Sick of it

So right after I got through the bout with heartburn from hell, I managed to come down with a pretty severe cold, complete with sore throat that won't quit, the amazing combo of runny AND stuffy nose, and a mild fever. It's been rather unpleasant to say the least.

I took off work on Wednesday and I was awake for a total of 4 hours from Tuesday night to Thursday morning. While it was fantastic to sleep that long, doing so did not seem to really take care of this thing like I thought it would. Surprisingly, it is Friday afternoon and I am still a mess of snot and lozenges. And even though I managed to go to work Thursday and do a presentation, the rest of the last few days has seemed like a blur of surreality.

I wander my house like an old lady in my red robe and fuzzy slippers, caring my kleenex box around with me from room to room as I grumble about how bad I feel. I watch Court TV. I cover myself in blankets on the couch and zone out to whatever DVD I can get my hands on. It is a pretty useless existence for me. And I am starting to get antsy.

Today is the only other day besides Wednesday that I am able to take off of work. I must get the right amount of healing done by tonight or all is lost. The pressure of it all is starting to stress me out. Gotta get better. Gotta get better. I feel an inner battle going on between my stir crazy brain and my weakened body. I am not sure who the victor will be.

I had to cancel half my Valentine's plans with the man in my life. What is the use in splurging on a fancy dinner when I have not been able to taste anything since Tuesday? We decided to wait and spend the money when my taste buds will actually appreciate what is going on. We are still hitting the movie we planned on seeing (mostly because tickets are already bought and non-refundable. Damn.) so that is nice--at least we can get out of the infected air of our house and stare at a screen other than our own TV. But I have to admit, cancelling the dinner is a bummer.

It makes me feel more sick than missing work. Like I am that sick--that I have to cancel even the FUN stuff in my life. Ugh.

Well I guess I have shared enough about my ailments as of late. I swear, I turned 30 years old and suddenly this old body of mine is beginning to revolt. First I was told I needed a root canal. Then I had a terrible reaction to an antibiotic and my first war with heartburn. Now I am doing all the right things you are supposed to when you're sick and nothing is working to get me over this thing. I feel like people said things get tough after 30. I just did not realize they meant RIGHT after 30. Like 3 months after. Wacky.

A Cell Phone Call to Memory Lane

Did you know that you can take your old cell phones and donate them to people who could really use them, like soldiers in the military and poor people? Well you can and we are. Whoever is in charge of this process made it really easy for us to do--you just stick your old phones in this little plastic bag they provide and drop it in the mail, apparently. Pretty cool, huh?

The only thing that is a little trickier about it is that you should probably go into your cell phone and delete any incriminating or embarrassing messages, photos or video. So today I did just that.

It was truly a technologically advanced moment similar to the old fashioned "Go through my old momento box" experience of the olden days. I laughed, I cried, I reminisced. I came out on the other end feeling like I had just re-lived and said goodbye to an entire chapter of my life. It was not without its difficulties. Pressing "delete" to so many awesome photos was really tough. But I have no idea how to take these photos from the tiny cell phone to the computer without having phone service to that particular device. And I am not interested in researching how.

So instead of holding on, I decided to let go.

I let go of the only photos I have of my amazing family vacation in Maui, the last time my family vacationed together before my father passed away. Beautiful sunsets, me in a lei, whales surfacing and blowing water up in the air on our whale watching trip...so many images that were great to revisit and hard to let go of. There was a picture of my Dad and my nephew sleeping in one of the bedrooms of the condo we rented. That picture was particularly difficult to delete. My father looked so peaceful. I could almost hear the tropical birds outside the window that day. He liked to complain about their squawking but then he would go lay in that bedroom and listen to them all day. He was fascinated by them just as he was by all nature's oddities. The picture captured my father perfectly, and letting go of that image was a struggle. I found a way to press delete and move on.

I let go of all of the pictures from my very first road trip to New England for Thanksgiving with Adam, Jon and Dan--a tradition that was started so long ago and has been repeated almost every year since. None of the trips we have took since then have been as magical as that first one. I have pictures of myself looking out the windows eagerly, taking in all of the new scenery I had never seen before. Looking back, it was all pretty boring and covered in snow for the most part. But to me at that time, it was so unique and beautiful. I saw the Berkshires and the Mass turnpike that I had heard James Taylor sing about so many times. I saw new types of trees and the city of Boston. Even passing by Cleveland, Ohio on the way there seemed romantic and exciting. Ah, innocence!

I deleted the pictures of Adam and I at Plymouth Rock, the one of me riding a whale statue in a New Hampshire park, and even the one of Adam's sleeping face smashed into his pillow on the long car ride back to Chicago. That was the picture that came up when he called me for so many years. And now it is all erased.

I let go of all the pictures I have of my road trip to Detroit with Sara and Jen. The insane visit to the scariest Midwestern Christmas Store in the middle of the summer, taking the tiny metro train around Detroit's crumbling downtown, the random art festival we stumbled across complete with crazy costumed revelers parading around with giant heads. I will never see Detroit the same as the general populous does due to my experience visiting with an actual native. Sara showed me how awesome D-town could be. All those pictures were deleted ruefully.

I let go of lots of pictures from when Adam and I first started dating. Wide-eyed and drunk with new love, we documented St Patrick's parade revelry, many a New Year's eve celebration, and even some winter nights by the fire in his old apartment. These images were the seedlings that led us to where we are now--planning our future together. They were special times and I deleted them all after taking a moment to appreciate those times once again.

Deleting the text messages was almost as emotionally draining as deleting the pictures. I had a whole file of old texts that were exchanged when my fiance and I had a brief and devastating breakup that lasted maybe a week. It was about a year and a half into our relationship. During that week of misery, in an attempt not to speak to each other, we texted some of the most heartfelt things we have ever shared with each other. No wonder the old me decided to make a file and keep them all. There were words of love, remorse, and confusion. There was talk of shattered worlds, sleepless nights, and cloudy-headed days. We came out on the other side of that "blip" stronger and more in love than ever, but going through those texts brought back all the hurt and sadness we went through. Deleting those texts felt good. A purging of sorts. A release. Those old feelings are long gone and deleting the texts only reinforced that once again.

I was unable to delete the phone numbers off the phone due to it requiring a password that I never recall setting up. So I am hoping the military or whoever will figure out how to wipe the numbers themselves. Otherwise, I am apologizing now to all of you whose contact info may be in that old phone. If you get any prank calls from soldiers or homeless people, I am sorry. My bad.

I realize that I write about memories a lot. And this post is no exception. It is not that I wish I could go back. Or that I want to re-live my glory days or something. Honestly, I consider myself a story teller by nature. I love hearing elaborately told stories about interesting experiences and I enjoy sharing my own. It connects me to myself and others in an intimate way that I appreciate.

Also, I must admit that I am secretly terrified of forgetting it all. Alzheimers may take me over one day, and I would like to remember and enjoy the moments that make up my existence while I still can. May we all continue to do that well into the twilight of our lives.

Ok enough reminiscing. Time to go play Super Mario Brothers for Wii.

Just in time for Valentine's Day--HEART burn!

So I have been pretty much miserable since 1am Sunday night when I woke from my deep sleep with pain in my chest. I have never felt anything like this. It was sudden, harsh and terrifying. I honestly thought perhaps I was dying. The pain was solid, consistent and not going away. It felt vaguely like someone reaching into my rib cage and grabbing my heart and squeezing, meanwhile fist-pounding my sternum with his or her knuckles.

I was going to go to the emergency room after 8 hours of the pain, however I was conviced it must be heartburn. The symptoms seemed similar and I could  not believe I would have a heart attack at 30 years old. Also, in the morning after writhing in pain all night, I was offered Tums by my fiance and they seemed to settle me a bit. So I went with that diagnosis. 

However after 1.5 days, I am still experiencing excruciating pain the likes of which I have never encountered before. Every time I eat or drink (and I am talking water, chicken broth and crackers, folks) the substances, once they hit my sternum area, immediately send me into convulsions of pain. I tried pounding my chest with my fist like in the SNL "Da Bears" skit. But it is no use. Nothing curbs the pain. 

The only variable from the night this all began was an antibiotic I took just before bed that I have been on for over a week. I took it right before laying down for bed. Now, I went right to my pharmacy notes when the terrible pain came on. It only lists stomach problems as possible side effects. A friend recommended I go online and search around for this particular drug. And guess what Wikipedia told me?

If a person takes this drug and lays down less than 30 min afterward for an extended amount of time, they will experience SEVERE heartburn for 3 days. 

Seriously? Seriously. 

Yet the bottle says nothing about this. Nor does my info sheet from the pharmacy.  Brilliant.

So now I am halfway through what feels like punishment for all the sins of all the men in the universe. And all my attempts at remedies seem to calm it slightly, but then it comes back even worse than before.

I am reduced to eating like a bird and being hungry and irritable and in pain all day and night (Unless I am laying down with a heating pad on my chest and I am on my left side--then I am all right). I can't concentrate at work and I want to go home but there is too much to get done before tomorrow comes. 

Well, I guess it's time to stop whining. And hope that this passes sooner rather than later. 

I will never blow off someone else's heartburn complaints ever again. My empathy for someone who deals with this all the time will be deep and fierce. I promise!

In the morning

Every morning I awake to the sounds of 70's classic rock due to my fiance's obsession with the radio station 97.1 The Drive in Chicago.

Perhaps it is "Radio Gaga" by Queen. Or maybe a little Elton or Billy Joel or Zep. Whoever it happens to be that welcomes me into the new day, they always get cut off mid-chorus by the snooze button. I hit this lovely little piece of modern genius at least 3 times every morning. I set my alarm about 30 min earlier than the time I actually want to get out of bed in anticipation of this habit. I sometimes even manage to hit it an extra time or two and run around late as a result.

Once I have hit snooze the appropriate (or inappropriate) amount of times, I get my brain on straight and I re-set the alarm for my bedmate. He absolutely loves that I do this for him. Apparently it makes him feel more loved and cared for than anything else I could possibly say or do. When a day comes along where I get to sleep in later than him and he has to set his own alarm, the devastation in his face is heartbreaking. It almost makes me agree to set it for him anyway. Almost.

Now that the alarm is set for my fiance, I move on to my Blackberry. Sick, internet-addicted soul that I am, I check to see if I missed anything important in the night. Perhaps a sweet deal from Travel Zoo or a drunken text from a friend?

After this comes the glasses. Ever since I stopped being able to see my sophomore year of high school, glasses by my night stand have been an essential part of my day. If ever I forget to put them on, I end up slamming into anything and everything in the room. My bruised shins have made putting on the glasses a major priority in my brain so it is rare I forget these days.

On to the part where I get out of bed. This is a laborious task that requires a great deal of strength and determination. After all, there is a very warm cozy body next to me, and staying with it seems very enticing compared to the idea of stepping on to my cold ice block of a floor. I usually take a few deep breaths, moan softly in mourning for my sleep and fun dreams, and hoist myself up to sitting position.

Once there is it easier to get the rest of the way up to standing. I go to my bedroom door and take the bright red robe off the hook and slip myself into it. This robe was a gift from Adam and is one of the softest things I have ever had the pleasure of putting on my body. I used to say that I felt like I was wrapped in a vagina when I first got it. That is the only word I could use to convey the level of soft warmth I was feeling. I don't say that too much anymore. Like we all do with many things, I have gotten used to it.

Next up is opening the door and stepping into the kitchen. I almost always see a shadowy figure standing by the stove. Almost always. And then after a terrible heart skipping moment, I let my eyes adjust and realize that it was only an illusion due to the darkness and a microwave and perhaps a plant. It is a really strange thing I have come to expect now--seeing someone standing in the kitchen. I am sure if someone actually were standing in the kitchen some morning, I would just assume it was my eyes playing tricks and float right past him to the bathroom to pee.

Obviously I just gave away the next thing I do.

After that, I get in the shower and finally start to feel functional. Depending on if I feel like thinking or not, I might turn on the clock radio (again always set to 97.1 The Drive) and listen to more 70's classic rock.

After all of this, I am sure my morning begins to look a lot like any other person's morning. Hair styling, perhaps makeup if you are a female, maybe cereal or oatmeal, a quick brushing of the teeth hopefully.

Once I am prepared, I go online and check the Bus Tracker website the CTA has so kindly created for me to view when my next Belmont Bus will arrive on the corner of my street. I leave only when there is 5 min until a bus. Nothing more, nothing less. I suit up however I need to--for winter it is pretty much the same boots, coat scarf, gloves and hat every work day; in the summer, maybe I will be in flip flops or even have my bike gear ready opt for riding the ole girl the 6 miles to work.

I thought it might be fun to explore something extremely routine to me and somehow make it very detailed and fascinating to someone else. Hope that was as fun for you as it was for me.

But somehow I doubt it.

Of Weddings and Nightmares

Dear Internet,

Last night, my fiance and I got confirmation that our deposit for our wedding venue has been processed, and as they say, "It's on."

I promptly went to bed and had a terrible wedding nightmare. My first official one, I suppose. That I remember, anyway. I woke up upset and freaked out like any good Bridezilla would be.

So here is what went down. We set up our wedding time and date, and apparently we lived only a two hour drive from Mexico (that can happen in dreams--go figure). So I had decided not to choose a wedding dress until a few hours before the ceremony. I had white dresses strewn all over the place, but all of them were pretty lame or too big or whatever. So suddenly it dawns on me (like it does in dreamworld) that we only had about 2 hours before our time slot began. Adam was nowhere to be found.

Turns out, he was stuck back at home, a whole 2 hours AWAY from our venue. I hopped in the car with my mother and sped into California 405 Freeway-style traffic to go get him. About 1.5 hours into our trip, the traffic got so bad that I just gave up on the whole thing and headed back to "Mexico."

By the time we got back, we were 30 min into our time slot and the coordinator was running around, trying to get me to get ready for our ceremony. I tried to explain the dilemma of no fiance, but could not get the point across. I ended up picking a crappy dress, throwing it on, and standing in front of all these strangers, drinking red wine while an officiant performed a generic ceremony for just me alone at the alter. I spilled red wine all over my white gown while I waited for the hell to be over.

Then I had a dinner buffet with all these strangers at my terrible wedding. My mother forced me to be cordial despite my devastation. And at the end of it all, I was presented with a bill for $15,000 for the whole non-event. I burst into tears. Then I woke up.

So apparently wedding nightmares are pretty common. But why so early? I still have way over a year to figure it all out. At this rate, I will be a basket case by Autumn.

Two Years Ago Today

I was at my boyfriend's house on a particularly cold and snowy Saturday morning in Chicago when my mother called, frantic that my father was not doing well. I was not that surprised, as Dad had not been doing well for about 9 months, on and off. She told me to be prepared to come home again very soon. I hung up the phone and bawled for 2 hours.

After staring into space and letting my cheeks dry out from the rivers of tears I let loose, I mustered up the strength to get ready for a clinic session at my massage school. As I dressed myself, my phone rang again. It was my sister this time. "Dad just died," was all she said.

This time I called my clinic supervisor and let her know I would not be coming in today. Then I let myself be held by my boyfriend and cried some more. I tried to call my mother but our conversation was barely coherent. She had lost it and would need some time to get her mind around everything that had just happened.

I ended up spending the next few days in an emotional blur, sometimes functioning okay, sometimes very very down. The thing that really got me through that time, besides my amazing boyfriend, was watching Planet Earth.

Each DVD was more beautiful and distracting than the next, and Signorney Weaver's voice lulled me into a peace I will ever be thankful for. I would lie on the couch with my head on Adam's lap, drifting in and out of tearful consciousness while wolves hunted helpless goats and Birds of Paradise performed their eerie, unique mating rituals with gusto.

The Planet Earth series did three things for me during this difficult first few days.

One, it allowed me to feel close to my father, because we used to watch "Nature" on PBS all the time, and his fascination with all creatures great and small was so overwhelming to him that it often caused him to shout, "Leanne! Come here! Did you see that!? Can you believe it?"

Two, it allowed me to view the whole wide world beyond my family and our loss. To see how small we are in the scheme of things and to appreciate life in all forms, and accept the inevitability of death due to the world's cyclical nature.

Three, it gave me great distraction, but simple enough distraction that I could fall asleep and miss some things. Which was honestly exactly what I needed at the time.

Though what seems like a lot of time has passed, my father's absence still rings out from time to time. Holidays are a little tough. His birthday. The usual things.

But today, on the two year anniversary of his death, it feels strange. I noted it in the calendar. I made sure to think about him this past weekend. I reminded my boyfriend, now fiance, of the anniversary. I will call my mother after this post to check in and see how she is. But there is a weird sort of hiccup to my emotional response to the day. I did not feel anything. I had a few "face-contorting" moments where tears threatened to fall, then they ran away, skittish.

I am wondering if this means I am "getting over it" or that a storm is a-brewing. You never know with a girl like me. I should know after 30 years of dealing with my sensitivities.

I have been told that each year it is a little easier to deal with the loss of a loved one.

In the meantime, I think I will go watch some Planet Earth in Dad's honor.

A Glance At The Last Decade

Thinking back, I realized that the "oughts" decade was pretty eventful for me. A lot can happen in ten years, and I am sure a lot more will happen in the next ten. I guess the middle years of one's life usually contain the most drastic changes. As we struggle to find out who we are and what we are good at and what we want out of this short little life of ours, we try on many hats. Locations may change, friend groups may change, priorities shift and sometimes life leads you somewhere you never thought you would be. It is all part of the joy that is our existence.

With old memories and new beginnings in the forefront of my mind, I created a list of accomplishments, major events, and unforgettable moments of the last 10 years for myself. It has been nice to reflect, mourn losses, and celebrate my life thus far. Especially in anticipation of what is ahead. A little brief navel-gazing never hurt anyone. So here goes.

In the first decade of the 21st century:

I rang in NYE 2000 at a fancy Arabic house party where we wore nice evening gowns and a belly dancer with the number "2000" on her ass danced in the new year for us

I got my first corporate job at the Marriott Hotel in Newport Beach, CA

I remember experiencing a crazy earthquake on top of a parking garage with my friend Jeff

I remember sitting on the hood of Jeff's car in a very dark and creepy forest listening to the newest Ani DiFranco album and being deeply moved

I transferred to Cal State Fullerton and finished there in 2003 with a double major in Acting and Radio/TV/Film

I remember being terrified on my first day of college at CSUF and knowing NO ONE and being shy for the first time in my life

I remember many nights up late philosophizing on my porch with Nate Milton once he came back into my life

I had a short online friendship with Kyle Gas from Tenacious D and got him to give me back stages passes to their concert and even come out and meet me for some shows in LA a few times

I remember when the towers fell and acting class was canceled, I went to a bar across the street with a few friends and watched the news for hours in complete shock while eating nachos

I remember realizing that my love for my best friend was not the kind of love I thought it was, and finally being at peace with that

I fell in love with a boy while watching him on stage and not only chased him but got him for a while

I got my first PA job doing game shows

I remember working all day and all night and being the Main Writer's assistant on one game show I worked on

I sang on stage in an LA club with singer/songwriter Matt Nathanson

I starred in the Shakespeare play "The Merry Wives of Windsor"...TWICE!

I lost both grandparents on my mom's side within a week of each other

I worked as a PA for E! Entertainment and got my first taste of television production

I waitressed my ass off and paid off my debts

I had my Blue Period after graduation

I had a fling with an Egyptian boy named Mohammed

I drove Cross-country with mom to Chicago

I saw the Grand Canyon

I found my own place and a job in my first week in Chicago

I tried internet dating

I took an Improv class at IO

I met my future husband at a 4th of July BBQ where he cured my hiccups with peanut butter

I remember the first timehe kissed me on Seminary Street after our first date

I discovered biking

I saw Detroit, The Wisconsin Dells, and the beauty of Lake Michigan hikes

I went to Hawaii for the first time, which was the first and last big family trip we took before we lost my dad

I remember swimming with sea turtles and hearing whales underwater in Maui

I remember Adam and I taking a nap next to Lake Michigan on our first camping trip together

I entered the official Chicago corporate world

I got licensed for insurance and investments

I performed in 4 plays in Chicago

I remember going on a drunken trolley tour of Chicago for a friend's bday and having one of the best nights of my life

I lived alone for a year

I completed massage therapy school and got licensed

I remember being on the plane to Fresno when I found out my father had cancer, and how the clouds looked out the window while I listened to some weird New Age-y music

I lost my father to pancreatic cancer in early 2008

I remember standing in front of a sea of faces at my old grade school church while I read my father's eulogy

I got job at a spa while still working my other corporate job

I discovered kickball and volleyball

I moved in with my boyfriend

I remember my first experience at a lake house when I just spent hours in the lake floating and drinking and having one of the best times ever with some really great people

I remember my first New Year's Eve party in 2008-2009

I visited a tiny Mexican town and camped on the beach in Mexico

I saw my sister get married and learned about my future niece's arrival (coming soon!)

I skydived

I got engaged

I remember landing from my sky dive and seeing Adam get on one knee and being so utterly shocked

I turned 30 yrs old

Well, that is all I could think of thus far. What a decade it has been!

Here is to 2010 and more growth and learning to come. Thanks for revisiting those times and places and memories with me. Cheers!

It Has Been a Whole YEAR...

since I wrote something here.  And that is unacceptable. I can't believe I let that much time pass. I mean, I wrote other things in other places, sure. But barely. This was supposed to be the place I got creative and vented and shared and whatnot. And the last post on JAN 12, 2009 is staring me in the face as if to mock me.

Well, self, I truly apologize. I never meant to neglect you and your thoughts and feelings and musings. It's just...well, it has been an eventful year. 

I got another job. Now I work at two different places, 7 days a week. 

I got engaged. I went from spending time staring at rings to staring at my particular ring to staring at wedding dresses to staring at wedding venue websites...you get the picture. I've been busy, I tell you!

But these are just excuses for avoiding something with which I have a love-hate relationship. It has always been like that...probably always will be. Writing and I--well, we enjoy each other's company quite a bit but then something will come between us, and a fight will ensue, and it will take us a while to come around again. But we always do come around, and that is comforting.

So let us add "updating this blog" to my already long list of New Years Resolutions for 2010. 

Want to know some others? Here goes:

• Work out at least 3 times a week
• Focus on eating healthier
• Solidify the wedding date and location and get "save the dates" out
• Find a better second job or a new job entirely
• Finish at least 5 scenes for a book I am writing
• Workshop a monologue and go on a few auditions
• Put time aside to meditate
• Make better use of my downtime at home 
  

Well, these are some loftly goals but I bet I can at least make a dent in 2 or 3 of them. Wish me luck! 

On Sweat

I have become accustomed to my sweatiness after 29 years. I know that I sweat more than the average Joe-Workout. In fact, more often than not, I am in some state of dealing with sweat--either I am picking out an outfit based on the sweat factor of its sleeves, or trying to fan myself in the elevator on the way to work--after walking in the cold for 10 mintues. (Yes, I even sweat during the worst Chicago winters.)

Going to any outdoor summer activity requires careful tank top planning so as to minimize my sweat stains. Having a cloth to dab my sweaty forehead is a necessity. Carefully avoiding hugs and affection that will draw attention to my pooling sweat in between the shoulder blades is also a priority. Riding my bike everywhere makes it worse but I do it anyway because I love it.

So I have finally come to terms with my sweatiness and though I do still plan around it to a point, I am trying to embrace it. It is a part of me, my unique self. That sweats a lot. Ew.

Ok so I am still struggling with that.

Anyway, so I AM getting comfortable enough with it to be annoyed when other people are really grossed out by it. I mean, what am I supposed to do? People sweat. Everyone does. Some more than others. Anyone I love is allowed to be wet and still get a hug. Or a nice shoulder squeeze. Or a pat on the back. Whatever. My love for them supercedes any gross-out factor I might have if it was a stranger I was touching.

Apparently this is not the case with most people.

I know this because I have loved ones who, even after years of knowing me and my sweat issues, stilll gross out at me when they are caught accidently getting a little feel of my moisture when giving me a hug. It baffles me that it still matters. Shouldn't we have moved on from that at some point in our relationship?

Today I had a friend tell me "Oh, you are so kind, you just touched my sweat," when I noticed an eyelash on her glistening nose and tried to get it off. This made me realize that perhaps I really am an oddball, the only person on the planet who is okay with a little sweat on someone I love (besides during sex, everyone). I am concerned that I am the only person who understands that sweating sucks and is embarassing that no one wants to be alienated from loved ones because of it.

I hope my tolerance of sweat will rub off on those around me and we can all feel comfortable with beads of water dripping from our noses as we bob our heads to an outdoor show on a sunny summer day in Chicago.

And not have the immediate thought of "damn, if only I had a fan. Then maybe someone would hug me."

Things That Are Amazing about Biking in Chicago That I Re-Discovered This Week

1) When you ride downtown past 8pm, only students, the homeless, and punk rockers seem to be roaming the streets



2) If you ride downtown at night, you WILL encounter some sort of socially unacceptable behavior--whether its drunken brawls or drunken Trixies or a crazy guy yelling or other sorts of things of that sort



3) You sometimes see rainbows for no reason in the middle of the sky (like I did on my way home from work today!)



4) At night, you can ride down the beautiful streets in the ritzy areas and finally see into the houses that have their windows open. And sometimes it it AMAZING! And sometimes it is TERRIFYING. (Scary rich old people have some weird shit in their homes!)



5) It can be so peaceful right after it rains. Especially on the lakefront when you are the ONLY one soaking wet and riding free



6) You can hollar at cute boys and by the time they realize it, you are gone!



7) On a crisp Fall morning, your face stings in a good way



8) Eventually after you ride by the same groundskeeper every morning, he starts smiling every time and saying "good morning" to you



9) Riding in a gang of people, you feel powerful



10) It's extremely meditative and a time of reflection if you want it to be (and if you can also avoid being doored at the same time!)



11) It's fun to get REALLY freakin mad at an idiot driver and cuss them out as loud as you can so everyone stops to stare



12) It is good for your heart, head and soul to see the greatest city in the country wizzing past you, and feel so lucky to be right here, right now

US of A Financial Crisis Thoughts

Bummer about the Financial Market in America. Reading and watching everything, not to mention working in the investment field, has given me quite a deeper knowledge than I ever thought I would have about investments.



I am finally contributing to an IRA and THIS happens!



Though perhaps it's a good thing that I have only just begun contributing. I would be very upset if my years of earnings suddenly dropped like it was hot. Seeing $600 lost just this round got me fired up enough to realize I don't do well with market fluxuation. I believe that makes me a conservative moderate investor. Oh wow. I guess I have learned a thing or two after all while working my dead end job! Hooray!



This situation that has occurred is what is the problem with everyone telling you social security won't be around and encouraging everyone young to invest privately instead. Then we all invest blindly to secure (we are told) funds and share the burden of fate with millions of others. But now we are all affected, not just the big risky traders on Wall Street(who always seem to have more and more money no matter how low the Dow goes. How does that work?).



Without getting too soap-boxy I just want to point out that not everyone likes to gamble. Some people react to losing money emotionally. Especially when they dont have a lot. And those people with hardly anything to save financially have been told to put all their tiny hard earned cash pots into their IRAs and 401Ks by every advisor in the country and now they are dealing with losses usually only hard core investors are used to.



Its tough. Its not fair. And there really isnt anything much to do about it but wait and hope this teaches a lesson to greedy people.



Dont hold your breath.



Also, I really feel bad for the people who worked so hard and are retiring right now, with possibly half the money they anticipated retiring with. And inflation is only getting worse. Wow. One more thing that terrifies me about getting old. I will add that to the list. Inflation vs. retirement money saved. Ha!



Oh America...



Fuck yeah.

Ultra Cool


Today I am going in to see the endocrinologist about the ultrasound I had done last week. Missing a few hours of work is nice, but my stomach is turning a bit at the thought of what she might say. What if it grew? It probably has, it has been 4 whole years since my last ultrasound. What if she thinks we should do more and I don't want to or have the money to do anything?

Having a "pre-existing" condition seems pretty stressful so far. I don't like feeling like there is something impending in my body that I have to watch closely. I don't even have the energy to clean my house sometimes. How the hell do I keep an eye on myself and my body's slight daily shifts and symptoms? I get stressed out by the whole thing, so I tend to avoid thinking about it if possible.

I need to create a Zen place for myself where I don't stress out and everything can be going on and yet I am strong. Somewhere in my head, I need that place to go. I think I will use some of that meditation that I have dabbled in for so many years and create a place to be clear and calm and open to whatever fate I need to face in this life. There is only one life, after all, and I don't want to spend it thinging about what might happen. I just want to live in it.

Sleepy Time

The wind forces the windows to shudder in their frames. My old apartment creaks and settles. Another swell makes the trees bristle and whine.

It is a cold and blistery first-winter-night in Chicago. I am in my little kitchen nook, sipping Sleepy Time tea in a mug that says "Noel" and has a fat happy snowman on it. I am waiting for my brussel sprouts to steam up nicely so I can dip them in mustard and relish in the flavor explosions that my mouth enjoys so much. The steamer is from a friend who just called and I "rejected" by pressing a button on my cell phone. Not now, later.

Then steamer is perfect and I love it. It is from China Town, I think she got it for under 10 dollars. It is made of bamboo or wicker or something of that caliber, and it steams things to a crisp-soft combination that is hard to get out of a simple pan. I am forever appreciative of her generosity.

I am in front of my computer, as usual, debating whether to watch a rerun on a network website or lose myself for a few hours in a mindless myspace labrynth. Jury is still out so instead I write these words and wait for my tea to cool down.

My wrists are sore from giving pleasure to classmates' backs last night. My soul is calm because of some deep unconscious body work we played with in class today. And I am thankful for the quiet now, after a long hurried day of brain intake. Moments like this are good for me. I need to remember to stop and take them all in and writing helps. I forget that sometimes.

I will drift off to sleep tonight trying to process everything I learned and will probably accomplish that while asleep and wake up remembering nothing. But hopefully it will have sunk deep into my subconscious and will stay there, poised and ready for me to pull out of my holster-brain when I most need it.

There is such beauty in that.

FLASHBACK

Every once in a while you get hit with a little something that takes you back a few steps in the progression of your life, and forces you to reflect on things a bit.

Myspace is really good at doing that for people, so I have been told. But really, besides the occasional random person that finds me, and me getting excited to stalk them for a bit via their page and see how much better or suckier their lives are (or appear to be) than mine, I haven't had too many "whoa" moments.

So this one threw me off quite a bit.

I used to date a guy in high school. He was 23 and I was 17. Ew, right? But strangely, at the time, I swear it seemed OK. Even my hardcore Catholic mother dealt with it plesantly. It was weird.

Anyway it was this great love I had to let go right at its height because I went away to college, and really, who keeps a long distance relationship (that lasts) when they start college? Eventually it was bound to unravel.

Well, I am not so good at the letting go of things I enjoy, so I guess it all sorta drug itself out a bit too long and a bit too dramatically and what not. Lots of crying, late night talking, hurt feelings, holding on, being mean, etc. On both our parts.

For some reason this person affected me very deeply. I thought we were soul mates or something and I worried that I would lose him forever, yadda yadda. It was hard on my 17-18 year old brain and heart. I think I got about as psycho as I have ever gotten for a guy. Truly. When I look back, I laugh at how ridiculous I was. Driving down the street I THINK he might live onso I can find his house and leave notes on his car? Get a life, sister!

Many valuable lessons were (I hope) learned from this experience. But it did take me about 5 years to get over this individual, due to this ability he has to contact me out of the blue and tell me he is thinking of me and blah blah blah. I was usually in a bad place mentally or something when he, like clockwork, would call and blather on about "thoughts of me" and such. This happened about once every couple of years from 17 to about 23 or so.

Finally, I think he got married and ran off to some other part of the country and had babies. I didn't hear from him for quite a while, and my "getting over it" gene finally kicked in.

So now comes myspace.

And I guess it was inevitable.

He messaged me today. So weird. Luckily, I am not in a bad place mentally this time. Quite the opposite. I was just discussing my very awesome future with the boy, and feel so lucky and in love even after 2 years and hopeful for the future and excited to grow even more with him by my side.

And you know what?

I was shocked, and emotions and memories hit me, and then I settled into the feeling, embraced it, and am writing about it now, which always helps.

And I don't have that old feeling I used to get when he contacted me way back when. I have a healthy curiosity and amusement about it. But no secret feelings of "what if?"

I am so happy where I am at in life and who I get to spend it with, that there is no draw towards this person who used to have such a hold on my heart.

I am glad he contacted me now, because it gave me a chance to realize how far I have come from where I used to be.

I am doing just fine.

I usually hate old people.

Years of serving did it to me. Also my own fears of growing old and feeble and such.

But I just saw something that made me realize I may finally be getting over that hate. I got off the bus and saw an old woman slowly making her way to the bus stop. Her small, weak legs were moving so slowly, and her whole body was pitching forward, trying, trying, trying so hard to push her momentum forward at a faster pace. And to no avail. So she raised one small arm and waved it frantically...slowly and frantically, if you can try to picture those two descriptives working together somehow, in a desperate attempt to catch the attention of the bus driver.

He was at a red light, and it was turning green, but there was no way she could speed up to beat the change in traffic flow. I saw the innocent desperation in her eyes, her little attempts to use the body now falling apart all around her still sharp brain and spinal chord, and I was floored with and emotional response to the sight of this situation. I almost stopped to help her, but then I saw that she had made contact--eye contact, to be exact. And the driver was already making the bus lower for her, despite the fact that she was still going the same pace, and still pretty far away from the bus. I was glad, and kept walking.

And I was walking stiffly, quickly, briskly, even. And fighting the tears that still wanted to fall for that woman, and her plight, and the inevitable aging of us all. But then, just out of curiosity, I stopped walking. I stood still for a moment, put myself in that woman's body, and began to walk forward again, forcing my legs to be "pretend" weak and heavy, just to feel what that might be like. And it was terrifying. And embarassing. And frustrating. I felt my body leaning forward, just as her's did, in an effort to hurry up. But it was useless. The legs will be the ultimate rulers for all our lives, unfortunately for the rest of our bodies. I did this for about 2 minutes before resuming my usual hurried gait. This time, walking was such a blessing...a freeing, beautiful experience.

I teared up once more, thinking about old people and how bitter they sometimes seem. But thinking about how long I have been alive, and how epic that many years seems already, the idea that I could very well live another chunk of time just as long as this one is pretty crazy. And I could suddenly see the next 28 years being more of the same shit, and things getting worse in the world, or people starting to treat me different due to my age, and I could see getting really sick of that, easy.

So these people are just tired. Tired of being here, tired of the same shit (which we can all avoid with exciting activities, but sometimes it creeps into our lives anyway), and tired of this body falling apart on them and making them more tired as a result.

Granted, there are some great, chipper old people not like them at all. But more often than not, the bitter ones are the ones we encounter every day because the other more jovial ones can afford to be in a resort somewhere in Florida or something.

We can all make attempts to avoid this bitterness we see in so many old people. But maybe we will have days where it just sucks to be old, and give into the bitterness. I just want those days to be few and far between if possible. I think staying passionate about the things you love, having happy, loving people around you as you age, and making efforts to find new ways to enjoy this world (that sometimes threatens to become rather boring or scary as you age) is the key to coping with this unavoidable time we will all go through at some point.

I stopped tearing up eventually, by the way. And instead I thought about how lucky I am to be alive and healthy right here, right now.

And that is enough for me right now.

I am averaging about 1 bug bite a night at this point. I don't know what is going on, but I have become a feasting place for insects as of late. I picture bugs setting lunchdates to meet up on my leg for a quick bite.

I now have 5 that I am aware of. There could be more, the 5 are just the ones that itch.

I am afraid of the rumors in Illinois that there are mites that climb through the screens on your windows (I don't even HAVE screens!) and burrow in your bed or skin or something and cause tiny itchy bites as a result. I hope that is not what is happening to me.

All I know is, every morning without fail, I find a new irritating itchy spot on my already tender flesh. and there are scars happening as well. Not pleasant.

I will keep you posted on whether any of these lunps sprout insect babies or something.

I am officially moved into my studio! I found myself giggling like a school girl as I unpacked, realizing that I can utilize ALL the space in the medicine cabinet, not just "my half." This is thrilling to me. As is the ability to wander around naked as much as I please.

This excitement I am feeling now was certainly not as apparent my first night sleeping at the apartment alone. I was excited to be there, in my space finally, and I was trying to study for my anatomy class.
Then I noticed the bugs.
Tiny winged insects (gnats maybe?) bouncing around on my walls. I was disgusted and got out the Black Flag, only to realize as I sprayed it, these little gnat things were dying and falling into my sheets, never to be seen again. (They are tiny, after all)

So then I had dead bugs in my sheets. Sick. So I am frantically searching my bed for dead gnats, and then MORE gnats are appearing, and I am squishing some of them and then my freshly painted walls have bug guts smeared on them. And the cycle continued and continued. I think I killed about 30 gnats (some in the bathroom too!) by the time I turned out the light and anxiously tried to sleep.

But sleeping while knowing there are bugs all around was tough, to say the least. Every time the fan blew a stray wisp of hair across my face, I slapped myself around in fear of it being another gnat. And everytime I turned to my side, I thought I would be eating one somehow. It was awful.

Since that night (and after a curt phone call to the ole landlord) there have only been one or two that I have seen. That is a tolerable amount, I would say. I guess he must have sprayed.

So I have been able to appreciate the space much more now that I don't have to share it with that many bugs.

A few I can handle, but anything more than that and it feels like I have house guests or something. Unwanted ones at that.

The shower is the other issue that is rough too. The morning after my first night alone, I took my first shower there, and the water just STOPPED running mid-shower. Then it dribbled a bit before coming back on full force and COLD! Eventually it got warm-ish again. But it was never consistent. And since then, it continues to be inconsistent. For now, it being summer and hellishly humid in Chicago, a cold shower is the least of my worries. However, the thought of Winter looms, and I can't imagine being unable to have a hot shower on a cold winter morning to wake me up!

That concern if for another day, though. In the meantime, I am getting used to being alone, getting more organized than I ever was when living with others, and lounging around in my birthday suit.

Just gotta train myself to remember to close the windows now.

LEAVING THE SHITHOLE


So I am not really all that sad about moving out of this apartment I have called home for the last 2 years or so (The afforementioned shithole). In fact, I have been counting down the days until I can be alone in my own space and have my things the way I like and be closer to more cool stores and food and the lake and oh, how I wish it was June 30th and I could just get this over with already!

Tonight, though, I am alone in the shithole, trying to organize the boxes and pack, and it's kind of a little wee teeny tiny itty bitty bit...sad. Just because everything is all over the place and dirty and empty-ish. I don't really want to be here right now. And I don't want to go anywhere either.

I guess I am restless for some reason. Anxious? Could be. I start the next chapter of my career life on Wednesday--my orientation for Massage Therapy training. A little nervous. A little excited. A little overwhelmed.

And my job is often taxing daily so add that to the frey, and the big stupid shitty exam I am studying for (for said taxing job) and my energy levels are all over the place.

These three issues (moving, massage, investment test) are all I can think of, all I can say. And I know my poor friends are probably missing the interesting conversation I used to be good for, and wishing I would finish bitching about investments and stocks, or school loans or how heavy the box I packed last night was. But how do I turn off my mind to all the things lurking around the corner? (both good and bad?) I can't, so I am often distant, distracted, tired, nervous.

I think I just need to get through the next...oh...month or so, and then maybe, just maybe, I will start to feel normal again.

I freakin hope so!

Anyway back to the shithole. I won't miss it. I will miss it being around the corner from the boy. I will miss being 3 blocks closer to the "L." I will miss the porch. That is about it. All the rest I can do without. So as long as everything goes off without too much trouble, I will be in a much better place.

Two more weeks.

And in the meantime, study every chance you get. (BORING! ARGH!)

And also, start learning a new craft. Massage. And study for that too. Every other chance you get.

And feel guilty because you just want a night to do nothing but sleep but you really should go to the gym.

And in the meantime, just breathe.

I rode my bike to work again today. Its my new thing. I love it.

I start the day with the wind in my face, sweat on my back, and I am proud and peaceful when my ride ends downtown in front of my looming, 47 story building. I like the feeling of walking in in a wife beater and jeans, helmet in hand, while all the saps in suits rush past me. I sneak into the bathroom and change into my slightly crumpled slacks and blouse and become one of them, but only for 7.5 hours until I am free again. And on Friday, no less!

When the clock turns 5pm, I call a friend, and we meet in a bar that is hidden between buildings. There is a small staircase that leads to the underground secret, and we split a pitcher of Miller Light while eating the free buffet of pizza and bad ribs. We laugh about pop culture and life, and then I am off again, the evening open and free. I ride along side the L train, trying to race it, always losing. I stop at a red light and a man walks up to tell me in his thick accent that I am "a good rider. You ride fast! You are good." I blush, say thank you, and "have a nice weekend!" as I dart back into traffic, the taxis wizzing past me in their big hurries.

I have all the time in the world. The air is fresh and cool and the sun is shining and I am riding my bike past bars full of happy people drinking and eating outside, past Second City and Piper's Alley and Oz Park where the statue of the Tin Man grins and tips his hat to me.

All the way down my tree lined street that sometimes feels like a movie and I am riding the wrong way but no one even cares and everyone is smiling and going to wherever they plan to meet their friends and I park my bike and climb my stairs and sit on my porch while the sun fades behind the other buildings and I drink another beer while reading the paper. How lucky I am to have this quality of life. I am blessed and life is perfect today.

And it all starts when I ride my bike to work. It all starts with a morning of feeling alive and free.

ACTIVIST BEATLES SONGS


Lucy in the Sky With Conflict-Free Diamonds

While My Earth Gently Weeps

Drive My Hybrid Car

Fixing a Hole (in the Ozone Layer)

The Fool on the (Capital) Hill

I'm Happy Just to Protest With You