June 3, 2008

i made the call.

I set it up with my insurance.


I left…. a message for a potential therapist.


Crap.  It seems like everytime I give an effort to give a shit about myself,
I don’t get anywhere.   I get the answering machine and then I have to wait.

Its been over 2 hours since I left a call, and since then, my boyfriend has told me that I need to put more effort into making more money so I can contribute more otherwise our relationship will not work out.

God I need a therapist. Please have her call back soon before I do something regrettable.



is this normal?

June 2, 2008

Let me ask you a question.

During the day, when stress hits you upside the head, and thoughts start going in circles and life seems bleak, do you imagine yourself doing violent things?

Do you picture yourself stabbing the computer screen with your fork or repeatedly smashing your head on a wall hook until it pops open like a coconut filled with strawberry jam?


When I was a kid, and forced to sit in school, where I was bored and unhappy, I realized something: no matter what people force you to do, where you are forced to be during the day, what you have to get done, you always have the privacy of your own thoughts, and can nod and sweetly smile while thinking “fuck you”

Was I a morbid kid?  Maybe just not understood.

It used to be focused against teachers and parents and authoritative types. Imagining myself yelling at them, flipping them off, shoving them out of the way as I leave the room, dancing the can-can on the desks and kicking them, mostly just talking back and screaming.  I did a lot of mental screaming as a kid.

It carries over to today still, imagining hurling myself over balconies at museums, imagining the car accelerating into a telephone pole or off the edge of the road, imagining stabbing myself with scissors, or knives, imagining myself screaming.  Occasionally I’ll have to take a shower where I’ll open my mouth and silently scream as the water runs and I sob for a while.


Where is this sadness coming from?

My doctor says that everyone occasionally thinks the world would be better without them. 

So is this normal.

Am I ok?


It feels like I should have a specific reason- like being raped/molested as a kid, or seeing a parent die as a kid.

But as far as my memory serves me, I have not been through any such event.

(and it makes me more sad that I am sad for no reason)


May 29, 2008

  I was cruising around the net this morning at work… (shhhhh!) and came across this anger filled “article” on Michelle Malkin’s blog.

 What got to me (after the initial “wha?”) was the endless comment section, where one commenter after another said hateful, ignorant things. 

 While I completely understand people have different opinions than others, and while I completely support the discussion of these opinions and freedom of speech, the one thing I noticed was how the conservative side of this discussion was so all-inclusive, all decisive, and no buts about it correct, and all liberals were deemed to be unpatriotic because they refused to group every single Muslim on earth into the terrorist label.

  (for those of you too lazy to read the article, here is a short summary:  Rachel Ray (annoying “yummo” celebrity chef) recently did a commercial for Dunkin Donuts where she is wearing a scarf.  The scarf looks to some like the traditional muslim scarf (keffiyeh) that is common attire for most people in the muslim world.  The Big Brother propoganda videos (a.k.a. news and media and what not) has convinced a large portion of Americans to see that traditional scarf (or something similar) as a symbol of hate and terrorism and death and fear and everything that America is against.  (if you dont understand the Big Brother reference, go pick yourself up a copy of 1984
 Enough complaints led to Dunkin Donuts to remove the commercial to not imply any terrorist support.   

 Wow. Whether that scarf is the traditional scarf as accused, or whether it is just some paisley design that would be better suited for the likes of Joan Rivers, the comment section is where it got ugly.

  I’d rather not post the words on here, for they do not represent my beliefs.  

 Comparisons to the swastika, the KKK are made.

 Very interesting to hear two sides of political ideology, as my parents are full blooded republicans, and I tend to lean more democratic, though prefer to stay unaffiliated to any “group” due to the volatile nature of politics.  I could picture my dad saying some things like this sadly.  (I’ve heard him say so many things about mexicans, it makes my head spin) (i’ve also heard him talk about Obama and “not likin’ his name”) geesh.

   So my question: does this make me naive?  

  Since I would rather not group every Muslim (or everyone who lives in the middle east) as a terrorist or terrorist supporter, does that make me stupid?

  Expanding from that, does wanting peace make me some silly liberal who doesnt understand that people need to kill others and blow up things to make things better? 

 This confuses me   

Side note: the header picture for this post is off of Michelle’s flickr page.

  I am curious, seeing Michelle, and noticing she looks like she has some asian heritage, or Phillipines (forgive my ignorance) I wonder, if we had some national conflict with an asian or south pacific country and suddenly everyone was against people who even looked slightly of asian decent or maybe liked a certain asian food or something silly like that, would Michelle see this as the same thing?  If terrorists were suddenly from the country her heritage came from, would she have the same views?

  Maybe its the schooling I received, maybe its just innate, but I can’t help but put myself in the place of other people, accused people, people who may have something in common with a guilty party, but who are guilty only by association. 

 silly me.   

not good

May 21, 2008

Yeah. Last night was not good.

It started at work, on an errand, I had some trouble finding the parking lot for the store I went to (it was unmarked and shady looking) and then I couldnt find what I needed, and was on the wrong floor, and then when they said to pull my car around to the loading dock, the dock wasnt open, so I kept driving back and forth, and then all of a sudden, it was open and they stood their and looked at me like I was an idiot for taking so long.

That was ok.  I could have handled that.  No problem.

Then on the freeway coming back to work, I transitioned to the next freeway going North, but I really needed to go South.  Fuck.  This set me off, and I was instantly in tears, banging on my steering wheel.  I then proceeded to scream loudly (just so you know, I am not a screamer, I am very introverted and quiet and usually hold things in).  I screamed twice, and then turned around and went back to work.

Later, at home, I watched some election coverage and the speaches and ate dinner.  We decided to work on a promotional project of mine, which has taken quite a bit of time thus far, and we tried to figure out the text and what it would say.  This has been in my mind for days now, and nothing seems like it will work.  I finally got frustrated and gave up and started a bath for myself.  The BF came in and mentioned I easily get frustrated with things.  I mumbled “yeah” and he asked if I should be going for this freelance stuff and I mumbled “maybe not”

Then I proceeded to cry and sob in the bathtub for an hour, went to bed, cried some  more and fell asleep.

My eyes are tearing up right now thinking about it (and yes, they are very puffy from last night’s crying)


Here it is:

Am I doomed to work jobs I hate all my life?
Will I never be able to work on my own projects on my own time and enjoy them?
Can I not handle freelance jobs?
Can I not do what I want to do?


Should I just give up and go on disability and start an alcohol problem and eventually get to the point where I am suicidal?

I feel lost.




yeah, i admit it.

May 19, 2008

I miss weed.


I admit, about 4 years ago, I was a serious pot-head.  A college graduate, a waitress, a creative person, and a pot head.

I felt more creative when I was high.  I felt so relaxed and invincible when I was high.  Sure I had some paranoia on occasion, and when I was sad, weed made that sadness even stronger.  But it was great.  Listening and playing music was great.  Reading books and watching movies was great.

I miss it.


I do realize however, it was a total crutch and I smoked weed to escape from dealing with things.
Perhaps being such an avid pot-head for so many years in a row has left me with little practice in dealing with emotions and memories.  The last 4 years without weed has been hard.  Many times I find myself wishing to escape to my sanctuary of a couple of tokes and a trippy movie like “A Bug’s Life”  (which by the way, if you smoke weed, you should check that one out- their eyes and skin texture is what got me)…

I felt more alive, and more connected to my spiritual self.

Yoga is helping me with that, though it seems to be much more subtle and harder to achieve than smoking and taking a hike in nature.  But it seems like it’s healthier, and my lungs are happier, and I am much more clear headed when the session is over, unlike the lethargic fuzzy mind after smoking too much pot.


Why did I stop, you say?  It was getting to the point where it didnt feel that great to smoke.  I felt burnt out, dead to the world, tired of hiding it, tired of not answering the phone when I was high, or answering the phone and acting all weird and freaked out trying to sound normal, tired of unsure drug tests at work, tired of not really wanting to do anything at all. 

Other than that, it was great.       Ha…


Just needed to vent, I think my day job would be so interesting if I were high.


Stuff like this makes me proud to be a californian for the first time in my adult life.


May 14, 2008

I took another yoga class last night, another spine opening relaxing, restorative class.

Much like last week, last night’s class was inner-peace inducing glory.

I did not, however, have such a strong vision.  Why, you ask?  Was I unable to calm the chatter in my head?  Was I thinking about what I would blog about today as I avoid any action that would minutely be classified as work?


I did learn one thing though, and that is to not position myself so close to the bathroom door.  When someone in your class has un-zen digestion issues and repeatedly gets up during class and walks to the restroom door (talking 4 or 5 times in the hour) and walks back to their mat in a wake of distracting (foul) aromas, it is the hardest thing to concentrate on your breath – not what your breath is breathing, but the breath itself.

I realize meditation takes practice, and distractions will come at you like flies to poop, but this one threw me for a loop.  

Luckily it didn’t linger too long, and wafted to the other side of the room, yogis passing out in it’s trail.
The only thing to keep me from spiritual bliss and the world of distractions was myself…

…and the guy behind me with itchy feet.  shwoo shwoo shwoo

what the-?

shwoo shwoo shwoo

scratch scratch scratch

The light that had begun to trickle down the top of my head suddenly gave way to imagining Itchy Foot Guy scratching his hairy feet, rubbing them on the carpet, scratching them again, rubbing them against each other.



hug o’ war

May 13, 2008

yoga is good

May 7, 2008


Last night I went to my yoga class to calm both my mind and lower back.

Nice relaxing restorative yoga class,
Oh how I love thee.

The final pose, Savasana, is where you lay flat on your back, with your knees bent and supported by blankets. We then go into a meditative state and concentrate on how different our body feels from the beginning of class, and concentrate on breathing.

Here is where I went:

I could feel light coming down on my face from above, even with my eyes closed. Slowly lifting my head, I opened my eyes and found myself in a carved red rock cave (see picture) all alone, quiet. I felt a presence there, something/someone larger than I, yet part of me as well. As I looked up into the light, feeling it cascade around my shoulders and down my arms, I felt calm (calm and complete).

I wished that feeling would last forever.



I also wish I could take that yoga class every evening.  If only the day was longer, yoga was cheaper, and closer to my home.



Great article by Seth Graham-Smith today.

Brings me back to center a bit:

I believe in Barack. Maybe you don’t.

But I don’t hate you for it.

Yes, Hillary would be better for this country than John McCain.  That, I am pretty sure of.  

But I think Obama would be better for this country than anyone else.  I believe in him. 


Maybe it’s because his speeches are filled with visions of grandeur for this country.  Maybe its because he has that great compasion in his voice that fills you with the weird idea that this country isn’t completely filled with money-grubbing, self supporting, easily perswayed by  money elitists.

Maybe because he makes me listen.  He makes me want to know what is happening in the country.  He makes me want to vote, and want to stand up for myself and my beliefs.  It makes me feel more united with people in states I have  never visited.  It makes me feel like part of a movement.  Like an active citizen.  Like an American, in the truest definition of the word.

I can now say I agree with Michelle Obama.

For the first time in my life, I am proud to be an American.