An awakening?
12-14-09 | 10:10

I am nearing the end of what has been a very trying year.
How do I feel about it is probably a question I ought to ask myself. This past year has been a lesson in pride and ego, and sloth since I'm going down the seven deadly sins route. Beneath all the arguments, the tears, and the loss of control, the fear for a loved ones health, those three words have been flowing.
It is what I do with my experience that shapes me, that actually counts and lately I have been doing nothing with it, I have been living the same headache inducing routine that feeds my ego and clams the voices in my mind. I haven't picked up a book or taken a walk. I've spent money on padding my ego instead, and while that is good in the short term, it does damage to my psyche in the long term.
Now I am sick. I know I got sick from the cesspool that is Brikram yoga, but now, in its 8th day, with three infections I am interpreting this as a sign to wake up a little and value my everyday life for what it is.
I have been feeling the desire to write for a couple of days now, I'm not about to say that illness has inspired anything great in my, I'm no Proust or Woolf.


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All Dressed Up
09-05-09 | 18:30

Sitting at home. PB is returning this evening from an overnight trip with his fellas to Margate. It was nice being alone for a night. I got to relish my alone time with a bubble bath, a face mask, a glass of wine; but I also got to miss him. One night away is plenty enough for moi.

I had an unfortunate lunch with my mother. She seems really sad and Iím not sure Iím equipped to handle her sadness right now. If only for the purely selfish reason that thinking about how she feels leads me to doubt my happiness. Last night I sat in my bubble bath without any book or magazine, I just sat and relaxed, and the first thought that came into my head was ďgee, am I luckyĒ and I thought about some of the things I am grateful for. I was happy. I went to bed happy, and thinking of PB makes me happy. Thinking of Bubble makes me happy. But when I expand my thoughts, to my family, or my current station in life I get unhappy. Iím writing so simplistically because I donít want to complicate the explanation of complicated emotions. The truth of the matter is this: I feel owned by my mother because of the financial hold she has on me, and PB as well. Not even to mention the fact that I am the youngest and I have not moved away from my hometown, so my folks will always be drawn to me. But the part that bothers me, the part that makes me most unhappy is that I am tied to my mother financially. If I wasnít I could just up and leave. I could behave the way I please. It is this deference, this going with what she chooses that I driving me to unhappiness. I am not independent.

I am not completely alone. I was thinking about that yesterday Ė being completely alone. Iíve never been. And it might not be a good feeling, but Iím not writing about the feeling, Iím writing about the state. The state of aloneness. Where no one no where knows what you are doing and you donít have to answer to anyone. With that comes great strength and responsibility, responsibility that I donít deserve at this moment and strength that I donít want. Because if I wanted it, wouldnít I give up the trappings of my charmed life/? PB has told me in the past that it would be such a relief on myself to move into a small apartment, one that we could afford together, but I have always denied him that. Iíve grown accustomed to a certain way of life, and the reality that this lifestyle cannot last much longer, especially if I continue to stay with PB, is becoming more and more vivid to me.

I find such solace and comfort in my routine, in controlling my environment. I even find comfort in material objects, I know this is both a social and habitual comfort, but what are we without habits and culture? I feel like Iím just espousing catch-phrases from my anthropology class, but when I think about how much I value my material objects it often bothers me. It also bothers me how much I need my routine. Iíve always wished I was an easy, light person. A person who could go with the tide, but my routines hold me together and when Iím without them Iím apt to fall apart. In my darker moments I hate myself for that, I despise how difficult I am and I fear that one day PB will leave because of it. I fear that I will just wear him out, and he will leave just as his father did. I also fear of how dependent Iíve become of PB. Since moving in together ten months ago we have become superclose. Maybe Iíve even become lazy at times. Maybe that is why it is good for me to be alone for one night or so every few months. I remember being so capable, but is my memory really serving me correctly? Wasnít I always dependent on someone, or something?

Am I longing for escape or control over my habits and beliefs?

I could write about how far Iíve come. This frustration has been with my since I was a teenager and only within the past year or two have I been able to articulate it, albeit in a jumbled way. I could write that now I am aware of the routines that hold me back and of my need for control and what actions I take when I am feeling out of control, things that I didnít know two, three years ago. And sometimes I do think in this positive light, I think back to how much I used to drink, how much I ate out of an emotional void and how much I hated myself for it, how much dope I sniffed, how much I really despised myself. But I am not yet ready to change some of my more ďcomforting routines,Ē I am not yet going to take actual steps to alleviate myself from ownership. Maybe because my priorities are still the same, but I am learning not to judge myself for this, for not being able to change right away. I really donít want to end this entry on a hokey positive note, so I shall end with this.


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It's Only Time
08-31-09 | 18:00

It feels like Autumn is coming, but I know that feeling, that desire to return to work, to focus and the lovely wistfulness that I feel when I smell the crisp cool air is a bit premature. It has been an awfully busy, stressful and eventful year for me. Moving in together, entertaining a family for the holidays in our new apartment, being apart on new years, losing a job, fighting, sleepless nights, a flood, the discovery of an awful landlord, more fighting, tears, money woes, tight budget.

I donít know where all this is taking me, and even though we have decided not to move, not to move back to where I am free to be wistful (the West Village) I am happy with our choice. Neither of us really wanted to move. We have such a wonderful space here and even though it often breaks, the landlord is a pity, and the neighborhood is dangerous it feels like home. Maybe because this is the place where we melted together more so than long walks at dawn after parties, or sleepovers on Bedford Street.

I guess it took looking at a lot of shitty apartments to realize that this one, despite its evident shittiness feels most like home.

I guess in life the luxury of a clear, obvious choice doesnít come around too often.

I have to work on my self-importance; he has to work on his anger.

I also have to work on my paper, one that I have been putting off all summer. The mood is right to start.

Come Autumn my memories are as crisp as the cool air, as crisp as my favorite McIntosh apples. And my eagerness to appreciate life doubles.

What will happen come the holidays? There is a new baby coming, I will be an Aunt again, this time I will have a niece. My aunt wants nothing to do with my family, my brother is cold to us at his nicest, my cousin who I used to be such good friends with is no longer pleasant to spend time with. Will my folks go to see my brother leaving PB, Bubble and I alone for a romantic quiet Christmas? Will we go down to the south to visit PBís mother and brother? Will we host Thanksgiving for a rag-tag bunch of people? Will we go to my Auntís and pretend to have a good time? How can I enjoy myself when my Aunt was so hurtful to my father?
How many Autumnís have I had in New York?

2000, first year at school, eating apples with r from Balducciís on a stoop on 9th Street, shopping at Bindelís, attending classes, nachos from Around The Clock, I was an angel with black wings for Halloween, I was robbed on the block that was to be my first apartment in just a year and a half later.

2001, well that was awful. Smoking too many cigarettes, not attending classes, getting bread from Bleecker Street and eating bread and olive oil for dinner almost every night, going to bubble lounge with Andrea, buying way too many clothes and shoes, wearing my ultra high Gucci heels for Thanksgiving at my Auntís house.

2002, 3rd month in my first apartment, perfecting my dope addiction, relishing my time alone, I turned 21, dating a boy from Long Island, having an affair with an office coworker, for Halloween R and I walked around the West Village.

2003, I was with PB. For Halloween a party was thrown at my apartment, I donít recall much of that Autumn actually Ė that winter I was heartbroken, but Autumn?

2004, living on Bedford Street with PB Ė what a mistake, we were too young.

As much as I loathe to admit it Ė from 2004 to 2007 is a blur. Why is it not fresh in my head?

Cooking dinner tonight, a little dinner, a little wine.

Things will take their shape, they always do Ė I just have to trust it.

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It's Only Time
08-31-09 | 18:09

It feels like Autumn is coming, but I know that feeling, that desire to return to work, to focus and the lovely wistfulness that I feel when I smell the crisp cool air is a bit premature. It has been an awfully busy, stressful and eventful year for me. Moving in together, entertaining a family for the holidays in our new apartment, being apart on new years, losing a job, fighting, sleepless nights, a flood, the discovery of an awful landlord, more fighting, tears, money woes, tight budget.

I donít know where all this is taking me, and even though we have decided not to move, not to move back to where I am free to be wistful (the West Village) I am happy with our choice. Neither of us really wanted to move. We have such a wonderful space here and even though it often breaks, the landlord is a pity, and the neighborhood is dangerous it feels like home. Maybe because this is the place where we melted together more so than long walks at dawn after parties, or sleepovers on Bedford Street.

I guess it took looking at a lot of shitty apartments to realize that this one, despite its evident shittiness feels most like home.

I guess in life the luxury of a clear, obvious choice doesnít come around too often.

I have to work on my self-importance; he has to work on his anger.

I also have to work on my paper, one that I have been putting off all summer. The mood is right to start.

Come Autumn my memories are as crisp as the cool air, as crisp as my favorite McIntosh apples. And my eagerness to appreciate life doubles.

What will happen come the holidays? There is a new baby coming, I will be an Aunt again, this time I will have a niece. My aunt wants nothing to do with my family, my brother is cold to us at his nicest, my cousin who I used to be such good friends with is no longer pleasant to spend time with. Will my folks go to see my brother leaving PB, Bubble and I alone for a romantic quiet Christmas? Will we go down to the south to visit PBís mother and brother? Will we host Thanksgiving for a rag-tag bunch of people? Will we go to my Auntís and pretend to have a good time? How can I enjoy myself when my Aunt was so hurtful to my father?
How many Autumnís have I had in New York?

2000, first year at school, eating apples with r from Balducciís on a stoop on 9th Street, shopping at Bindelís, attending classes, nachos from Around The Clock, I was an angel with black wings for Halloween, I was robbed on the block that was to be my first apartment in just a year and a half later.

2001, well that was awful. Smoking too many cigarettes, not attending classes, getting bread from Bleecker Street and eating bread and olive oil for dinner almost every night, going to bubble lounge with Andrea, buying way too many clothes and shoes, wearing my ultra high Gucci heels for Thanksgiving at my Auntís house.

2002, 3rd month in my first apartment, perfecting my dope addiction, relishing my time alone, I turned 21, dating a boy from Long Island, having an affair with an office coworker, for Halloween R and I walked around the West Village.

2003, I was with PB. For Halloween a party was thrown at my apartment, I donít recall much of that Autumn actually Ė that winter I was heartbroken, but Autumn?

2004, living on Bedford Street with PB Ė what a mistake, we were too young.

As much as I loathe to admit it Ė from 2004 to 2007 is a blur. Why is it not fresh in my head?

Cooking dinner tonight, a little dinner, a little wine.

Things will take their shape, they always do Ė I just have to trust it.

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perfection compulsion
07-06-09 | 22:37

I'm not sure why I am writing here and not in my paper journal. I've a headache and I am filled with two months worth of hormones - never again will I take birth control continuously.
My favorite television show is the embodiment of materialism. It is all about looking beautiful and being fit and having all the shoes and handbags you could ever desire. I watch it when I'm lonely or bored or when I want something on in the background, such as when I'm exercising. I no longer want to feel those feelings of greed and lust for material possessions and desire for perfect beauty that I feel when I watch that show.
So there is this desire of mine to be pretty, to be perfect, to wake up and be lovely naturally. That is why I get all those blow outs, and get my eyes done up and wear pretty clothes and obsess about new lingerie. So I have a belief about how I ought to appear to the world, how I ought to behave, how i ought to feel. I have interests around it, I enjoy reading books about it. Is this belief serving me?
I am so not ready to answer that question. I'm still working on the adjustment of other beliefs that are not making me happy. And I am coming to terms with my finances and realizing that there are things I want more than a new pair of shoes (a vacation, money saved, rent, money invested). I am coming to terms with my relationship with my mother. I am realizing that I need to focus on myself more and not worry so much about PB. I am working on my relationship with food and in regard to that may I say that I've come such a long way from the days of staying home from school and ordering $100 worth of food from the local diner and consuming it all while watching some distraction on the television.
I guess I have many things to be proud of myself, but sometimes I get upset when I realize all that I still have to work on?
What was this entry even about? Oh yes, my desire to be as perfect as possible. I beat myself up about not having a sharp jaw, I observe myself in the mirror, I have a meltdown when my nail polish is chipped. I have so much stock in my appearance being my identity that when it goes awry I flip out. I don't feel like "myself" I don't feel like I am representing myself to the world properly. I even get a bit glum when Bubble isn't properly groomed, most importantly because it is good for her health to have her ears and mouth and coat fresh and clean, but I get glum because her unkemptness is a reflection on me and I feel bad when things are not in perfect order. I worry about my posture, I worry about my smile and the sound of my voice, oh how I stress out about that. I get upset when I'm kind of gruff and masculine with strangers I interact with, I try to be soft and feminine at all times, for instance - instead of a head nod up to acknowledge someone/something I think to myself that I ought to put my head down a bit, soft like a lady. Then I must think to myself - does all this emanate from me or do I force it on myself?
I also find that I grind my teeth a lot and don't breath very deeply. Sometimes I'll realize that I am barely breathing at all and I find it hard to take a deep breath because my body is not used to it. I find that I have to weigh the benefits of working out and being sweaty and in sloppy clothes against having perfect hair and being in pretty clothes.
I no longer know where to go with this entry, so I'm going to go to bed.
I wrote the above in bed last night.

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A Release
07-06-09 | 16:28

This is not the summer I expected it to be. I miss the West Village every day, especially when it is beautiful and sunny out like it has been the past few days. I have a game I play with PB called "why the WV is better than the EV." I'm up fifteen to nothing.
PB is still out of work and it is wearing on my psyche. He doesn't go out much during the day, and he doesn't seem to even be looking for a job. It's funny, with him always here and him not having a schedule or sticking to one with any regularity I have a hard time doing my work or sticking to my regularly scheduled program. I have yoga practice, research, reading and taking notes for said research and transcribing. With him around and lolling about on the computer all day I find it hard to focus. And we have completely different ideal work environments. I like quiet classical music while I work, or NPR and some jazz or opera while I do just about everything else. He likes real loud rap or music with a heavy beat and he likes it dark. I like candles and flowers and the soft breeze and he likes it loud and dark.
I just wish he would start looking for a job with any real effort.
Outside of that I have other things on my mind. He and I had some very high powered emotional times and basically they just boil down to - will being with him make me as happy as I can be? I know one has to go about one's own happiness, but your mate can increase that happiness exponentially, or decrease it exponentially. I want someone who will help me thrive and I am having doubts that PB is that person.
Yesterday after an emotional episode I ran off to the Carlyle and had myself a drink and thought about him and me. I observed this elderly couple in front of me, and though they were very put together looking there was an air of dilapidation to them, the man especially and as I noticed that when he sat crossed legged his pants when up past his hiked up socks and showed his liver spotter legs and I thought of PB and how I want to be the one to remind him that his pants are too short or his socks are falling down when we are sitting outside on Madison Avenue on a Sunday afternoon eating strawberries and cream. But then I think to myself - "will we ever get there?" We have no money right now, we are both dissatisfied with our current situation and although I am doing something to change my situation it will take a while, but then I think - what is he even doing to change his situation?
See how I go back and forth?
He has told me quite a few times that I often seem to be dissatisfied with him or disapprove of something he does whereas he never disapproves of my actions or is dissatisfied with me. When he says that it makes me feel like a controlling, perfectionist, overbearing monster. He makes me feel bad and wrong for bravely pointing out what I want dissatisfied with. It is never easy to say - oh this doesn't make me happy, or I think we would both be better off with ----. Yet when I do open up my mouth and say it I am made to feel like one who is never satisfied.
He is my best friend. He knows all my troubles and most of my dreams. He wants me to be happy. And I know he truly loves me.
It is not my love for him that I doubt, because I adore him. It is his drive that worries me. Why is he not moving forward with a job? why is he not getting out of the house on a daily basis for some mental space and a good inspiring walk? why is he not taking pictures? Why is he not following even a shadow of a schedule? I'm not looking to get married, although I dream of it, it is the stability that comes with a healthy marriage that I crave, we don't have that stability at the moment. So I'm not looking for a fairy tale, I'm just looking for some drive, some gusto, so focus, some action all in a positive direction.
His lax attitude has also changed my mood in the bedroom. I'm almost ashamed to say it because I know he doesn't feel the same way about me, but staying home all day and planning a game for his friends to play tonight just doesn't get me hot. I just want him to take some initiative.
And I won't even get into how terrified I am for him to read this entry if he does know the existence of this journal, which I think he does. The last thing I want is for him to feel bad. He has so much potential and makes lots of bright ideas and has so much to offer I just want him to take some action in that direction. Maybe the fear of failure is very real, it is real for me, and I know he doesn't have the support that I have, but I can't support him any more than I am. I am giving him my everything because I so badly want him to stir up some action.

Maybe that is the problem, maybe I ought to focus on myself more. Voila, that is the answer. I know that as soon as I move the focus from him to me that things will start to work out, which is why I'm writing down this entry, which is why, regardless if he is still in bed, in his pajamas, on the computer, or out at a friends house I must do my reading, listen t my classical music, go to yoga, write my study notes, and so on.
I have a headache from not drinking enough water today and tomorrow I have a tough meeting discussing my finances. I'm not looking forward to it but it will be immensely beneficial to me and my future.

If it feels easy than it must not be right.

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