Right on me

I've lost about forty pounds and now the fun begins. I had vowed years ago not to diet or maintain any kind of vigilance other than eating a balanced and mostly organic menu. Yet, when I got sick in August and had to hoist myself off of a gurney in order to have a MRI, I knew that even though I was strong, if I weighed the same in twenty years, I wouldn't be able to. So, I stopped eating most anything that wasn't full of fiber or protein and have shed much of myself. I think for the first time the motivation was health rather then appearance and that made a huge impact on me. But, as for the aforementioned fun, I refer to the tingling of past and present fears about not being able to maintain this lifestyle, loosing control and feeling bad again. It's kind of like if you are the other woman you have certain power and if you are the wife you do as well, and then there is the helplessness that comes along with each role, it's nothing less than confounding that the fear of loss or the fear of gain is always present. I've seen it dozens of time, the letting go of control and allowing the immediacy of gratification sooth the restless nature of comfort and acceptance. It's a pox I say.

The Difference

Today I hate people, their desperate need to be first, to get the most, have the best, shiniest and loudest. It's not hard to be civil, to show consideration to the fact that there are a few billion of us here and we all have the same equal and viable needs.
Years ago, when the boys were little and people fought over Power Rangers, to the extreme that they were willing to knock over an obviously pregnant K-B toy store employee to get to the unpacked boxes of molded plastic, I came to the conclusion that stuff would never be worth more than my sense of decency, and the only thing I would ever fight for would be to feed my children if they were starving, or to find them clothes and shelter; which brings to mind the acid wash jeans we tried to give to the Federation for the Blind, which they rejected as too unstylish.

The ledge of life

I have always cared far too much about how I look. Spent so much time worrying, fretting, wondering if it was okay. What a terrible waste, yet I know this aspect of my personality is really much more of a part of me then i am willing to easily let go . As a reasonably sane adult I tell myself, no one would ever pay as close attention as me, to the flaws, shiny nose, the specifics. I never or rarely notice things that are that particular when I'm close to people, talking to them or just being near, it's a big visual not a zoom. Yet I don't afford the same consideration to others, to just take it for granted that they are listening not looking. And then, I also tend to have a friend or two that feed into the need for the hypercritical quagmire. Why the harshness, is it genetic, or learned, environmental, or just some stupid ass bullshit that many women have accepted as part of the nature of being.

Just how far it's gone

Eamon used to have a website called the plaindealersucks.com. The pd is the Cleveland newspaper and there is little competition so it, without further ado, sucks. His approach to the site was very much in tune with his personalty, low key, low tech and not very well thought out. For him, it was the content, not the look of the thing, and on that level it was much appreciated albeit mocked heartily by friends.
Today the headline and lead story of the paper was about a luxury dog resort and on pg. 3 there was mention of eight marines dying in Iraq. Indeed the PD does suck, yet his website no longer exists to mark that fact, so I will in his stead

I keep to myself

I used to play music on the radio to communicate my feelings, state of mind and various moods. I've written about that before, but what I have now is a very personal selection of music that only I know. That is the difference with the musical technology of today and yesteryear.
If I were young and dating, I'd have my prospective boyfriend listen to my ipod so that he would immediately have a sense of what and whom he was dealing with. For me music is the ultimate shorthand to the person that lives inside.
I liked being able to share other people's words that articulated my own. Now, I listen to the actual soundtrack of my life and still wonder who the fuck I am.

Love is stronger than death

Valentine's day is something I don't take very seriously. It really means so little except for that artificial construct stuff about love and romance. Silky, sleeveless, cold and clingy sums it up for me.
I am not apathetic to how much this can mean to people especially those newly in love, but I find that pressure to buy things to show people how much you love them kind of misses the mark. I'm also guessing that many people are left feeling bad on this day. When I was in Jr. High, the practice was to sell carnations and you could buy one for your friend, love, teacher, whomever. The color scheme of the flowers helped people to understand the designation red for love and pink for friendship blah, blah; so one of the assholes from my homeroom sent me one, and it was a big joke to them, but for me, it was a lovely flower nothing more nothing less.

The ones who serve

I am far too familiar with humiliation. I've gotten laughed at, taunted, insulted, shunned and a plethora of other indignities that have scarred and made me wary of approaching many situations without caution and or limited eye contact. I don't read people well, I think they're angry when they're actually intrigued or interested and I've mistaken distaste and acrimony for jest and levity. Every once in awhile I get to a point where an inventory of these events makes me wonder how others face these issues and what they do to live with the crushing sadness of the universal human condition.

We have no choice

I yelled at Jack this morning. He had nothing to do with the reason I raged at him, it's all about me and my inability to deal with myself or Eamon missing work. Well, there's actually a lot more to it, but I can't just imprint my thoughts onto the screen so I'll have to impart the information. Mostly, it's me being fearful, generations of fear are upon me. I am a reservoir of anger, anxiety and currently, hormones. There is always a voice in my head telling me I'm being an asshole, and anything but reasonable, yet I furiously carry on with the screamtacular fest. My very own home movie of my memories; lovely.

And wishing you were far away

Two sets of musical coincidences have me rocking out harder than ever. The first was the other day, Eamon and I were riding in the car, and he had been playing one of my old shows on a cassette. Then he remembered that a friend from work had burned a compilation for him, so he put that in the CD player. After the first or second song, the Buzzcocks Ever fallen in love with someone came on, which happens to be the song that we stopped at on the cassette. He didn't believe it so we went back and forth for awhile, grooving on the oddness of the moment. Then, last night as I was listening to my ipod, on which I have the song That's Entertainment by the Jam, whose singer was Paul Weller, that song ended and the song So you say you lost your baby by Death in Vegas, with guest star singer, Paul Weller followed. Had it been up to me, I would have put it together that way, but in this case it was the little microchip dj making it all possible.

On a ship of noise

I've found my black tar heroin. Jack turned 12 last week and asked for an ipod shuffle. He downloaded the requisite Family Guy, Simpson's retro songs and a few current pop hits. When he left for school the day after, I was trudging through the daily mega chore fest, and put it on. The rest as they say was a stunner of a trip. Though the songs sucked the sheer intensity and intimacy of the music got me more stoned then I've been since they gave me morphine when I had my viral infection, all that without the nausea.

Things they do

I may be experiencing that thing I've read about where people discuss feeling liberated, freer, and less inhibited at a certain point and age.
I like it. It's not necessarily going to be a positive thing for everyone around me, in that my tourettes is also finding it's own way in the world, so flimflam comes out of my mouth that may or may not be appropriate, even though it feels right. Perhaps, the selfish gene actually just kicked in. Or, again, it could just be some gas or some such.