contents may have shifted during flight.

in my search for D on yahoo, i came across a woman's profile. she said on her profile something to the effect of, "we've all been hurt, but please don't make me pay for your past mistakes."

i wish i travelled light. i carry alot of baggage around. stuff i don't really need anymore. but stuff i unfortunately sift through from time to time. i think it's cruel i make my better half look through my baggage. it's bad enough everything's stamped on my passport. but to not get rid of it or some of it or at least check it in and to just wheel it around with me just seems plain foolish, not to mention cumbersome. i may spend a lifetime trying to get rid of my baggage. but at some point, i do plan to take the advice of another yahoo profile i came across:

"please check your baggage at the door."

between the two

he loves his d&d
more than he loves talking to me
between the two
i know which he will choose.
he thinks his tivo
is more entertaining than me as a show
between the two
i will always lose.
he loves his games
more than he loves hearing me call his name
between the two
we know defeat is whose.
he loves to read
more than of me he takes heed
between the two
guess which makes him snooze.

depression.

only those who have experienced it know what it is.
it's kinda like a drop-dead-born-again orgasm.
you can describe it all you want. you can depict it in as many ways as humanly possible.
but you don't know what it is until you've lived it.

it's the most awful thing in the world. an endless abyss of sadness. and there's no explanation for it. so there's no amount of understanding that can make it any less awful. you can't use reasoning to make sense of it. because it makes no sense. it's this free-floating feeling that all your senses in the world cannot comprehend. you think if only i could understand where this is coming from or why, i can fix it. understanding it will make me feel better. but it's like the number pi. there's just no ending. and no one knows where it came from.

people think i'm crazy when i try to explain. the sad thing is i can't explain it. i only sound crazy when i do. and the fact that i sound crazy, makes me crazy.

these are times that i wish i believed in god.

...

it's in my heart.
my soul.
my body.
my mind.
it's inside all of me.
it is me.

head.

it's not just in my head.
it's not just in my head.
it's not just in my head.
it's not just in my head.
it's not just in my head.
it's not just in my head.
it's not just in my head.
it's not just in my head.
it's not just in my head.

it's just a poem.

live without living
die without dying
what's the use
of even trying.
scoff at my pain
because you don't understand
take away the pain
with the wave of a hand.
pieces of me
fall apart at my feet
not only will i accept
i will embrace defeat.
no amount of pills
can make me numb
the only solution
is to entirely succumb.
the pain is overwhelming
yet i feel nothing at all
move away
and don't catch me when i fall.

pilate hottie.

next month, i'm planning to take a class on Pilates. i've taken a couple of yoga classes and have heard that Pilates is more strenous and there's no relaxation involved. in fact, i heard it's quite the workout. i do have to say the instructor and classmates make the class. i went to this one fu-fu yoga class in SLO where all the perfectly-toned college chicks go to see and be seen, with their color-coordinated tights matching their hair barettes, sheek yoga bags and corresponding water bottles. they're not there for yoga. they're there to advertise that they don't need yoga to look that good but heck, yoga class seemed to be the most fashionable thing. it's like wagging the dog. they didn't employ yoga to develop that body. they simply found an art form that one would assume would produce a body like theirs. needless to say, they lost me as a customer. then i went to the yoga class at the gym. the instructor went way too fast. i didn't even have time to pull the wedgie out of my ass. and way too many middle-aged housewives wanting to look good for their sexually uninterested mid-life crisis husbands in class. but i did go to this one low-key unpublicized yoga class in ohio. it was held at night in a spare room in a church. the yoga instructor had been doing this all her life. she displayed pictures of yogis she had trained under in india. she wasn't in it for the money. in fact, she didn't even seem to mind if we didn't pay. she lived and breathed yoga. she set up the perfect lighting, music and pace. and her voice. the most gentle, tender and soothing voice i've ever heard. it was like melted butter. not even the I can't believe it's not butter crap. i'm talking pure, unadulterated butter. like how a mother must speak to her newborn child. she let us determine our own pace. she mixed in meditation, breathing, relaxation, stretching and non-judgment. she let us be. the best part was that the people in the class didn't even seem to notice anyone else was in the class. we were truly in our own private yoga worlds. i've been in search for a replication of that. so far, no luck. i'm beginning to think it was all a dream.

i can't wait to be a pilate hottie. you've seen those women. all slenderly shaped, well-toned, not an extra crease in their perfect bodies. they just glide around. they just bend with the wind. they exude grace even when they take a shit. they're the only ones who can make spandex look so damn sexy. of course, i don't expect to ever wear spandex outside my house (or at all for that matter) no matter how much yog-ates i do.

i'm not that cruel.

raising the spirits.

a pay raise
always brings better days
being in a poverty phase
puts me in a gloomy haze.
although i'm under-paid
at least i've got it made
rough oceans i have wade
and through worse times i have stayed.
we may not always be appreciated
our tummies will not always be satiated
but at least my union has negotiated
a salary that is totally overrated.

i've been at this job exactly 2 years as of yesterday. the longest-held job i've had.
i don't get paid enough for this. but at least i can write poetry to bitch about it.

Death Note.

i'm reading my first manga. it's called DeathNote. it's about this guy Light who finds a Death Notebook which gives him the power to kill people. he decides to use this power to rid the world of bad people. enter L, the ultra-detective out to catch the person who is killing criminals from afar.

my thought is there's gotta be a backfire to all this. potentially, Light can abuse his power. the twist could be that eventually, he'd have to kill himself to escape a mess he's made. or he backs himself into a corner and makes a bigger cosmic mess than this world has made for itself. or that his righteous mentality that he is ridding the world of scum isn't righteous after all. after all, is it fair that he is judge, jury and executioner? what if those criminals weren't guilty after all? statistics say that many prisoners aren't even guilty of the crimes they've been sentenced for. and what gives him the right to finish people off at his own discretion? it's like a Twilight Zone episode.

the bigger question is, why the hell haven't i found a Death Note?

i'm not sure whose name(s) i'd put in that notebook. but i'd say at least half the world's population needs to go in there.

sit and come.

my dog's got 'Sit' down. thanks to cheese and meat sticks.
i think she's starting to learn 'Come,' which is a biggie for me.
now all i got to do is teach her to do my laundry.
i just purchased the apron with 3 partitions, 6 ft leash, and meat recommended by the trainer.
i'm excited. i'm gonna do some drills at the dog park tonight.
i will never forget the look on my dog's face as i was drilling 'Sit' into her. she telepathically said to me, 'what is this?? you're asking me to actually do something for you?' as i always tell the parents i work with who are starting a behavioral program for the first time with their pain in the ass children, before it gets better, it always gets worse first. you're breaking a cycle that has enabled your child/dog to do whatever the hell she/he wants. why would they want to change that? now that you're trying to show them who's boss, they will fight tooth and nail before you beat them into submission.
who's the bitch now? (my dog's a girl)
the trainer said that dogs have learned to speak our language. they can read our facial and body language. our language is like ESL (english as a second language) to them. now we need to speak dog language. it's our turn to learn DSL (dog as a second language). good thing i have a knack for linguistics.

irony.

so i enrolled in the wild and crazy puppy obedience training class. it was long overdue. it was the first class last night. there at rancho tapo park, in the fading sun and falling night, cold brisk air nipping at our noses and chilling our toes as if they were champagne, the eager attendees listened on with wide open ears and bugged eyes, hanging onto every word jeri-lynn said, hungering for the knowledge that would help us make Lassies out of all our pooches. the trainer boosted our morale, gave us one of those pre-football game coach talks, i.e. 'You can do it!!' talks, all the while mixing in success and sob stories of those who had come before us, as well as tips and homework and supplies we needed before next week when we'd bring our wild and crazy pooches.

the irony of it all made me chuckle. the techniques jeri-lynn would be teaching us were basic behavior modification techniques, known in my work world as ABA (applied behavior analysis). these essentially apply to all basic animal behavior, from the beast that shares my pillows to the incorrigible children i worked with. the services my agency provides is based on the same techniques i had paid jeri-lynn $65 to teach me in 8 weeks. i touted my expertise in these techniques in my professional life; after all, people came to me to explain the underpinnings of how and why these techniques worked with the people we served. yet here i was, looking to a most likely HS-educated lady with imploring eyes, begging her to teach me the same things i am an alleged expert at.

isn't it ironic?

so i did some homework last night. we're supposed to teach our dog to sit on our left side and to wait at the door. i think my dog is beginning to learn Sit. either that, or her butt got tired and i gave her cheese and turkey for it.

words of wisdom from kohana

a feeling's just a feeling.

happy (birth)day.

happy as a clam
thank god it's friday
ready for some fun
things are gonna go my way.
get to celebrate with my honey
what else is better
if this is love
i'm definitely a heavy hitter.
too bad there aren't more
fridays in a week
life would be grand
it would be so sweet.
happy birthday
to the love of my life
someday
i am so gonna be his wife!

much ado about the day of birth.

i actually have massive anxiety when planning a celebration for someone, be it birthdays, valentine's day, anniversaries.

i think i'm just really bad at it. some chicks really dig that stuff. they're natural at it. they thrive in it. they just know what to plan, how to do it with grace and make it look so easy. they have all the right ideas, they're efficient, they know what the person wants, and they find the best deals while they are at it. martha stewart, my sister, my friend bunnyfoofoo are examples. i wish i could be more like them. or perhaps just have that talent.

i think i'm afraid the guest of honor won't be totally happy with it. i just want it to be perfect for them. to be absolutely memorable. i want them to think, "wow, she knew exactly what i wanted, she caught that small detail of our conversation, she was listening, i can't believe she remembered that, how thoughtful."

i'm afraid i didn't get them the right things. or set it up the right way. i just want it to be meaningful to that person. i want it to be special. i want my celebration to be the best one they have ever had.

my better half is closing up his 2nd decade of life tomorrow. i didn't know what to get him. still don't. i prefer to make things like songs, poems, cards, paintings, because i'm sentimental that way but it's nice to actually get something tangible. i made something last night but hated it. perhaps he'll appreciate it simply because i made it? let's hope he's as sentimental as i am. i prefer experiences rather than gifts, like trips, concerts, performing arts, cruises. but that's me.

but i so wanted to hand him something tomorrow night when i saw him.

i know. i'll give him me. but he already has that.

massive anxiety. much ado about the day of birth.

rut in the butt.

lately i've been distractible at work. my mind is everywhere but here. after all, here i am blahhging while i should be working.

i've also been unable to take action. there are 2 very basic requests i have of myself from the time i get home from work to the time i go to bed: exercise and study. then i revised it to exercise and/or study. then i revised it to exercise or study. now it's come down to: just do something, please!

avolition

anhedonia

if you don't own life

life will own ya.

movement

is the best solution

stagnation

the worst pollution.

maybe i need

a new pair of shoes

maybe i need

a cure for the blues.

screaming it out

recommended by my shrink

time's up

in an eye's blink.

changing my attitude

easier said than done

but if i don't own up

defeat will have already won.

just do it. still the most basic and no-nonsense piece of advice i've come across. amazing what a simple swoosh can convey.

nike+.

so i finally got off my lazy ass to make like a hamster and put in my 5 miles on the treadmill. i never understood the concept of running indefinitely yet getting nowhere. whoever devised the whole treadmill concept is either a genius or a complete sadist or a practical joker. i think even hamsters are onto it.

the pressure of not getting kicked out of my own challenge was enough to get me to my closet-size condo-complex gym. peer pressure can be utilized in such positive ways. the only way to prove that i got off my lazy ass was to download my workout data on nikeplus. i have been trying to restore the original settings on my ipod because for some reason the website was not reading my data. in order to restore the settings, i had to download the latest software from itunes. enter the dinosaur fujitsu laptop. i have a laptop that is probably less technologically advanced and effective than pen and quill. it's slow, unreliable and just plain sucky. i tried to download the aforementioned software, but it was estimated to take up to 4 hours to complete because of the aforementioned reason. but i took my chance and although was sure the download was unsuccessful, i convinced myself it worked. it looked like it took because i noticed that it logged 22 runs as opposed to the 7 before. so i was all excited, thinking, "this will show those marathon runners who are clearly not beginners but who accepted my challenge!" i put in the painful 5 miles, where i pretty much alternated between watching the treadmill odometer on a second by second basis and a bad korean soap. i got home and connected my ipod to my computer, held my breath, and lo and behold, NOTHING!! can't say i was surprised.

they always said, if it's not logged, or downloaded in this instance, it never happened.
damn you ipod, damn you itunes, damn you nikeplus, damn you fujitsu, damn you marathon runners who now are laughing all the way around the track.

nike+ is more like nike-.

you can't run and you can't hide either.

why is it so difficult to study for this awful test? i think i'd rather have a root canal done without anesthesia simultaneously with a pap smear done by someone who has intense hatred for anyone with a female reproductive system (embellished from Dead Like Me).
why is it so difficult to begin running again? maybe because i can't get off my lazy ass and i lose my breath going down the stairs after gorging fast food lunch.

approach avoidance.
fear of failure.
or more like fear of totally sucking.

mi madre.

can one disown one's own parents?
how did my mother get this way?
was she always like this?
how bad was her childhood anyway?
did she even have one?
or was she born into a constant unhappy bitter state of adulthood?
why does she always find something bad to say?
why is she always so bitter and angry?
would it kill her to be nice and positive?
probably, because she's apparently alive and well in spite of her bitterness.
i think there should be a limit to how many complaints a mother can have about her children.
i think a mother should only be able to say good things about her children.
i think people should take parenting classes at a hardcore parental boot camp based in the middle of absolutely nowhere, deprived of all comforts of civilization, for at least 5 years before allowed to attempt to reproduce. that way they can appreciate the crap their kids go through when they clearly propagated without giving it any thought at all.
does everyone really need to reproduce?

i was talking to the geneticist i work with. i commented that the interior of his gas-guzzling lexus reminded me of a prius and asked if his car was a hybrid. he said no and said he opted to save his life (the size and weight of his car presumably would be safer should anything hit it) rather than the environment. i supposed that one wouldn't do much good if trying to save the environment if one was dead. ironically, he replied that one way to save the environment was to not be in it, rather dead.

damn, did i agree.

feeling bad to feel better

sometimes i think i just need to feel sorry for myself and wallow deeply like a sourpuss. to putz around in that personal darkness and despair. and when i'm done, i start to feel better. this week is proof. no amount of professional or personal support and encouragement seems to do the trick compared with time and the natural order of things. you have to just let emotions take their course, i suppose.

17.

http://georgemichael.com/

17 years
is infinity to wait
me and a million other fans
stood by with breath abate.
the second coming
of george michael of course
to get a concert ticket
i'd plow down ticketmaster's doors.
the clock moves so slow
oh why can't it be june
watching paint dry
would seem to happen more soon.
but soon i will gaze
upon a figure so divine
even if he weren't so gay
fat chance he'd ever be mine.