20

Mar

Ventfest: Monkey Suits and Momma’s Shoes

The other day, I watched my friend head to his job at a major Boston financial firm, wearing a suit and bowtie (It was “Bowtie Monday,” obviously). As he walked away in his monkey suit, I couldn’t help but think he looked a little like a kid in his dad’s suit, or a girl plodding around in her mother’s high heels.

We like to think that we’re all grown up now, no longer teenagers (unless you’re me), living on our own, working full-time, managing our own finances–even doing our own taxes. We cook and clean and separate lights from darks. Some people even think they’re old enough to get married.

But the reality of the world is I’m just as young as my (real) ID says I am. I’m reliant on my parents for emotional support and financial support, I’m listed as a dependant on their taxes, and I have no idea how to work insurance.

I’m a child, yes, but I’ve realized lately that age doesn’t equate to maturity. Two people whom I used to confide in, two people I loved, have hurt me in the past couple of months. Continue reading →

relationships

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19

Mar

Finding My Bliss

Taking a mid day sunshine break with my coworker.

I find that a lot of what I blog about has to do with changes–inspiration for new changes, lists of things to do, renewed commitments to myself. I’m just the type of person that loiters in the self help section of bookstores, and I love a good makeover.

So here we go again.

My therapist is a tiny, quiet woman. She doesn’t say much, but when she does it’s notable. A bit ago, she scolded me (gently) about a couple changes I need to make moving forward. She told me to get my butt to the gym and work up a sweat at least twice a week, to spend as much time outside (no easy feat since my office has no windows), and to eat healthy.

This, combined with various drugs and remedies, is supposedly the magic cure for my winter (and by winter, I mean the entirety of 2011) blues.

So I’ve made some minor changes and am trying to recognize the differences. I’ve been dancing regularly with my sorority, which both makes me happy and makes me sweat. With daylight savings, I’m able to get some sunshine on my walk home, and have allowed myself to take mini “smoking” breaks in the parking lot–I don’t actually smoke, but I soak up some much needed sunlight. I’ve also been fake tanning to soak up more concentrated Vitamin D; just spare the me cancer lectures (I know I’m retarded. I just don’t care very much). And I’ve actually gone back to being vegetarian the past week and a half. For me, avoiding meat (except seafood) makes me feel cleaner, fresher, less bogged down by oils and grease.

She also made a point to emphasize that whatever I choose to do or not do, it is the right choice. It’s okay to call in sick because I can’t will myself out of bed. It’s okay to quit my job if it means spending more time on myself. It’s okay to spend hours meditating in the Buddha room of the MFA and freaking out all the European tourists.

It’s all about the little things… about finding something that makes me happy, no matter how small, and doing it. So, I’m finding my bliss, cost be damned. The first thing was buying myseld a David Yurman ring that set me back more than I pay for rent. But I don’t regret a single penny. Every time I look down at my hand, it serves as a gentle (and sparkly!) reminder to love myself.

Things have been really great at work, too; I’ve been writing quite a bit. I hadn’t realized until now that I haven’t written a whole lot lately. I’ve run a magazine, I’ve been a doormat, but I’d lost touch with actually writing. I’ve also found an apartment full of guys that I genuinely care about. I can go over there, settle down with spicy chips and my beverage of choice, and “bro” out watching college basketball or MXC.

Now all I need is a two month vacation, a monthly yoga membership, a machaca burrito, a puppy and a lifetime supply of mani/pedis and I’ll be good.

musings

12

Mar

Poem: Namaste

Sometimes when I look in the mirror,
I can’t help but see your face looking back at me, yellowed with jaundice,
Eyes puffy with lack of sleep.

When you died,
People worried my baby brother would follow in your footsteps,
That your demeanors are the same.
But I know it’s me.
We got along well because we understood one another.

I see the light in you that sees the light in me.

I know your numb. Your death gifted me that.
I try to remember how to smile.

But I just want to Nyquil away the nightmares.

Sometimes when I walk down the road,
With the cars blurring past
I imagine stepping out, on an impulsive whim.
I try to feel what you may have felt,
there on the self-serving tip of insanity.

People say you didn’t pause to think of us, that you wouldn’t have done it.
But what’s worse is I know you did. You thought enough to write down a name, a number,
A pretty little printout as if to say “Call them. They’ll clean it up.”
But we weren’t worth the effort of breathing.

I don’t believe in heaven like you do.
Just the random disbursement of cells and energy, the recycling of carbon and matter.
And I once believed in love, before it shattered into crushed bones and blood somewhere along Highway 78.

You’re everywhere. And I hate you.
But I can’t let go of you for fear of losing myself.
So instead I breathe.

Source: kewlwallpapers.com

musings/relationships

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