After a slightly unneccesary hiatus, my blog is back. Perhaps not in full swing, but it's back.
I took the month of April off to write a screenplay...which I never finished. And have struggled to remember to check-in to blog world.
Not finishing my screenplay made me realize something. I love starting creative projects, but either loose interest or struggle to find time to finish them. I'm a chronic project starter, but not a project finisher. I like getting things started, but finishing them is less important. I'm not really sure why - I mean, I like the feeling of having something accomplished, so why does it not transfer to creative projects? Perhaps there is an underlying meaning - perhaps finishing a project is symbolic of closing a chapter on my life that I am not ready to close.
Or perhaps there is no rhyme or reason, no complicated meaning, no need to over think it, just let go laughing. :-)
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Zen-less
I’ve felt that the last few weeks have been rather Zen-less, and I’m not sure why. I’ve stuck to my healthy food intake plan (for the most part, aside from a couple of days of self-indulgence to celebrate my birthday), but haven’t been motivated to do yoga, or take any time for self-contemplation.
I feel like I keep saying I know what to do to keep me motivated, but in all honesty I don’t. I’ve made my list of things that make me happy, and I can’t seem to keep it in mind. I have not found Zen. In fact, I think I took an exit off the road to Zen, traveled under and overpass, on to a gravel road, and hit a deer. That’s how far off from Zen I feel.
I feel like I keep saying I know what to do to keep me motivated, but in all honesty I don’t. I’ve made my list of things that make me happy, and I can’t seem to keep it in mind. I have not found Zen. In fact, I think I took an exit off the road to Zen, traveled under and overpass, on to a gravel road, and hit a deer. That’s how far off from Zen I feel.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Chronicle Moment
(This was created about a month ago, maybe more, but the feelings have returned...slightly. Bottom line, it needs to be said/posted)
Peace. Inner peace to be more precise. This is something I really struggle with. Shocker, I know. I don’t always appear to be the inner-battle type, but often times I am. Upholding an image of rock solid confidence and strength can be exhausting, especially if all you feel like doing is claiming defeat. I find I struggle most when it becomes a matter of upholding an image my friends have created for me. It’s usually not a drastic image – such as pretending to be clean and sober when in fact I’m a drug addict – but more on the subtle side of things. And it’s random things too. Like the way I eat, or my attitudes towards fitness, or which mind-numbing pass time I prefer (confession: stripping down to my skivvies and dancing around my apartment while listening to my Zune is my number one choice).
Okay, we all know I have a big appetite (no question there), but when did I allow myself to fall into the role of Champion Eater in Training, to the point where if I truthfully claim I’m full I’m met with disconcerted looks by my friends? Sometimes I find myself ‘powering through’ even though I’m stuffed. Why? Because I’m afraid my friends will think less of me if I don’t uphold that image? Because I’m afraid that if that’s not who I am, I’ve somehow lost myself?
We all know I’m not big on eating vegetables either, but when did I allow the phrase “I don’t eat green vegetables” become my tagline? The truth is, I think green vegetables are the only one’s I do eat (aside from corn and the occasional carrot). I purchased not one, but two zucchinis the other day, and had to endure the wrath of my friend’s concept of me and my poor eating habits when she looked at me and said “A zucchini? Really? I didn’t think you ate zucchini. You know that’s not a cucumber, right?” (Well, have you been to the store with my every time I’ve gone since the beginning of time? No. For all you know I only eat zucchini when you’re not looking) Two things about this irked me. A.) I’m not stupid, I know the difference between a cucumber and a zucchini and B.) Zucchini is part of the cucumber family, so technically it is a cucumber. Imagine the look of shock on her face if I had picked up asparagus! Or broccoli! Or a squash! (Okay, I don’t actually like squash all that much, but let’s pretend for emphasis).
Who have I let myself become? Or really, who have I let my friends think I am? This seems a bit of a harsh phrase to attach to food choices, but it’s the same idea. I’ve let my friends think I’m a bacon craving, veggie hating, human garbage disposal (I phrase I regrettably used to describe myself once). To the point where when I do make a healthy food choice (like *gasp* eating a zucchini), they are baffled by it. They even have the audacity to say “Who are you? What have you done with Casey?” A friend of mine last night offered me his leftovers (in order to get me to pour him some more kool-aid), to which I replied “No thanks, I just ate, I’m not hungry.” His disturbingly accurate response was “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
The more I think about it, the more hurtful it all is. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who gives in to an image (at least not for awhile) and lose myself, my own thoughts and feelings, in the process. It makes me feel submissive – okay cripplingly disturbed look, you win. As if I don’t believe in myself enough to say “Hey, back off, your perception of me is totally fucked up.” A lot of what my friends think about me is true – I have a huge appetite, I LOVE bacon, I don’t eat many vegetables (well, I didn’t used to), I have been known to be hungry two hours after I eat – but it’s hurtful when they don’t accept the other things that are true – I do believe in physical activity, I like to eat some vegetables, I do get full, I do stop eating.
It’s unsettling when the moment hits you – where you realize that some of your actions are more motivated by what others think of you than what you think about yourself. I find sometimes I shy away from telling people about choices or resolutions I’ve made, because I’m…afraid seems most fitting…of what revealing this idea will do to their concept of me. But what am I so afraid of?! Are my friends really going to break up with me if I confess that I’m aiming to consume more vegetables, or document my expedition towards Zen, or replace chasing after men with yoga? Are they really going to break up with me if I stand up to them and say “Listen up! I eat zucchini, I think fitness is important, I can cook given the opportunity, I don’t want to get cable because I don’t want TV to rule my life, and I don’t care if I don’t dress my age, who made you the boss?”
The sad part about all of this is that the ones who should be reading this probably won’t. I don’t know if they’ve held on to the fact that I’m a writer, or if they’ve taken my failed attempts to finish a manuscript as evidence that I’m not serious about it, or they just choose to see me as the comic relief who spends all of her free time on Facebook (which is only partially true). Sometimes I feel like my closest friends don’t really know me at all – and that truly saddens me. But other times, I feel like they are the only ones who see me, who assist me in finding myself when I feel lost. So…what to do? Am I exaggerating this inner struggle? Or am I exacerbating it? Do I stand up, confess, and retaliate to my friends? Or sit back and let the storm pass? If I were a client of mine, I’d probably tell myself to confront my friends the next time they make a comment that irked me, or come clean about some of the things I’ve been thinking. Easier said than done.
Peace. Inner peace to be more precise. This is something I really struggle with. Shocker, I know. I don’t always appear to be the inner-battle type, but often times I am. Upholding an image of rock solid confidence and strength can be exhausting, especially if all you feel like doing is claiming defeat. I find I struggle most when it becomes a matter of upholding an image my friends have created for me. It’s usually not a drastic image – such as pretending to be clean and sober when in fact I’m a drug addict – but more on the subtle side of things. And it’s random things too. Like the way I eat, or my attitudes towards fitness, or which mind-numbing pass time I prefer (confession: stripping down to my skivvies and dancing around my apartment while listening to my Zune is my number one choice).
Okay, we all know I have a big appetite (no question there), but when did I allow myself to fall into the role of Champion Eater in Training, to the point where if I truthfully claim I’m full I’m met with disconcerted looks by my friends? Sometimes I find myself ‘powering through’ even though I’m stuffed. Why? Because I’m afraid my friends will think less of me if I don’t uphold that image? Because I’m afraid that if that’s not who I am, I’ve somehow lost myself?
We all know I’m not big on eating vegetables either, but when did I allow the phrase “I don’t eat green vegetables” become my tagline? The truth is, I think green vegetables are the only one’s I do eat (aside from corn and the occasional carrot). I purchased not one, but two zucchinis the other day, and had to endure the wrath of my friend’s concept of me and my poor eating habits when she looked at me and said “A zucchini? Really? I didn’t think you ate zucchini. You know that’s not a cucumber, right?” (Well, have you been to the store with my every time I’ve gone since the beginning of time? No. For all you know I only eat zucchini when you’re not looking) Two things about this irked me. A.) I’m not stupid, I know the difference between a cucumber and a zucchini and B.) Zucchini is part of the cucumber family, so technically it is a cucumber. Imagine the look of shock on her face if I had picked up asparagus! Or broccoli! Or a squash! (Okay, I don’t actually like squash all that much, but let’s pretend for emphasis).
Who have I let myself become? Or really, who have I let my friends think I am? This seems a bit of a harsh phrase to attach to food choices, but it’s the same idea. I’ve let my friends think I’m a bacon craving, veggie hating, human garbage disposal (I phrase I regrettably used to describe myself once). To the point where when I do make a healthy food choice (like *gasp* eating a zucchini), they are baffled by it. They even have the audacity to say “Who are you? What have you done with Casey?” A friend of mine last night offered me his leftovers (in order to get me to pour him some more kool-aid), to which I replied “No thanks, I just ate, I’m not hungry.” His disturbingly accurate response was “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
The more I think about it, the more hurtful it all is. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who gives in to an image (at least not for awhile) and lose myself, my own thoughts and feelings, in the process. It makes me feel submissive – okay cripplingly disturbed look, you win. As if I don’t believe in myself enough to say “Hey, back off, your perception of me is totally fucked up.” A lot of what my friends think about me is true – I have a huge appetite, I LOVE bacon, I don’t eat many vegetables (well, I didn’t used to), I have been known to be hungry two hours after I eat – but it’s hurtful when they don’t accept the other things that are true – I do believe in physical activity, I like to eat some vegetables, I do get full, I do stop eating.
It’s unsettling when the moment hits you – where you realize that some of your actions are more motivated by what others think of you than what you think about yourself. I find sometimes I shy away from telling people about choices or resolutions I’ve made, because I’m…afraid seems most fitting…of what revealing this idea will do to their concept of me. But what am I so afraid of?! Are my friends really going to break up with me if I confess that I’m aiming to consume more vegetables, or document my expedition towards Zen, or replace chasing after men with yoga? Are they really going to break up with me if I stand up to them and say “Listen up! I eat zucchini, I think fitness is important, I can cook given the opportunity, I don’t want to get cable because I don’t want TV to rule my life, and I don’t care if I don’t dress my age, who made you the boss?”
The sad part about all of this is that the ones who should be reading this probably won’t. I don’t know if they’ve held on to the fact that I’m a writer, or if they’ve taken my failed attempts to finish a manuscript as evidence that I’m not serious about it, or they just choose to see me as the comic relief who spends all of her free time on Facebook (which is only partially true). Sometimes I feel like my closest friends don’t really know me at all – and that truly saddens me. But other times, I feel like they are the only ones who see me, who assist me in finding myself when I feel lost. So…what to do? Am I exaggerating this inner struggle? Or am I exacerbating it? Do I stand up, confess, and retaliate to my friends? Or sit back and let the storm pass? If I were a client of mine, I’d probably tell myself to confront my friends the next time they make a comment that irked me, or come clean about some of the things I’ve been thinking. Easier said than done.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Relapse
I have fallen off the proverbial wagon.
This saturday, I ate fast food. I wasn't even conscious of it! Well, that's a bit of a misnomer. I simply relapsed, unintentionally. It was almost as if I was on autopilot. Some friends and I were on our way back from the liquor store and decided to swing by Taco Bell on our way home for a quick bite before drinking ourselved unconscious. My first thought was "meh, I'm not all that hungry, I don't think I'll get anything," not "No fast food for me please!" But as soon as we pulled into the drive thru, I said "I want a crunchwrap supreme, no tomatoes" more as a natural reaction than a decision.
I didn't even realize what had happened (I broke my no fast food vow) until YESTERDAY. Instead of beating myself up over it, I've decided to take the much healtheir approach and not give a shit. BUT also look at it as a learning experience. Note to self: Beware! When approaching fast food windows, natural reactions may occur. Now that I'm aware that I have this reaction when approaching a drive up window, it'll be easier for me to make the decision to say no.
So like any recovering addict, I'll give back my newcommers pin, my 50 days sober pin, and start the program anew. Days without fast food: Three.
This saturday, I ate fast food. I wasn't even conscious of it! Well, that's a bit of a misnomer. I simply relapsed, unintentionally. It was almost as if I was on autopilot. Some friends and I were on our way back from the liquor store and decided to swing by Taco Bell on our way home for a quick bite before drinking ourselved unconscious. My first thought was "meh, I'm not all that hungry, I don't think I'll get anything," not "No fast food for me please!" But as soon as we pulled into the drive thru, I said "I want a crunchwrap supreme, no tomatoes" more as a natural reaction than a decision.
I didn't even realize what had happened (I broke my no fast food vow) until YESTERDAY. Instead of beating myself up over it, I've decided to take the much healtheir approach and not give a shit. BUT also look at it as a learning experience. Note to self: Beware! When approaching fast food windows, natural reactions may occur. Now that I'm aware that I have this reaction when approaching a drive up window, it'll be easier for me to make the decision to say no.
So like any recovering addict, I'll give back my newcommers pin, my 50 days sober pin, and start the program anew. Days without fast food: Three.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Creativity Bug
The inspiration that's been brewing in my soul boiled over yesterday. It was very liberating!
I've always been a fan of Altered Books - and by always, I mean ever since I saw one in Collage (a craft store) about a year and a half ago. And I've even tried to start one...Key word tried. I just didn't feel my artistic eye was up to snuff, so I became discouraged and quit.
Still being a fan of the Altered Book look, I continued to think about them and search for inspiration. Recently, I've been reconnecting with my heavy metal side, and then it hit me. Music. It was like my mused reached out and slapped me in the face. I was listening to "Enter Sandman" by Metallica (a song I've heard several times before, and this hadn't happened) and I could see the pages of the book forming before my eyes. I let the images brew for a few days before I spent HOURS yesterday sketching and looking up Altered Book internet galleries.
I plugged in my Zune and let the inspiration flow. And now I'm anticipating getting supplies and getting started!
Right now: Feeling very Zen.
I've always been a fan of Altered Books - and by always, I mean ever since I saw one in Collage (a craft store) about a year and a half ago. And I've even tried to start one...Key word tried. I just didn't feel my artistic eye was up to snuff, so I became discouraged and quit.
Still being a fan of the Altered Book look, I continued to think about them and search for inspiration. Recently, I've been reconnecting with my heavy metal side, and then it hit me. Music. It was like my mused reached out and slapped me in the face. I was listening to "Enter Sandman" by Metallica (a song I've heard several times before, and this hadn't happened) and I could see the pages of the book forming before my eyes. I let the images brew for a few days before I spent HOURS yesterday sketching and looking up Altered Book internet galleries.
I plugged in my Zune and let the inspiration flow. And now I'm anticipating getting supplies and getting started!
Right now: Feeling very Zen.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Confessions of a Weight-aholic
So the two, possibly three of you that actually read my blogisms may be sick of me bitching about weightloss and the trials and turmoils it brings me, but it's my blog and I'll wine if I want to.
Actually, I had an appiffany this morning. In the shower, where I do my best thinking, it came to me: It's unsatisfying to feel like you bust your ass all week, and then have nothing to show for it. I want that damn number on the scale to be lower to prove to myself that my efforts aren't wasted. It's hard work trying to make your life do a 180 towards health, and it would be nice to have something to show for it. Something that says "Good job, you have a result."
Is it wrong to ask for that kind of validation? I've asked myself several times why it's about the number and not about how I feel, and I can't answer myself honestly. I really don't know what it is about the number that makes me feel more confident. It's not like it looms over my head in flashing neon light for the world to see.
But I feel like people can read it on my face. They can look at me and see the screams behind my eyes yelling that I just want to be a few pounds lighter, a few inches smaller, a few muscles tighter. Because honestly, I think I have a great personality, and I'm satisfied with many aspects of my life, that I feel the only thing standing between me and true happiness is that number that pops up on the scale. That God damn glowing red number that I feel branded on my forehead as I try to live my life. And I feel this healthy leaf I'm turning is the best defense against this enemy.
No one can see that number but me. But I want the validation for my hard work. I want to have something that measures my progress. It may be the local clinical scientist in me, it may be something much darker and scary, but whatever it is, it's saying that that number is the manifestation of my hard work paying off.
I can only hope that as my lifestyle change becomes more natural, the meaning of the number will deminish.
Actually, I had an appiffany this morning. In the shower, where I do my best thinking, it came to me: It's unsatisfying to feel like you bust your ass all week, and then have nothing to show for it. I want that damn number on the scale to be lower to prove to myself that my efforts aren't wasted. It's hard work trying to make your life do a 180 towards health, and it would be nice to have something to show for it. Something that says "Good job, you have a result."
Is it wrong to ask for that kind of validation? I've asked myself several times why it's about the number and not about how I feel, and I can't answer myself honestly. I really don't know what it is about the number that makes me feel more confident. It's not like it looms over my head in flashing neon light for the world to see.
But I feel like people can read it on my face. They can look at me and see the screams behind my eyes yelling that I just want to be a few pounds lighter, a few inches smaller, a few muscles tighter. Because honestly, I think I have a great personality, and I'm satisfied with many aspects of my life, that I feel the only thing standing between me and true happiness is that number that pops up on the scale. That God damn glowing red number that I feel branded on my forehead as I try to live my life. And I feel this healthy leaf I'm turning is the best defense against this enemy.
No one can see that number but me. But I want the validation for my hard work. I want to have something that measures my progress. It may be the local clinical scientist in me, it may be something much darker and scary, but whatever it is, it's saying that that number is the manifestation of my hard work paying off.
I can only hope that as my lifestyle change becomes more natural, the meaning of the number will deminish.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Decompression
I had a second to breathe this weekend. Well, actually I had roughly 259,200 seconds to breathe this weekend, but that’s beside the point, which is: I had a chance to slow down and do nothing this weekend. My batteries finally got what feels like a full charge. I had one mandatory social engagement on Friday and that was it, everything else was optional. I got caught up on my laundry, I grocery shopped, I slept well, I hung out with Kimmie and Barb a little (very little actually), and spent some quality time with the couch and Dexter (the tv series). It was nice. Even though I spent part of Saturday and the majority of Sunday feeling like crap health-wise, Zen-wise I felt great.
Sure my immune system was down, I was coughing more than breathing, and my brain was leaking too much awesome out of my nasal cavity; but I felt calm, almost peaceful, as if I had regained my inner balance.
As I look forward to the week ahead, I’m less overwhelmed with things I should do, need to do, want to do, what have you, and am more at peace with each moment. This evening I plan to do a full load of dishes and then spend some quality time with Kimmie and Barb – watching our favorite CW drama of course – and that’s it. Pleasantly un-busy.
Sure my immune system was down, I was coughing more than breathing, and my brain was leaking too much awesome out of my nasal cavity; but I felt calm, almost peaceful, as if I had regained my inner balance.
As I look forward to the week ahead, I’m less overwhelmed with things I should do, need to do, want to do, what have you, and am more at peace with each moment. This evening I plan to do a full load of dishes and then spend some quality time with Kimmie and Barb – watching our favorite CW drama of course – and that’s it. Pleasantly un-busy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)