Blahdiddly.

Oh man, check out that treacly shit below.

Lord.

But you know, at least I wrote. Even if it’s a bit “the power of meeee” for my tastes. Not that I didn’t mean it, I most certainly did, but I hope I can find a better way to express myself in the future. Maybe if I just write and post every day, no matter how crappy, I’ll eventually stumble across something worthwhile. I’ll ramble, I’ll whine, I’ll talk about nothing at all, as long as I just write.

And so today, I talk about ME. My favorite topic.

My birthday was pretty good times, all things considered. It was a strange day, though, because it didn’t feel like my birthday. I had a great time and was spoiled by my family and boyfriend and ate delicious, food, but it just didn’t feel like my birthday. There was no magic.

Maybe I’m just getting old.

But whatever, it was fun. I went to yoga in the morning, went on a picnic with  my boyfriend who then went shopping with me and watched my bu a cute dress and top. He tried to get me to give him a blowjob in the dressing room and I was like “eh”. He did buy me a very pretty hair flower that I picked out, but the remainder of my present comes next weekend because he didn’t budget for it. Or, really, budget at all. His money issues increasingly piss me off, but that is not the point of this post.

As evidenced by a balloon my father bought me that we attached to my chair at dinner (yes, I’m five), “It’s my birthday and it’s all about me”.

Speaking of dinner, it was delicious. I had duck ravioli in mushroom sauce (OMGMUSHROOMSLOVE), and a white asparagus appetizer, and a mojitooo. After we ate I opened my gifts (I’m spoiled rotten and got everything I wanted), then just chatted with my parents a bit before bed.

Oh, and we took our new puppy to the dog park. PUPPPYYYY.

Anyway, that was my day. Perfect, but oddly lackluster.

Maybe because I’m happy almost all the time now, I don’t need the artificial happiness my birthday usually gives me.

Things I Am

In my yoga classes, the instructor has been talking a lot about our perceptions of our bodies and our selves, and how our self-worth is all tied up in all these things that aren’t even real. I’m starting to understand more and more that I am not defined by the things I am not, by my flaws or shortcomings or failures. These are other people’s judgments on me, society’s constraints, my self criticisms.

I am not subject to your expectations, I am not defined by your thoughts.

I am not my weight.

I am not my diseases.

I am not my likes, my dislikes, my hobbies, my talents.

I am not the clothes I wear, the money I have, my apartment.

I am not my self-esteem, my fear, my anxiety.

I am not the food I eat.

I am not the strength of my body.

I am not my age, the wrinkles beginning to form under my eyes, my loss of innocence.

I am not anything that can be measured or weighed, I am not anything that can be deemed unworthy, I am not you and I most certainly do not want to be.

I am a lot of things. I am a lover, a fighter, a wisher, a dreamer. I am laughter, I am smiles, I am tears, I am emotions. I am my love of solitude. I am the curve of my hip and the movement of my arm, however it moves, for however long. I am my future, my past, but I am not defined by my choices or my mistakes.

I am.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I turn 22.

I don’t know what to write. I don’t know if I want to talk about the ways I’ve fucked up in the past, the time I’ve wasted or the things I didn’t appreciate, or if I want to talk about my hopes for the future, the way my body mind and soul are changing to promise a better life.

So for now, I’ll just say that I’m looking forward to tomorrow, and all the days that come after it. Things are not perfect and they may never be, but for now. I am happy.

I am happy. It’s been a long time.

Happy March!

All my best intentions to start off this blog with a b-a-n-g and post near-daily were for naught, but it isn’t my fault. No really, it’s not. I was a busy little hummingbird for ten days in early February with the Santa Barbara Film Festival. I was completely ready to blog about it, and write little reviews of the numerous movies and events I went to (OMG SANDRA BULLOCK I LOVE YOU, Roger Durling please GOD stop doing interviews) …but that didn’t really happen. And when that didn’t happen, I didn’t try to write anything else, and well…

Hello, March!

Boy, you came fast.

You know, it’s my most favorite of all the months. Hence, the pseudonym I’ve chosen. Mostly it’s the best of the dozen months because my birthday is March 14th, about smack dab in the middle, casting a glow over the thirty days because it’s all. About. Me.

I’m kidding. Sort of.

Really, though, it’s a beautiful little month.  March has a light happy air to it, either because of the promise of spring or the end of winter or a week off from school when you’re still a student. Maybe it’s just the joy of celebrating the day of my birth. Even through less-happy times, I have always loved my birthday, and my best moods tend to surround Pi Day, 3.14. I love the numbers when they appear on clocks and pages, I love the pastry it represents, I love the knowledge that those I love will always show it on that day. And, usually, I’ll show that love to myself. For a little while.

That light happy March air that has never escaped me before is certainly hovering around me this year and it’s never been better. For the first time the feeling that my birthday gives me far surpassed by the joy I’m just getting from…life, right now.

I’m just having some good days.

Anywho, this doesn’t need to turn into a long rambly post. Those can come later.

I just wanted to wish the world at large a Happy March, and I’m planning to be writing soon.

Hopefully.

If I give this a title, I have to give ALL posts a title. Oy.

I’ve tried more than once to keep a blog, and have always failed rather miserably. I don’t know if I run out of things to say or if speaking to the emptiness of cyberspace gets to me, but my endeavors have never lasted more than a few weeks.

This is true of most things, for me. I’m a bit of a commitment phobe, at least when it comes to things like this. Motivation for me is a tricky busineess, depended on factors both in and out of my control, and hard to hold onto for the time it takes to acheive anything. The things I do succeed at, like getting a college degree for instance, are generally because of pure luck and not any amount of effort on my part. I hate trying too hard because if (when) I ultimately fail, it’s a hell of a lot more painful.

Obviously, this is not good. I’ve come to realize over the last few months that I tend to float along in the proverbial river of life, paddle at my feet and hoping the power of my wishes becomes wind to push  me along. This silly metaphor could expanded further, even, if I were to consider the way most of my choices in life have been guided by something other than myself, a wave that crashes me against a rock and changes my path without my consent. I don’t fight against the waves, though, I don’t try to forge my own path or try to change my direction. I simply coast, and coasting has led me to the place I am now, a place I’m not too fond of, and very much would like to leave now please okay thanks.

For the past couple of years I’ve lost touch with who I am and what I want out of life, lost all connection with my body and soul and wants and needs. I don’t like who I am when I look in the mirror, or when I’m laying in bed and going over and over all the stupid things I think I’ve said over the past day, week, year. I obsess, I criticize, I judge, I worry, I panic, and then I eat. ‘Tis a vicious cycle of depression I’ve found myself in, and all I want is to leave it behind.

I have a plan.  Now, granted, I’ve made plans before and abandoned them very quickly. I’m fond of list making and scheduling, which (as my therapist tells me) satisfies my need to be productive without actually…being productive. However, this time is going to be different (hopefully). At this point in my life, if I don’t make the changes I need to now I may never will. I don’t want to spend my twenties fat and miserable.

I’ve already made steps forward that give me hope that maybe I will change this time. It’s not just about losing weight, or being hawt, or fixing all the things I think are wrong with me. It’s about learning who I am and loving that person, flaws and all. Or maybe it’s about becoming someone that I can love, I’m not sure yet. Sure, I’m spouting a lot of therapeutic “POWER OF MEEEEE” BS, but it’s clearly what I need right now.

So, I’m working on it. I’ve signed up for a three day introductory yoga seminar in few weeks, for instance. I abhor exercise with every fiber of my sizeable being, and it’s been verboten for the last few months per instructions from my therapist/nutritionist. But I’ve been aching to move lately, to try something, anything, and I’ve always thought that I might fall in love with yoga. Inner peace. Bendiness. Right up my alley.

And I’m writing. See: this blog. As the deliciously witty Nick Hornby apparently said:

I always presumed that I would be a writer, without actually doing any writing. I think I thought I was going to get a phone call from somebody one day saying they had a vacancy for a novelist. When I realised that this wasn’t going to happen I thought it was about time to do something.

(Saw this on Shapely Prose.)

I’ve always loved to write, and occasionally I’ve even done it consistently for an extended period of time, but mostly I like to call myself a writer without doing a whole lot of actual writing. If I don’t start now, I’ll probably just be a cubicle rat for the bulk of my twenties, which…no. Thanks, but no.

And thus: da blog. I’ll ramble an awful lot about  myself here, ’cause I’m a narcissist that way and clearly my mental state needs some reflection. I’ll probably write a lot about pop culture, too: movies, TV, ohmygodwhatisshewearing. I was a soc major in college, so a bit of that might creep in. And I do so love a good piece of fiction every now and again.

So basically, I’m going to spout some fascinating things here. You should probably read it.

(You, obviously, being…anyone who happens to wander by. *wave* Hi!)