Screwed

Angst. Unsettledness. Going round and round. Thinking about the same troublesome things and getting nowhere and not really wanting to. Just wanting an out. An answer. An easy solution to a big problem and without taking the time to work through it. Pray about it. Fast. Meditate. Seek God's will.

Ever been there?

I've cried this week and had to confess to my husband, I don't know why I'm crying. Little things have hurt my feelings and I want so badly to know I'm living the life I'm supposed to be living. (My husband is wonderful at just listening and not trying to fix things or make it better, even though he longs to.)It's a guy thing, I get that, he longs to protect and provide insite. But, he understands that sometimes my feelings must be felt.

Sometimes I'm weary, bothered, ready to plan the next thing. When I get like this I know why it is- is because I've forgotten who's I am and that only finding my strength and source of life IN HIM will make me satisfied. Only when I define myself as a follower of Christ and see myself through his eyes will I be truly filled.

As Solomon states, so wonderfully in Ecclesiastes 2- It is all futile. Houses and land and gardens and gold and jewels and jobs and accomplishments and doing more and more and more does not satisfy. We are living in a time of insatiable appetites. We are living in a time where a place like Bloomingdales exists and has an entire floor designated for fragances and cosmetics that sale for the upwards of $90 for 2 ounces and people are buyingthis stuff. We are living where we buy and spend and want something, tangible or not, that will make us feel special. Like we matter. And we are constantly dissatisfied.

When I considered all that I had accomplished and what I had labored to achieve, I found everything to be futile and a pursuit of the wind. There was nothing to be gained under the sun.

Me personally, I'm always wanting a new "goal." Like my life isn't good enough, unless I'm working toward something more. And this in itself is not a bad thing. I've learned to run-powering through, doing more, feeling proud when I did 2 miles, then 6, then 10. I've lost 10 pounds, then 20, then 30, and while I was healthy in my method and have maintained this for a couple years now- it didn't make me as happy as I always thought it would. I assumed happy= thin. But also assume thin=pretty. Both of which I discovered are not really true and even 30 pounds down I don't think of myself as thin. And the "how low can the number go" game got old realy quick. I can cook, take a decent photo, and I've been published twice. But I still go back to, "and what's next?" It's all futile.

I want to decoupage more. I want to blow up my photographs to 20 X 30 and hang them on my walls. I want to make throw pillows out of the white sundress I wore at my wedding showers. I want to make collages again and handmade note cards and cut things out of magazines. I want to remember what it is like to create things for the sake of creating. To make something from nothing just because it makes me happy. I want to be willing to make mistakes, and mess up and take time to do something for myself.

Let all these things simply be that: things. Let all these things not define me, but be ways I can bless, be blessed and maintain sanity!!

Content

This morning on my walk to the train the doormen and landlords were out watering the sidewalks. The temperature in the low seventies, the breeze blowing bits of water onto my bare legs as I stepped cautiously over the green garden hoses. It's necessary to wash all that dog "mess" off the sidewalks daily. Hot dog urine combined with garbage juices which have leaked out of their black Glad bags make for a stomach churning scent when heated to 90 degrees. Hello, welcome to Summer in the City.

Outside the Duane Reade there was a dog tied to the parking meter with a blue cable. A eight- ten foot blue cable that looks like something I'd see behind our TV/ sound system/ Cable box. I kind of wanted to stick around to see what kind of person would tie a cable cord around a dogs neck and leave it on the sidewalk. So weird-- and I wonder what are the circumstances that brought about this decision? Is this someone's pet or did they just find the dog? I do wonder all these things- in about two seconds.

I also saw a guy riding his motorcycle up First Avenue wearing his tie and dress slacks. It made me think of Chris, even though he doesn't have a motorcycle anymore- but I know it would make him happy. And it made me think of all those days in Texas when he would ride his bike to work- in his tie and dress slacks. Not that he's not loving life right now, camping at Cape Hatteras, but riding a motorcycle for him is like Yoga is for me: a way to calm, connect, reflect and be alone.

I sent him this photo yesterday of "where we live" so he "wouldn't forget." After receiving pictures of what he's seeing/ doing, I thought I'd just return the favor. I do wish I could experience one wave or one sunrise or one quesadilla cooked over the open flame in a Cast Iron Skillet with him. I know I couldn't and wouldn't want to be there, living like he his, but I'd love to be free for awhile. Right now, I'm trying to do that mentally, physically, and spiritually. I'm proud of his desire to wander- and it reminds me that it's never too late to do or try or be what you want to. It's never too late to recognize and admit that unsettledness inside. Contentedness is colored gray- desirable in some areas of life and devastating in others.

Time Suckage

I have sadly become the master of time suckage. Looking busy, feeling busy (which is crazy now that I consider it really....) But seriously, I could easily find myself feeling like I'm working a dead-end job, I'm inferior, I'm unnoticed, and I'm unimportant. However, within my inner dialogue I have to quickly remind myself that I'm choosing to work in this capacity. It is my decision to work reception- to answer phones, greet guests, be friendly SO THAT...(here is where my work comes in) I can write. Ah, the artists life. The creators setbacks. The writers block!

I declared aloud today to my co-worker, "Why do I write? I'm over it. Who cares? I think I'll just stop. Stop now- forever. I need a new hobby."

I know I could be good at a different job. I could learn a skill and be a diligent, hardworking employee earning six figures. I could get a job doing something else (like, oh, perhaps what I went to school for). But that wouldn't be what I'm supposed to be doing. And even now the reason I feel so mediocre is because I'm doing a mediocre job at the work I am supposed to be doing.

I miss creating things. This weekend I spent a few hours Saturday and Sunday viewing several hundred photographs, cropping and manipulating and being all artsy. I'd love to actually do something with all these photographs I have taken. If only this PC were a MAC! I hate spending time at my computer at home after I get off work- after I've spent eight hours staring at a computer monitor. I could hang my photos in my own home, print them for friends be one of those people at Union Square with a card table. (Not that my blog has been decorated very nicely lately.)Yesterday I brought a portable memory stick with me from home with lots of pictures from my lovely home Apple computer- but when I put it in the USB port my PC claimed it was not formated. Bogus...! Insaine! Whatever! Stupid PC. So, I'll share pics with you again eventually.

NY is just so rushed. Everything is rushed. And I am personally proud of myself for being content and alone in my apartment Sunday afternoon from 3:00pm until I crashed around 10:30pm. I'm so freaking fidgety and unsettled- which stems from a little discontent and my desire to always be doing. I made myself not go to Yoga and not go wander and not run errands. It was nice. It makes me wonder if NY will ever feel like home to me. Does this pace of life ever feel normal to anyone or do we all just deal with it?

I know life is going to unfold as it may and God is God (and we are not!) but it's odd if you consider how much time we spend (and money we spend) on trivial things. Things that will not matter - but it seems to matter now and little, trivial, sometimes unimportant things make me happy- like licorice and eye creams and flowers.

I just want my life to matter- we all just want our lives to matter. We want to know that what we are doing is not overlooked or insignificant or pointless. And even though I know the church answer that my value and worth come from identifying myself in Christ I often forget. Like every day.

Moving On

To conclude yesterday's story: No, Chris was not dead, and no limbs were broken and we didn't even have to make a trip to the emergency room! However, after falling through some rotting wood covering a Chris-sized hole in our friend's patio he had a massive scrape on his shin and some scratches on his side.

Our nurse friend- who we were celebrating (eloped!)- got him cleaned up, iced and elevated. He basked in the attention and I commented on how he loved being doted over. As if coming home from a surfing trip with stories to tell everyone weren't enough. He wasn't as badly wounded as I anticipated. The fall sounded much worse than it really was. I had imagined that he fell down the stairs, knocked himself out- I really didn't think that he could have possibly fallen through the floor.

We all commended him on taking one for the team and falling through the rotting wood. If I would have fallen through, I'm pretty sure I would have died. Or broken both ankles. Everyone encouraged him to get a Tetanus shot Monday morning, but being a man, he put it off until Tuesday. (Even after the encouragement from our wonderful nurse friend- who he seemed to listen to more than me- he put off seeing the doctor. Of course, I'm all "Walk it off" "You'll be fine" and "I think you've iced long enough." Perhaps empathy is not my spiritual gift.)

Tuesday he went to get a Tetanus shot, which is a pretty painful shot. After the doctor administered the shot and Chris responds, "That was pretty painless" the doctor says, "Whoops, that was the wrong vaccine, let me see your other arm." Seriously. Chris got a shot of Tuberculosis in one arm and Tetanus in the other. No lie. After being fearful that he might possibly die for the first 5-10 minutes he called me. I freaked out. He called my sister (who is a pharmacist) and she warned him of possible anaphylaxis but "that usually happens within minutes." Well thank God, because it had been 30 minutes and his esophagus hadn't closed up yet. What a quack. What a irresponsible physician, however this has been my experience with many doctors in the city. Just completely bizarre situations. Twilight Zone-esk. I once drug Chris with me to the endocrinologist so he could wittiness the freak show for himself.

Chris is fine. I would have started hyperventilating and gone into panic mode. I am so terrible in panic situations. Seriously, it is quite the ongoing joke in our home. I run, litterally, from tragety. When Chris fell, and everyone was going toward the injured party to help, I was just standing still with my hands covering my eyes. This happens often. I just can't bare seeing someone in so much pain. I can pray for you and call 911, but that is about all I can offer.

This is what makes me nervous about mothering. How could I ever do it? I guess when you have to do it, you just do, but I imagining it being difficult nonetheless. It's not the blood or tears that bother me, it's more the not knowing what exactly is wrong. How serious is this injury? Are you dead? Broken in two? Convulsing? Perhaps empathy is my problem, too much of it. I can't stand seeing someone hurting. I've never wanted to be a nurse or in the medical field whatsoever. I like seeing people happy, living, moving around. And while I'm so so thankful that there are people like our nurse friend that take care of us when we are very ill or just momentarily sick-I can't do it.

Gone for almost two weeks, sleeping in his car and on the ground in a tent, surfing and climbing and driving all the way to North Carolina Chris is injury and pain free. Home for 24 hours and he's fallen through the patio. Sunday we enjoyed more "family time" together at church among friends and at home- just being together.

But today he leaves for yet another trip- and I'm planning my weekend. Other things coming up: August 30th I get to be a hair model for First for Women Magazine. I'm so looking forward to being papered and getting the royal treatment from an expensive salon. We booked our flight home for Thanksgiving. We haven't been home for Thanksgiving or Christmas in three years (I know... ) So, we're going, which means Christmas we'll both be off and be in the city (or not)... I may be in need of a sunny holiday by then. We did discuss phone options for me although I'm becoming quite fond of my Motorola Razor again. Although if I've said it once I've said it 100 times- I can't view photos people!

Fall will be here soon. School will be starting soon (although, this is not something we are allowed to talk about in our house right now). Choir will resume and we'll all be singing Christmas carols and longing for the sunshine again. BUT, for the next few weeks at least I'll be back to eating Luna bars, fresh fruit and salads (since Chris is gone and I'm in no cooking mode). There are a few more days to lay on the sundeck and wear strapy, wedgy sandals.

Summering

In the summer I tend to loose a little height. Wearing flip-flops to and from or ballet flats- I'm operating on a different plane of existence here. No, but I do feel a little shorter in the summer letting my toes out and all.

Sometimes I want to share tid bits of this and that and goings on in my life on this blog. And other times I want to share more devotional, introspective, slice of life sort of stories. Today... since I spent my lunch hour in Bryant Park journaling and writing a prayer to God, I'll be sort of light and all over the place... so, heads-up.

Today, I received flowers from my husband for no reason at all. I was surprise and I cried when I read the note attached, "Because you are what every husband wants in a wife... and so much more. I love you. -Christopher-" and it was completely unexpected. I decided to set them on the ledge of the reception desk, instead of hiding them and not letting others gaze upon them as well. My co-worker/ receptionist friend finds it necessary to tell everyone who declares, "Nice flowers" or "Oh, how lovely" that, "Stefani's husband sent them, for no reason at all." They are really nice though, sunflowers, huge roses the color of a Caribbean sunset, button mums, some big pink thing with an amazing stem & dark dark purple calla lilies.

This past weekend Chris was home from his summer journey's but will leave again tomorrow. Friday when I got off work at 5:00 he was at the apartment waiting on me and we stayed in. I made a pork loin, which we both agreed was possibly the best pork I've made thus far, with steamed broccoli, and garlic toast. I also made whole wheat pasta with black olives, mushrooms, onions, spinach and Parmesan cheese. The pasta was great- and honestly I'm not a pasta fanatic like most people are but this pasta was intense. Not only did I have to boil and prepare the pasta, BUT I had to caramelize the onions- which I'm currently working on perfecting. I sauteed the mushrooms in garlic and wilted the spinach leaves. Whew! It was worth it though.

I realized while cooking that I haven't cooked since Chris left. I would do a load of dishes once a week- maybe. Was I eating out, no? Absurd! I just don't dirty alot of dishes. And I eat alot of salads, tuna, pre-cooked soy chicken stuff, Boca meat crumbles (is your mouth watering yet...?) and yogurt. Anyway, the pork loin was the first real meat I'd eaten in forever. And just because I was on a roll, I ate a real live 100% beef burger on Saturday!

After running down Park Ave. with my sister Saturday morning, I watched her cross the Brooklyn Bridge. Seriously, after running from 92nd Street all the way to the end of Manhattan I was ready to hop on the train going back uptown, my legs were not up for running up the Brooklyn Bridge incline. Back home, all they way back home, all 15 local stops and 30 minutes later, I was back in the Upper East Side where Chris and I met two of my peeps at our new neighborhood Shake Shack. I've never been to this well known establishment, and I have to say I enjoyed my beefy burger, even if I did pick at it, eat it without cheese and throw away the bun.
That evening Chris and I went to a little barbecue type thing in Astoria. (I say this because New Yorkers call grilling barbecuing but just for the record no barbecue was served.) Saturday evening was cool and breezy and the humidify seemed to subside, even if just for the night. Our friends home was so nice and real cozy feeling- since they own their own house with a real backyard- unlike most of us who live in boxes in the sky.

The backyard was quite the bungalow- with ivy and plants and flowers and grapevines. It was like being on an exotic island- not that Manhattan isn't an exotic island, but it felt like escaping- even if it really wasn't. Backyards can have that effect in a city so big. Just some space- just some outdoor space to dig in the dirt and step in the grass and fall asleep under the stars. Their backyard was a bit over the top, but I loved it. It was big and alive and familial- even if there was a small child lost in the massive rose bush.

Chris and I had a great time eating things off the grill (Chris- hot dogs, hamburgers, Stef- Eggplant, Corn...) drinking ice cold beverages and laughing with our amazing friends. As I scooped a bite of saurkraut covered in spicy mustard my friend said, "That looks good. Most people eat that on a hot dog you know?" I'm wierd. I also finished the last of the wine straight from the wine bottle- at this same party. There were photos taken, I'm not denying it. I'm a class act!

So, all was going well, until there was a loud crash which was immediately followed by 30 adults screeching to the longest five-second silence I have ever experienced. It felt like an eternity to me because upon hearing the terrible breaking-banging I gazed over the tops of heads, looking frantically across the party goers for one 6'5" curly haired man and he was nowhere to be seen. My hands went to my face, my palms against my cheeks- I hoped it wasn't, but I already knew it was... "Yeah, it was Chris," someone said to me.

Moments later he finally declares, "I'm okay. I didn't spill any beer."

I knew he was alive. But I was still afraid he might have two broken legs.

Freebies!

I pride myself in being thrifty- saving a dollar, 20%, walking ten extra blocks to get my organic peanut butter for $4.50 instead of $5.99. And, I'm not the only one!

My friends and I are constantly on the look out for a deal, for freebies, for ways to save, so when my friend invited me to "The Perfect Cup" a bra fitting event sponsored by Skinny Cow ice cream over a month ago now- I jotted it down on my calendar to make sure I would be in attendance.

Held at quite the venue, a well lit lofty space in SOHO with exposed columns and air ducts- they hosted the best free event I've been to in the city thus far. My friends and I had preregistered for a fitting time and when we arrived we each met with our own bra fitting specialist. I must have tried on ten different bras: underwires, racerback, padded, demi, B cup, C cup. (Prior to the event, in the marketing materials I had read that 9 out of 10 women wear the wrong bra size- nothing new to me, I was quite aware, but I knew that I was not in that 90%- I was pretty darn sure I was in the right bra size... Until, I was informed by my wonderfully sweet bra-fitter that I was not a C... I was a B! For someone who has been everything from a 38DD to a 34C I was sort of put off.... Why do I loose and gain weight first in my boobs. Why can't the weight in my hips come and go so easily....?)

With my prescription for my new -FREE bra I headed out of the fitting area and into the free party area. My friends and I partook in an amazing buffet: asparagus, olives, crudites, cheeses, and Skinny Cow Ice Cream Cups. Each gal in attendance was given two free alcoholic beverages to wash it all down with. My friends and I decided to make it our meal and found a seat on a plush couch to listen to the deejay and soak in the sunshine spilling through the floor to ceiling windows onto the honey colored wood floors.

Upon leaving we received a totebag- a "good quality" totebag I declared aloud as we exited the larger room to the smallish coat-check area. The bag contained coupons and a bag to wash delicates in and currently I use the tote to carry my lunch to work. It's a good bag!

My friends and I have left 5k's toting so much free stuff that we looked like we robbed a bodega- baked lays, sunchips, nuts, apples, bottles of water all in tow. I stocked up on Earth Day at the event at Grand Central Station and just this past weekend during Summer Streets I ran the last 2 1/2 miles carrying a shopping bag (a free bag) with cliff bars, pirates booty, yogurt, coupons and magnets---

So, you can imagine my delight yesterday when my free bra finally arrived in the mail. But, better still was that I received a coupon for a free dozen eggs at my new neighborhood Target, a coupon for a free pair of panties at Victorias Secret, a free item with purchase at Origins - which I'm currently in need of this eye stuff that I can not live without, and a coupon for 20% off my entire purchase at CVS. I'm watching those expiration dates and carrying these clippings with care along with my 20% off your entire purchase from Bed Bath and Beyond... I want to get the full benefit of this great savings, so I'm making a list.

5:00...

I feel like I have wasted away yet another day- answering phones, inputting figures into Excel, scanning and signing for packages. And while work wasn't all that busy today- really, at all- I've done very little.

When I begin to feel like this, this entire feeling of why do I do this this thing I do. Why do I not desire to better myself or have a "real" job- I realize that I haven't written in awhile. That I haven't done what I've been created to do- what I really long to do- in far to long. It's weird to me though, that now, so much of the time, I fight the writing thing, wondering why? Why be creative, why create? Who Cares? Do I even care? And what's it all for anyway? But, when I find myself spiraling down to the unhappy, funky place- I know that I've got to pick up where I left off and just write. For whatever reason. It'll make itself known in time. I have to write. Even when I don't want to.

So- All this to say, squander no more! I'll get back to you all tomorrow with stories such as: "I want to be the cake" "Falling through porch: I'm bad in panic situations" "I don't want kids, I just want to be able to have kids" and "Living out of a car"

Thanks for reading- Your support holds me accountable!
XO

Options

Did I tell you that if you were to call me, right now, I would be talking to you from.... my Motorola Razor? My pink Motorola Razor from 2007 when Motorola Razor's were very, very cool. This is what I have been forced to do since my iPhone died.

And as bad as I thought it would be, it has not been. Chris called AT&T (the worst cell phone service providers in NYC) and canceled my media-whatever-whatever plan and signed me up for unlimited texts and I was set. Honestly, I thought I'd go insane initially. I thought I'd get a new phone within days, and that was over a month ago now.

Yes, texting sucks. SUCKS! Yes, I get have to print out directions before I leave home instead of relying on Google Maps and Yes, it took me about a week to figure out who was texting/ calling me. I think I sent out about 15 texts to 15 different people that read, "Who is this? Sorry, my iPhone died and I don't have any numbers saved in this phone." This phone was pre-NYC life. This phone... well, it gets laughed at. But, all in all, it's not so bad. I like not being tied to my email and FaceSpace 24/7. And I have actually seen many people rocking the Motorola Razor! Until our contract is up with AT&T... (um, this month actually) and until my husband decides what we are going to do (because, again, honestly I don't care) then I will continue to use my flip-phone. My metallic pink flip phone that does not take pictures, receive emails, play music, serve as reading material for the subway, substitute as a translator, metronome or tuner, offer games with little penguins or alcoholic beverages or pinball machines. No- this phone is a phone and I think it works just fine.

Did I tell you I forgot to brush my teeth on Saturday because I rushed from jogging in Central Park to Yoga to a massage? It was my attempt to relax. Run 6 miles, stretch it out in yoga and bring it all the way down with a one-hour massage. But, what happened was that after running I headed home for a quick shower, then to yoga. It was after yoga, when I had an hour to kill; sit, have a snack and some coffee at a sidewalk cafe, that I realized this. It's because on a "normal" work day I don't brush my teeth until I get home from working out. The reason being so I can brush my teeth following my last cup of coffee. Saturday, however, I just popped some Spearmint gum and thought, "Oh, well." Not much talking during a massage anyway- and although my personal hygiene is always of concern prior to a full body massage, I really didn't care that my breath may be a little offensive. Following the massage I headed home, laid in the sun and read. - My perfect Saturday.

And did I tell you I went to Target for the first time in ages? I marveled at the wide aisles and inexpensive prices. $2.99 underwear (cute underwear!) and Organic coffee for $5.99/ lb. I only left after spending over $100. My bags were full with new hand towels for the bathroom, shampoo and conditioner and some pantry-type snackage. It was fun, but somewhere I probably will not go all too often. Sadly enough. Bed Bath and Beyond is comparable and quite frankly it seems like I usually find things I don't really need when I go to Target. (But I was looking at those cute, inexpensive swimsuits... I may go back...)

Did I mention my midwife apt. yesterday? (I have a midwife- not a gynecologist, but she's a midwife who practices gynecology, so no, I'm not pregnant.) We are working to restore my estrogen levels and I'll be having lots of fun blood work and invasive testing done- which I'm really not looking forward to at all. And just when Mr. Chambers thought too much estrogen was my problem....

I like options- probably too much. I love condiments and variety and various flavors, colors, textures. I like melting and reshaping and making up words to songs without. I'm trying to remember that to be Renewed I must first Trust and to live life I've got to lose the lists. (For now.)

Dear Chris,

"It strikes me as I think about it, how beautiful we find massive structures, either man-made or organic. I wonder if we find them amazing because they make us feel small and insignificant, because they humble us. And I remember feeling that way back in Colorado, that I was not the center of the cosmos, that there were greater things, larger things, massive structures forged in the muscle of earth and time, pressing up into the heavens as if to say THE STORY IS NOT ABOUT YOU, BUT FOR YOU, as if to remind us WE ARE NOT GOD(S)."

I loved this part of Through Painted Deserts and read it last night. I love that he's from Texas, and I can relate. That Houston is his big city (mine NY) and I can relate. That he KNOWS ultimate truth, but still questions and wonders about free will, and true happiness and the "what if we miss the whole point of life" and I can relate.

Know that I love you more than anything.

Know that my life would be so boring and uneventful and safe without you.

Know that I'm sorry for all the times I wondered aloud why we got married, why we stay together and why we try so hard to be each other's biggest heros (because we are) when on some days it's so freaking difficult.

You are truly the opposite of self conscious & self absorbed and on most days I feel like I am the epitome of all that God has called us NOT to be -ie self conscious and self absorbed.

Thank You for helping me see myself for all I'm worth. For pushing me beyond all that I consider safe.

Have a great Wednesday, Husband. Champion. Man of My Dreams. Somewhere in Nags Head, Outer Banks, North Carolina, somewhere living life.
Love you.
XO
Stef

Snippet

I wonder if writers tend to live much of their lives, much of their days, in their minds. In their heads. I've always had this sort of sponglike memory. A brain that remembers things quite easily. Memorizing lines to a song or poems or speeches or a story I overheard in the park. I remember. (Which is why I was the friar in the the Christmas play at church in 1989. He had the most parts, and I had no problem just memorizing the heck out of those speaking parts. Yes, I was a boy.)

I recall people in action, one-liners, words that friends say that struck a chord deep with in me- I remember. And not for the sake of hanging onto a grudge or fiery conversation- and not to sulk in what was said in rage, but I just remember. The good and the bad.

I think my head is constantly open to receive and always looking for some great thing: an experience, a sound, a conversation, a phone call that will change something- physically or within me- and be worth writing about. Worth telling again. I think in stories. In sentences. In ways that I can fit what is going on even now into an article or piece of creative non-fiction or a short story.

And all this awareness isn't so bad most of the time, however I'm beginning to feel like I'm living on the surface. I'm living on the Earth and not in it (to steal an idea from Don Miller.) Last night in Yoga our instructor encouraged us to stop doing- for just a moment- stop think about doing- and just be. Yes, be in the moment, but what about being in my skin. Being in my life- living outside my braininess. It shouldn't be this hard. I'm trying so hard to stop trying so hard.

I'm trying to be more spontaneous and less ridged in my life- do things as they come, make plans as they are presented. Trying being the operative term here, because even last weekend- Friday, Saturday & Sunday- I drew out a huge graph/ chart on yellow legal paper, which is still laying on my coffee table, and plotted out my days. Brunch here, seafood with sister there, yoga and running and church and massage and shopping at Target... it was all fitted into the hours and time just so. Voila! I've created my perfect weekend. But have I really? What about just living?

Even now, as my Vitamin B complex and calcium sit heavily on my stomach- sloshing around in far too little food- plain yogurt and 1 cup of some health food store cereal with Amaranth and Flax in it, I wonder why I (we) stop ourselves short of being part of our own stories. And it too makes me feel a little ill. I'm continuously looking for snippets of life- real people in the midst of real life issues-when it's happening all around me and within me as well.