Hmmm.

My friend told me, actually she quoted to me from a saying she had framed on her wall, "We are spiritual beings going through a physical experience."

Yes.

That is absolutely true.

Maybe I can be less judge-y of me and everyone around me if I feel that I our bodies and our current situation and physicality do not define our souls, our spirits.

WOW.

Just A Little Bit

I've been doing just a little bit of writing. And a bit of social networking (read: tweeting my ass off). I have been trying to make my business more visible on the web. Suffice it to say that I'll never be a millionaire.

Well, that's not fair.  Maybe, just maybe I can scrimp and save and make it to one meellyon dollars (gotta say it evil).

BUT the point is - I have been writing. Doesn't seem to be funny, which is a shame as my other blog I've posited that it's a humor blog. I think you all know that my other blog is about dating and the absolute winners I find out there - plus some rants added in for spice (that is to say, no one. No one reads this blog so you - who don't exist - wouldn't know about my other blog because you don't exist.) 

Wow!  Look at that, I'm off topic again.  Back on point: I have been writing. I have been doing what I have set out to do. And I believe that's a positive thing. I don't believe anyone is truly reading these and I had to re-arrange my twitter account(s) so that I could be more anonymous, but I did that and am putting pen to paper, or in my case fingers to keyboard, and sitting down and typing for more than five minutes.  I am trying. I am doing away with any excuses that I come across and just doing it. The results are . . less than perfect but there are results.

That leads me to another thought.  This blog was originally just stories and things that happened to me and then I tried to turn it into a weight loss blog, all the while crazy was being mixed in.  So I guess I'll just write what I feel to get something on paper so to speak. It'll probably still be about crazy and weight loss and girly dumb thoughts, but it's my blog or diary so you don't have to read it. ! (heehee. you aren't.)

I am still trying my hand at weight loss using a new method that hopefully won't bankrupt me.  I type this as I am eating a DQ Blizzard. Truly.

I am still trying to navigate small town politics and business and people and trying to get my business started.  I am really in trouble on this one.  I am hemorrhaging money. Dollars. American. It sucks.

I am still trying to work on my relationships including friends and family.  This has been difficult.

Do you remember in Sixteen Candles when Molly Ringwald runs back in the church for her sister's veil and the crotchety organ player was walking down the aisle? Molly says she's getting her sister's veil - she was a little bit out of it. Crotchety woman's reply: Just a little bit. I feel like Molly - navigating the horror of high school and interpersonal relationships between family, friends and friends-not-so-much. Just a little bit.  Give my underwear to a geek. Get to kiss the hottie at the end because I'm nice.  Just a little bit.  Do a little here.  Do a little there.  

Truth to Fact

Indiana Jones said, "Archaeology is the search for fact... not truth. If it's truth you're looking for, Dr. Tyree's philosophy class is right down the hall."

(I'm quoting him because everyone wants to be Indiana Jones.)

I think it might be true that I'm a writer. Maybe. I know I'd like to be one. I'd like to spin tales of loveliness, of beauty, of transformation and growth. I'd like to heal the planet, heal nations, heal arguments between brothers and, maybe, just heal one. Maybe I could be that one.

I look at bloggers and micro-bloggers and see the impact that they have. I look at the lasting legacy of Shakespeare or The Beatles' Lennon and McCartney, Philip K. Dick or even Stephen King. I see how all of these writers make people feel. Some of them make you feel better, some inspired, some afraid of what trouble the world can get into, but they all make us curious. We all turn the page, scroll the screen, or listen for the next note and the lilted word doesn't disappoint.

I have a flair for the dramatic. My stories are all tall tales. The fish was this big and I walked up hill going both ways. But am I a writer? An author? Can my words make it to paper?

And if I say yes? Yes, in truth I am a writer. How do I take that truth, that essence, and turn it into fact, into my reality? The easiest answer is to say: “Write.” Have a thought: write it down. String some thoughts together and there you go. I guess some writers are like that but it has never been like that for me. 

What is my higher self? What is it telling me to do? Is it to slim down or stay fat? Is it to be controlling or like Shaggy on Scooby Doo and go with the flow?  

Wait. I think I got off point here. Or did I? My higher self isn't a procrastinating asshole, is it? My higher self is a thin, beautiful (young) writer who eschews the hum-drum path most followed and goes her own way never once asking for love or reassurance that she does matter.

Let’s take it back to Indy. He came, he helped, he kicked ass and then went back to his life and taught. Not every day was running away from boulders and tribesmen who steal hearts (literally) and Nazis that melt or finance biblical antiquity scavenger hunts. He was a professor. He probably had to write some excellent findings to keep his job, you know “publish or perish.” But he balanced it all. Except he couldn’t seem to keep a relationship going: he had no kids, no wife. He probably had a housekeeper (his house looked neat and orderly). You know it really was unfair that in the fourth one (I like them ALL!!), that Marion had to deal with the entirety of raising a child and making an instant family for Indy when he was ready. Maybe his higher self is the asshole. Sorry Feminist reading there. (I really think I’ve taken the path less travelled with this logic.)

BUT. His life (while fictional) was fact. He didn’t spend it searching for truth – he sought the verifiable i.e. fact. He didn’t think about it, he did it.

My life (while fact) is fictional. I am many, many things but none of them real. I have to learn to transform my thoughts into actions and my actions into being. And by being, I will make my reality. I want to be verified and verifiable. I want to be living deliberately, letting my higher self lead the way down a path that will blossom into a path of authenticity, truth and validity. And action. Otherwise, none of these things will happen. I need to start.

I’ll start now. I start now.

I want to be a professor of medieval literature. I want to be a novelist.

I want to be a weekend flautist. I want to be a potter. I want to be a painter. I want to be an architect (and I want to go to Northwestern).*

* Extra points if you know where this originated. No? That's ok, I'm a total girl.  "Never Been Kissed" said by young, lovely Aldys.

Unconscious

So. I've been mediating on the whole losing weight thing.
And. I can see me being fit and thin.
But for some reason this brought up the unhealthy in me.  The need to make a fucked-up decision (mistake) so that my life will continue to spiral and suck.
So. Apparently I've been envisioning seeing my ex.  (This also might have to do with the fact that I'm hard up. I need some bad.)

So what do I dream about? I dream about seeing him.  But I'm trying to see him again - at a motel or something.  And I can't see how to get my car over this canal (or whatever) so I'm going to cross on foot. And I fall in and get gross and wet. And when I finally get to our motel room, he's taking care of himself, if you get my drift.  He stops momentarily when I kind of crash in on him. But then begins again.  And I think, "I could join in if I blow him." And then I think, "Naw. I don't want to.  That'll take care of him.. but won't do a thing for me."  So I go in and take a shower to get the crap off of me.

So really here's my unconscious self yelling out "FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY! Don't do this! Look at what would happen! You'd get stuck, covered in shit and still, you'd be without. Just don't do it."

I'm going to take the hint - for now.  I want to be able to promise myself I won't be that stupid, but I can't seem to make it stick.  I hope so.  It would be a complete waste of time, energy, money, self-esteem, brain power and would bring a new level to my shame.  Let's just not do this.

ok. So

Yeah, so.

I am disappointed.  I don't know how else to describe what I am feeling.  But he's the asshole, right? So why let him make me feel bad?  And what is that (stupid) saying?  Something like, no one can make you feel something that you don't give them permission to make you feel. ?  Huh?  
Whatever - it's me choosing to feel disappointed, right?

Ok, so.  I'm trying the stupid internet fat-girl dating site.  And I swear! there are at least 90% scammers on there.  And this last one . . . I've had my guard up but he was taking so long and being nice and talking about god, etc.  So I started to believe that he was nice.  What a fucking joke!
Tonight, he asked for me to "borrow" some money to him.  Yeah.  Fucking fucker with the fucked-up understanding of fucking English.

Hmph.  So.  Here I am.  Trying for real, finally, to take a step forward and attempt to live my life and fully experience the human condition.  And here are these stupid asses trying to cheat fat women out of their money.  Like fat = gullible = stupid and trusting and, apparently, rich.
 
And... as I am writing this, I have to laugh (almost).  This is part of the human condition, isn't it?  You put yourself out there and some of the people are assholes and maybe there are more assholes than not.  And if you are really lucky (or destined, whatever) you find the one diamond in the rough, right?

Ok.  So.

Now what, exactly?  I'll keep trying I guess.

Where to start?

Any ideas?

Something

Something big is going to happen.
I just haven't figured out what, yet.

It's dumb

Or maybe I should just write "I'm dumb."

The last posts have been true.. or I should say that they are my truth.  But I feel dumb, just the same.  And maybe. . . just maybe . . . "dumb" is the literal word.  I am struck dumb. . .unable to talk. My communication skills sorely lacking.

I am at a crossroads.  And I am impotent. Dumb. Unable to speak my desire, unable to even formulate my desires.

And I have hired a lawyer.  I am waiting for his firm, strong voice to tell me, to show me, the way.  Heh.  His strong voice.

He called me today.  I wouldn't exactly call his voice "strong" or "firm".  He did seem very nice though.

----
So I went and visited my old hippie friend last night.  Except she's really too old to be an old hippie.  Oh, well.  But the point is - she gave me my birthday present - s  Birthday PresentS.  One of the presents was a tarot deck.  She had opened it previously, unfortunately.  I know you don't believe any of this.  I don't either.  (Except I do - sort of.)  So.  I tried to put some of my energy on them... but it's all sugared and liquored up energy - so weird, right?  Anyway.  I did a spread (that I looked up on the internet - because I don't know how to do that.. I mean, Hello!)  and I asked about whether I would find true love.  Heh.  The first card - which was about me, was about how I am super strong.  And that must be good, because every other freaking card was all that nothing was going to work out.  Not as I'd planned, not as I wanted it to, not as a type A or a laid back "change comes when it's time" person.  Yeah.  NOT a good sign.

I'm a little horny.  Stupid maragaritas are making me write this disjointed, stupid (dumb) exclamation of my loneliness.  Ye-ah.  This was a great idea.

What do you do if you've known your entire life that what would make you happy is to find the other half of your soul that's somewhere out there in the great-big world?
And you ache for it, yearn for it.  That second part of yourself that will make you whole?
I'm been listening to a book on tape that has taken a romantic turn and now I'm maudlin.  I'm so sad.

You see, I know, I've always known what I really want out of life.  I've always wanted to "be happy." And that happiness, for me, can only come with the terrible, horrible soul-crushing, up-lifting, painful, joyful binding of me with another.  The perfect "other," the one other that completes me.
And how sad is it and how true it is that from a very early age, I knew that I was going to be alone. I would make all my decisions on my own, I would not share my responsibilities with a special "other," nor share my milestones with that one person, either.
And I've not put myself out there.  I haven't actively looked because of fear.  And I'm damaged.  I've had pain and disease inflicted upon me.  And the character flaws that I was born with that seem to me I shall never overcome, have not helped.  It seems they were perfectly fitted to compliment each other so that I will remain alone forever.

Girls. Or How I Wasted My Weekend.

I totally did waste my weekend.  *Totally* 
Ha!
I wasted time all weekend.  It felt wonderful.  I watched tv. I watched so much tv. Oh, gawd. It was good. Today, I actually had a nap.

I did not know if I liked or really hated GIRLS. I caught up on the episodes. And I liked them.

I really needed to work and work and work. I've been running in circles trying to accomplish - what exactly?  Success!  That's what I've been trying to accomplish.  Does one accomplish success?  One attains it.  I, for one, have not attained success.

How is it, when I reached a certain age, I figured something out. But not really.  I mean, I figured out that I wanted to work hard and attain something for myself.  And that something is a bit of business success.  Not much, really.  Just to be profitable and be able to pay myself a living wage.  And maybe more than that. Someday.
Yet, I haven't figured out how to do that.
And frack! I'm about to have ANOTHER birthday.  Seriously.  Another one.
And I'm trying to be amenable and take on a business partner.  That's fun. That'll work out well.  Well, truly I hope it will.

And so.  So, I've been running around trying to do my work, trying to do her work, trying to go to school to create a new life.
Yeah.
That's going to work out.