Note to Self: Shut the Fuck Up

This is why I don’t talk to any of my ex boyfriends (save one from high school, but that reconnection was in a far different space, long after the wounds had healed). I don’t know if my problem is an ego temper tantrum, or just emotions, or some physical disentanglement of matter and particles, but fuck man, ending an 11-year relationship can really inflict some pain.
The following thoughts may be extremely disjointed so if you can’t keep up, don’t feel bad. My head sometimes rivals the mountains for twisty turns and back asswards roads, and getting lost is easy. Too bad there’s no Google Maps for my thoughts. (How cool would a satellite picture of your thoughts be?)
John and I went to dinner and then for a walk on the beach the other night. It was the first time we’d met and it was not a romantic date (or intended to be). Something he said stuck in my head. I don’t even remember what the subject was but he stops me mid-sentence and says, “That’s the second time you’ve said you’re leaving. Didn’t you just get here?”
Well yes, I did. I’ve been in San Diego three months. I know I’ll probably be here several years – a decade seems to be my average in a place. It used to be that I wanted to live in the same place forever because I was annoyed with how I was moved all over the country as a child. But even after it was my own decision where to live, circumstances kept me mobile. In my new adult naiveté, I decided instead of resisting the changes, I would embrace them and assume that wherever I moved to would not be the last place/time, so get happy with it or die trying. Hence, I accept the knowledge that even tho I just got here, I may not be here forever. I didn’t intend for that to be reflected so prominently in my speech tho. That can’t be good – certainly, it doesn’t portend living in the Now as I strive to do.
It has also crossed my mind that now that I’ve embraced my gypsy gene, the Universe will probably fuck with me and I’ll never leave this area. It would totally be par for the course. I’m just trying to be okay with whatever comes my way.
So anyway, when Mark asked me to move out, one of the reasons he cited was my inability to stay put (despite the fact that I’d lived in NJ 11 years). He said he couldn’t live with always wondering when I might finally scratch that itch to live elsewhere. The kid part of me that got dragged from school to school totally gets that, but the adult part of me that’s trying only to live in the moment was again annoyed. Sometimes it feels like I can do nothing right.
I want a fairy tale (which to me, includes the good and the not as good times). I want to feel like I could be with one man until the end of this lifetime and never want things to change. I’m a very monogamous person. I adore my comfort zone. I certainly felt that way with Mark the first several years of our relationship, but he was not in that space the same time I was.
I also want to be impeccable with my word. If I make a promise – especially of the heart - I want to be sure I can keep it. When Mark asked me to move in with him five years ago, the only reason I couldn’t promise to be there forever is because I KNOW the northeast is not my most favorite place, and I know how long forever is. Doesn’t mean it couldn’t have happened – maybe after Katy flew the coop, I could’ve traveled more and that would’ve satisfied my wanderlust. Maybe I would’ve found that travel wasn’t enough. Maybe I should’ve kept all that to myself, but then what kind of promise was I making? Seems like I fucked myself either way. Is honesty always the best policy?
The practical side of me wonders how anyone can feel good about making promises when they have no idea if they can keep them. Even if you are the type to generally stay in one area your entire life, how can you possibly promise to be there forever? As the commercial says: Life comes at you fast. Forever is a very long time. If you have kids, you know how long forever is. Or look at the divorce rate and you’ll see that even the best intentions don’t always last long enough to meet forever. (Once you think you get the “forever” thing, try wrapping your head around the concept of infinity. That’s really what forever is, but for purposes of this blog, forever will just mean to the end of this lifetime.)
I’m so unsure what to do about that. I don’t want to make the same mistake in the future, but I need to be honest. I mean seriously, Mark’s got a point – how can I ever commit to a relationship fully if I think – no, expect – that someday I’ll want to move? Yet I want that kind of committed connection. The only way it would work is if the person I’m with is the same way, then it’s a matter of deciding whose choice of places we’ll live in next (and when).
Ok, so that math makes my brain hurt, but here’s what killed me.
When I left, Mark and I decided to hold our relationship in limbo. We both understood that we were no longer exclusive so if something came up, we were free to pursue it. We also commiserated that neither one of us was of a mind to seek out someone new. We decided if circumstances offered an opportunity to be together temporarily, neither of us would feel weird about taking advantage. Most people call this “friends with benefits” but in our case it’s more like an IPO (“I Put Out”? haha) with stock options since the dividends only paid out once or twice a year.
Surprisingly (or not, if I think about how our relationship started), it only took him a month or so for something to come up. My out of control Ego whispers to me “Probably not even a month! It must’ve been killing him that you took so long to leave!” which may not be fair, but it’s how I feel on my less mature days. Then Left Brain looks over its glasses at Ego and says, “Oh please. Go to your room.” So Ego stalks off to its brain cell muttering, “Well it wouldn’t be the FIRST time.”
I’ve been trying to keep Ego in time out and sort through all these emotions that ride along with letting go. I know it’s necessary. I know it’s probably best. I know if this is how it is, then we were not meant to be together and I have to accept that. I am just pushed out of my comfort zone is all. I’ll get over it. I cling to the words of Eckhart Tolle (as much as his visage creeps me out) that “whatever experience I’m having right now is the one I need to be having.” Great, but does this thing go any faster? Cuz seriously, I’ve got the pedal to the floor and I feel like I’m crawling.
I don’t begrudge Mark happiness, or new feelings for someone else, or whatever those may turn into. But it adds a degree of difficulty when what came up is one of your own friends, especially one that recently left her boyfriend. Ego totally busts out of the chair at that point shouting all kinds of ideas about how long this has really been going on (again, especially knowing Mark’s & my history), what point it may or may not be at now (like that really matters?), and how little respect that shows, not only from Mark, but also from my friend (but I, of all people, know there is something afoot beyond conscious choice of who you end up having feelings for). Am I that easily replaced tho?
Even though I’ve managed to stuff Ego back into Pandora’s box and lock that shit up, I’m still left to decide how I choose to react to the situation. And Ego’s muffled cries are not entirely unheard. Ignoring any part of Self and leaving emotions unresolved is the cloth dis-ease is woven from, and I don’t want that (witness the sinus infection – let’s not keep going there!). But I’m not a baby or a psychotic bitch either. Sometimes I wish I was because this would probably sort itself out faster.
I’ve tried to remain friends with both of them. We’ve all talked on the phone (not at the same time), but I don’t trust that I’m getting the entire story. Mark has continued entertaining flirtations and sexual innuendo when we converse on IM. I played along until today when it was made clear that I was mistaken in thinking our friendly IPO still had stock options. Ouch. Especially coming from someone who is known for his polyamorous ideas. Now I feel doubly stupid.
I just want to let go of the process. Of ALL of it. Change your mind, change your life. In the daily existence I define as “normal,” I do believe it’s that easy. But this isn’t normal. And is that really resolving anything? Is it easier or harder to rip this bandaid off all at once? (Unfortunately, as a kid I was never the rip it off kind.)
This is one time I don’t want to live in the Now. I want to leave tomorrow in the sparkly dust from my pumpkin carriage’s wheels.
Do you think Cinderella ever had to deal with this shit before Prince Charming came along? I know how long forever is... how long is Happily Ever After?

A Beautiful View, or Snot

The last couple days I’ve been recovering from a sinus infection. I’m a wet dream for most health insurance companies because this is the only occasion for which I drag myself to a medical professional, and I’ve got it down to once a year. Financially, it’s the worst return on investment ever, but it’s not like I’m upset that I’m healthy. It would be nice if premiums were calculated on a sliding scale, but that would be asking too much of an industry built on fear. Reward people for a positive outcome? Not on your life policy!

Right now I don’t have health insurance though, so I made up my mind to beat it without antibiotics this time, and I am. I’m taking Echinacea/Goldenseal every four hours, and enough Emergen-C to make peeing my new hobby. For all those readers with stock in Kimberly-Clark Worldwide (they make Kleenex), you’re welcome for increased profits this quarter.

I remember a long time ago my mother told me sinus infections were “inner crying,” or tears that we’re not shedding. Makes sense, especially during the Water Faucet Phase when I have to walk around with Kleenex stuffed up my nose just so I don’t drip on the carpet. So attractive. If I ever wondered why I’m still single, that might be a clue right there.

I believe Mom learned the inner crying thing from a Louise Hay book. I don’t like to focus on the negative, but when this particular malady hits me, I stop to think about what I’m not crying about that maybe I should be. Well small wonder this time around: there’s been just a little stress in the last couple months with moving cross-country, the financial strain of increased living expenses, family pressure regarding my daughter, and I really miss being in my relationship. Add to that a small misunderstanding between myself, my ex, and his new girlfriend and I can see why it’s raining inside my head.

Oddly (or not), I was trolling through a message board tonight and came across a link to the Louise Hay video below. It took me three hours to watch it because every five minutes I had to hit pause and email the link to someone I was reminded of by what was being said, or to write things down that I wanted to remember. None of it was wisdom I hadn’t heard before, but over time you forget what you’ve learned and it’s always good to bring that info back to the front of your consciousness.

If you’ve got an hour and a half to spare (unless you’re like me, and will have to hit pause several hundred times), this is well worth the view.

Speaking of views, I went to dinner tonight with a new acquaintance and we continued our conversation in a stroll down the beach afterwards. I’ve never been down there after dark because a) generally on the East coast it’s a no-no to be on the beach after the sun goes down, and b) wandering around alone in an unfamiliar place that could be potentially deserted and/or dangerous did not seem like a good idea. I’m crazy, not stupid. (For the record, it wasn’t deserted or dangerous. Must be why they call it Moonlight Beach – duh.)

If you and I were communicating through something other than two-dimensional words right now, you would be hearing those little gasps of unbelieveability people make when they are grasping for a description that is beyond language, while my hands made flailing motions to indicate the futility of speech.

Crescent moon glowing in a clear night sky… sea of stars reflected in a vast expanse of deep blue… the pulsing rhythm of waves rolling onto the sand… BAH. None of it can recreate the image that was before my eyes. I’ve seen some pretty awe-inspiring nature-rific panoramas in my travels, but WOW. All I can say is run – do not walk – to your nearest Pacific Ocean after sunset. Hollywood can’t come close to this kind of scene.

Serenity NOW

I've had days when I felt like this, but I gotta say, none of them have been since I moved to San Diego! :D

This just cracked me up so bad. Poor kitty!

A Croc Confession

When people started wearing Crocs - the latest couture horror - out in public I thought it was a joke. Or perhaps they didn't have time to change before leaving the garden on an urgent mission to Target to procure more unconscious synthetic crap cranked out with slave labor from the parts of China not covered by carefully-monitored and censored Olympics cameras. One can excuse a social misstep now and again, and certainly I am no slave to the fashion trade.
When I realized that it was actually a growing fad, I vowed never to allow such repulsive things that will surely become a pop culture faux paux the likes of neon spandex or Jellies (::shudder::) within 100 yards (that's .09 kilometers for my Metric friends) of my closet. And although the manufacturer claims they are NOT plastic, I contend that because the company is loathe to reveal their process by which the "proprietary" closed cell resin (PCCR) is formed, that's as good as plastic to me. Either way, it's some chemicalized unnatural mutant bastardization of fossil fuels that will probably end up being a layer all its own in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. I feel the ocean temp rise a degree and the air become more unbreathable and polar ice caps melt and I'm quite sure at least 10 animal species going extinct every time my eyes are unfortunate enough to meet a pair of these biped disasters.
However... I have said before - recently even - how curiosity will kill Schroedinger's cat. Perhaps I should change my blog's name to "Here Kitty Kitty."
The truth is I tried a pair of these on the other day because they were at TJ Maxx for really cheap and they were the actual Crocs brand (as if that should even matter, but sometimes Ego is my shopping buddy - I can't help it). I had to know WTF everyone is so thrilled about with this hideous footwear that a large display had even invaded my organic supermarket. Organic supermarket - as in humans who shop there are generally the kind that think about ecology and the suffering of Our Tiny Blue Marble and try to do the right things to balance their carbon footprint. These organic, eco-minded mortals are not only wearing, but promoting offensive plastic shoes! How can this be? What kind of evil spell did Crocs cast on the population? Are we Hooked despite the ticking of the ecological time bomb we play on?

(Yes, I Photoshopped that myself, thank you very much. Socks with Crocs tho? Tsk tsk Captain Hook.)
The Crocs looked at me from the shelf like a street whore smiles at Hugh Grant. (Don't get me wrong, I love Hugh and could listen to that voice all day long. But when IS he doing another movie? Hey Hugh, stop faffing about the UK and get on with it already!) I passed by them three times sneaking glances out of the corner of my eye before I finally confronted myself and admitted I wanted to know what they could do for me. They were an ugly plain white (like someone forgot to drop the color pod in the vat or something), but they were my size. Even before my feet knew the wicked ways of this foamy footwear, I started rationalizing that the original idea of gardening shoes was not a bad one because you can hose them off without ruining them. Maybe plastic is good in moderation? (Like Americans even know the definition of that word. Moderation, silly - not "plastic"!) I mean look at the iPod. That's definitely worth some landfill, right?
There was no one to witness my temporary insanity, so dammit, I slipped my feet into them, just for kicks...
...and like Snow White's stupidity in taking unpackaged, inorganic fruit from strangers, I found they were the most comfortable things I have ever walked on. It was like having a medium-density sponge floor everywhere I went, and I could instantly see why any professional that's on their feet all day (read: nurses in particular) would immediately adopt these as The Most Important Part of Their Wardrobe. I've heard companies claim that wearing their shoes is like walking on a cloud, but this is the only thing I've ever experienced that lived up to that analogy.
My logical self quickly shoved all that aside and reminded me sternly that a pair of these in my house would not only create an eyesore, but crow would be What's for Dinner for a very long time when my friends found out. My brain also assured me that Scientists would probably release some study any day now that reported all sorts of back problems or foot deformities or other maladies attributed to overuse of these unsightly slabs. My resistance was further aided by this particular pair's painfully boring color - no wonder they made it all the way to the discount store. (And even so, my sinful brain wheedles that the particular shade of cauliflower vomit I was perusing resembles a blank canvas begging for Sharpie markers.) I did notice a more acceptable basic brown pair, but only a tiny Asian woman would've fit in them. I'm small, but not Asian.
I escaped my experience without fouling my recyclable canvas shopping bag with their presence, but the memory of walking in them lingers like a permanent virus. I even considered them AGAIN in another store because there was a display with every color known to man (and some certainly not of this Earth - see grotesque pic above), but they were ridiculously expensive and if I wanted to taste that much feathery guilt, I resolved to at least smother it in economics.
So I came home to write this blog entry but my fairness gene kicked in, and I was compelled to look up what my fellow Hippie TreeHuggers (as Rich, my former neighbor in New Jersey called me) are saying about them. Okay, okay, it wasn't really the fairness gene - it was the "how much dirt can I dig up to make the argument of how these things suck" gene. I'm not sure these squeaky sandals stay as clean as I'd like.
Here's what I learned:

• Crocs originated as footwear for boating purposes; the gardening people adopted them shortly after, followed by every knock-off company and Walmart shopper around the globe. To me, the boating thing is bad. These on boats = more plastic ending up in oceans/lakes (whether it's by accident or drunken college prank) and will contribute to the downfall of fish & wildlife (not to mention us!) unless ALL boaters are responsible human beings - AS IF.
• They're easily cleaned, antimicrobial (Hey Jess! There's that big word I know!), and they don't hold smells (mostly... so claims the Croc FAQs which are neatly hidden under the Contact link because what responsible consumer will want to know what they're buying and how it effects our planet?), so for fishing purposes I can see the benefits (except for that fish guts/smelly water/beer spills going right through the holes thing), but again, too close to our fresh water sources to justify them as good boat wear.
• Obviously, they won't be ruined by water (As in they'll NEVER biodegrade - like EVER! Future archeologists will love that!), unlike the last fabulously dated 80s boating footwear of choice: Docksiders. (And damn if I didn't see someone wearing those just yesterday! Do they still sell those or does that dude have a couple hundred pairs stashed in his closet?)
• Wikipedia finally provided a more satisfying answer of what Crocs are made of: ethylene vinyl acetate. Like I said, PLASTIC. (Thank you very much. Yes, I DO love to be right.) Then I read that this same material is used in biomedical engineering applications such as drug delivery service. (I'm not talking about pharmacies with a pizza guy.) Hmmm, maybe that's good? Or NOT: "The polymer is dissolved in an organic solvent (e.g., methylene chloride)." Methylene chloride, by the way, is "a colorless, volatile liquid with a moderately sweet aroma. It is widely used as a solvent, the general view being that it is one of the less harmful of the chlorocarbons." Chlorocarbons are nonaqueous, meaning they do not dissolve in water. Our bodies are mostly water. Chlorocarbons are also "usually denser than water, due to the presence of heavy chlorine atoms." (Mmmm, chlorine. Are you feeling healthier yet?) So these chlorocarbons are less harmful than what? Cancer? And when was the last time it was good to put something volatile in your body? But I digress... "[ethylene vinyl acetate] devices are used in drug delivery research to slowly release a compound over time. While the polymer is not biodegradable within the body, it is quite inert and causes little or no reaction following implantation." IT'S NOT BIODEGRADABLE WITHIN THE BODY - or anywhere for that matter. (Ha! Right again!) Just because a drug-delivering polymer is "quite inert" I don't think I want to be carrying that around the rest of my life. And where is the study that proves it causes little or no reaction? Define little! But again I digress... it's not like I'll be eating a pair of Crocs anytime soon. Although they do cover that question in the FAQs! ::rolls eyes:: So perhaps that is valuable information for those of you who own pit bulls.
• Crocs, Inc. is at least TRYING to be responsible to our Ecosystem by forming a recycling program (www.solesunited.com) that allows you (read: those of us that are aware and responsible, which in no way implies all of mankind) to drop off "used up" Crocs at a local shoe retailer so they can be returned to the company, chopped up, melted down, and re-molded into hundreds of thousands of new pairs of Earth Death for people in third world countries. Just watch their heartwarming video to erase all your eco-guilt. While I acknowledge the noble attempt of We Shoe the World, I have to question whether said barefoot indigents mind their soles being connected with Earth at all times. I mean, some people consider that a good thing. The old-school Australian Aborigines wouldn't have it any other way. Also, if you do the math, the amount of Americans alone who probably own - or have misplaced/trashed/otherwise lost track of - more than one pair, including knock-offs that are NOT recyclable, negate any positive outcome of Imelda Goes Global.

So caveat emptor my Planetary Peoples. Memory is still arguing its case before the jury in my head because the damn things really are just THAT comfortable. But I don't think the Logical Left Brain (which controls the eco-side of me, if not the impulse purchases) is buying it. Perhaps there's something injected into that toxic foamy comfortableness that's instantly absorbed into your bloodstream and causes DNA mutation and separation anxiety so you can't stop thinking about them. I'll keep you posted.

~*~
If plastic shoes are not enough to scare the eco-lovin' shit out of you, read these unrelated links I came across in researching what Crocs are made of:
Post: In Answer To Dr. Hood- Fat & Chemical Storage- Doug Haney
http://toxlaw.com/chatboards/toxboard/topic4752/1.27.04.23.42.50.html
US Patent 6835390 - Method for producing tissue engineered meat for consumption
http://www.patentstorm.us/patents/6835390/fulltext.html
I think I just became an overnight vegetarian.

Finally, I get to be a Magician!

Sera Beak, the Spiritual Cowgirl, comes up with some fun links. The latest posted in her blog is "Which Tarot card are you?" (I know you'll love this Diana!) The test claims I am the Magician.

You are The Magician

Skill, wisdom, adaptation. Craft, cunning, depending on dignity.

Eloquent and charismatic both verbally and in writing, you are clever, witty, inventive and persuasive.

The Magician is the male power of creation, creation by willpower and desire. In that ancient sense, it is the ability to make things so just by speaking them aloud. Reflecting this is the fact that the Magician is represented by Mercury. He represents the gift of tongues, a smooth talker, a salesman. Also clever with the slight of hand and a medicine man - either a real doctor or someone trying to sell you snake oil.

I'd have to agree that since moving to San Diego, it certainly seems as if I can manifest things out of thin air. I'm continually in awe of what has come my way the day after I've given it thought. I've always believed in creating my own reality and I've recognized my skill in manifestation before, but in the past it took time. SD must be some kind of optimal place for me, as my ability to bring what I want into my life has definitely been accelerated.

I've been told I'm clever, witty, and inventive, so I can believe those parts as well.

In contrast, I don't agree with the "salesman" description in this assessment. I don't see myself as that kind of person at all, although I easily recognize those that are. I'll have to dig a little deeper in the psyche to figure out why that would be in my cards.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Most people's fascination with magic seems to wane as they pass out of childhood. Adults become skeptical, practical, jaded. I've got my own healthy dose of those qualities, but not when it comes to magic. I still believe it's a real thing, and that there are people (human or otherwise) who can perform fantastical transformations of energy into form. Not that they are going to TELL anyone they can do that because good lord, you'd be abducted by the CIA that night and tested and tortured and poked and prodded within an inch of your life (or less). Cripes, I'm sure it happens all the time. Governments are full of coyotes and curiosity will kill more than Schroedinger's cat.

Ever wonder about that magician's oath? They are very serious about keeping their secrets among those that are in the business of illusion and enchantment (two of my favorite words). Sometimes I wonder if perhaps it's because some of them really ARE at a level of manipulating the elements. (That's when Logical Left Brain goes "PFFSSHHH. You are NUTS. How old are you?" So Right Brain grabs my tongue, sticks it out at Left Brain, then sulks for a week muttering "I am NOT acting like a six year old. It IS real. I KNOW it. It's just that no one will ADMIT it. Humph.")

Anyway, I also subscribe to the opinion that whatever may be considered "magic" is just physics we can't explain yet, but that doesn't make it any less magical. Think of it this way: if someone from the 1500s were transported through spacetime to our world today (not hard to imagine since Hollywood has covered this idea pretty well!), would they not see cars, movies, electricity, and the very technology I'm using right now to communicate as magic? We don't consider it so mystical because we've learned how it works (for the most part). But we are such a teeny tiny part of the Universe - there are so many processes and events and happenings out there we can't explain - hence, magic. (And Right Brain says, "HA! SO THERE!" Then it's Left Brain's turn to sulk.)

When I was a child my aunt had a friend, Daniel, who was a professional magician (maybe still is). Every time my aunt babysat I would BEG to go visit Daniel because he couldn't resist practicing his skills on the very willing subject of Me. I would ask him to do tricks over and over trying to figure out how he did them, but I couldn't catch him.

As I've grown up I've continued to attract magicians in my life as friends, and I still watch very closely trying to catch how they do their tricks but really, I don't want to know. I don't want to catch them or the illusion is ruined. I love that I can still be fooled by slight of hand and misdirection. Once in awhile one of them will go against their oath and offer to show me how they do it, but I always refuse (which is probably why they offer). I don't really want to know because that takes the wonder out of it. Sure, I feel smart when I figure out one of their conjurings (and they know that's the one they need to work on!), but then I can never again enjoy the wide-eyed feeling of disbelief that provides the thrill of their performance. It takes the fun out of it.

How many other things in life do we take the fun out of with our need to know "How?" and "Why?", instead of just enjoying the awe-someness of reality?

A hui hou, my friends. :)