uh, yeah

so I'm driving over the James Robertson Pkwy
bridge today, and look over to my right: I
see the stadium, the game is going on, and
there is a man standing on the bridge,
watching the game. well he can't actually
see the field, but from that spot,you can see
the giant video screen on the far side of the
stadium. I burst into tears when I saw this.

Why, you ask?
Because here was this man, taking the
opportunity to enjoy the game, even though
he has no ticket,no seat, just a bridge.
I knew that this man was happy.
I am a little jealous because I am not
happy,and feel guilty about it.

The tears came because I knew that if I
were standing on that bridge, instead of
driving over it, that, instead of watching
the game, I'd be plunging headfirst into
the water.

Change, Part II

Here is what is really bothering me,
aside from my seeming inability to be hired,
and the stress of having no financial stability:
For the past several months, I have the same
exact feeling I had during 1997-98, the time
when my OCD was at its worst. I felt then, as I
do now, that nothing would ever change,
that I was stuck in the exact place I was in,
that I would never get out of that place.
That is the feeling I have now: I can't seem
to find/see the light at the tunnel, and, whats
worse, I have ceased believing that there even
is a light at the end. To me, it's just all
blackness.

nothing's gonna change my world?

I have had the song "Across the Universe"
stuck in my head for a number of days now,
particularly the above line. No, it's not
a question in the song, it's a statement.
For me, it is a question, along the lines
of "are things ever gonna change"?

I am not an idealist: I am nowhere in the
vicinity of being one; as most people know,
I am a cynical, misanthropic, pessimist to the
core. But I do have the occasional ephemeral
glimmer of hope in me, yet I don't dare indulge
in it, because I know just where that will get me:
Right here, in the gutter, not looking up to
see the stars, as Oscar Wilde suggests, but
looking right into the mud.
Not that I am one to wallow in misery, or bitch
and moan constantly. But after having spent
an unusual amount of time energy and patience,
and still not having found gainful employment,
I am just absolutely fucking miserable. My ego,
not to mention my checkbook, is battered and
bruised and seriously in need of something.
Something really big, something stupendous and
earth-shattering. Something to lift me out of
this self-flagellating state I am in, something
that will get me out of this hell-hole of debt
I am in. Seriously, I am just begging the Universe
to throw me a goddamn bone! And I'm vegetarian!!
But hey, who can afford morals and values and
choices these days, eh?
I'm not interested in being rich and famous and
all that, but I would like to live without the
stress of money and debt. I would like to live
in a country where the money is actually worth
something. I really would like to live in a place
in which I can find a job that pays the bills,
a job that I wouldn't despise too awfully much.

You know, I was gonna write a blog about how
I was thankful for... something.

Waste of a Naked Girl

just a little excerpt from my memoir.


“Waste of a Naked Girl”

When I think of it, of our naked bodies lying together
on the bed in his apartment, right across the way from
my own, it is far away. It was another lifetime.
Afternoons and beers and long nights and his hands on
my body... that could not have been me, there is
disparity between me and her. Me and her; different
girls. She is naked and happy and lush. I am—
what?
Scary.

That is what I am. A waste of skin, a thing to be abhorred.

Nakedness does not become me anymore.
I have tried to stare this body down in the mirror,
tried to lay another picture, one I keep in my mind, of this
lush girl, over top of my reality. It does not work.
The mirror cannot see my mind;
I can no longer look into the mirror.

What a waste of a naked girl.


(i used to have a body that men adored. slender,
but not skinny, shapely,
flat belly, small but firm bosom, killer legs.
i would kill myself if i weren’t dying already,
if there weren’t already a downward spiral happening.
there is a burden, a burden of memory, weighing me down,
it is the only weight on me. i can remember a life
before this living walking disgusting hell and it is
a goddamn burden.
i want to kill this memory, because in this
reality, any other lives do not matter. they cannot. )

Stress Ball

I love stress. Love it.
Stress turns me into a tiny ball of fury,
full of piss & vinegar, and constant ickiness.

Not only that, stress affects me physically.
today, stress showed up at the cafe, right after
the lunch rush, in the form of me passing out in
the hallway. Lovely.
I hate fainting: I hate that fuzzy-headedness,
that feeling of losing control, the weakness in
my muscles. I know that this is the result of
stress; I know that all the things I"m worried
about are coming out in physical ways. My body
is trying desperately to tell me something.

Here's what I think my body is telling me:
First off, quit working the graveyard shift!
You don't like it, it doesn't like you, it's a
bad fit. Get out. It's affecting your sleep &
eating patterns in very bad ways. Get OUT!

Also, stop worrying about money. I hate money,
the very thought of it burns me up. Unfortunately,
in this country, you need money to live. I am
looking for ways in which I can change that. I am
sick to death of worrying about money. It is not
the most important thing in my life, not by a long
long shot. Lately, every time I think about money,
I feel a tightening in my chest. Ugh.

Last night, my stress showed itself in a nice little
crying jag, which did indeed make me feel better.
What didn't help was that I was also watching the
Ken Burns doc "The War" on PBS: not the best choice
for someone already feeling low. But I have a keen
interest in WWII, I couldn't stop watching it. I am
determined to see the entire thing, especially after
seeing how deftly he handled the issue of black americans
in the military and the Jim Crow laws, etc. So I will
plan on watching more when I'm in a less tearful place.

Finally, I have another sort of stress: the stress of
the absolutely overwhelming yearning I have for a
certain man who lives on another continent.
*SIGH*
This is not a bad thing, of course: but this kind of
yearning can feel never-ending. Again, my body is
telling me things. And I can't do anything about this
one... not just yet anyway.

So, in the meantime, I plan to do the following:
*stop worrying/obsessing! easier said than done,
but will give it a shot.
*Sleep more
*Eat better, take vitamins, etc.

And as far as the yearning goes... well looks
like that one I'll just have to deal with, for a
little bit longer.

The Church of Ben Harper

This past Wednesday night, I had the thrill of
seeing Ben Harper & the Innocent Criminals for a
2nd time at the Ryman Auditorium. Seeing a show at
the Ryman is an intimate and joyous affair, made
even more so by the beautiful, soulful voice of
BH. Now, I'm no church-goer, as many of my friends
know, but I love seeing shows at the Ryman: the old
wooden pews, the stained glass windows; yes it is
exactly like being in church, because it was once used
as a church. And yes, BH is a very spiritual person,
but not preachy, not overbearing about it.
So while I am not religious nor even a believer, I
am into spirituality and passion, and BH has both.
His voice, his music brings me to tears, it is just
that great of an experience to hear him play.
This was also the first concert I've attended alone,
and I had no anxiety about it whatsoever, which is
a bit of a surprise.
I do wish one thing: I wish I could have heard BH
sing "Beloved One" again. He sang it when I saw
him the first time, and now it is stuck in my head.

an excerpt:
you were meant for me
i believe you were sent to me
from a dream straight into my arms
hold your body close to me
you mean the most to me
we will keep each other safe from harm

my beloved one

Suicide and Mayonnaise

So there are two things on my mind I need to
rant about a bit: suicide and mayonnaise.
Two separate issues of course.

So over the weekend, I found out that a cousin
of mine had shot himself, an apparent suicide.
I was not close to this cousin, we did not grow
up together or anything but it is disturbing to
hear of a suicide in your own family. And this
event has triggered in me two things: one being
that I am obsessing over the word "suicide", it
keeps popping into my head all the time, and two,
it has also triggered some superstitions in me, one
being that death always seems to come in three's
in my family. I can't get my mind off of these two things.

Now, the mayo thing is just something that has
irritated me & made me realize how completely
uneducated our general public is about the nature
of OCD, and specifically, what is/is not OCD. So
today I was at work (1 of my jobs is in a vegetarian
cafe) and I was discussing my OCD with two coworkers.
And both of them immediately were like "oh well I do
this and I do that...", telling me they both had
these little things that bother them, more phobias
in my opinion, but both were convinced they had it
too. Now the thing that one person told me was
that he hates mayonnaise, hates to touch it, has
to wash his hands after touching it. So I thought
to myself, 'So What!!' That's just a dislike or
a preference! HE has NO obsessions or rituals
attached to his dislike of mayo, it does not
interfere in his life in ANY way, yet he thinks
this slight phobia is OCD?? This just proves to me,
once again, that people who do not have OCD,
have no idea what the hell they are talking about.
The ignorance of the public about what is or is
not OCD hurts me, it angers me, it makes me wish
that a person who thinks like that could spend one day
in my head so they could experience this hell firsthand.

What a Good Sister You Are!

This is my sister appreciation blog!

Ok, Pooh (ish), this is just for you, for being
such a good sister-- and a good person, too.

It seems it’s easy enough to love someone,
especially someone in your family, a person
you are supposed to love; it’s much harder
to like a person. It’s hard to continue to like
a person when you’ve known them for a
number of years. But I have to say, my sister
is a person that I actually like. I can’t say
that about many people on this planet.

My sister & I often have long talks about
things, & one topic we come across often
is our childhood. We grew up in the
same house, but we definitely had
different experiences: I was (am!) the
older child, and was always in trouble
or causing trouble. I was grounded
most of my teenage years, for one stupid
thing or another, and thankfully little
Sis was clever enough to avoid doing
any of the things I did and thus avoided
much of the trouble I had. Thinking back
on it, though, I wish that I had paid more
attention to what was going on in her
life, & had been a better big sister. I
say this because every now & then,
Sister tells me things that happened/
didn’t happen that I maybe could have
helped her with. We have a really good
relationship now, but I kind of wish that
it had been better then. I guess we both
had our difficulties growing up.

So, despite growing up around people
who are not kind, generous, open minded,
sweet, artistic, etc, my Little Sister has
turned out to be just all those things.