Yoga and Planetary Alignment

Couldn't sleep last night. I don't understand why not. I was tired as hell when I went to lie down. All I did was toss and turn and turn and toss the night away. Some great use I got out of those hours. I suppose I could have used them in a more efficient way.

Coleen mentioned today that it might be something to do with the alignment of the planets that is happening . She also could not sleep. I'd rather be able to blame it on something like that rather than admit I am just plain stressed out.

I think I was sleeping better when I was acting out because of stress. Now that I have a handle on that aspect, it just eats me up at night instead. I suppose just ignoring the stress or being in denial like I was before doesn't help much either. I really should be feeling better now. I am thinking more clearly. I am feeling better physically. I actually get to work this month. This all bodes well for my future. Then why the stress?

I'm still takjng those baby steps. Not looking too far ahead or it would push me off into the insanity of my debt. I can only see so far with the blinders I have in place. It's for my safety and that of the others around me.

Hmmm..maybe some yoga would help? I could get my body into better alignment and rid myself of stress at the same time. I did feel really at my best when I was doing my Yoga for Stress Relief tape. And I was unemployed then. I don't have that hanging in the balance this week.

Some yoga, some sleep, balance, and a better planetary alignment. Next week could be a whole new place...

Reset The Clock Quick!

Just got home from a wonderful visit with friends. Tired as hell but a good kind of tired. The job at the ballet definitely reset my internal time clock. Getting up at 5 a.m. everyday will do that to a girl I guess. I really should write something about that job but I'll leave that for another day. Too sleepy to address that subject now!

Back to the visit...

I went over to cook for some dear friends who just had a baby. A few of us are trying to help them out with the strain of having a newborn in the house. Helping out with dinner is a great way to show you care. I love to cook for people but very rarely get the chance anymore. It is such a pleasure to cook for those who appreciate too.

But I have to say the highlight of the visit were the moments I spent sitting in the rocker holding that dear sweet little baby in my arms. There's something so instinctual for a woman when it comes to babies. You just can't help it. They just melt you into a coochie coochie cooing peaceful place. I think I could have sat there for hours. What a intense feeling of tranquilty. But then again, she was asleep...

Sometimes, I almost feel split on the whole issue of children. For years, being an auntie was enough for me. I could get my fix easily enough. I wonder if my sister's moving across country made a larger effect on this feeling than I thought. There is a hole in my life without seeing the kids. I miss them terribly. But also when I'm working, that's enough for me. I get absorbed in my career and don't exactly feel the need for children.

I think there is a sacrifice to be made both ways. Having children is an incredible lifestyle change. You can no longer put yourself first in all things. You have to make tough choices both for yourself and your children. Life can no longer be about you. Instead, your decisions are based on the future for your children and what is best for them. There is no room for selfishness.

Although if you decide to live life childless, you sacrifice also. You miss out on sharing yourself with another generation. You miss out on a great learning experience and a chance to better yourself as a human being. I think children force you to be a better you. You won't have grand-children or extended family in your elder years. Most of all, you miss out on a chance to love and be loved. It's a risk. Love and expression of love. But what in life isn't?

Perhaps both my clocks have been reset...Internal and Biological...Time to fall back or spring forward?

Damn that daylight savings time!

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

Change, Choice, and Back Again :: Thursday, January 3rd, 2002

It's funny how most things never really change. It seems as though life is a series of cycles. And the things that plague you most are the problems that keep returning to you. Perhaps because you never really fix them, you just go as far as it takes to make yourself comfortable with your choices. Or is it that you just lose the path and need to be nudged in the proper direction now and again?

I found this on an envelope in the back of one of my music books today. Hidden there for who knows how many years...

I'm struggling
confused and frustrated
with the tastes of life
but looking around myself
to find the missing part
of my soul in other's images
instead of seeking solace
within myself
where it's always been
waiting in peace
ME.

No need for further expression. It says all I want to say today although I wrote it years ago. I could say that was a negative thing. That I have not been affecting change in my life. Or I could take it as a positive sign that picking up a music book was change enough.

I've never found peace anywhere else. I've never been more me any other way. I thought I had changed it all by leaving.

It's good to be back.

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

Too busy to write...too depressed to write...too much to write :: Friday, December 14th, 2001

So many things that keep you busy during the holiday season. So many excuses to keep you from doing the usual things you do. You know the things you need to do. Excuses like visitors, thanksgiving, driving back and forth from LA, and oh, stuff like spiraling into a dark depression.

Needless to say, the holidays should have nothing to do with it. After all, my family didn't even celebrate your traditional holidays like Easter and Christmas. We had our own with names like The Day of Atonement, The Night to be Much Remembered, and you can't forget The Feast of Tabernacles. They sound real jolly, don't they? We had a whole bunch of those different Feast of this and that. The only one that was any fun was the Tabernacle one. And even that involved going to church two times a day.

I think the combination of being exhaustingly upbeat about being unemployed for nearly six months is taking its toll. Maybe you have to let the negative take over sometimes just to have balance...

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

My family has secrets... :: Thursday, November 8th, 2001

Families, secrets...we all have them. We don't like them. We don't pick them. We don't eat dinner with them on a regular basis. Some of them we keep in the closet. Some of them we take out for show and tell. And then there's those that we just don't really understand. I know we all have aunts like that.

My family has secrets. My family doesn't talk about its secrets. Maybe bits and pieces but never the sum total of a secret. There's always just enough to keep you guessing. To keep you wondering just who you are and who these people pinching your cheeks say they are. It's enough to bring an identity crisis on.
Well, family as a whole unit will keep them guarded but there's always the ones who gossip and make their business yours. And then there's my mom. A true article of dysfunction.

No matter how many times I cried TMI as a child it went unnoticed. I have to say there are some things I'd rather not know. Here's an adage I do remember. Ignorance is bliss.

There are things I want to know like the story Grandma told me late one night about her first husband. Who strangely never came up before or is listed in our geneaology. Now did that have to do with the fact she hit him over the head with something heavy out by that lake? She swore up and down he was going to kill her for her insurance policy. I'll probably be ignorant of that. I'd even like to find out just who my Mother's father really was. But some things she should just let lie. Since she won't admit to most of what I want to know, I'm not gonna push it. But neither should she.

C'mon Mom. Ignorance is bliss in some cases.

don't want silver secrets
given to me
forced through searing blue
flames of silence
to share, to hold
unwelcomed gifts of guilt
stuffed down my puking,
trembling throat
still forced to swallow
hard/bitter/cold
secrets seeking destruction
division, delving the whole
creating voluminous vaccums
which
steal, suck in my soul
while
cruel/crashing/crunching
cries whine down to
wind away into nearly
nothing

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

Crossing To The Other Side :: Thursday. November 8th, 2001

Traffic now seems to be a thing of the past here in the Bay Area. No, don't chastise me yet. What I'm referring to is the traffic on the Bay Bridge. It's practically non-existant these days. Yes, there are still cars, trucks, vehicles as it were crossing the bridge. There's just not enough for me to refer to it as traffic. I know traffic. I abhor traffic. I moved to the city to avoid traffic.

This simple avoidance of traffic runs my life in a sense. If it's over the bridge, I'm not having any of that. There's gotta be something better to do in the city. It's the city after all. East Bay? Where is that? In fact, it had gotten so bad I was referring to every where else as "Not The City".

And as for avoiding it, it seemed it was always there. No matter if it was one in the afternoon or one in the morning. If it wasn't commuters, it's bridge work going on. And not mention, those damn metering lights. So now, that the threat of an attack on our local bridges looms over our heads or perhaps under our tires...Do I avoid the bridge? Hell no. What's a bomb compared to traffic? Yeah, you can die but then you can in traffic too. Of boredom...

For me, it is the eternal hell. Traffic is the room you can never leave. If I had to make a comparison, I'd say Traffic is the embodiment of what Sartre was writing about in No Exit. Well, maybe I'm making rash comparisons...but what the hell!

Who cares. This is me we're talking about here, after all.

And it's me, driving across the bridge. Doing outrageous speeds never before accomplished at this time of day! Congratulating myself on going against another's better judgement. Reveling, well not exactly reveling, but I have the sunroof open and the CD cranked up a notch more than normal. If I have to drive across the bridge, I will. Goddamnit. That'll show them.

Wait, those National Guardsmen are kinda cute. Would they think I was a terrorist if I just stopped to chat them up a bit? Geez, uniforms will get me everytime. I thought I was focusing on my one woman crusade to combat the evils of terrorism here. But where in the course of this drive, did it get to be about a political statement anyhow? This drive was supposed to be about something bigger than that. This drive was an attempt to help a friend beat off the horrifying effects of man vs. self. Of course, self will win out. It just takes a greater attempt by friend. And that's where I come in. Driving over so-called doomed bridge in order to bring goodness and light to a soul in torment. That and lunch at Ikea. See, the things one will risk in order to save the day and have lunch.

Lunch. Both a mixture of Swedish practicality and the futility of navigating Ikea's storewide strategy. It's like if they can get you lost long enough, you will give in and buy something ensuring your ability to be organized upon re-entry. Good old Swedish common sense. Well, we had two things going for us today. we found the dining room and I'm Swedish enough to combat their strange psychology of shopping.

Once seated with our Ligonberry juice and entrees, we could really get down to business. Which, of course, was completely avoiding the obvious. Avoiding the issue, the trouble, the problem, the man. Instead why not talk about the bridge? Discuss the finer points of how I would die. Why I think it would be quick and somewhat painless. Lie to ourselves that it was no big deal. Ponder how one should really drive next to the big trucks because they would make a much bigger explosion than a car if indeed they were carrying the bomb. Was this any sicker than the issue at hand?

Well, we could always talk about my horrid little cell phone and we did. We talked about her problems with Mazda and this piece of shit SUV that she just purchased. Mazda called while we were eating. I called them fuckers. It seemed to make her feel a little better. Try using the word yourself sometime. I highly recommend it. Better than Rolaids I say.

We finished up our meal and made our way for the exit. Only to be caught up in the consumer driven practicality of all that is Ikea. I had made it across the bridge. The likelihood of making it back was pretty high. Purchasing something would not be in vain. I fought off the urge. Instead I urged Coleen to buy the first thing she saw. A mousepad. Vicarious shopping.

We left Ikea that day with a Mousepad worth fifty cents feeling a little more alive. Feeling like we had a little more of a handle on our problems. Feeling like we could conquer man vs. self...Okay, hoping that battle would play itself out or over or just fade away.

On the way to the car, I said so really what are you going to do? End it this weekend? Keep it going? Or just let it become a conversation, then just a phone call, and finally just a memory pricking at you? The later of course.

It's easier I say. I don't know if I agree but it's definitely a choice.

Leaving the parking lot, heading back towards the bridge I think about traffic. I think about man vs. self. And I think about traffic some more. Guess I'm happier without making the easier choice today.

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

It's Over My Head :: Wednesday, November 7th, 2001

Even as I sit here in bed fully dressed, I ponder whether or not to brave the chilly air in the staircase tonight. For one reason, I hate cold. No, I really really hate the cold. And the other, I hate fucking footsteps. I hate hard pounding running jumping feet. Especially when these are the feet of those creatures upstairs. The ones I can identify as children on a patient day.

Notice I did not say night. Night is generally when I get impatient about things like children, feet, and the fact that I'm home in bed under a warm cuddly blanket. If I'm at home, it's definite that I have plans to relax. If I want noise, I might as well give in and go out to some tawdry bar. At least there, I won't run into children.
Not that I truly have a problem with children. It's just that when I'm tired I believe in that old adage. You know the one. Something about children and quiet. All right, I don't remember but I know I agree with it. And if I ever think of it, well I'll write it down for posterity.

Well, it's not true. This adage. But it should be.

At times like this, I almost want to pray.Instead I usually shout at the ceiling with no affect. Same difference I've found. Next, I think perhaps it will stop. I promise myself if it doesn't stop by ten...then..and only then will I go upstairs. It has to stop. The pounding, the thumping, the ball dribbling...

Don't children have to sleep too? It's not like they are some evil sleepless noisy out to drive you insane inhuman monsters sent to become my own personal nemesis? Or am I just kidding myself?

Perhaps, they're up there right now plotting against me. They've watched me for years now. They have my schedule down to a tee. Telepathically, they know I am tired so they up their activities just a notch. Just enough to annoy me. Just enough to keep me from being blissfully enthralled with a good book. But just enough to keep me from coming up the stairs.

These kids are good. They know their stuff. They have the proper equipment. Plus, they wear loud shoes.
Maybe I'm just a hopeless optimist. It's over my head anyhow. I'm just tired and want to sleep. I hear earplugs are an option. I wonder how viable they really are.

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

So I own more of the Car than I thought I did :: Tuesday, November 6th, 2001

I hate calling Volkswagen. I really detest it almost as much as my new cell phone but that's a whole different story. I know that the automated voice I'm listening to can't actually sense the fear from my fingertips as a press one for the payoff amount today. Logically, you have the right to call up and access any of this information any time and as many times as you want. Why then does it disturb me? I just know that THEY know that I know that I can't begin to make my payment this month.

The thing is I love my car. I adore my Passat. I even named it fortune on a whim. I bought it on a whim too. I had planned everything out before I even opted to make a trip to the dealership. I knew which model, which options, and which car. It wasn't the Passat. No, I was going to be the proud owner of its baby sister, the Jetta. Good strong choice and just within my budget.

Probably where I fucked up was taking my ex-boyfriend along. Most likely where I fucked up was taking my ex-boyfriend who owed me money along. Yeah, I fucked up taking the ex-boyfriend along. And I even bet I knew this in the deep dark recesses of my mind that day. Look what denial can do to a person. They can leave the dealership with a Passat!

A agreement was struck that day between the ex-boyfriend and I. The money he owed me would go towards paying the Passat off that September. And we both knew that sure as hell, I couldn't afford to make those payments if he didn't come through. Oh, a promise is a promise is just words no one else heard.

Gee, September where did it go? Not to mention the ex-boyfriend. Both had disappeared like the money that I once called my bank account. Slipped away, moved to Nevada, left no forwarding address...but did leave me with a car payment.

Back to holding with Volkswagen. Back to the digital voice announcing the cost on the other side. Back to the relief that I only owe $12,706.00 instead of the imagined $14,000.00. A sigh. A deep sigh.

Now when I hand the car over to my father, he can breath a deep sigh too. He's getting a better deal than he thought in taking over the payments. He'll be sighing and I'll be feeling like I've abandoned yet another on the wayside of this desperate fight to stay afloat in this economy. My Passat. My first expression of freedom from the ex-boyfriend and yet a binding stabbing pain of the control he kept until the end.

So then later, online chatting I tell a friend that I actually owe less than I thought. His response - Just think, you own more of the car than you thought you did.

What does that mean? I own more of the car than I thought I did? I don't own it all. That's where Volkswagen fits in. That's where the fear fits in. That's why I'm calling today. I might hate it but they need to know where Fortune is.

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

From Depression to Denial :: Tuesday, November 6th, 2001

Ugh..I promised myself and my father I would actually open my bills this month. I warned him of the danger of knowledge. Remember the tree, Dad? Isn't that how this whole concept of a commercial based culture got started? With one little apple.

Somehow the arguement that one little peek into those security envelopes will destroy me and mankind along with it doesn't faze my Dad. It could be lethal to my lifestyle I say.

Anything that disturbs my cocoon could reach out and affect others thereby affecting the whole city. Dad, the economy is counting on me. The United States is counting on me to be a steady consumer especially now.
No dice. Open those envelopes and the lucky winner is? Well, there's too many to pick from this month. I'd have to say the Volkswagen Credit Company comes first and all others get in line. We'll just take it one bite at a time.

Sometimes an apple can be a bitter thing to swallow.

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

The Fight :: Monday, November 5th, 2001

I found myself remembering myself as a child tonight. I guess that comes from visiting my Dad and my Stepmother this weekend. They communicate so much differently than my Mother and my Dad did. I started thinking about when I would listen to my parents fighting. I felt like everytime they fought it was inside of me eating me away...destroying me and taking me over in a way I couldn't understand. In fact, over time I internalized the fights and if they needed to take a night off I'm sure I could have replayed one for them. It's true what they say you are your experiences...

Screaming shouts
whistle past my ears
both body and mind
shriveling with fear
cover, duck, crawl
hurry, it's near
can't escape the anger
that lives here

Whistling wails
roar over my head
knees under my chin
shaking in bed
curl, scrunch, hide
the faces said
with the anger
dipped entirely in red

Ringing roars
sail through my soul
mouth and heart closed
halving the whole
shut, lock, look
through the keyhole
keep all of that anger
buried below

Screaming shouts
whistle past my ears
both body and mind
shriveling with fear
cover, duck, hide
hurry, it's near
can't escape the anger
I see in the mirror

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off

Alive :: Sunday, November 4th, 2001

I want to face the world
And tell them I'm here
I'm living and I'm all right
I want to stare them down
Even with the tears
Still in my eyes
I'll show them that I can fight
Despite the fears
Rushing through me
They thought they'd catch me
That's why I'm alive

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

Burning of the Mauseoleum-Burning Man Memories :: Sunday, November 4th, 2001

The burning of the mausoleum the next night was the spiritual experience that became the highlight of the trip and changed us all before we left. All I know is sitting in the midst of the midst of the most intense dust storm I have ever seen contemplating the unknown sober in front of a burn platform feeling the emotions arise from the storm and the burn of the temple...a loss for words.

And then again, the moment Trey, Todd, and I walked up to the temple after the dust storm lessened and I could see it burnt across the sky trailing in front of us. The biggest money shot I have ever seen. In the distance, below the glow, a line, a dark shape becoming the crowd emerging into view. Art cars parked around the circle of humanity gathered to share the tears and anger hanging in the air.

Moving closer, the feelings of tribe, but not a closeness. Really it was a wildness, a primal state. Unlike the man, where I could not bear to be outside of the fire...Where you felt drawn, forced into the circle to celebrate...here I sensed a warning, an uneasiness, the perception that chaos could explode at any given moment. The anger, the sadness, and the confusion of the act pervaded the air.

On the edge of the crowd, the music took over and I was lulled into a trance like state standing staring at the stilt walkers silhouetted above us all speaking to us, arranging their limbs in strange hieroglyphics. Signaling to me the danger inherent in opening up to death. The pain of mourning and my own personal grief mixed with others floating beside me surrounding me as I stand transfixed by the shadows reaching towards me. Their elongated hands beckoning me forward to take the risk that night and release my own fears and despair. To own them and at once not own them at all. To become part of the community in a larger sense, to become part of the temple of tears. To give myself and retain nothing but my memory. To heal...

And let all others heal. We turned our backs to the temple and walked on. This feeling followed me. This feeling that engulfed all the playa as the storm had earlier. Perhaps carried by the storm itself, I was reminded of the philosophical question we had been discussing while trapped on the wooden bench in front of the burn at eight o'clock and esplanade...

What we do here. Is it truly affecting the patterns of life on earth? What we do here. Good or bad, does it really matter? Could we be influencing another halfway across the planet? Just like the dust storm charging across the playa, ideas moving from one person to another, thoughts gathering and moving another to action. If it stops here in this moment, does it mean that it stopped everywhere else?

The storm stopped. The thought spoken.

The temple burned. The idea heard.

The ashes flew. The word traveled.

There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

I need to start this fucking thing :: Sunday, November 4th, 2001

So I found myself needing a place to express myself ... a place to place my thoughts and emotions so I can disect them and find some meaning in the chaos of what I term my consciousness. If there really is such a thing out there...

And like a beacon calling to me from the world wide web I find this entry on a search engine called live journal and think to myself...self, perhaps you've found the instrument of your expression. It seems too hard these days to sit down with pen and paper in hand and write. Why is that? Is it because it seems like work and things flow so much better when you're typing them into your laptop? Is it because I seem to relate better to and on the internet than I do in person? Why the fuck is it that this would be simpler and more natural when I learned to write before my parents even owned a computer? Maybe its because I just spend too much time with the thing ... chatting with friends, writing mail, researching, building a space within a space that doesn't even exist in this space...just as bits of memory.

Well, I am working it out here and at least the effort has begun...