The difference between the life I'm living and the life I should be living is self-discipline. Apparently, I don't have it. Working out, money, cleaning. Nothing. It's there for a while and then it's not. It truly is a bummer that i can't get it down. There are so many things about my life that I want to change.
I have about 25 lbs to lose. I'm awful with money, so I need a budget. I need to keep my house clean not only for my own sanity and my daughter's health, but it would significantly help with my marriage. He's a neat freak. I am sooo not. I have an entire subject I want to study more efficiently and I'd like to start meditating. The only thing I do without fail right now is my writing. THAT is not the way to keep my life balanced. So I need help.
I have so many plans in my head, but I never implement them. It's a bad habit. So here's the deal. I fix it. Once and for all I actually start doing the things I say I'm going to do and turn my life around. If I can get me in order maybe I can figure out whether or not the rest of my life is as it should be and five years from now I'll be happy with what I see.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Drop in the Ocean
I heard once that grief was like the ocean. It's deep, dark and bigger than us all. When I think of grief, the first thing that comes to mind is death. The loss of someone from this world forever, taken from their loved ones, never to be seen again. This loss is terrible, the emptiness vast as the hollow ache in your heart takes root. But for a lot of people, death is easier to get over than other types of grief. There is nothing you can do to change it. You have no choice. You either move on or perish with them.
But there are so many types of grief. The loss of someone you love is hard. It's even harder when they leave by choice. How many holes can riddle a heart before it is broken beyond repair? How many pieces can be given away before there's nothing left to give? For some, a loss like that is something they leave in their past. They accept it and move on. I'm not that strong. When I give someone a piece of my heart, be it family, lover or friend, it is a gift. It's not something I take back, so when they're gone so is that part of me, leaving me with an emptiness in its place.
Everyone becomes someone else around different people. There is one person, or a group of people, who inspire you to bring out a different side. A facet, if you will. Sometimes you're studious, carefully taking notes; flirtatious, just because it's fun. Other times you may be serious because you have responsibilities or goofy and childlike because you just don't care what the world thinks. What amazes and at times astounds and confuses me is that I can't always seem to find that person without the one who inspires it. Lately I've found that I miss being happy and carefree. Even when I had things to worry about, people counting on me, I found that I could look at the world as warm, caring and full of wonder. I had a childlike curiosity that bubbled to the surface in a giggle -- though not as annoying as that sounds. But now, I can't seem to find it. So I find myself missing that one person who always made it possible. One of my biggest faults is that when that person goes, something in me dies. That facet hides itself away and only an echo remains, just waiting to be awoken. The one who brought out the side of me that embraced and enjoyed life down to the last drop is gone. Once, the girl who could look at the stars with wonder, find the one that I was looking for and forget that I could see no other in the vast sky beyond, refused to be silenced. Now I can't find her voice.
That's the personal loss that comes when someone leaves. At least for me. But what about the rest? There were nights after I lost the boy I dated in college, after I left him because I knew we were toxic for each other, that I would crawl up onto my roof and cry for hours. Horrible, heart-wrenching sobs that would rock my entire body until I had to curl up around myself just to keep the pieces from shattering into the night and blowing away on the slightest breeze. I was afraid I would never stop crying, that the pain would never dissapate.
People always say that the pain and garbage, the aching that comes with loss and heart ache is part of the healing process. Part of letting go. People are wrong. It's just pain and garbage. The healing happens when you decide to get up and start living your life again.
It's hard. Believe me. But it is possible. Life is worth living. Even on your darkest days you have to remember that there is a reason to get up. Grief may be an ocean, dark and deep and bigger than us all. You just have to learn to swim.
I wrote this poem when I was nineteen, about that same boy. After days of drowning, I finally surfaced. And one day I put pen to paper and I started to write. Something I hadn't been able to do in weeks. After three days of writing and editing, the words that appeared to me on that page promised that I would be okay.
Smile at the Shoreline...
I’m a stranger to Sleep, an aquaintance to Nightmare. My sanctuary’s left me for a land dark and bare. Struggling for light, sweet relief’s yet to come. I still know the pain but I only feel numb. It’s a silent emptiness that’s consuming my soul. My life continues as before but I have yet to feel whole. I’m a shadow on the outside looking into my world. I’m not quite connected to the tears of the girl. You’ve stolen my heart, you’ve stolen my life force. Now I’m left to stumble down this uneven course. You pushed and you prodded using guilt as your pole. You kept breaking my strength, leaving in your wake, gaping holes. You need to feel guilty. You deserve the heavy load. Now you can feel what I’ve felt Struggling down rocky roads. Carry that burden while fighting alone in the dark. Then you’ll know how I felt while you were breaking my heart. Feel the bite of the ache, the sting of the hurt. Feel the pain press upon you as the hellfire burns. My mind’s chained to you, held fast, not unlocked. Your heart holds the key, but that path I’ve blocked. It’s a terrifying prison, for I long to be free. I only fear if you come close you’ll end up chained to me. So I carry these irons through the dark waters near shore, the shackles that bind me to the pain, on the floor. Do you feel how I feel? Have you caught a glimpse of it yet? Have you felt the yearning, seen the light you can’t get? Have you crashed through the ocean unable to breathe? I don’t reach for you. I’m reaching for me. You are the black waters, the guilt and pain crashing down. As the sharp sorrow surrounds me, you take my breath, I start to drown. But though I’m thrashed by the waves, I’ll reach the surface yet. Though I may be pummled by waters, my strength Dark won’t get. I’ll live again, breathe in the pain. I’ll smile, stronger than before. And while your memory may haunt me, I’m standing solid on the shore.
This is probably the best poem I’ve ever written. It’s one of love, sorrow and heartbreak, but most of all, it’s one of strength. And while I may not be feeling that particular way anymore, it’s always a good reminder that things have been worse, and I’ve gotten through it. The old saying is true.
"What doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger." This is my reminder that I’m strong enough to make it. And stubborn enough too. :)
But there are so many types of grief. The loss of someone you love is hard. It's even harder when they leave by choice. How many holes can riddle a heart before it is broken beyond repair? How many pieces can be given away before there's nothing left to give? For some, a loss like that is something they leave in their past. They accept it and move on. I'm not that strong. When I give someone a piece of my heart, be it family, lover or friend, it is a gift. It's not something I take back, so when they're gone so is that part of me, leaving me with an emptiness in its place.
Everyone becomes someone else around different people. There is one person, or a group of people, who inspire you to bring out a different side. A facet, if you will. Sometimes you're studious, carefully taking notes; flirtatious, just because it's fun. Other times you may be serious because you have responsibilities or goofy and childlike because you just don't care what the world thinks. What amazes and at times astounds and confuses me is that I can't always seem to find that person without the one who inspires it. Lately I've found that I miss being happy and carefree. Even when I had things to worry about, people counting on me, I found that I could look at the world as warm, caring and full of wonder. I had a childlike curiosity that bubbled to the surface in a giggle -- though not as annoying as that sounds. But now, I can't seem to find it. So I find myself missing that one person who always made it possible. One of my biggest faults is that when that person goes, something in me dies. That facet hides itself away and only an echo remains, just waiting to be awoken. The one who brought out the side of me that embraced and enjoyed life down to the last drop is gone. Once, the girl who could look at the stars with wonder, find the one that I was looking for and forget that I could see no other in the vast sky beyond, refused to be silenced. Now I can't find her voice.
That's the personal loss that comes when someone leaves. At least for me. But what about the rest? There were nights after I lost the boy I dated in college, after I left him because I knew we were toxic for each other, that I would crawl up onto my roof and cry for hours. Horrible, heart-wrenching sobs that would rock my entire body until I had to curl up around myself just to keep the pieces from shattering into the night and blowing away on the slightest breeze. I was afraid I would never stop crying, that the pain would never dissapate.
People always say that the pain and garbage, the aching that comes with loss and heart ache is part of the healing process. Part of letting go. People are wrong. It's just pain and garbage. The healing happens when you decide to get up and start living your life again.
It's hard. Believe me. But it is possible. Life is worth living. Even on your darkest days you have to remember that there is a reason to get up. Grief may be an ocean, dark and deep and bigger than us all. You just have to learn to swim.
I wrote this poem when I was nineteen, about that same boy. After days of drowning, I finally surfaced. And one day I put pen to paper and I started to write. Something I hadn't been able to do in weeks. After three days of writing and editing, the words that appeared to me on that page promised that I would be okay.
Smile at the Shoreline...
I’m a stranger to Sleep, an aquaintance to Nightmare. My sanctuary’s left me for a land dark and bare. Struggling for light, sweet relief’s yet to come. I still know the pain but I only feel numb. It’s a silent emptiness that’s consuming my soul. My life continues as before but I have yet to feel whole. I’m a shadow on the outside looking into my world. I’m not quite connected to the tears of the girl. You’ve stolen my heart, you’ve stolen my life force. Now I’m left to stumble down this uneven course. You pushed and you prodded using guilt as your pole. You kept breaking my strength, leaving in your wake, gaping holes. You need to feel guilty. You deserve the heavy load. Now you can feel what I’ve felt Struggling down rocky roads. Carry that burden while fighting alone in the dark. Then you’ll know how I felt while you were breaking my heart. Feel the bite of the ache, the sting of the hurt. Feel the pain press upon you as the hellfire burns. My mind’s chained to you, held fast, not unlocked. Your heart holds the key, but that path I’ve blocked. It’s a terrifying prison, for I long to be free. I only fear if you come close you’ll end up chained to me. So I carry these irons through the dark waters near shore, the shackles that bind me to the pain, on the floor. Do you feel how I feel? Have you caught a glimpse of it yet? Have you felt the yearning, seen the light you can’t get? Have you crashed through the ocean unable to breathe? I don’t reach for you. I’m reaching for me. You are the black waters, the guilt and pain crashing down. As the sharp sorrow surrounds me, you take my breath, I start to drown. But though I’m thrashed by the waves, I’ll reach the surface yet. Though I may be pummled by waters, my strength Dark won’t get. I’ll live again, breathe in the pain. I’ll smile, stronger than before. And while your memory may haunt me, I’m standing solid on the shore.
This is probably the best poem I’ve ever written. It’s one of love, sorrow and heartbreak, but most of all, it’s one of strength. And while I may not be feeling that particular way anymore, it’s always a good reminder that things have been worse, and I’ve gotten through it. The old saying is true.
"What doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger." This is my reminder that I’m strong enough to make it. And stubborn enough too. :)
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
The Hunger Games
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins have recently become my new obsession.
As for the disgusting comments made on Twitter about the actors who played the characters of Rue, Thresh and Cinna,
P
I believe that The Hunger Games is the most powerful and moving, not to mention heart wrenching trio of books I have ever read. It's more than just a story, or even a rebellion, definitely more than a teen romance. It is a movement, a revolution against a totalitarian government, a glimpse of the true horrors and the miraculous heart that human beings possess. It doesn't just represent one side, but both, presenting the reader with a protagonist who is not perfect, but like most readers themselves, she is flawed, undecided in what is truly right and wrong in war and in life. In love. That in itself is inspiring. However, when added to the fact that the characters showed true courage, rising up against those in power to fight for what was right, what they believed in, even in the face of danger, death and loss, the books moved me to tears. For true evil is not just fed by actions of those who side with it, but by those who sit by and do nothing. Suzanne Collins created a masterpiece in which she has captured the human spirit, for better or for worse, and if ever I accomplish my dream, fame and fortune aside, I hope to be able to create something that is as meaningful and as inspiring as this story. Because really, the terrible truth is a reality like The Hunger Games is not that far off.
A friend asked me why it had to be so realistic. She said she could feel their pain as if it were her own.
But I think that’s the point. It is real. It could actually happen. Look at when it is. It’s not too far in the future, and it’s in North America. Those who came before (us) had no regard for those who would come after and we destroyed our planet, leaving the generations after us to deal with the consequences. In the mess that was left, the Capitol, (probably a metaphor for the 1% of our population that carries most of our wealth) rose up and made the rest of Panem virtually their slaves. A rebellion would most definitely ensue and if the government won, is it really that far off to think that they would prove their power by creating the Hunger Games? Look at our society, look at the obsession we have with reality TV. It’s entertainment to see people’s dreams destroyed or to see their hearts broken. We have movies about people hacking each other up. There have been two movies where inmates provide entertainment in a fight to the death. How long before a movie becomes a reality, especially in a broken society like Panem? And then, how long before the rest of the population would rise up against the government? It really isn’t much of a stretch if you think about it. I think that’s what makes the story so powerful. It’s not like Twilight. The main characters don’t all survive and have happy endings. Even in Harry Potter where she killed off a lot of the characters, the message of the Hunger Games is much bigger. And without the wizard and magical element, it is real. Or could be.
I've read these books almost three times in the last month, which is strange, even for me. Yet, I still can't get enough. Every time, I am moved beyond belief. Inspired. I truly am obsessed. I bought all the magazines, read dozens of interviews. I even sat four hours in line to get a good seat for the midnight premiere.
I have to say, I was slightly disappointed in the screen play, but overall I was impressed. The casting was perfect, the acting superb. The main characters were portrayed to the best of their ability even if the script for the character left something to be desired, but I'll go into that another time. I could go on and on. For now, I'll just say...my compliments.
Let me introduce you...
"You're an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, wrapped in a little dark haired girl."
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