My calculator will be more valuable than my mind.

One of the topics that occupies my mind frequently is the idea of choice. I am drawn back to a memory of sitting alone in a dark theater lobby somewhere around 2004. I was sitting on the large marble stairs where I’d always felt at home. Tears were rolling down my face and my cell phone was pressed to my ear. The specific cause of my grief that moment is lost in the details but most assuredly it involved getting myself into a crumbling false marriage and seeing no way to change my life. It is a situation that has repeated itself many time. I am feeling stuck where I am, just treading water every day.

That day I was relating my agony to a friend who lived in New Orleans at the time and had seen me through some difficult moments. He could always talk sense into me it seemed. At that moment he told me that we were lucky. We were able to make choices when so many people in the world were not. I quieted by sobbing. I felt guilty. He was right. I had so much control over my life that just crying about it was wasting time.

I’m now in the middle of the book The Art of Choosing and it’s so dense with information that I’ve craved that I want to read it a second time even before I’ve finished the first reading. I’m also juggling around my new idea of Numerical Justification. If I can accurately learn to assign numbers to my emotions, then simple equations can determine the correct choice to be made and I can be confident in the outcome.

I’m sure I’m not the first one to think about this or the last one but it’s a fun notion to play around with and I’d love to write a little bit about my discoveries. I’d also like to draw more escape drawings, paint my hot air balloon and draw a comic.

So choice has been on my mind recently and I’m looking to change my life up a bit to make myself happier. I’m going to start by knocking a few things off of my to-do list.

P.S. This was one of them!

A short fairy tale

I read my writings today and found them to contain the dripping emotions of a heart slowly leaking written by a girl who could do nothing except watching it all roll away from her drop by drop.

Today this girl decided to poke a small hole in someone else’s heart. He doesn’t realize it yet. He won’t until one day his breath is just a bit more shallow and he checks himself in the mirror. After a bit of searching to remember where he’d last seen his heart he’ll realize that it’s not as full as it once was. Maybe something will spark a memory and he’ll remember the red head who loved him so much she was willing to wait. What ever happened to her? Is she still where he left her?

No. She stuck one of her tiny fingers in the hole in her heart and set off to find a suitable patch. One that would last this time.

Waste of space

I keep starting sentences, lines of thought that do not lead anywhere. They are all directions I have gone before and writing about them has not led to any resolutions or comfort. I don’t have any new opinions on them really. So I’m going to list them, get them out of my mind for a bit. Write down the plain sad truth.

Seven bottles of Jameson in one month is too much. And I still want a drink right now

I can’t concentrate on work and I don’t want to be here or even think about it.

My boyfriend is still the worst boyfriend ever but he’s happier now that I’m leaving him alone.

I just told a guy I work with that I hate love. I think I mean it.

I’m trying to play sick so I can go home and crawl back into bed. And I think it’s making me sick.

Or it could be nerves or stress or crohns disease.

This blog sucks.

Let me at 'em!

I’m ready to be a comic artist. I’m ready for people who aren’t in my immediate circle of friends and family to read my Bubbles & Bicycles comic strip. I’m ready for them to laugh and love me.

I started drawing comics last January, almost 12 months ago. I drew them in my work notebook. And I drew them mostly for him. He was traveling the world for his job and we were long distance lovers. To introduce him to my world I drew the comics, crudely scanned them in and sent them off. I drew him mushy ‘I miss you’ comics and ones that showed us happy in the future. Other than those, the comics were simple stick figure renditions of my life.

I started adding to my e-mail list a few people at time. Sometimes they asked to be added but mostly they didn’t and I just started to send them.

Then it got serious. He broke my heart. And I drew it exactly as I felt it. He interrupted my life, opened by chest, pulled the heart out and silently dropped it, stepped on it, and disappeared. It was the first comic on white paper and the first one with a bit of color. I went and bought a big sketchbook for final comics and a tiny one for ideas. I carry the tiny one with me always. It’s where I jot down the ideas and figure out how to draw people with ponytails and calculate my spacing. I also keep the list of 20 people who are my subscribers.

The next step was buying bubblesandbicycles.com and working on a web design. The process kind of stalled there but the comic writing didn’t. Now it’s almost the end of 2010 and I’ve got 34 pages in the big sketchbook filled. Reading back over them it has become a diary of sorts and it’s fun to read.

This morning instead of doing work at work, I read my daily web comics and started reading two more. These people may be real artists. They draw more than stick figures, in color sometimes with computer programs. They call themselves cartoonists. I want to be their friends and I’m ready to go up to them with my sharpie pen and notebook and show ‘em what I got!

Mystery meat for dinner

I find myself staring out into the night at the lighted windows across the way. In the other hospital rooms and offices, there is little movement. I am staring at nothing in particular when the large flakes start to float down from the sky. It’s the only change I’ve seen in hours. I tell my mom, “Look, it’s snowing.” She leans over to the window, glances up and says “Stop it!.” Oddly enough that command 5 minutes ago seems to have been heard and the snow is stopping.

We’ve spent 10 hours in the hospital now with only a quick vacation to get some lunch. Much of it was spent in the waiting room of the Ambulatory Surgery department. It is a waiting room designed for people that will be there a long time and will be worried. The front desk ladies call everyone “Family.” They say things like “Hi Family, how are you doing?” They are friendly and efficient. They know that everyone wants to know where their family member is and when they will be finished. There is a genius tv that has individual patient tracking. If you know my father’s number you can see when his status is “In OR” or “Surgery Started.”

It’s stayed at “Surgery Started” for around 3 hours with my father. We weren’t really sure how long it took to slit someone’s throat, move all the insides to one side and yank out two discs from the spinal cord. Discs 4-5 and 5-6 to be exact. My mother was a perfect example of calm, or hiding fear. Myself, I got a bit jittery there for a minute or so.

We both felt better when my sister arrived with a $10, 2 pound burrito. We lightened the mood with our unending sense of humor. Why were there 20 puzzles available to us, some in just ziplock bags, and NO Operation game? ZZZ! Damn! Missed the bread basket!

My family deals with fear and insecurity with humor. We all do. Which means we are badly behaved in hospitals. We are probably the only one frequently found laughing in inappropriate places. How else would I have discovered that the light switch in the waiting room also changes the channel on the tv when you turn the lights on? How would I own those two surgical caps?

In fact, just this moment I said “Psst. When dad falls asleep put one of these funny caps on him!” “He’s getting very tired now,” my mom replies. With his eyes closed my dad says “I’m not sleeping you know.” “Yes you are,” my mom tells him.

My comic strip would not exist with this humor and I’m sure I would not exist without it either. Surely this is what brought my parents together.

He’s slowly falling asleep and mom is getting anxious to go. What if the weather Gods disobey her and it starts snowing again?

It’s cold and dark outside. I know we should be going but I don’t want to leave my father. Can’t I just sleep here in this chair?

Poorly written emotional rambling - Part 1

What I want:

A supportive, encouraging, loving, strong, romantic, understanding, adventuresome man to be my partner to create a life and future.

What I have:

A good looking guy who I will go on occasional dates with while he enjoys a lot of “him” time and works on his issues. Maybe someday he will magically turn into what I want.

I’m left to wait. I hate waiting more than anything in the world. Well I also hate being stood up. I’m not in control of this situation. He claims that I have control of my mood and emotions and doesn’t understand why I don’t just turn on happy. I have nothing to be happy about. I am not going to smile. I am not in any position to smile.

I get nothing. I lose. I know that this is a pessimistic way of looking at things but let me sulk for awhile. My forward progress with my love life has halted, put in reverse, and taken out of my hands.

I can’t see my boyfriend when I want to. I can’t talk to him about how I’m feeling or rely on him for comfort or support. I can’t seek confidence inducing comfort in someone else’s arms or even distract myself by going out on fun dates with people because I’m still taken by someone. I will still be chastised for spending time with people I’ve slept with and reminded that guys don’t want to be my friend, they just want to fuck me. He’ll still make me feel like less of a person because I’m sad and lonely. He’ll still tell me I have no right to be lonely because I have such great friends. I’m still scared to be honest with my feelings because of his temper.

What the fuck do I get? I should have at least negotiated for a restaurant gift certificate or free oil change.

Letters We Don't Send - 3

Dear Guy Who Used To Be My Boyfriend,

As much as I hate quoting songs I can’t help but put The Approaching Curve on my iTunes.

"This is what's best, for me, for you, for us," or maybe just for me I thought, As a tear formed in the pit of her eye.

You certainly win this one. I will back away and give you space and time to only pay attention to yourself. I won’t make you feel bad about it because now that I’m not your girlfriend I have no right to. You get to continue to be selfish and thoughtless without any guilt. And what do I get?

“Would you rather break up? If I were you, I would be glad I was honest and that I still want you in my life.”

Yep. I’m feeling like a pretty lucky girl right now.

Someday in the future when you figure out your issues and have had enough of your freedom I’ll get to be first in line. Well unless someone else has caught your eye or heart by that time.

But it’s cool cause you still want to hang out with me, to “date” me, to fuck me.

I’m gonna go celebrate. Fuck you.

Sincerely,

Whatever the fuck I am

Entry to my museum will be a tiny button.

It is cold and rainy outside on this Sunday morning. When I look out of my bedroom window I see the naked tree and the roof of the porch that will surely fall in this winter. The sky is a light gray and I can hear the drops of the rain coming from it. Inside my apartment though it is warmer than usual thanks to the plastic on the windows. My xmas tree is blinking it’s seizure inducing cheer and I smile just because I have a xmas tree this year. My two cute fishies are fed and seem not to notice that the third fishie only died a week or so ago. Shorty, my hermit crab is up and crawling around which confirms that he’s still alive. Depressed maybe, but still alive.

Inside my head though everything is bright colors this morning. I’m dreaming about becoming a collector of tiny art, a tiny art collector. Small oil paintings, miniature glass vessels, sculpture, collage, anything as long as it’s tiny! I will curate my own collection and design and build a display case. The display will look like a tiny museum. There won’t be any tiny people in it though because it’s only for me. Maybe I will sneak in some of my own tiny art!

Although I would not categorize myself as a morning person, I believe that I am much more positive in the morning. As the day wears on me I become more anxious, impatient, and sad. In the mornings I am optimistic and ambitious and I’ve forgotten the loneliness of the night before.

So I’m going to gather up my belongings, pack a couple activities in my bags, and head out to my parents. Maybe I’ll get a comic done or an oil painting. Just to hold on to this feeling and not let all of the negative thoughts creep in!

Finding my own way out

Sometimes I just feel lonely. Don’t get mad. Lonely isn’t something you just feel when there’s no one around you. Sometimes you can feel lonely when everyone is around you. Tonight is a holiday jazz show at my place of employment. There will be almost 500 people in the holiday spirit sitting and listening to some of the best jazz performers in the city. It will be a joyous festive atmosphere. It’s the last big show I need to worry about and everything will run smoothly. I work somewhere where my co-workers are friendly and care about me. In fact, nothing is wrong.

Yet I feel isolated amongst the crowds, alone in my thoughts and feelings; desperate to feel close to someone, to share myself. I want to hide in the shadows tonight because I know there is no hiding the sadness in my eyes. I can not pretend to be happy and gracious tonight. I just don’t have it in me.

How did I end up in this position? I’ve simply always been in this position. Varying shades of lonely. At times I have felt that I’ve had a kindred soul close to me in spirit if not in location. It was their proximity to my heart that mattered, which comforted me. Those instances turned out to be false and my trust in them has diminished.

Now I am not searching for another but determined to find my solitary peace. It’s a matter of survival now.

Goals? I had goals?

It’s been just about forever since I did a goal update:

Goal: Stop drinking.

Status: Tried it out. And stopped quitting. Had some great drunken nights. Can I change this goal to “Stop blacking out”?

Progress: I suppose this goal is off the table for awhie.

Goal: Lose weight.

Status: Ate pretty healthy today.

Progress: I thought I was on the right track but there’s no weight being lost.

Goal: Establish a routine exercise plan.

Status: Spent 30 minutes on the elliptical today. First time this week.

Progress: I’ve been challenged to do 22 workouts before Dec 25. I don’t know if I’ll make it but it helps to motivate me.

Goal: Get a promotion at work.

Status: Hmm…

Progress: Haven’t done anything about this recently.

Goal: Fix personality. Stop worrying. Relax. Don’t be so emotional.

Status: Oh boy…

Progress: I can’t say this has been going very well. Crying at a zombie scene that leads to a screaming fight can’t be called progress.

We must laugh to keep from crying

Imagine two stick figures screaming at each other. It doesn’t really matter what they’re saying because the other one isn’t listening anyway. They both have scary serious faces on though. Imagine the littler one starting to cry and the bigger one tapping her on the face and saying “No, no, no, no….” It’s kind of humorous when you think about it like that. Two adults in a relationship who have very little idea about how to deal with each other. Two adults who are strong willed but who can’t see past their own baggage. Two adults unwilling to give up.

Letters We Don't Send - 2

Dear Boyfriend,

I would normally just try to stuff all this inside of me so you didn't claim I was giving you a guilt trip but I thought maybe telling you how I felt might... I don't know what it will do. It might just make you angry but I hope it doesn't.

You're getting a kitten. I didn't know until you were talking to your parents about it. And it's going to be your kitty. And you didn't ask me what I thought about it or ask my opinion and you didn't ask me to have any part in helping you pick it out or anything. I know that you did this because your ex-wife stole your cat away from you and so you're not sharing this kitty. But cat's live for another 15-20 years and so someday (in that secret future that you have) we may live together and the cat will be there. And it will be your cat. And it will never be our cat. And I will feel left out. And in my future I picture a house and a family and pets and I want to be part of something bigger than myself, a family. I don't feel like your letting me be a part of your life, now or in the future. It's messing up my dreams for the future. I don't even know what I see in my future anymore. I want to dream and you and us but you've given me no reason to. So I try just generic dreaming or dreaming for both of us but it's alway in the back of my mind, "Maybe he doesn't see me in his future."

I hate that I just wrote all that. It sounds so insecure and needy. Maybe I won't send this. Maybe I'll post it. Maybe I'll just delete it. Maybe I'll keep you out and see if you notice. Maybe I'll close down a little bit to protect myself.

Or maybe I'll send this and just apologize like mad for writing it.

Any way you think about it, I don't win. Nothing will change and I'll just feel bad about how I feel.

Yours,

Girlfriend

Every guy is NOT the same

I’ll admit to it. I get jealous when he’s out with friends. It’s an argument we may get into for forever. He has “guy friends” who he wanted to spend “guy time” with. The thing is I don’t have “girl friends” to spend “girl time” with. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever used the phrase “I’m hanging out with the girls tonight.” I don’t know if I ever will. I’ve always gotten along better with guys, always had more guy friends than anything. Which brings me to my second point of this mostly frustrating blog tonight:

Every guy who sees me wants to sleep with me. This is not a vain proclamation. This is what my boyfriend confessed to me on Wednesday. Every guy who I consider my friend just wants to have sex with me. Except Steve. Because somehow Steve gets a pass. And my boyfriend should know because he’s a guy and all guys are the same.

This bothers me for two reasons: 1 –It makes me feel worth nothing. For someone who has some serious self confidence / “been used” issues, this makes me feel like what I always feared and didn’t see is true, I’m not good for anything but sex. That’s a confidence destroyer. 2 –All guys aren’t the same. A few days ago a good looking, intelligent guy came over to drink copious amounts of Jameson and decorate my tree with me. We drank, we decorated, we took funny pictures, we slow danced to xmas music and laughed at the music on TV. We had a beautiful night. And then he went home. No sex whatsoever. It was the night I wanted to have with my boyfriend.

The second thing I’ll admit to tonight is that I write this lame blog from a point of frustration and jealousy which means I’m not looking at the rational side of this right now. I’m just being lonely. Because I’m a lonely person looking for the other half to complete me and worrying that he wants to be out with friends rather than curled up next to me.

I’m going to bed.

I'd like to be a Muppet football player.

It was a chilly morning, the first with frost on the ground in my park. The leaves crunched a little more than usual and I kept my head down and continued walking. I walked quickly to get my heart beating and narrated letters and messages in my head. Sometimes I talk quietly to someone who isn’t with me I tell them everything I wanted to say but didn’t. I have wonderful thought out conversations always saying the right thing, like it will make up for the times when I back down and just repeat “I’m sorry,” over and over.

I thought about the amazing, smart, successful people I read about online yesterday. The quarterback of the NFL game I was watching who got a 1580 on his SAT’s and went to Harvard, setting records the whole way. I wondered what was different between us, why wasn’t I great? Boyfriend says it’s cause we don’t have the drive that they do. I conclude that they’ve figured out how to get more than 24 hours out of a day. And they’re not sharing with me.

I suppose I should let you know how last night’s goal went. I’d grade myself as a B-, slightly higher than average. I did make myself feel a bit better. I watched Muppets. You see, much of what I learned about life I learned from Muppets in their various forms, Muppet Show, Muppet Movies, Sesame Street and Fraggle Rock. It’s comforting and inspiring to watch them as an adult. They traverse many adults problems accompanied by humor, good friends, and a bit of the ridicules and that’s how I want my life to be.

In conclusion today I will be inspired by Ryan Fitzpatrick, the QB of the Buffalo Bills, and Kermit the Frog.

It's a race to capture the day!

Tonight I am sitting in front of the TV. This is a rare occurrence made more rare by the fact that I don’t have cable. I don’t want to be watching TV. I really don’t want to be doing anything. I don’t want to go to sleep tonight because tomorrow is a work day. I don’t want to keep drinking because I’ve been pretty hard on my liver recently. I don’t want to think about anything because I’ve been kind of hard on my leaky eyes recently too. I don’t want my phone to beep with a text but I also don’t want to be alone.

There doesn’t seem to be a good ending to the day.

I can’t help but think about the fact that I won’t ever get today back. I don’t want to end the day feeling like I did nothing positive. I need to force myself into a better ending.

I’m giving myself 1 hour and 38 minutes to turn the day around.

1…2…3…GO!

Letters we don't send - 1

Dear Boyfriend,

I miss you. I miss the you from the first week we met. The dead battery, the stars, the long conversations and the impulsive road trip. It was romance and adventure and mystery and everything I wanted to fall in love with. Now I am very far away from you.

Now that I’m in too far to just run away, it’s different. I sit here all day and wait for you to want to see me. It’s a holiday. I have no plans. At any moment we could be together. And I get a “How’s work?” text message.

We moved so fast. We fell head over heels a dozen times and I was certain that moving too fast was ok at our age. We both want to have a relationship, we can skip the waiting part. But all we’ve done is move too fast into the questionable part.

We’re both out of our element. My life is ruled by my moods and emotions and my struggle to control them. I strive for passion and adventure and I want to squeeze out every last bit of life I can. You admit to having emotions but confess that I won’t see them. Why should I need to hear you say you love me? I should know. We have never been close to anyone like who we are with right now. Yet, through the difference and frustration, we’ve never suggested splitting up.

Maybe it’s because we’re at an age when we see the need to find someone and settle down. I’ll readily admit that this year was the first time I thought that settling down would be something I wanted. Now that I know what I want, I’m afraid it’s clouding my vision, clouding our vision.

Being unable to talk to you, posting this to the entire world before I talked to you, is pushing me away from you. I want someone who can’t stand to be away from me sometimes. I want someone to miss me. I want someone to think about the future with me and dream and scheme. I want someone to suck up his manliness and decorate the damn xmas tree with me just because it means something to me.

When that’s not you, I look to fill the holes.

I haven’t found the solution. I haven’t found out how not to be emotional and lonely. If my boyfriend can’t help me, what do I do?

Love,

Your girlfriend.

Late night flow poem

I was reminded tonight that I created a poem type. A flow poem is a poem that reads like a flow chart. You can’t google it. Yet. But I think it could be very successful. What do you think?

It is 2:30a

I am up because:

I was up this late last night

I took a 3 hour nap 6 hours ago

There are things I can do:

I can watch tv.

Murder, mystery, crime, documentaries

I can play on my Mac

Youtube, Facebook, Google, comics

There are things I can’t do:

Sleep

Eat any more food

Fly

And so I will try.

1) Turn off the TV

2) Close the Mac

3) Take off my pants

4) Climb into a bed

5) Close my eyes

If I am unsuccessful.

I will eat a cupcake.

Running in place

Some nights I may have the energy to do things but not the focus or desire. I feel like there’s a lot inside of me right now but that I don’t even want to let it out. To let it out I’d have to admit it, acknowledge it, and put it out there right in front of me. It’s like last night…

I spent a majority of last night with a good friend who I’d never called a friend until now. A year ago he became an e-mail penpal and we exchanged lengthy articulate e-mails with an uncommon frequency. We had not known each other beforehand and did not see each other in person. Our relationship was defined solely on the internet and both of us were perfectly happy. It wasn’t until I had a vivid erotic dream about him that our relationship took a different turn. The details of that period in time do no ever need to be written down and frankly, I can not write about what happens when I’m blacked out.

Back to last night. Our relationship is now on it’s third incarnation as we celebrated our one year anniversary. We opened a bottle of wine and sat by candlelight in the kitchen watching the music video for Glory of Love on youtube. He confessed that as a child he pictured that scenario as what adults did. And we proved it true.

Then we began reading our old e-mails, outloud. Yes, we were narrating our own e-mails and laughing at ourselves hysterically. We started right around this time and got the whole way to December 6^th before I slumped over. I was writing to him about how my xmas decorating plans had been sidetracked because my sister cancelled on me. I read this sentence outloud in the dark kitchen: “I also changed out of my pretty argyle xmasdecoratingsweater and into my grubby clothesIworeyesterday cleaning outfit. Now I look as miserable as I feel.” Then I paused, sat up, and unzipped my warm brown fleece. Underneath was my pretty argyle xmasdecoratingsweater. And the realization hit me. My plans for xmasdecorating had not come to fruition that night either.

I was in the exact same position as a year prior. Drunk and lonely. All I dreamed about was putting my xmas tree up with someone I was in love with and a bottle of wine. Listening to music, smelling the festive candle. It’s a silly dream that I need to let go of. It’s been too many years that I’ve just gotten myself disappointed and it’s simply my fault.

I slumped over in my chair onto his leg. My eyes started to leak. All I ask of myself is that I keep moving forward in my life, keep progressing. And there I was, unable to deny that I am just as alone and lonely as the year before. It was a crushing blow.

So I’ve had enough honesty about myself for quite sometime. I think maybe it’s time to pick up a fiction book. Or write one.

Good days that turn to good memories

Sometimes I like to stay in bed and pretend it’s summer. In fact, it’s what I’m engaged in right now, besides this blogging. My room is filled with warm morning light. There is a specific beam that focuses on the snowglobe that I never put away. It lights it up like a magical crystal ball. Outside my window there are a couple birds chirping. I’m pretty sure they’re discussing how they should be more south right now but I’m thankful for them regardless. They help my summer fantasy.

I imagine myself getting up and putting on my uniform of jeans and a tank top and pulling my long hair into a messy ponytail, then grabbing some bubbles and heading to the canon in the park. This summer I spent many hours sitting on that canon, writing poetry or drawing comic strips. A lot of the time I was alone but other times some of my favorite people would share my cannon. Sometimes strangers would say hi or stop and talk for a bit. Kids would often be drawn to my bubble blowing and run and jump to pop the bubbles. Their parents would look at me and wonder briefly “What is that adult woman doing on that cannon blowing bubbles by herself?” Eventually they would lure their children away from the nice lady blowing bubbles which was a relief cause sometimes I was about to pass out.

It’s that truly summer feel that I want back right now. It carries a sense of freedom of life. I can do anything on a warm summer day…as long as I have suncreen. Because really, when I’m in bed and cold, I only think about the good things about summer. I do not account for the sweaty stifling humidity. The days when I used an ice pack from my freezer just to keep cool. All the sunscreen, and sunburn, and aloe treatment.

It’s how we think about the winter during those hot summer days, all beautiful snow and cookies. It’s also how we view our past, when we venture to the attic of our mind and find that beautiful package of a memory. Everything is perfectly polished and the dents and tarnish that really existed has gone away because we made it go away and now, now it never existed in the first place.

Last night is a perfect package ready for storing away. It was a Saturday night alone but let’s not focus on the dents, they’re soon to be gone. I quickly realized that the best place for the Jameson bottle was in the closet, out of my sight. This kept me sober and lucid throughout the evening. I spent most of the time on my chaise which I have turned so that I can imagine it is a couch. I painted very small paintings, one of which turned out very well. I watch two Hitchcock movies, The Lady Vanishes and Rich and Strange.

The first was about a young lady on a train who is disturbed by the disappearance of a new acquaintance, Miss Froy. It’s got everything, mystery, deceit, romance and a gun battle during tea. I enjoyed it very much and moved on to the next one in the 9 movie set I stole from my sister. Rich and Strange was about a married couple who comes into some money and decides to take a cruise. On this cruise they both find new lovers and the movie might have ended there with the dissolution of their marriage. However, the wife decides that she cannot go with the man that loves her and returned to find her cheating husband abandoned by his scam princess and broke. The movie might have ended right there with their reunion even though the line “If you say I told you so I’m going to strangle you,” doesn’t scream success. But we move on to their journey home where their boat sinks and they hitchhike with some pirates who skin and eat their cat. The movie has a happy ending. There is a reason I’m not a movie reviewer.

During the movies I ate some ice cream, a treat for my success with my running this week. It also seemed to be an appropriate snack for a dateless Saturday night. Mind you, I’m not complaining, the company was perfect!

Now I must get up and start my Sunday. I have football and family ahead of me and still a million projects floating around in my head.

Tiny paintings done by tiny hands

This is a tiny painting (notice it in the palm of my hand) of a sycamore tree being watched by a star. I will title it “Watching the sycamore.” I was inspired by my walk home the other night through the park. The sky was a deep blue with only a slight gradient and I admired the silhouette of the tree. Living in the city there are some nights where I can only see one star and I’m thankful for the one that made it through that night. People who I showed this too seem to like it a lot. I try to explain that I’m not a very good painter. I have no sense of light. That’s why I can paint silhouettes.

This is my next tiny painting of a cow. Hopefully you could tell that. Since I was encouraged by my first tiny painting I’ve gotten a ton of ideas for more that might do well as xmas gifts. I love one of a kind handmade gifts and I think everyone should. I hope she likes this one. I’d never painted a cow before.

This one's for you Grandma!

This morning I am working from my home office. This means that you can find my sitting up in the most comfortable bed in the world. The bed is queen sized with sheer white drapes sewn onto the framework around me. Think of it as a private cubical. Propped up on my knees is my Mac ready to help me with any task that might arise and also to distract me at a seconds notice. “Oh, I want to look up images of snowglobes!” Organized around me in a semi circle to my left is my sketchbook and pencil to capture ideas before they escape me, my current reading selection “The Art of Choosing.,” and my work notebook and pen to trick the clients into thinking I am sitting right there at my desk working diligently.

In fact, I do consider myself to be working, working and dreaming and creating all the new projects that I want to try. You see, sometimes I get in wildly creative moods. They will keep me up all night focusing on a project that sometimes even makes it to completion. Growing up when these moods coincided with school projects, I was amazingly successful. I did some of my best work. Now I want to grasp as much of this mood as possible and squeeze it until I can wring out all of the projects that I can. I do not want to waste time doing work paperwork.

I’ve crafted since I was a tiny kid. Weekends were sometimes spent at my grandmother’s house in Lower Burrell where she would undoubtedly have a dozen projects for us to do. She would collect bits and pieces as supplies and know where everything was in an instant. Do you need a something to put glue in? She’d have an empty lipton tea mix container right on the 5^th shelf up in the craft room. It was a magical place and I loved being there in the stuffy second floor room that smelled of oil paint. I still remember a lot of the projects that we did and I’m keeping them safely stored in my mind for when I can craft with my kid. (Note: I should document them just incase I die.)

When my grandmother passed away she had collected a lot of things and when it came to the craft room, my parents turned to me. I wanted to take it all! And I did manage to save quite a bit. Last night in fact, I opened up a brand “new” package of paint brushes from Ames, a store that closed 10 years ago. My grandmother is still managing to give me presents. I share those presents as well. During my 3 years as a design teacher at a high school, grandma’s supplies took us all through various projects and I tried to instill in my students a sense that everything could be used again. We threw away nothing in my class.

I think about her a lot when one of these creative explosions lands on my doorstep. I’m a lot like her in many ways and I often wish I’d gotten to know her better. I will craft in her honor as long as I can.

Attaching my emotions to kites and letting go

This morning it is windy and gray and the sky is misting a little bit. You don’t dare open your umbrella because the air would immediately flip it inside out, commanding it to remain useless and threatening to detroy it. If I owned the day, I would grab one of my kites and go to the park and offer it to the weather gods for their pleasure. Instead I was walking to work and my only offering was my long red hair which flew around me until I admitted defeat, I had no control. But even with the strong winds, my uncomfortable mood was unable to be blown from me.

So here I sit at my desk, unable to swallow the emotion from yesterday which keeps coming up in my throat. Oh, and I’m waiting for a conference call.

Yesterday I sat down on my living room floor and popped the battery into the old video camera. I spent the next hour skipping through videos from that ominous drunken summer of 2002. At first it was hilarious and I laughed as I remembered all the trouble we got ourselves into. I won’t narrate any of the stories, but I’ll share the video if you like.

Moments later standing in a warm shower I started to think about what happened after that summer. I thought about how the drinking carried into the school year and how it all started to get a bit serious. My mind deteriorated and I found myself spending more time alone in my closet struggling to keep going. I went through all the memories while I stood there and found my mood sinking.

I told my boyfriend as we stood on his porch for a smokebreak. I told him how it felt to see the guy who raped me on tape for the first time in years. I told him how the words that the guy said to me that night were the same ones my ex-husband accidently said to me on night during sex and how I shut down. He asked me if he’d be able to know what he said so that he didn’t say it. I said sure. I tried. They are right there in the front of my brain but I couldn’t get them out. I just couldn’t let them go. My eyes started to well up and he came over and put his arms around me. In a rare moment of emotion, he said he loved me.

The night moved on and ended with both of us falling asleep angry. It was our most fitful night of sleep. We both thrashed and woke up multiple times. I had no idea what I’d done wrong this time but I was correct in assuming it had something to do with my text messages. I think we just got it sorted out so I’m not going to harp on it in hopes of letting it go now.

In fact I’m going to start my work day and hope for the quiet of the walk into work to carry through the day.

Waste of blog space

Trying to blog during a miserable Steeler game is difficult. I feel distracted. It has been a day of distractions. I woke up with puffy eyes from sobbing, a stomach that was not very interested in food, and a liver that was back to it’s grumbly ways. I worked on my rocketship in Photoshop. I then finished sculpting Steve’s xmas present. All it needs now is baked. I also watched tutorials on block printing and bloopers from game shows. It was a good day to make a mess in the living room. I feel like I got something done.

Something makes me feel like I should be in a better mood right now but I can’t seem to pull it out from anywhere. My emotions seem to be all over the place right now with my lack of self confidence taking the drivers seat. I need to try to keep them in check.

Now the Steelers have lost the game. The dryer has beeped and I have to go. It’s for the best really. I wasn’t saying much.

Flying spaceships is my new hobby.

I do not want “me” time. I do not like hanging out with me. When I am by myself I am not happy, especially if I’m not busy. If I can keep myself increasingly busy while alone, I can stand myself. It’s those quiet times when you sit there in awkward

silence with your own reflection. I get lonely quickly and easily the way I also get cold in the winter. The cold and the lonely stick with me no matter what I do to warm myself.

“You need a hobby!”

Is that really the root of my sadness? Is the fact that I don’t kni

t what is causing this hole in my heart? Could I simple buy some yarn and needles and knit the hole shut, or make a nice crocheted patch for it? Could I paint a portrait of a whole heart and make it come to life? I reckon I may need to go for a tou

gher medium, metalsmithing. A blowtorch and welder would surely reinforce it, make it stronger.

“Being sad is my hobby.”

Well why not? I’ve been practicing for years. When I’m not busy, I’m being sad. Unfortunately that hobby doesn’t result in any trinkets or scarves that I can give to my family for xmas. In fact, it doesn’t do much for anyone.

To be a bit more serious, I have tried finding hobbies. The thing is, I want to try everything. I just bought needle felting items and made a small… whatever.

I want to learn block printing and I dream about owning my own greeting card company. I want everyone in the world to read my comic strip. I want to have a xmas tree of all handmade ornaments. I want people to look forward to my one of a kind gifts. But with everything I try it exists only as a brief fling. Nothing, so far, has grabbed me in such a way that I wanted to commit to it, put down the other hobbies and focus on one. I suppose this is a recurring theme in my life. I get bored easily. In fact, I’d be surprised if this blog lasted until the end of the year.

Where should I go to find this kind of commitment? What switch inside myself will allow me to settle down? Find a hobby. Find a partner. Find happiness.

Oh and I drew this spaceship.

Yes, I would like a drink. Thank you.

The night is moving slowly at this big brown desk in the basement. I’d like to be somewhere sipping a Kasteel Red right now, slowly bring the sweet liquid to my lips, feeling it relax me. Instead I am sitting and getting increasingly agitated in my office. My productivity stalled a few hours back. This is a last ditch effort to a tiny bit of accomplishment squeezed out of the night.

Goal: Stop drinking.

Status: I may stop for a beer on my walk home. It is Friday night anyway. The night that people go out and socialize. I haven’t been drunk since Halloween.

Progress: That makes it 12 days without being drunk. Have I proved myself yet? Can I drink?

Goal: Lose weight.

Status: If you ignore the chocolate I ate tonight, I’m doing better at eating.

Progress: Scale said 1 lb gone. I’m skeptical.

Goal: Establish a routine exercise plan.

Status: 3 days in a row. And I bought new running shoes. And downloaded a running log to my iPod touch.

Progress: It’s a start. It’s not easy.

Goal: Get a promotion at work.

Status: Took Wednesday off. My boss told me I could do whatever I want because I was the teachers pet.

Progress: I don’t want to be seen as a suck up. Must watch how I appear to my co-workers.

Goal: Fix personality. Stop worrying. Relax. Don’t be so emotional.

Status: Two really good days in a row. Makes you forget the bad days.

Progress: What I haven’t discovered is how to keep this from slipping through my fingers, like right now.

It’s a forced update, but an update nonetheless.

Don't make me go home.

I didn’t continue my last post like I had planned. I went about my day and now I lay in bed, ready to give myself over to the land of the sleeping. Tonight I am in a mood that makes me yearn for someone next to me. I’d curl up under his arm with my head on his chest and he’d pull me close and keep me safe. He’d turn his head to mine and tell me he loved me a million times. It’s moods like this that make my big bed seem too big for one person, the night’s too quiet and still. The darkness turns the cuddly romance into solemn lonesomeness.

Normally I would have a couple shots of whiskey to wash down the sadness. I haven’t found a substitute to make myself feel better. I’m just going to bed lonely and sad tonight.

A little about the day before today.

Some days the timing just all comes together. Yesterday was one of those days. The start of the day was waking up naturally at 7:15a. I’d gone to bed early and surprised myself with the ease that I woke up. I don’t remember anything about the dreams of the night before except for a big pile of macaroni and cheese. This day had potential.

I packed an activity pack that reminded me of how I used to prepare to go to my grandfather’s house. An overstuffed survival kit with everything I would need to combat the toughest boredom in the barren wasteland that was Ligonier, PA. It was crucial because if I ran out of activities I would surely die. My 29 yr old survival kit was very similar. Instead of coloring books and markers I had a sketch book and pencils and pens for my comic strip. Instead of broken cameras as spy gear I had my laptop, blackberry, and ipod touch. Instead of cookies and kid snacks I had stopped at Sheetz and bought a blueberry muffin, Diet Pepsi, and granola bar. I was confident I would survive the one hour of waiting at the car dealership for my Impreza to get inspected.

The beginning of my luck started right there at the waiting table at the dealership. No sooner had I given my keys to trusty Roberto then I opened my laptop and started my “Things to do while waiting for your car inspection list.” I charged my ipod, I cut out coupons for grocery shopping and I tackled most of my to-do list for the day. It was a glorious early day success. To top it off, the inspection was done quickly and came in under $200. That was one of two firsts. I also got it inspected on the month it was due. Surely I sign that I’m growing up.

My responsibility continued while I went grocery shopping for cost effective mildly healthy food. I popped in my headphones, turned up some Gaslight Anthem, and danced my way around the aisles comparing prices and generally having a good time.

The sunny afternoon was a perfect time to catch up with an old friend. After sipping a coffee and a lime Italian soda, we walked around the Northside, around the park and through Oz. There’s something comforting about just being in the presence of someone with similar personality traits. We’re both anti-social in social businesses and both self-deprecating in the basest of ways. He’s the only person who would find the fact that even though I quit drinking I still always want to be drunk, hot.

Amazingly, this part of my narrative only takes us to about 4:30p with a half day still ahead of me. I will have to finish later as I have a dentist appointment in 40 minutes and need to drop off the heatpack at my boyfriends work. This day has potential. Let me not screw it up!

If you don't see me today, it's because I died in my dream.

The last shot in last night’s nightmare was me looking at my face in the mirror. My skin was blotchy and red from the stinging poison. I would never see my daughter again or my husband. I possessed a great calmness while I said goodbye to myself, knowing that I was about to die.

Just typing those words brings the emotion back into my throat from the pit of my stomach. I woke up with sense of despair that was very deep. I let a quiet but desperate “No…” escape my lips. “Not today. Not again,” I thought. I hit the snooze button again and again and again, each time trying to erase some of that nightmare, to record over it with another one. But it stays with me, stuck to my mind, unable to be shaken off.

I was reading a book on my walk into work that stated, “Think of how our bodies respond to the images we hold in our minds. It appears that the nervous system can’t tell the difference between a well-imagined thought and reality.” My nightmares impact my day, I’ve always know that. But until now I was blaming my brain for letting them. Maybe there’s a physical, nervous response that my brain can’t control. Instead of accepting the guilt for my terrifying subconscious, maybe I should recognize this as a problem and see what steps I can take to control it.

Until then I’m never going to sleep again.

My name should be Alice.

My alarm gonged at 7:30. I snoozed for a bit and reset for 8:00. At 8:00a I awoke from a vivid dream. I will try to explain it a bit but I will stop whenever it become too uncohesive for any reader, even myself, to understand.

I was leaving a bar not drunk with two other people. We agreed to head to another bar and I told them I would meet them there. I hopped on my little purple bicycle and started off but since we were somewhere near Shadyside, I was unfamiliar with my surroundings and soon got lost. At the same time that I realize that I’m lost, I also realize that the sun is starting to come up. I abandon the bar idea and the two people who were not really friends anyway and head for home.

The neighborhood I find myself in has European characteristics. The roads are narrow and the sky peeks in between the rows of buildings. It also has a sense of being a neighborhood loosely related to Sesame Street. The mailman is helping the lady across the street bring her flower displays outside to the sidewalk. There is a large truck ready to cross the intersection. It seems a bit out of place, like it should be traveling down the turnpike to a construction site.

I cross the street and ask the mailman which way to the Northside. “That’s easy. Right down this street and to the left. Ride fast.” He points the opposite direction that I was headed. Trusting him, I take off. At the end of the street I realize I left my bike back on the sidewalk. A small detail but one that should be noted because when I realize I didn’t have my bike, I was scared to turn and go back and tried to simulate my bike, hoping it would appear. Almost like I knew I was dreaming.

The street he had directed me to was bizarre and this morning I sketched it out before my eyes were fully open. It was too narrow to be a street or an alley. Two rows of houses lined this short path. Above them trees hung over to make a canopy. I could not see the sky. The path was made of large yellow ocre cobblestones and sloped in to the middle. The middle was the only straight, smooth path as the sides were large waves. My first instinct was to ride over the bumps for fun but they were so pronounced I took the cautious route down the center.

Along my way I was passed in the opposite direction but a group of kids on bikes, riding very fast. My only route was to the right and I mistakenly rode up a ramp to find that it was an entrance to one of the houses. There was an old man sitting right at the top and on the second level down there were 3 soldiers in camouflage. They regarded me with a mild air of suspicion. I needed to squeeze under the stairs and throw a hole in the fence in order to get out of this odd neighborhood. In the background there were two women working on chores and talking about how the cat was supposed to be killing the scorpions. From the side I could swear I could hear the cat complaining about how it was always his job and the men never did anything. As I was finally exiting I turned around and told them all goodbye and that it seemed quite peaceful there and I wish I could stay for awhile. There was no response.

I thought I would be outside on the street again but I was surprised to find myself in a white hallway leading to many other hallways. Along the way there were a lot of doors and I felt the need to open each of them. The first one I open led to a room with 8 doors, 4 on each wall. I thought, “These places don’t actually exist in dreams.” Each door I opened led to a white room, opening the door triggered a video component to start filling the room with colors and images and in each there was one physical thing in a spotlight. One room’s color was red and in the corner in a pin spot was a large red pig sculpture in the style of a piggy bank. I did not watch the whole presentation in any room since I felt the need to open every door. I did not have the time.

While I opened all the doors and traveled down the hallways I made a point to remember the way back. I felt confident that I knew which door was out. I was not confident that I knew what “out” would be anymore.

Sadly, I don’t remember if I took the door or not. I woke up to a bedroom filled with daylight and my phone softly gonging telling me to start my day.

Now that I’ve finished this blog, I will start my day.

Good morning.

I need to break something.

I stopped myself from crying into his chest.

Because that would have made him angry.

Calm down. Relax. Stop dorking out. You’re not drinking so you can’t act like this.

Fine.

I need to start running again. It’s a great outlet for frustration. Right now I’ve just got loud punk music. Because I can’t drink. I’ve got to leave for work soon. And work will help. It will force me to focus and play nice and not be in charge and usually I get some attention paid to me and that’s nice too. And I should travel too. Plan a trip myself since I can’t convince him to plan one with me.

I am so predictable.

Loud music. Driving fast. Drinking. Running away.

How do I break my own mold?

Don't expect a Xmas card!

If my own mind is not a large enough obstruction in my quest for a good nights sleep, my neighbor certainly is. When I finally ventured to bed, I was met with loud voices and bad music coming from the other side of the wall where my head rests. The party, it seemed, was in full swing.

The first night in a new apartment should hold a bit of excitement. It’s a new beginning in your life and new sense of ownership. It was a few hours into my first night in this apartment over a year ago that I was woken up suddenly by the screaming. There was one of the foulest arguments I’d ever heard going on in the next apartment. It startled me as if someone was in the room right next to me. The man screaming at the top of his lungs was also using every awful combination of f*ck and other profanities that anyone could imagine. The language honestly turned my stomach.

Since that night there have been many more of the same. Sometimes I am lucky and it only lasts for an hour, sometimes it’s the whole night, often starting between 3-4a. I feel guilty on those rare occasions when the fight moves to the front porch. It is obviously disturbing more people, but it’s quieter for me down there.

An obvious question would be why don’t I just call the cops. That first night in his ranting, the man also threatened to kill his neighbor and the cops were called. His fire escape is just inches from mine and it scares me. I’d rather him not know anything about me or where I live. His downstairs neighbor sometimes calls the cops. And sometimes they show up and tell them to quiet down. I have very little respect for them. I can hear them talking to him like they’re actually sorry for having to disrupt his fight. On one occasion an ambulance came. I had heard what happened. Screaming neighbor pointed at the man he was fighting with and the man bit his finger. More screaming “You bit me!” and the ambulance was called. No one was arrested.

Neighbors shared his story with me. He’s been there for years and his apartment is nicer than anyone’s on the street. It’s rent controlled and he get social security and he has a job. His live in lovers rotate frequently and most of them are closer to the homeless side of the spectrum. He fights with them mostly about drinking and money. He claimed their mooching off of him and that’s probably the truth. He’s always drunk.

Me? It’s 10a and my eyes are puffy and the few hours of sleep I got were spent curled up in the living room. It doesn’t give me a lot of positive energy to start the day. It will definitely be a struggle. Normally a drink would calm me down. I’m resisting. It’s difficult.

If I'm growing up, should I take out my nose ring?

My job requires me to work long hours and today is that kind of day. At 7:45a I snuck out of the big comfy bed and headed in to work. I needed to lay a dance floor before 9a. When I got there I discovered I also needed to open the door for the security guard, show him around, move seven heavy tables out of the room, drag the floor in, lay it myself and set up the sound system. Anger is a great motivator and I got it all finished just in time. I stomped out and back to my apartment. I slid back into bed and he immediately rolled over and pulled me close. Half an hour and I would be up, explaining to him that I had to go again. Still sound asleep his response was, “No!” Then he locked my leg in his, grabbed my breast and looped his arm around mine, rendering me motionless. Those few moments renewed me and I started my Saturday over.

It’s now almost 10p and I’ve got another hour and half before I make my way back to my bed. In 24 hours I’ll be making my way to another job, packing up Bob Dillon’s show and putting it in the back of a few semi’s, hopefully not many.

This job, this career, this life is all I’ve known since I was a child. It has consumed my time, my energy, my relationships. It has kept me busy with a sense of accomplishment or under appreciation. It has made me the happiest I’ve ever been and brought me to tears on a regular basis.

I’m 29 now and for the very first time I’m thinking about where I want my life to go. I’m not waiting to see what lands in my lap next. I’m standing up and moving towards a future that I’ve pictured.

I think I might be growing up.

But really: What about my goals?

Goal: Stop drinking.

Status: Last night I had 4 shots of whiskey at home and 1 glass of cabernet at the jazz club. I did not get drunk.

Progress: Let’s call it 6 days without being drunk.

Goal: Lose weight.

Status: There’s a candy smorgasbord in front of me and I can’t stop eating those tiny delicious little Swedish fish. Earlier today the Chinese food, caramels, and fishies were waging a war in a sea of red bull.

Progress: 1 million pounds gained.

Goal: Establish a routine exercise plan.

Status: What’s exercise?

Progress: None. None at all.

Goal: Get a promotion at work.

Status: Today’s event went really well and I received many accolades, some of which my boss may hear about.

Progress: Steady.

Goal: Fix personality. Stop worrying. Relax. Don’t be so emotional.

Status: Got my nails done yesterday. They look great. I am not biting them.

Progress: It seems easier right now, but I expected that.

Tomorrow I will possibly go to church, or run, or draw a comic strip. The possibilities are endless.

13 hours - 3" heels - 1 diminishing mood

When you reach your 13^th hour at work and you look behind you and realize that your task list is not much shorter than when you groggily showed up at 7a, your heart sinks a little. I start to review the last 13 hours and figure out where I lost it, where my productivity stopped. I criticize myself for checking my web comics or my facebook too many times. I also think about how many times my phone rang or I heard my name called over the radio, or how many e-mails I bounced around today. I haven’t left the building and have spent most of it behind this big desk.

Knowing that I have at least one more hour ahead of me gives me too options, try to kick some work ass or resign myself to the failure of the day. You’d think the choice of a motivated person would be easy but my energy is gone. My feet are sore from the 3” heels that I wear because my new pants are too long and I haven’t hemmed them. My mind is a bit mushy from the jumble that is the task list looming in front of me. All I really need to do it go through some more motions and finish out the day.

It was nice that the keyboard player came over after I kicked him offstage to open the house. It was friendly of him to say hi and ask what I was doing on my phone. What I was actually doing was texting my boyfriend about how he hadn’t come down and saved me from the night. I quickly got away from that screen. My wallpaper is currently a cute picture of my boyfriend and I, so he said “Aww, is that your man?” “Yep!” He didn’t say it in the “Damn, that’s a shame,” way. He did it in the “That’s cute that it’s your wallpaper way.” I was flattered. I told my boyfriend. He was less than flattered and naturally assumed that not only was this guy about to give me his number and invite me back to the room after the show, but he insinuated that since I didn’t realize this I was leading him on.

I’m tired. I’m not even sure how he wants me to act anymore. Should I ignore someone at work when he’s friendly to me? Do I immediately tell him that I’m taken and to please stop engaging me in civil conversation? Can’t I just be my friendly self? It’s disheartening when you feel like you can’t be who you are or that it would just be better if you didn’t share things with someone you care about. It makes me want to crawl back into myself and shut down for awhile, not let anyone in.

I’ll admit that I’m a bit sensitive right now. I haven’t had the best day and I’m sleepy and want to go to bed. I’d love to go home to someone who would hold me tight and comfort me and put me to bed. My apartment is cold and my fish don’t cuddle. It gets very lonely sometimes. He’s out with a friend so I won’t bother him with needy text messages. I can’t drink tonight even thought it’s the only thing I want to do right now. A couple shots of whiskey will keep me warm and stop my emotions from leaking out of my eyes.

I won’t care as much.

I wouldn't want to sleep next to me.

Quick! It is 3:44p! Before I start my to-dos and before this mood is gone!

I woke up this morning at 6:00a to my roommate’s alarm. It beeped for another 45 minutes before it was met by a “fuck” and some hurried movements. All the while I laid there with my hands over my ears cursing the interruption of what I thought was a full night’s rest. The truth of the matter was that I was tossing and turning and occasionally kicking and saying “NO!” in my sleep last night.

Sleep has been a problem for me since college. It was then that I remember the nightmares starting. Nightmares happen and are normal but not every night, not the ones I have. The worst one I remember is being chased and when finally caught I had to witness my family’s throats being slit in front of me. Then I experienced the same end and I died. And the overwhelming feeling of nothingness was the most frightening thing I’d ever experience.

I sought help in college. The psychiatrist told me it was separation anxiety or maybe trouble with my relationship. Every Wednesday he would sit across from me and guess at some textbook answers. Every day I would explain why all of the reasons were wrong. I wasn’t in denial. He was just missing the mark. We ended that relationship on a sour note with him explaining that he didn’t want to see me anymore. The nerve!

Since then I still have the nightmares every night. If I were to write a book about the experience it would be titled, “Varying Shades of Nightmare.” They’re not all the same kind or the same severity. I remember them to different degrees but I rarely wake up feeling rested and sometimes I wake feeling like I’ve spent the last 7 hours fighting more battles than I did during the day.

My nightmares are part of the reason I started drinking before bed. If I went to bed drunk or tipsy I would sleep through the night and not remember as much. But it seems as if I’ve worn out that solution. They are just as bad now when I drink. Recently there was a moment of respite when I would sleep next to my boyfriend. Maybe it was the unfamiliar location or the strong arms wrapped around me, but I didn’t get up 2 or 3 times at night. That seems to have worn off as well.

OTC sleeping aids don’t work. Prescription sleeping pills leave me groggy for most of the next day. Drinking has worn off. My next plan of attack is stress management. My optimism and skepticism about the idea have balanced themselves into a “might as well try it” attitude.

That’s better than nothing, right?

Getting it off my midday chest.

I’m currently deep in the to-do list which is my job today. I am struggling to swim my way to the surface after an admittedly unproductive day yesterday. My task program is registering 14 red items left to go until I get to TODAY’s list. It is 4:30p. I have made the decision to write a bit. I will rationalize this by saying it will get some of my thoughts out of my head and I’ll stop mulling them over. David Allen would be proud. I once used the same excuse in an English class when I turned in an 8 pages paper about my failing marriage instead of a 3 page paper on an English Lit book.

Goal: Stop drinking.

Status: I drank my half of a bottle of red wine last night. I didn’t guzzle and I didn’t get drunk.

Progress: 1 day without a drink again.

Goal: Lose weight.

Status: I forced some baby carrots down my throat today. I don’t understand how I think they’re a good idea when I’m at the grocery store.

Progress: 0 pounds lost.

Goal: Establish a routine exercise plan.

Status: I walked to work today and I’m not going to bed a ride home.

Progress: Not so much.

Goal: Get a promotion at work.

Status: I went to work today. And I’ve been plugging away.

Progress: Minimal.

I feel threatened at work currently. I realistically don’t have a reason to but it’s my lack of confidence that allows me to feel this way. My threatened feeling makes me bitter and defensive. Knowing this I have stayed in my basement plugging away at my work until I feel better.

Goal: Fix personality. Stop worrying. Relax. Don’t be so emotional.

Status: Felt pretty low this morning. Heart slightly sunk after a text message saying “We have problems.”

Progress: I managed to keep working and not run away.

Tonight I’ll be going out to dinner and a possible movie with my boyfriend. My goal is to get enough done that my mind won’t constantly be worried about work while my task is to relax. And I’ll try not to harp on all the calories I’ll be ingesting at Olive Garden. And I won’t be too sensitive when he says all the wrong things. He means well. Oh and I won’t drink anything alcoholic.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

What do I think it is? New Years?

It is the last hour of a Monday morning. A Monday morning that I decided to work from my satellite office in my robe with my tiny space heater pointed at my ice cube feet. Other than taking a shower, I have accomplished very little. This does not bode well for the beginning of my personal revolution, which was officially started yesterday. Let me explain.

The Projects:

Goal: Stop drinking.

Status: Hid all the whiskey in my coat closet out of sight. Took the flask out of my purse and hid it with the whiskey.

Progress: 1 day without a drink.

Goal: Lose weight.

Status: Ate a big sandwich for breakfast.

Progress: 0 pounds lost.

Goal: Establish a routine exercise plan.

Status: I have done approximately 3 laps around my one bedroom apartment today.

Progress: I ran last 3 miles last week.

Goal: Get a promotion at work.

Status: I am not in my office.

Progress: Noticed for my compliance with suggested organization and project management structure.

Goal: Fix personality. Stop worrying. Relax. Don’t be so emotional.

Status: Admitted that I wanted to change who I am.

Progress: I haven’t cried today. It’s not yet noon though.

I think 5 is a good place to stop right now. There are articles that will tell you that you can’t change everything at once. People are supposed to start slow, change one thing, then another because in this model you are setting yourself up for failure. Being completely aware of this, I still endeavor to change everything at once, because you know what? It’s time.

Why now?

The catalyst for my drinking resolution was simple shame. My mother wanted to know how the Halloween party I attended turned out. She knows I get nervous when I’m at parties with people I don’t really know. I couldn’t answer her simple question. I don’t remember. I don’t know how much I drank or what I did or said and I’m not sure I want to know. I do know that I disappointed and embarrassed my boyfriend and I worry my parents.