Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
blahblahblaaaaaaaah
hearing skateboards. people holding hands. sunny days. all this crap makes me wonder why there were weeks of perfection followed by isolated days of turmoil.
why was it so easy for him to move on?
when will i?
im going to stare at the my clothes tumble in the dryer. premediation before my bikram.
psht.
why was it so easy for him to move on?
when will i?
im going to stare at the my clothes tumble in the dryer. premediation before my bikram.
psht.
Friday, September 7, 2007
fuck it
i cant sleep. i cant believe that girl from home is already coming to visit him, which makes me think this relationship was more fucked up than anyone could have ever thought. he gets his chance to be free and woah there, he takes it all the way. get over lindsay? fuck that, just fuck some new girl on the sheets we used to sleep in. will lindsay care? fuck it, doesnt matter, she fucked me over so many times, let me get my last revenge with curly blonde cutie. im so angry, so sad, so pissed off, so fuckin hurt, so confused, so hopeless, so furious, so weak. im so sad. it hurts so bad. i cant believe that. i cant get to sleep. i wish i was ten years old again and i didnt have to deal with all this shit. i hate debt i hate boys i hate crying i hate all this shit. its too hard. i just want to go home and hug my dogs. :(
eh.
i need a tennis buddy i need a wine buddy i need a safeway buddy i need a walking buddy i need a lip buddy i need a sleep buddy i need a butthead buddy i need a coffee buddy i need a burrito budy i need a cheese steak buddy i need a book buddy i need a library buddy i need a camera buddy i need an art buddy i need a couch buddy i need
to
stop.
to
stop.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
siiiiiiiigh
Today is one of the hard days. It's been a week, that's probably why I'm feeling emotionally sore. I just want to heal. I want him to heal. I want us to help each other heal. We both know that can't happen. We've got to untangle ourselves and become separate. He said he lost himself in us. I don't perceive that as an insult. I feel the same way. Things between us became really intense.
All I did today was sigh thinking of everything that held us back. This, that, the other thing. I wish I hadn't, I wish he did, I should have, I shouldn't have, we could have. It sucks.
He left me with a lot more to ponder aside from our relationship woes. I have to think about myself and learn to step it up a notch. Like a leaf in a lazy river, I'm just floating through my life. I don't know why I can't snap out of this stupid daze I'm in. I know I'm in it- why can't I change it?
There's a lot of negativity stirring throughout my body, most of which I collect by myself. No one ever said I couldn't do anything except myself. It's so hard to convince myself of what I can do. It's so easy to tell myself what I can't do.
It will seem so trite when I write, life is weird. Life is so fricken weird. The swervy road I've been on this entire year continues to throw sharp curves without warning. I just want a straight path to peacefulness, to contentment. Now I have to do it alone, without a passenger. Is it better to be solo? Or have a backseat driver? I don't know. I guess time will tell.
All I did today was sigh thinking of everything that held us back. This, that, the other thing. I wish I hadn't, I wish he did, I should have, I shouldn't have, we could have. It sucks.
He left me with a lot more to ponder aside from our relationship woes. I have to think about myself and learn to step it up a notch. Like a leaf in a lazy river, I'm just floating through my life. I don't know why I can't snap out of this stupid daze I'm in. I know I'm in it- why can't I change it?
There's a lot of negativity stirring throughout my body, most of which I collect by myself. No one ever said I couldn't do anything except myself. It's so hard to convince myself of what I can do. It's so easy to tell myself what I can't do.
It will seem so trite when I write, life is weird. Life is so fricken weird. The swervy road I've been on this entire year continues to throw sharp curves without warning. I just want a straight path to peacefulness, to contentment. Now I have to do it alone, without a passenger. Is it better to be solo? Or have a backseat driver? I don't know. I guess time will tell.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
How are things on the west coast?
They suck, thanks for asking.
His aresnal of back up girlfriends was loaded and ready to go. First one, his precious one, is already coming out to visit.
I've got no back up plans. Except Mackenzie and the Orticellis. Maybe a bear will eat me when we go to Yosemite. The luck.
I guess I'll go to work. Then do some yoga. Gotta do something crazy like go find a hobby now that I'm lonely.
Bah humbug.
His aresnal of back up girlfriends was loaded and ready to go. First one, his precious one, is already coming out to visit.
I've got no back up plans. Except Mackenzie and the Orticellis. Maybe a bear will eat me when we go to Yosemite. The luck.
I guess I'll go to work. Then do some yoga. Gotta do something crazy like go find a hobby now that I'm lonely.
Bah humbug.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Insanity
For once in a blog insanity will not refer to my fluctuating mental state. This time I'm referring to Bikram Yoga, which some people call hot yoga. After today I think I'll refer to it as hell. . .and I mean that in the most spiritually endearing way possible.
My first yoga class was freshman year of college. My friend Megan and I signed up with a plump, flamboyant Los Angeles boy, Andrew, from my dorm floor. Being only 18 at the time, and rather inexperienced sexually, post class I described it as better than sex to curious floor mates. Megan and Andrew disappointingly agreed. Yoga better than sex? Was that possible? Everyone always described sex as a heavenly activity, how could stretching and breathing and balancing prove to be a more ethereal experience than bumping and grinding with someone you were attracted to? I don't know, but at the time I was 18, very single and very desperate. So instead of getting on the cock, which had been so disappointing in the past, I got on the yoga mat. For three semesters I stretched and balanced and laughed, laughed a whole lot, while in class. It was a great release. But then I stopped going for whatever lazy reason I had and sporadically tried to sign up which I always ended up dropping. I even bought a yoga mat for motivation, but the only thing noteworthy that happened to that was the forest green nail polish which spilled on it in my dorm room. Oops.
Last October Jimmy and I hit up a yoga class one early weekend morning. I was discouraged at how stiff I felt and how the instructor kept prompting my postures. The feeling I got from the yoga was not better than sex (although after that class. . .)but it was disappointment. I felt shy and wary of my next encounter with flexible people who chant OM.
While searching for jobs last week I found a posting for a Bikram yoga studio seeking a front desk attendant. I figured Bikram was just another yoga term I and millions of other Americans had heard of and tied to yoga, but unsure of how they were connected. After completing a wonderful resume and cover letter I googled Bikram and learned it was an intense yoga workout in a room heated to 105 degrees. No sweat, right?
Upon handing in my resume and cover letter, the yoga school invited me for two free weeks of classes. With fear in my inflexible loins I dragged Patty along for 90 minutes of moist hell.
The instructor, Tim, was genial and encouraging throughout our workout, pushing us beginners to make it to the end of the class without leaving the arid and odorous room. (who thinks to carpet a room that will eventually be drenched with millions of sweat droplets. . .?) Five minutes into class I was already reaching for my towel and water bottle. After a half hour I had to sit because I Was light-headed, but eventually I pushed forward, mentally congratulating myself every time I held a stretch for the full 30 or 10 seconds. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw people melting before my eyes. In actuality my 30 odd classmates were sloughing off pounds in the form of germ laden sweat. Gross. A very muscular man in front of me wore grey cotton sweat pants which from the waist down gradually turned a darker shade, until finally droplets of water fell onto his yoga mat. His armpits were a human sprinkler.
I followed the school's website instructions to dress like I was going to the beach. Underneath my white tank I wore a bikini top. The tank top stayed on for about ten minutes before it became a soaking mass of fabric. I noticed sweat beading down Patty's legs, then noticed it beading down my legs, my stomach, my fingers, my toes, my ears. Every so often I would turn to PAtty to make sure she was still alive. Sure enough, red faced and breathing heavily, she was firming her poses, pushing through like a champ. The 90 minutes, which seemed like 3 hours finally ended, everyone making a mass exodus to either the air condition or to the showers.
Will I do it again? YES! Do I recommend it for everyone? No. I don't claim to be in good shape, not even decent shape, but if you have trouble running a mile, I don't recommend taking Bikram. It's intense and friggin' hot. Yet, despite the brutal heat and tough poses, I found myself smiling towards the end of class. Maybe I was becoming delirious, but I actually think it's because I was so proud of my physical and mental ability to push through something so difficult. It wasn't better than sex, but it was definitely a rush of endorphins I want to feel again!
My first yoga class was freshman year of college. My friend Megan and I signed up with a plump, flamboyant Los Angeles boy, Andrew, from my dorm floor. Being only 18 at the time, and rather inexperienced sexually, post class I described it as better than sex to curious floor mates. Megan and Andrew disappointingly agreed. Yoga better than sex? Was that possible? Everyone always described sex as a heavenly activity, how could stretching and breathing and balancing prove to be a more ethereal experience than bumping and grinding with someone you were attracted to? I don't know, but at the time I was 18, very single and very desperate. So instead of getting on the cock, which had been so disappointing in the past, I got on the yoga mat. For three semesters I stretched and balanced and laughed, laughed a whole lot, while in class. It was a great release. But then I stopped going for whatever lazy reason I had and sporadically tried to sign up which I always ended up dropping. I even bought a yoga mat for motivation, but the only thing noteworthy that happened to that was the forest green nail polish which spilled on it in my dorm room. Oops.
Last October Jimmy and I hit up a yoga class one early weekend morning. I was discouraged at how stiff I felt and how the instructor kept prompting my postures. The feeling I got from the yoga was not better than sex (although after that class. . .)but it was disappointment. I felt shy and wary of my next encounter with flexible people who chant OM.
While searching for jobs last week I found a posting for a Bikram yoga studio seeking a front desk attendant. I figured Bikram was just another yoga term I and millions of other Americans had heard of and tied to yoga, but unsure of how they were connected. After completing a wonderful resume and cover letter I googled Bikram and learned it was an intense yoga workout in a room heated to 105 degrees. No sweat, right?
Upon handing in my resume and cover letter, the yoga school invited me for two free weeks of classes. With fear in my inflexible loins I dragged Patty along for 90 minutes of moist hell.
The instructor, Tim, was genial and encouraging throughout our workout, pushing us beginners to make it to the end of the class without leaving the arid and odorous room. (who thinks to carpet a room that will eventually be drenched with millions of sweat droplets. . .?) Five minutes into class I was already reaching for my towel and water bottle. After a half hour I had to sit because I Was light-headed, but eventually I pushed forward, mentally congratulating myself every time I held a stretch for the full 30 or 10 seconds. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw people melting before my eyes. In actuality my 30 odd classmates were sloughing off pounds in the form of germ laden sweat. Gross. A very muscular man in front of me wore grey cotton sweat pants which from the waist down gradually turned a darker shade, until finally droplets of water fell onto his yoga mat. His armpits were a human sprinkler.
I followed the school's website instructions to dress like I was going to the beach. Underneath my white tank I wore a bikini top. The tank top stayed on for about ten minutes before it became a soaking mass of fabric. I noticed sweat beading down Patty's legs, then noticed it beading down my legs, my stomach, my fingers, my toes, my ears. Every so often I would turn to PAtty to make sure she was still alive. Sure enough, red faced and breathing heavily, she was firming her poses, pushing through like a champ. The 90 minutes, which seemed like 3 hours finally ended, everyone making a mass exodus to either the air condition or to the showers.
Will I do it again? YES! Do I recommend it for everyone? No. I don't claim to be in good shape, not even decent shape, but if you have trouble running a mile, I don't recommend taking Bikram. It's intense and friggin' hot. Yet, despite the brutal heat and tough poses, I found myself smiling towards the end of class. Maybe I was becoming delirious, but I actually think it's because I was so proud of my physical and mental ability to push through something so difficult. It wasn't better than sex, but it was definitely a rush of endorphins I want to feel again!
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