. Why? Well, that depends on your whole belief system, and I won't tell you what to believe. I am suspended in grey, and I can't tell you, from in here, what is important. There isn't anything.

I know what I want, though. I want catalyst. I fear being roughed up but I know how these things go, sometimes. I'm in a trance that is, hopefully, the calm before the storm. It usually doesn't happen overnight, but what is time in this respect? Who is time, and what power does he have, telling fate to hurry up? Fate and time will dance and play with each other, love and hate each other. One cannot be on top.

Now would be the time for my fate to carry me to sleep. They'll embrace as they watch me slumber, discussing my tomorrow.

Barfight Maki

As a disclaimer, I am going to mention that I am not an angry person. I am not a bitter, violent or malicious person by nature, but... Some people just stir me the fuck up.

So, this evening I went out for sushi dinner with my Mum and brother. The hostess was lovely and seated us at our table, passed us our menus, and went back into the kitchen. Now, I am about to describe our waitress to you.

As soon as this girl stood by our table and asked what we'd like to drink, I could sense how insecure she was. She did not believe in herself, she did not acknowledge her success, and she did not believe us when we smiled at her. Despite all of this, she was smiley and chatty (given, she hesitated and stuttered a lot), and was extremely kind. Mum and I knew what was up, so we made an effort to reassure her and be warm to her so she didn't feel any more nervous than she already was. She fumbled when we asked her the specials, and before she left, said, "I am so sorry, I acted quite foolish." At which we shook our heads and reassured her it's totally okay to forget the specials sometimes. She puttered away.

Upon her return, she knelt down at the table side, notebook in hand. I thought this was a little odd, but she seemed to simply be that way and it didn't really phase me (especially since, to a lot of people, I would seem rather odd, as well). She took our orders, and left.

Now - directly in my line of sight, there was a table for two by the window occupied by two young girls. You can judge me or call me harsh for saying this, but I swear to God you could just smell how conceited they were. They had just asked for the check and I noticed the looks they were exchanging when the aforementioned waitress brought it to them and began to speak. In this restaurant, it's a custom to serve frozen grapes when delivering the check, and the waitress said they were "awesome" while smiling and being all shy and adorable. Then, while reaching across the table for something, she accidentally spilled some tea. Not on either of the girls, from what I saw, but the straight-haired girl looked at this waitress as though she were some disgusting insect. The waitress then left to get some more napkins.

As soon as she was out of earshot, the two girls began snickering and relishing how weird the waitress was. They thought she was so funny that they decided to record what she said when she came back. The straight-haired one pulled out her iPhone and opened the voice recording app. When the waitress came back, they prompted her into a conversation about tea, all the while grinning knowingly at each other and glancing periodically at the iPhone. Later on in the conversation they even photographed and videotaped her as though she were some strange animal, confined in a zoo.

I was so fucking pissed.

Not only is this poor young waitress having a tough time getting the hang of a restaurant gig, but it is so obvious to me that she was not in a place in her life where she could feel confident in herself. She was odd, yes, maybe even a misfit - but these things do not matter. She was kind and gracious and nobody deserves to be put on display as a circus freak of life. I am trying very hard not to judge those two girls like they judged that waitress, but I snapped when I saw them giggling at the recording they'd gotten. They were talking openly about how there were going to show their friends how funny this was, and they kept taking pictures of themselves. Unrelated, but even though I sometimes engage in it, too, narcissism just pisses me right off. It was so obvious that these two girls thought they were so far above the misfit waitress.

I had to go outside to calm down. My heart was beating so hard, my body was twitching with every pump. I walked back in and, just before boiling over and smacking both of them, I calmly walked over and asked, "Hey, why are you guys recording that waitress?"

And I was met with a stunned silence.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." Said the first one, trying to make me feel like an idiot with a tight smile.

"I knew you'd say that," I replied, trying not to flip the table, "But I've been watching you first record your conversation, then take a picture of her, and now you've recorded a video. I used to do shit like this too, and now I regret it. Maybe you should try to be a little bit nicer to people who are obviously having a hard time instead of making a joke out of them, okay? And I know you're going to make fun of me, later, too, and that's alright with me. Just leave her alone."

And then I sat back down. The straight-haired one looked at her friend and raised her perfectly-groomed eyebrows and scoffed. After getting up to pay the bill, they headed out of the restaurant. I said, "Have a nice day, ladies!" From where I was seated, and with a sarcastic "Thank you" and a furious hair flip, they were both gone.

Obviously not giving a shit or completely unaware that I could still see them through the glass window, they began talking animatedly about what a fantastic adventure that was and how they should make fun of people all the time because they're so much better than everyone. Then they got into their car made of diamonds that gives them manicures while they drive, and laughed all the way home to their platinum mansion while listening to the recording of the weird sushi waitress.

I know I'm being mean, I do. I understand that I don't really have any reason to be so hard on them, given that I'm just as oblivious and disconnected sometimes, but, forgive me, I'm still quite angry. If I were to take a minute to calm down, I'm sure I would say that I wish them well on their life journeys and hope they don't end up with too many D&G-clad chihuahuas and abusive boyfriends. Whoops. Actually, I'm sure I'd say that they probably have a few redeeming qualities too, and though that experience was not flattering at all, hopefully they're actually really nice. I'm sure they have dreams and ambitions and fears like the rest of us. They're people, and people are silly.

I just wish we weren't so keen on hurting each other the way we do. No sarcasm intended, I actually do wish them well, and I hope that what I said is at least a subconscious wake-up call that it's so much more beneficial for everyone if you act with compassion and kindness. It's funny I say that, since I was actually so close to starting a fuckin' brawl. I'm glad I didn't yell like I wanted to. It would have felt good to scare them out of what they were doing, but hopefully this will actually get through.



-Also, we tipped the waitress like $11 on a $40 bill. Hopefully that brightens her day a little bit.