My Vie Boheme

Here's to...
too-small apartments, lack of parking, and a prison-sized sink; to bunkbeds (To bunkbeds!) and food made of soy; to IMs, invoices, someone sleeping on your floor; to snowpants and 11 people digging out your car; to breadboard philosophies and half-baked theories; to zombies and the coming apocalypse; to late-night grocery store runs and staying up with friends; to garage sales, curbside junking and dumpster diving; to nerds downstairs who download the world; to simplicity and electricity; to job applications, posts and rejection letters; to getting "hammered and sickled" with Leninade; to praising God when you didn't get a job you really didn't want; to sleep overs and dinners (in the same evening), Goodwill and Dollar Tree presents; to kneading, baking and bagging bread; to roadtrips that empty your pockets but enrich your life; to hostels, gum walls and weddings you never reach; to salmon and ratatouille and splurging for a Rolling Wok feast; to gardens and muddy shoes; to bicycles and the punks who steal them; to searching Craigslist and sipping mate from gourds; to animation and good films; to gnomes, used books shops and maps; to ninjas and pirates; to classic rock, real musicians and mashups; to futons that creak; to minimum wages jobs and the co-workers who become an odd family; to paper lifesavers and Dinner Roast holiday meals; to experimental cooking and butternut squash; to a clean apartment, incense and a warbly parakeet; to knowing "it too shall pass"; to the comedy of errors that is being independent; to steady (and floozy!) clients and PDFs with corrections; to odd design jobs and random inspiration; to hats, musicals and outcasts; to photo shoots, skinny dipping and lost pets; to questions that often don't get answered; to wondering if I'll make rent; to opera and coffee and the animal crackers you dip in it; to a family who makes you laugh and somehow cry; to shuffling a deck of cards called "Beliefs" and sitting quietly to hear silence; to yoga, to yoga, and 24-hour diners; to $5 worth of fries and curse-word therapy; to blogs, bloggers and vinyl; to profiles, pictures, information overload and the power button to turn it off; to too many books, farmers markets and bartering; to three-green salad (or was it four?); to free music, lunches and sweating through the summer to save on electricity; to an AC that leaks cold winter air and broken coffee pots; to closets being for clothes, shoes, odds and ends but not people; to Tardis and Sherlock; to being wrapped in blankets because there is minimal heat; to a teddy bear that shares a bed with you; to being drowsy after watching a winter solstice lunar eclipse; to Spanglish and breakfasts that consists of huevos rancheros, coffee, tortillas, beans, and avocados; to being (technically) poor but feeling like the world is yours; to dreaming in ink and laughing at life; to a group of friends that will "never be old enough."

Viva my vie boheme!

For the first time in a long time I believe I experienced raw, uninhibited joy. Not sure where it came from, as the thoughts preceding this resembled nothing close to it.

Honestly I think my body forgot how pure happiness felt because it wasn't sure what to do. It was like Jack Skellington marveling at Christmastown and wondering, "What's this? What's this?" My heart hurt a bit, similar to a muscle you haven't exercised in ages. I couldn't contain it and teared up, lest I spontaneously combust.

A crooked, tired smile crossed my lips as I drove home on a semi-melted snowy I-80 West. Feelings don't fade, and this was something I needed to know still lived within me.

Everything will be OK. I will forgive and be free. God it feels beautiful.

Not really. I'm fascinated by medical oddities but my overly empathetic nature makes me flinch whenever I see Dr. House's team make an incision.

Part of my wonderings stem from my lack of a degree-related vocation. Maybe I'm being too picky, but what ever happened to finding a dream job? Something that brings relevant experience would be fine in the meantime, but no one seems to want someone without enough experience. Wait, how the hell am I supposed to get it then? *Puzzled look on face*

This is why maybe I should've been something boring: an accountant, a nurse. No, not boring... Ah, "practical," that's the one. Society will always need medical attention, and a bilingual nurse would be an asset. "Yay" for affirmative action?

I'm not sure if "practical" is the life I want though; it's not one of my strong traits anyways. ;-)

Spinach, Forgiveness and Tape

Remember when Popeye would squeeze open a can of spinach, eat some, and save the day? His super strength wasn't permanent but it was enough to fix things back to normal, sometimes even better than before.

At the moment I wish I had something like that. I'm lacking emotional strength and I'm not sure what's holding me together. Maybe it's the promise that a light still flickers somewhere and the hope that I'll find it soon. I just know rolling over and dying isn't an option.

I've been holding a grudge and more bitterness and negativity than legally permissible for my not-quite-5-foot frame. It's drained me over time and today is one of those days where I'm really feeling the empty-ish tank. (Hormones aren't helping but that's no excuse.) I really wish it was materialized and I could take pills to cure it or take a bulimic approach to purging it. I'm afraid the amount would physically kill me though.

I'd drive to the edge of the map if I knew I could find the forgiveness I need to give and receive; it'd be a more refreshing find than Ponce's Fountain of Youth and more delicious than cartoon canned spinach. But right now, I need to hold myself together with some tape, glue, hemp, something, long enough to be OK and take that next step.

The Book(s) That Saved My Life

One I judged and picked by its cover; the other was a recommendation from friend and former professor, Mr. Blake. They were "The Life of Pi" and "Traveling Mercies," respectively. The former is the story of Pi and his plight to survive in a raft along with a tiger and the latter is Anne Lamott's thoughts on faith.

Though seemingly unrelated stories, they both deal with God, religion, faith, and survival, things I've been sorting out for the last who-knows-how-long. I love books, but these two make me believe lifesavers still come in paperback or hardcover. I think God in his almighty humour saw I was barely doggy-paddling through life and tossed them over.

The current me happens to relate to Ms. Lamott's spiritual stumble. (Sans the drugs, drinking and sleeping around.) I took "Mercies" with me to one of my counseling appointments and read an excerpt about religion and forgiveness; she said it better than I could've explained. As for Pi, he reminded me to be one of those who has "life-hungry stupidity." Survival, though held together with hope and belief, starts with oneself.

Pi, while floating in the Pacific, said, "My greatest wish -other than salvation- was to have a book." I'm so glad I do.

Mushroom, Mushroom

I went to Hy-Vee and poked around the mushroom bins while waiting for Kelly. I love 'shrooms. One day I'll make something amazing with Portobellos.

Anyways, I found Morel 'shrooms... for $11.99 AN OUNCE. Why are they going for that price if they're not even the magical kind?

Let's Get This Camry Started

Today I found my car quite dead about 45 minutes before work. Though she can't do anything from three hours away, I called my mom.

Afterwards I brought my friend Jameson's truck beside my car. A stubborn lever made opening the hood a struggle but I managed. I got my jumper cables, hooked up the truck and my car, and got the latter going. And I didn't even cross the wires.

It's something small, but I'm happy to know I can take care of myself. Here and there I learn something new and I get a little smarter, a bit more grown-up.