Saturday, August 7, 2010
Someone stop this song...
First and foremost, want to say that I've been meaning to start a blog for a very long time. Writing is soothing to me, like aloe on a sunburn. Even when things are completely out of hand in my life, I know that if I can snag a few quiet moments to jot down a few words, I somehow always feel cleansed. I figure that there is no reason why I shouldn't share publicly my thoughts and feelings; I do regardless of whether anyone is listening or not. So let's catch up, and I'll post a few things I've shared before, but find to be out of this world amazing. I kid, because as we all know, I'm hilarious and full of one-liners. But for those who don't yet know my heart, this blog will serve as a means to understanding me a little better...or fully coming to terms with how truly peculiar I am. Whichever way the wind blows...whatever floats your boat, a penny saved is a penny earned...any of those that you feel apply to me and my blog.
Swim until you can't see land
I have a constant monologue running through my mind. I know a lot of people will admit to having quiet, personal conversations with themselves, but I unabashedly proclaim that I think exactly the way I talk: nonstop and without a filter. I honestly believe that if I wrote everything out onto paper that I wanted to say, I would fill up mass quantities of journals, use countless napkins and run the Post-It company completely out of it's warehouse supplies.
Sometimes I worry that these thoughts and ideas may overflow from my head, spilling out of my ears and puddling on the floor. I suppose I'd just watch as mothers hastily scooped up their children to save them from the pool of words that would starting to form in aisle 14 of Wal-Mart. "That girl must have been a genius", they'll say, shaking their heads, "Why didn't she put it on paper? She surely must have felt all the sentences building up pressure...". End scene.
Often time, said thought processes lead to productive measures: lists of things to do, cleaning supplies I've run out of, a good recipe I remembered seeing on the Food Network, and grocery items that I need to purchase at the Rainbow discount food store. Daydreams interfere quite often, mingling amidst the aforementioned power-driving thoughts; places I'd like to travel, photos I want to take, what it would be like if I were a country singer, how I'd look with bangs again, how long I would have to hold my breath to pass out and would it get the attention of the cute guy who sits across from me...You know, the normal shit.
Intermixed with all of these flowing paragraphs, and one-sided questions that never get answered, in the most irrational part of my head are things that creep and hide ashamed in dark corners. How if I won the lottery I would eat lobster every day for a month, or at least until I got tired of it. Why there isn't chocolate flavored gum, and if dogs perhaps have opinions on human behavior and rituals. If the mirror above my bed is fastened securely, and what if there was a freak earthquake; would I be decapitated or simply knocked into a coma by it? I wonder a lot about God, and religion. I figure that if Jesus made me as he intended, he certainly has a sense of humor (I'd like to think that I'm one of the funniest people He's created).
I know how very sane I am. I analyze the hell out of every situation, and am the first to hold up a judging hand to any seemingly irrational decision or new theory. I know my head from my heart, and my right from my left, and not to cross the street when the light is red. I get it.
Maybe I know too many words, which is why they are constantly battling each other in my mind; colliding dangerously like teenagers in a mosh pit. I never get answers, I just go from one thing to the next; waffles for breakfast, to showering or not, to calling in sick to work, to loving again, to what movie to watch before bed, to bills to pay, to whether I'll ever jump out of a plane. Just like that.
In my mind, I don't stand on a soapbox, I sit in a corner and pick the petals off of a flower, quietly. I don't know a lot, but I know a little about everything, or enough about a little, or maybe just a little about enough things to fake it.
Call me the tangent master.
Sometimes I worry that these thoughts and ideas may overflow from my head, spilling out of my ears and puddling on the floor. I suppose I'd just watch as mothers hastily scooped up their children to save them from the pool of words that would starting to form in aisle 14 of Wal-Mart. "That girl must have been a genius", they'll say, shaking their heads, "Why didn't she put it on paper? She surely must have felt all the sentences building up pressure...". End scene.
Often time, said thought processes lead to productive measures: lists of things to do, cleaning supplies I've run out of, a good recipe I remembered seeing on the Food Network, and grocery items that I need to purchase at the Rainbow discount food store. Daydreams interfere quite often, mingling amidst the aforementioned power-driving thoughts; places I'd like to travel, photos I want to take, what it would be like if I were a country singer, how I'd look with bangs again, how long I would have to hold my breath to pass out and would it get the attention of the cute guy who sits across from me...You know, the normal shit.
Intermixed with all of these flowing paragraphs, and one-sided questions that never get answered, in the most irrational part of my head are things that creep and hide ashamed in dark corners. How if I won the lottery I would eat lobster every day for a month, or at least until I got tired of it. Why there isn't chocolate flavored gum, and if dogs perhaps have opinions on human behavior and rituals. If the mirror above my bed is fastened securely, and what if there was a freak earthquake; would I be decapitated or simply knocked into a coma by it? I wonder a lot about God, and religion. I figure that if Jesus made me as he intended, he certainly has a sense of humor (I'd like to think that I'm one of the funniest people He's created).
I know how very sane I am. I analyze the hell out of every situation, and am the first to hold up a judging hand to any seemingly irrational decision or new theory. I know my head from my heart, and my right from my left, and not to cross the street when the light is red. I get it.
Maybe I know too many words, which is why they are constantly battling each other in my mind; colliding dangerously like teenagers in a mosh pit. I never get answers, I just go from one thing to the next; waffles for breakfast, to showering or not, to calling in sick to work, to loving again, to what movie to watch before bed, to bills to pay, to whether I'll ever jump out of a plane. Just like that.
In my mind, I don't stand on a soapbox, I sit in a corner and pick the petals off of a flower, quietly. I don't know a lot, but I know a little about everything, or enough about a little, or maybe just a little about enough things to fake it.
Call me the tangent master.
Rant
i am a list maker.
I find that making lists, grocery lists, to-do lists,
Christmas lists, etc, etc, amen, calms my often-very-anxious heart down
to a somewhat steady beat instead of a quick two step dance. When things
are out of hand, I go for the pen and paper.
Honestly.
I'm not even obsessive-compulsive. Just...you know. Me.
You would think under certain
conditions that lists are, perhaps, inappropriate.
You may also be under the impression that list making is
NOT a suitable hobby.
I beg to differ.
I find the older ("older") I get, the more essential lists have
become to keeping my racing thoughts in check; almost as if writing
them on paper is the equivalent of locking up a very, very
unstable man in a small enclosed space. Containment is key.
Even in this very transitional/sad/strange (already listing
again) time, I find myself itemizing my emotions, according
to category, time, place and circumstance. I don't think I
could be any more bizarre, but as the open person that I am, I
truly don't care if it's weird.
Numbering, classifying, listing...
whatever. I always feel better if I can at least have in print
the reality of what I'm actually going to have to deal with. I like to take
a measured approach to everything
...
because, of course, after this initial list,
I can start listing what I need/have/want to do
in order to start resolving those aforementioned listed lists of
realities to deal with. ;)
I find that making lists, grocery lists, to-do lists,
Christmas lists, etc, etc, amen, calms my often-very-anxious heart down
to a somewhat steady beat instead of a quick two step dance. When things
are out of hand, I go for the pen and paper.
Honestly.
I'm not even obsessive-compulsive. Just...you know. Me.
You would think under certain
conditions that lists are, perhaps, inappropriate.
You may also be under the impression that list making is
NOT a suitable hobby.
I beg to differ.
I find the older ("older") I get, the more essential lists have
become to keeping my racing thoughts in check; almost as if writing
them on paper is the equivalent of locking up a very, very
unstable man in a small enclosed space. Containment is key.
Even in this very transitional/sad/strange (already listing
again) time, I find myself itemizing my emotions, according
to category, time, place and circumstance. I don't think I
could be any more bizarre, but as the open person that I am, I
truly don't care if it's weird.
Numbering, classifying, listing...
whatever. I always feel better if I can at least have in print
the reality of what I'm actually going to have to deal with. I like to take
a measured approach to everything
...
because, of course, after this initial list,
I can start listing what I need/have/want to do
in order to start resolving those aforementioned listed lists of
realities to deal with. ;)
The art of communication
It's been recently brought to my attention that I should start blogging. Apparently, I'm funny. And not just that, sometimes I'm outright hilarious. Antics ranging from famous one-liners, kitchen fires, foot-in-mouth epidsodes and fully-engaged kitchen bodyslides, I'm a one-woman comedy routine extrodinaire. The funny (yes, funny) thing is...I don't try. I'm a walking, talking cannonball careening towards the next catastrophe that will surely turn into a stand-up show based on actual, real life events.
I don't know know how to be intentionally humorous. Sitting here trying to sift through random thoughts to see what others might chuckle at is a real challenge. Most of the time, it's my mouth's extreme lack-of-filtration that gets the most laughs. I just can't stop. I'm here all day, folks.
So here's the plan. I'll try to remember to write down the shitshows as they surely will come streaming in. Inside jokes will become a Facebook phenomenon. Brother Doorknocker, I have answered the call.
Something tells me I'm going to change the world.
Catch me at Albertson's next. I'm out of cereal, and I'll be the jackass making inappropriate comments about the bagboys.
I don't know know how to be intentionally humorous. Sitting here trying to sift through random thoughts to see what others might chuckle at is a real challenge. Most of the time, it's my mouth's extreme lack-of-filtration that gets the most laughs. I just can't stop. I'm here all day, folks.
So here's the plan. I'll try to remember to write down the shitshows as they surely will come streaming in. Inside jokes will become a Facebook phenomenon. Brother Doorknocker, I have answered the call.
Something tells me I'm going to change the world.
Catch me at Albertson's next. I'm out of cereal, and I'll be the jackass making inappropriate comments about the bagboys.
Remember to breathe
This may turn out to be a long one...
Sometimes writing it down is cleansing. I am learning more and more about myself as the weeks go by, and I have found this past week, hell, month, to be an education in many aspects. I, as if I need to advertise this, wear my sacred little heart on my ever-tattered sleeve, so none of this confessional should be surprising.
For those that have been with me through this long journey, I first say a deep soul-wrenching 'thank you'. Lesson one, be thankful. I feel like I've been on the craziest rollercoaster ride, sometimes stuck hanging upside down and wondering when the wheels were going to start spinning again. I am on solid ground again, and regaining my footing. I've grown leaps and bounds, and while I will always have funny stories to tell, the tales that remain solid in my memory are those revolving around friends and family who have done nothing but support me unconditionally. I bow my head often throughout the day and consider the many blessings I have and the fullfilling joy I feel. Thank you.
Today, I sold my wedding ring. It's been a long time coming, and I should not have been surprised at my inital reaction of steadily flowing tears. It's been over a year since it's actually been around my finger, and after all, it's a piece of molded metal, a precious stone, a material object...I suppose it's the undying overanalyist inside me that considered it a symbol of love and honesty and true devotion. After carrying it aimlessly on my key chain, I decided it was long past due that we part ways. As I turned it over to the kindest man who bought it from me, I welled up--I can sincerely say I have never seen so much sympathy in a stranger's eyes as he placed it around his own pinky for safekeeping. I think that's what got me, because he read deep into the depths of my own heart, and judged nothing, simply patted my hand, and asked if I was sure. And fuck if I was hadn't been any more sure of anything in my life. I no longer feel anchored.
I don't write this as a sympathy cry, or an attention grabber, but a simple sharing of my heart and soul. I have no sadness over what transpired, because my life is abundantly joyful, as I've said many times. I hesitate to even type this as I am allowing new people into my life, but as we all know, Becca rambles, and eventually it would all spill out and overflow freely from pursed lips. Today was a good day despite a tear or two.
Days long, starting to be sunny, many a long talk, a good cry, a silly dance, a chalk drawing, a fashion show, good wine, hysterical laughter, high fives, amazing music, new passions, bangs and haircuts, bicycles and babies, intuitions, tulips, dandelions, inside jokes, a thousand cigarettes and never enough sleep...this is my world. This is my heart.
And to those newest to it, and you know who you are...I adore you. You light up my life.
My heart skips a beat...
Sometimes writing it down is cleansing. I am learning more and more about myself as the weeks go by, and I have found this past week, hell, month, to be an education in many aspects. I, as if I need to advertise this, wear my sacred little heart on my ever-tattered sleeve, so none of this confessional should be surprising.
For those that have been with me through this long journey, I first say a deep soul-wrenching 'thank you'. Lesson one, be thankful. I feel like I've been on the craziest rollercoaster ride, sometimes stuck hanging upside down and wondering when the wheels were going to start spinning again. I am on solid ground again, and regaining my footing. I've grown leaps and bounds, and while I will always have funny stories to tell, the tales that remain solid in my memory are those revolving around friends and family who have done nothing but support me unconditionally. I bow my head often throughout the day and consider the many blessings I have and the fullfilling joy I feel. Thank you.
Today, I sold my wedding ring. It's been a long time coming, and I should not have been surprised at my inital reaction of steadily flowing tears. It's been over a year since it's actually been around my finger, and after all, it's a piece of molded metal, a precious stone, a material object...I suppose it's the undying overanalyist inside me that considered it a symbol of love and honesty and true devotion. After carrying it aimlessly on my key chain, I decided it was long past due that we part ways. As I turned it over to the kindest man who bought it from me, I welled up--I can sincerely say I have never seen so much sympathy in a stranger's eyes as he placed it around his own pinky for safekeeping. I think that's what got me, because he read deep into the depths of my own heart, and judged nothing, simply patted my hand, and asked if I was sure. And fuck if I was hadn't been any more sure of anything in my life. I no longer feel anchored.
I don't write this as a sympathy cry, or an attention grabber, but a simple sharing of my heart and soul. I have no sadness over what transpired, because my life is abundantly joyful, as I've said many times. I hesitate to even type this as I am allowing new people into my life, but as we all know, Becca rambles, and eventually it would all spill out and overflow freely from pursed lips. Today was a good day despite a tear or two.
Days long, starting to be sunny, many a long talk, a good cry, a silly dance, a chalk drawing, a fashion show, good wine, hysterical laughter, high fives, amazing music, new passions, bangs and haircuts, bicycles and babies, intuitions, tulips, dandelions, inside jokes, a thousand cigarettes and never enough sleep...this is my world. This is my heart.
And to those newest to it, and you know who you are...I adore you. You light up my life.
My heart skips a beat...
And then you...
There is alot of good in this world. I wonder how long I've been walking around with my eyes closed and arms folded defensively. When you finally breathe it all in, it's an influx of emotions and sensations and incredible beauty. There is still bad, hurt exists and it is always painful, heartache remains prominent, and money will always be the devil's advocate. But somewhere folded in the inbetweens, there remains so much more.
I still force people to tell me I'm pretty when I'm drunk, I think I am very persuasive about it until I hear about it the morning after. I won't lie if I think you're ridiculously good looking, I'll tell you and make you agree with me. Quote you song lyrics that are jumbled but heartfelt, and talk in a terrible New York accent, splashed colorfully with obscenities. I will always fuss over my hair, always.
I will cry alot. I will throw a fit that would easily best a 2 year old. I will get defensive, and admit that while I am prolific, I sometimes prefer to remain naive. I will never be a good singer, and you will have to kindly remind me of this from time to time. I will forever long for adventure. I have to stop every 30 seconds to take a picture. No matter where we are. I fear one day my memory will fail me, and I want it all captured...every single moment.
I get so mad at injustice, I get violently upset at the idea religion, I hate politics. I don't know what good art is, I just know what I find to be aesthetically pleasing. I read Kafka but I also indulge in Stephen King.
I am just what I am. Sometimes I smoke alot, sometimes not at all. I am the guy's guy, but I have nice legs and a pretty mouth. I laugh wildly and loudly and about everything.
It is.
I still force people to tell me I'm pretty when I'm drunk, I think I am very persuasive about it until I hear about it the morning after. I won't lie if I think you're ridiculously good looking, I'll tell you and make you agree with me. Quote you song lyrics that are jumbled but heartfelt, and talk in a terrible New York accent, splashed colorfully with obscenities. I will always fuss over my hair, always.
I will cry alot. I will throw a fit that would easily best a 2 year old. I will get defensive, and admit that while I am prolific, I sometimes prefer to remain naive. I will never be a good singer, and you will have to kindly remind me of this from time to time. I will forever long for adventure. I have to stop every 30 seconds to take a picture. No matter where we are. I fear one day my memory will fail me, and I want it all captured...every single moment.
I get so mad at injustice, I get violently upset at the idea religion, I hate politics. I don't know what good art is, I just know what I find to be aesthetically pleasing. I read Kafka but I also indulge in Stephen King.
I am just what I am. Sometimes I smoke alot, sometimes not at all. I am the guy's guy, but I have nice legs and a pretty mouth. I laugh wildly and loudly and about everything.
It is.
I get all the laughs...
Since blogging has been very healing, I'm reposting an old one I dug up...someday these will get funny. I promise.
I've begun to notice the small things. Not small, as in, unimportant, but small, sometimes overlooked, perhaps tiny happenings that just come naturally after while. Things gathered in time passing and hours spent with good friends. I just realized today how comforting those small things are, and how I don't always need something big and brag-worthy to make me happy.
I know who likes veggies, and what kinds. Who doesn't, and the face they make when I mention cooking food with onions in it. The laughter that follows when I tell them that they're too picky. Their favorite color, what they eat in the morning, how they prefer to wear their hair. I know what makes them angry, what makes them cry, and have many times cried along with them. I make the same gestures sometimes, and find I've unknowingly changed myself in a way that mimics parts of them all. I guess that just happens when you're around someone so long.
I know about their pasts, and caught a glimpse it was like to grow up with their father or mother; what hardships have shaped them into the dynamic being they are today. I know fears, joys, heartaches and dirty little secrets, and they too know mine. I relish these small things, and appreciate just knowing I've been entrusted in getting to know them wholly as a person.
I don't have to do big things, to show these people off. I think it's apparent on it's own who cares for me and who I care for. I'm very greatful to even have one person like this, let alone many.
And to the future, it rests within my heart to keep learning new things, opening up, and occasionally, adding another inside joke to the collection. Cheers.
I've begun to notice the small things. Not small, as in, unimportant, but small, sometimes overlooked, perhaps tiny happenings that just come naturally after while. Things gathered in time passing and hours spent with good friends. I just realized today how comforting those small things are, and how I don't always need something big and brag-worthy to make me happy.
I know who likes veggies, and what kinds. Who doesn't, and the face they make when I mention cooking food with onions in it. The laughter that follows when I tell them that they're too picky. Their favorite color, what they eat in the morning, how they prefer to wear their hair. I know what makes them angry, what makes them cry, and have many times cried along with them. I make the same gestures sometimes, and find I've unknowingly changed myself in a way that mimics parts of them all. I guess that just happens when you're around someone so long.
I know about their pasts, and caught a glimpse it was like to grow up with their father or mother; what hardships have shaped them into the dynamic being they are today. I know fears, joys, heartaches and dirty little secrets, and they too know mine. I relish these small things, and appreciate just knowing I've been entrusted in getting to know them wholly as a person.
I don't have to do big things, to show these people off. I think it's apparent on it's own who cares for me and who I care for. I'm very greatful to even have one person like this, let alone many.
And to the future, it rests within my heart to keep learning new things, opening up, and occasionally, adding another inside joke to the collection. Cheers.
Metamorphosis
When do you suppose I'll truly grow up?
Learn to manage my money, successfully? Realize that I HAVE to go to work, pay the bills, do the laundry and actually fill the car up with gasoline? That not every stomachache indicates a day in bed with cartoons, and that not every nightmare is real. There are no monsters in the closet, and honestly, if there are, there is no one to battle them besides me, myself and I.
I swear I'm not an infant, but somedays, you'd fully believe I was fresh from the womb; kicking and screaming and flailing about. Ever red in the face, just looking for a hand to hold me. Searching for some solidarity in the sea of eyes that's watching me so terribly close.
When do I get to transform? I, too, want to be that beautiful butterfly of adulthood, maturity and responsibility. I find myself, instead, to be the one struggling catepillar, hanging upside haphazardly, with one formed wing flapping out of the cocoon...cursing wildly.
I laugh alot about it. The entire concept is nearly foreign to me...the word adult spoken in a strange language I cannot connect with. I guess I find security in my half-formed state, false as it may be. I can chalk it all up to a lingering youth, and the hard to admit fact that I still don't know everything.
Undoubtedly I'll make mistakes, destined to encounter the same problems once, twice or three times depending on my hardheadedness.
I want to grow and change and develop, but if I have to hang in the balances for awhile, I'll survive it. I surely don't want to miss a thing...
Learn to manage my money, successfully? Realize that I HAVE to go to work, pay the bills, do the laundry and actually fill the car up with gasoline? That not every stomachache indicates a day in bed with cartoons, and that not every nightmare is real. There are no monsters in the closet, and honestly, if there are, there is no one to battle them besides me, myself and I.
I swear I'm not an infant, but somedays, you'd fully believe I was fresh from the womb; kicking and screaming and flailing about. Ever red in the face, just looking for a hand to hold me. Searching for some solidarity in the sea of eyes that's watching me so terribly close.
When do I get to transform? I, too, want to be that beautiful butterfly of adulthood, maturity and responsibility. I find myself, instead, to be the one struggling catepillar, hanging upside haphazardly, with one formed wing flapping out of the cocoon...cursing wildly.
I laugh alot about it. The entire concept is nearly foreign to me...the word adult spoken in a strange language I cannot connect with. I guess I find security in my half-formed state, false as it may be. I can chalk it all up to a lingering youth, and the hard to admit fact that I still don't know everything.
Undoubtedly I'll make mistakes, destined to encounter the same problems once, twice or three times depending on my hardheadedness.
I want to grow and change and develop, but if I have to hang in the balances for awhile, I'll survive it. I surely don't want to miss a thing...
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