coping and moping.

Most of my social interactions revolve around me:

 

1. Hastily building a facade of calm so that I don't look like a total spaz.

2. Failing immediately at that venture.

3. Asking about a million questions to take the pressure off of myself.

(4) And/or drinking quite a lot and hastily skipping from topic to topic with much passion and enthusiastic hand gestures for each, albeit fleetingly, as I no longer have any semblance of an attention span.

 

 

 

Which is probably why sitting on my front porch yesterday evening, after the horrifying debacle of losing quite a bit of my current writing, with a novel whilst (on an empty stomach, of course) consuming approximately eight cans of leftover cheap beer from my recent camping weekend was, basically, a perfect night.

 

Until Matt got home from working a very long day around 7:45 to find me quite drunk and not at all packed for the weekend away we're departing on in approximately three hours. Two of which will be spent at my desk, at work.

 

God love him.

 

my hand is a wimp.

looks completely normal. hurts like a mother. yes, i have freckles on my palm.

So here's something awesome slash really embarrassing:  I think I need to have my hand x-rayed.

Now, I've always been super accident prone in general and incredibly idiotic when drunk, so I've had my fair share of injuries. Usually bumps and bruises, occasionally something that needs ice thrown on it, every once in a blue moon something that needs inspection by a medical professional.

It all just kind of comes with the territory. Give me a simple flight of stairs one step and I will easily find a way to fall up/down it, no matter my mental state.

So naturally the knowledge for this tendency to accidentally hurt myself is usually enough to prevent me from further putting my person into harm's way or, god forbid, seeking out injury/tempting fate.

With a few exceptions.

About two months ago I was driving along, throwing a fit in my car like the two year old I am at heart. I decided it would definitely help me calm down if I took my aggression out on something physically. Because that's so far really helped me the past 25 years. Right.

So, being the typically non-militant gal that I am, I wasn't really sure how to actually accomplish this, plus I am severely impatient, so I just closed my fist and took and jab at my radio display without really thinking.

Yeah, nothing.

But you know what? I'm not a quitter. So I decided to give it another shot.

This time, I was stopped at a light so I really wound up and punched the thing, for good measure.

Holy shit you guys.

Have you ever punched something harder than your hand with all your might or even half of your might? It's fucking dumb, first of all. Second of all, I broke my radio display, so that was stupid. Third of all, I'm the asshole punching shit in my car which doesn't bode well for my mental stability. And I mean, this was purely out of curiosity anyway, kind of an experiment to see if I would feel anything.

And I did. I felt like an idiot.

Plus I hurt my hand.

You see, at first it just felt kind of bruised. Like a good little hand, it never got swollen or REALLY hurt. So, I thought we were in business and everything would be fine except that I'm apparently unstable and do idiotic things.

But no. I mean, it's been two months now and we're still not swollen or unbearable, but making a fist really hurts and holding a pen really hurts and basically touching anything with my pinky sends shooting pains up my wrist. I'm guessing that's not a sign of healing.

Here's the other thing. If you're going to do stupid, impulsive things, there is usually a price to pay for it. Since I'm moving across the country in less than three months, and I am literally saving pennies and cannot afford to pay this price. Granted, I have insurance so it should be mostly covered, but insurance isn't magic money, I will still have to pay up to my deductible.




YAY!

I totally didn't need to eat until my move!

So anyway, I'm thinking of trying to rig up a splint on my pinky finger for a week or three to see if that does any good since the pain isn't killing me now, what harm will a few more weeks do? Believe me, I know how idiotic that sounds. I know. Too bad. I'm stubborn and poor.

Let this be a cautionary tale, the radio display in your motor vehicle will  likely win a fight against you.  

nothing appears to have gone awry. yet the entire right side of my hand hurts.

don't try to fight the radio. it never works out. the reason i look so miserable in this picture is because i was actually in pain. super lame.

an ode to my early twenties.

 

There was a period of my life when I felt light, carefree. Light as a feather. I'd swing and twist and nearly lift my toes right off the ground to fly. I knew there were consequences, but when they came, I dealt with them casually, flippantly, did the minimal amount to make them go away so I could go back to feeling infinitely small and able to be blown every which way by the universe.

 

This lightness, it wasn't always a good thing. It's doesn't inspire much hope for digging your heels into the ground and holding steady.

 

Steady. Steady, now.

 

In my early twenties, geez, nothing felt steady. Not my living situation, my bank account, my relationships, especially my means of expressing my emotions. No, I was light. Too light for steady. A constant state of flux means lots of wonderful, beautiful change. But it also means nothing is certain, stable.

 

There was nothing sturdy about my existence.

 

Light is good, though, for a number of reasons. It allows for curiosity, adventure, learning to compromise and improvise. It's recklessness and pushing the boundaries and finding out how it feels when you say nothing when every fiber of your being screams 'Take a stand!"

 

I have this vision of myself, my early twenties self. I'm expelling and consuming so much energy, I'm feeling like I could be blown miles by one mouthful of breath sent in my direction as a gust. I'm so light that the smallest thing, a smell, a chord, one word can send me reeling to further boundaries in my emotional spectrum than I ever previously knew possible. I'm learning at every turn so much. I'm gobbling it all up so willingly. Why wouldn't I?

 

But I mean, there's the other side of that too.

 

I'm spending my last 200 dollars on that pair of jeans that make my butt look the best it's ever looked, because what could possibly be more important than a pair of jeans that fit perfectly? I'll pay my phone bill next month, I swear. And then I'll swear off jeans completely in the next sentence, but it doesn't matter. I'm too light to be reached and dragged down. I'll just float away from it all.

 

It was a time to abuse my body and my mind, really put it through the test of everything it can take.

 

There's something to be said about being willing to completely let go of everything around you. Relinquish control. I'm not so good at that now, things weigh down on me, hold me in place,  prevent me from throwing back those five extra shots. Or maybe it's the feeling the next day etched into my memory from being repeated one too many times.

 

Either way, I'm heavier now, in a sense. And that's fine. Really, it is. I mean, it's just one of those things I think that happens with time. You brush up against things and the friction leaves their residue and pretty soon you're covered in parts and pieces of everything you've ever run into, and the build up makes you heavier. Or something like that.

 

Isn't it hilarious how people never change? Isn't it heartbreaking to realize that we have to anyway?

 

When you're young, when you're light, there's still hope that one day you'll collide into one another full speed again. They'll catch up, or you will, or you'll find a way back to each other through darkened alleys and fields of wildflowers. It's easier. It helps you to stay light to think this way. You're never as naive as when you tell yourself that you're going to be forever friends with the person that just drove away from you.

 

I mean, you've just given them part of your heart. You feel lighter just from it's lack of mass in your chest cavity.

 

  

Dearest self. You did light like a champion. It's possible that you did the very best you could have done with what you had. Maybe no one could have done it better in this body, hooked up to this mind. Certainly no one could have done it the exact same way. No one could have possibly ended up in the exact same places and time that you did.

 

I came out whole.

 

That time is over.

 

I may be heavier, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. I feel whole, sturdy, up to the challenge. And sometimes, every now and then, I still feel slivers of light hitting me at the right angle. And I dance and float in them.

vanity.

No one is on gchat and I still have an hour left at work and I'm about to do something drastic. (after work, of course)

 

With my hair.

 

So I mean, hair can really only be so drastic unless you're Britney Spears circa 2007, but still.  And by then did anyone really care anymore anyway? I know I didn't. Sorry Brit.

 

By drastic I mean I'm possibly going to get a very unflattering bob-type short cut. It's flattering on other people, but the chances it will be flattering on me are what I'm more concerned about. Which, I know I've been growing my hair out for two fucking years or whatever and it's a waste and it looks really goddamn good in a fishtail braid these days, like viral on pinterest good, but come on. my hair is not growing. Maybe it's not meant to be long. It certainly doesn't want to be any longer than it is now. I've tried. I'm sick to death of trying. I want a change. Pronto. 

 

So you now, a shaggy bob would be a change. I know I'm not really thin enough to pull off this kind of hair cut for the most flattering effects and I lament that fact, but I can only care so much when I've basically already made up my mind. Plus being thin is never really one of the drives for any choices that I make in life. Honestly. I can convince myself that it will be motivation to starve or eat healthier or something but that's not really the point. Since it's not really something I'm ultimately worried about.

 

The point is that I'm bored with my hair and I'm going to possibly do something drastic.

 

I'm at the point right this second where I hate literally everything that I have to wear on top of that. It's normally not an issue but today it's an issue. It's because I'm a spoiled brat, probably, but it's a little late to change at this point.

 

I'm sincerely tempted to go home and place all of my clothes in trash bags and drop them off at Goodwill. Except for my 'Hank Williams Jr Tour 1984' tee shirt that I bought at some hispter thrift store in Wicker Park on credit for waaaaaay too much money even though I couldn't afford it. Because it was an investment and it's a conversation piece and I'm keeping that shit forever. I'll also probably keep several dresses, including a vintage Dolce and Gabbana that I found in a tiny boutique up near our old lake house that I've worn to every occasoin that requires thurough gussying up ever since. That shit was expensive too and it hugs my curves perfectly whether I'm ten up or ten down on the 'feel good about myself' scale. Consequently both garments are black, which coincides well with my new years resoluations for the year. I've also drank spectacular amounts of champagne in both items, which I take as another sign that they need to stay.

 

 

But everything else has to go. Even that turquiose fleece with the bright yellow zipper pull that's two sizes too large in men's, which I practically camp out in all winter. I love that thing. To death. But today, I would toss it into a trashbag with the rest.

 

I sincerely hope matt has the good sense to hide the trashbags before I get home. And actually hide them so I can't find them by just looking in a different cabinet or maybe even lock them in his car or something. because today I'm not fucking around. I want to purge my entire closet.

 

And I can't really afford to buy new clothes and the Dolce dress will only be acceptable so many days in a row and it's probably frowned upon to show up to work in old ratty tshirts or nothing at all.

 

Plus. i'm already going to look whacked out enough after I get through chopping my hair to hell.

fickle march, fickle me

maybe i need to stop taking emo pics and actually work through my emotions. nahhhh.

The other morning on my way to work I sat through an entire red light without realizing my right turn signal was blinkblinkblinking away. I was going straight. I flipped it off as I accelerated through the light and looked around sheepishly at the other cars to see if anyone was pissed and/or making obscene gestures at me. Guess everyone was feeling pretty tame that morning because I didn't get a single side-eye. Maybe they thought it was a late April Fools joke. A cheap leftover.

 

I guess I lost myself there for a second in contemplating what a good month March was to me this year. To tell the truth, I've never really had any real affinity toward Spring. I get it, I get it. Rebirth, life, emerging on the other side of Winter. It's all well and good to see green again and to not feel like my fingers and ears are going to fall off every time I step outside, but really, I'm in it for Summer. Spring is just another thing to endure before blistering heat, minimal clothing, and the promise of campfires and sunshine and reading while partially submerged in water.

 

Spring is fickle. It changes its mind too often, threatens to give my psyche whiplash. It's soggy and tumultuous, despite the hardy daffodils and magnolias that quickly remind us of all to come and then fade until next year.They're a treat, but they're not made to last.  No wonder Picses are the way that they are, they kick off Spring. Anyone born at the start of such a finicky season is bound to brood. And yet, I'm attracted to the depth and the endless rollercoaster ride that the Picses in my life take me on. As I've mentioned probably a hundred times, I'm a summer soul through and through.  I usually have no use for finicky March. For the battle of rain and sun, warm and cold.  Why should I? I know who is going to win out, let's get on with the next.

 

I sometimes feel like my entire life is a series of waiting to get on with the next.

 

I don't know, I mean, I make as much effort as the next guy to really be present in the moment and enjoy where I am, but the fact of the matter is that I'm like a half-starved animal- I'm always reaching, stretching, grasping, struggling for more. Just a little further. Just a little tiny bit more. Just just just just.

 

 

Just slow down, Sara.

 

Let's consider real life for a moment.

 

Have I mentioned recently that I'm moving to Montana in a few short months? Yeah. That's happening. In my mind I'm so overwhelmed by the fact that I'm going to pacify this internal pull to run to the mountains that I don't even know where to start here. What can I do but wait until it's finally time?

 

I know this thinking isn't productive. It doesn't encourage lists or tying up loose ends or force me to grapple with leaving the life I've forged here. It's so confusing that I don't feel joy or sadness or anything really. Just the knowledge that I'm going, the impatience that I'm not there yet, and the dull sinking feeling that comes with knowing that there is so much to do before I depart. But I feel sort of stuck, like there's nothing I can do right in this exact moment in time, and that frustration feels raw and itchy. It's a rash I wear constantly. It's distracting and demanding. It takes so much effort and will power to keep it at bay.

 

And this is the line I dream of:

 

"Let there be rock and roll on the dashboard rado; let there be occasional hands bongoing on the dashboard. Let that white line in the middle of the far west two-lane highway come feeding into the screen..." -Jack Kerouac

 

My soul is so far away from my body and right now I feel ugently that, for once, it is crucial that my soul and body inhabit the same plane.

 

And yet March was wonderful and wild. I planted bulbs and pulled weeds and watched little green tongues poke through the soil, so hungry for sunlight. I welcomed a member of my family and watched my sister become a mother, a role she falls into so naturally that I'm once again shocked that we can at the same time be so alike and so differerent. I got accepted into school and decided on a new life path. I had serious conversations with Matt about our future, read many delightful books, saw one of my favorite bands in concert, and painted some beautiful pictures. I started running again and told my boss that I'm gone by summer's end and cheered my alma mater all the way to the final four. I celebrated the birthdays of my sister and brother and got a sun tan on my face and arms from a week straight of 80 degree days.

 

March was full, you guys.

 

Full of good.

 

It deserved to be treasured and polished for memory.

 

So why do I feel so distracted by something I can't pull out of my periphery? It's right there, but I can't catch it staring straight on.

2012 Resolutions...fresh and early PART 2

Here's a continuation of all my hopes and dreams and wishes and schemes for 2012, started yesterday. Okay, not all of them. Not even close. But these, at least, can be lumped together as resolutions.  And so here they are:



9. Send more snail mail.

I used to be so good at sending hand written letters and cards. What happened to me? This year I'm going to be more on the ball with that. Graciously, all my friends have moved away,  so I've got a lot of opportunities to send love across the miles.

10. Start writing down what moves me in the books I read.

Okay so this one is kind of a cheat. I've already started a little project for this, last month. but I want to keep doing it. Start giving more of myself to it. I come away with so much after I read a book and too often all the wisdom and lessons get swept away in the shuffling of life and new books. I'm starting a catalogue of sorts.

11. Sing more.

This is perhaps a bit silly, but I LOVE to sing. I'm by no means on track to make a living from my stellar vocal abilities or try out for x factor, but singing out loud, really belting out a song, gives me so much joy. It's such a release for me. So, in 2012, I will sing more. I'll sing every chance I get. I'll sing in the shower, in the car, entire conversations with people, while I'm getting ready for my day. Could potentially be very embarrassing. Will be very joyful.

12. Focus my energy.

I'm all over the place. This is probably because I'm curious like a cat and interested in EVERYTHING. I by no means want to lose that, but I think it's time to spend my time more focused so that I'm more efficient with what I'm learning. I've always got a million projects going, books started, chapters half-written. Time to focus it a little. Try to finish some things, maybe pursue some interests further. Focus some of that mad, mad energy.

13. Be more unabashed about being a bitch- aka feel less guilty for being who I am.


At the end of the day, I have a pretty good relationship with myself. I'm not a pushover, I'm not out to hurt people, and I strive to make people laugh above all else. I like myself, I feel I'm a decent person, and a good friend. So why is it that so often, I feel like I have to contain parts of myself for some people and other parts for others? Keeping track of it all is making me miserable and dizzy. If folks aren't willing to take what I have to give them on any given day, I'll find new folks that will. I'm not fighting with myself over it anymore. I am at peace and everyone gets one Sara. I can only be the best me possible if it's the real me all the time. I'm done trying to be a shape shifter to fit into boxes and jump through hoops. 

Whew.


 

14. Quit my job.

I suppose this goes in conjunction with #6. I've only stayed this long out of fear, really. Fear of the leap, of the fall, of the crash and burn. Of not having that steady paycheck. But I realized recently that the crash and burn is here and now, I am crashed and almost burned to bits. I've got to walk away from the fire or burn alive. This time next year, if I'm not in grad school, I'll at least be earning my livelihood somewhere else. That's a promise, self.

15. Spend every second I can outside.

It makes me happy, more than almost anything else, to be outside. This year, I'll know that and make sure I'm mindful of that when I decide what to do with my precious free time. I hate, hate, hate sitting around, waiting, feeling like I"m wasting my time. I'm going to take back my time in 2012, and I'm going to spend it out of doors.

16. Pay my parents $3000. Like, 4 months ago.



Earlier this year, my parents were able to bail me completely out of credit card debt in one fell swoop, which is lucky because I'm pretty sure the constant worry and anxiety was giving me an ulcer.  I can't even begin to express how much this helped my attitude toward life and how fortunate I am that they were able to do that.  If only paying them back was just as swift. Not only am I bad with my money, but this year has been full of unexpected expenses and necessary purchases. I have not been able to pay them back in full yet, and it feels like tiny ants eating me from the inside out every time I think about it. Their phone calls are much nicer than the credit card company's, and I'm not paying 30% interest anymore, but still, it weights heavily on my conscience. I know if I buckle down I can have them paid back in a few months. By 2013, hopefully I'll have that amount in my savings account again.

17. If it takes less than a minute, do it now.

I read this in The Happiness Project and it's a genius little piece of advice. Less than a minute? Do it NOW. For instance, it makes me so so so fucking mad when no one changes the toilet paper roll or refills the hand soap when those things run out. In the past I'd make myself miserable, testing to see how long it would take someone to do it, since I had done it the last time. I'd be furious every time I sat to pee or went to wash my hands. WHY? Why? I don't need that negative energy. It takes less than 30 seconds to do both, so now, I'm just going to do it. I'm so glad it's done that my frustration doesn't even last that long. This goes for other tasks too, like taking off my pants when I get home to put on sweats. I just throw them on the ground in my haste and then at the end of the week I'm tripping over a pile of pant legs and frowning at the mess. Why not just hang them up right now, avoid the fuss? Less than a minute? Do it now.

So there you go. My 2012 resolutions.

I hope you all have a safe and magical New Years Eve... really I'll take any excuse to get all dressed up, drink copious amounts of champagne, and pull my dress over my head at the end of the night.

Maybe not the last part.

Then again, gotta bring the new year in right.

Be safe, be well.