Tuesday July 5 2011

Waking up sometime around 11:30 a.m.

Breakfast: Orange Juice. Zinc.

Driving down Dam Neck Road, a road I haven’t driven on since the olden days.

Trying out Hot Yoga for the first time at the Zen Hot Yoga studio—excited to get back into a regular practice of it. They’ve got the room set to 106 degrees. I can feel the sweat seeping out of each and every pore as we do a series of downward facing dog and lotus poses—the session lasts about an hour.

Experiencing an exhilarating feeling afterwards, a fresh feeling—exhausted and tired but at the same time feeling a new zest for the day.

Farmer’s Market is close by—with Gillian browsing the storefronts—eating a Tuna Sandwich with French Fries and a Vitamin Water. Getting some fresh green figs, peaches, and strawberries.

At Books-A-Million sitting down in the café area sipping on ice water and talking with Gillian—she has a lot of personal introspection on relationship philosophy—getting into debates and such.

Back home. Finding out through a photo on Darren’s phone that there were four naked girls in my bed without my knowing. Apparently the kids went to the beach, came back, took a shower together, then decided it’d be a good idea to pretend to be in a promo for Girls Gone Wild. There really are no rules here. But now my bed is sandy…

Snacking on Chips with Avocado.

I feel heavy. Something strange is going on—I feel locked down with no strength or power to do what I WANT. WHAT I NEED TO DO WHAT I NEED TO MAKE WHAT I NEED. I’m surrounded by so much noise here in this town, this crazy crowded tourist town we call a suburb—I’m an old soul with a lot of memories and mistakes and loves. Here I am lying down in my bed—trying to nap—trying to just relax the best I can to the sounds of Bon Iver or Sun Airway—in between two other souls like me with strange things going on, strange like me in the sense that they, too, are surrounded by their own noises and distractions—products of our environment—products of our pain. Misery loves company but misery also loves contrast. Spread your love. Give your love. I have a lot of affection to give------------but I can’t be everyone’s father, brother, lover, or friend. My mom raised me in compassion and possibly spoiled me a little, and in doing so I’ve learned to be compassionate and spoil people. I’m a beautiful byproduct of my mother. She knew how to love.

I need to feel productive. I need to feel accomplished. I’m in my mid-20’s crisis still discovering—still wanting new things but becoming senile and building up to a no-tolerance level for any kind of fallacies.

Getting a Papa John’s Pizza

The watching eyes are right in what they see in me. I’m weak. I don’t have what it takes to just put my foot down and do it, whatever that may be that I need to put my foot down for. Conflicted. Discouraged. And I thought everyone else had internal problems. I thought everyone else was the psycho. Everybody else is supposed to be the tripped out unstable high maintenance machines. But no. I am. I am just like her. I am just like everyone else.

Rachel sees right through the heavy vibe I’m putting off as I make my way upstairs: “Too much hot yoga?”

Me: “I just neeeeeeeds some peeeeeaaace…”

Enjoying some Figs and Strawberries.


Let the music soothe my bones—it sings through me like a therapeutic knife.

I’m scared.

I know.

I’ve felt scared before.

Ecstasy—I need to feel this. But I don’t. but everyone deserves to. There’s something natural in the experience and something of the utmost sacredness.

I think I’m blogged out. I miss the mystery. What’s more important? My life? Or people knowing my life?

Eating a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Sleep sometime before or after 4 a.m.

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