Sleeping Beauty (Uncensored)

As another year closes in on me, I find myself nowhere closer to solving the Crisis, but in a much better position to continue life as if it always will be the Crisis.  As such, I am working on an entry to commemorate this section of my journey thus far.  It is a collection, of sorts, of lessons learned this year.

 

Hopefully that post will actually be created!  I find myself entirely scattered right now, and unable to believe that my birthday is but three days away.  At this moment, though, I am inspired to write through a theme that stems from a fundamental lesson I learned about myself this year, specifically as I relate to matters of the heart, the power of our believes to create our reality and my view of life as fate-driven.

 

There are many ways of looking for the meaning of the world. Some look to religion, some look to science, or philosophy. Myself, I look at a myriad of different schools, chose what I like from each (discard the rest) and have created my own meaning for my world. (We all have but one perspective, and each is unique to ourselves.) A major school within my meaning for my world is Astrology. There was a time in my early adult life where I read my horoscope first thing in the morning, took what I found to be true from its fairly generic guidance and enjoyed the rest of my day. After a few weeks of this, I discovered that more and more of my horoscopes were increasing in their accuracy…

 

This year, I have truly come to understand the concept of our ability to create our own reality. Basically, what this means - at the level I implying right now - is that my life began to resemble more and more of the horoscopes because I began to believe that the horoscopes were accurate. I woke up every morning, searching for what the day would bring, read a short blip that could have been applied to anybody's life but that I applied to my own because of the time of year when I was born, and then went through the rest of my day, aware of any situations that would correspond to that blip. Any time I came across a coincidence, my faith in the horoscope grew. I then became more aware of coincidences. I also put myself into more situations that the blips would discuss. My reality is but an interpretation of the life happening in front of me.

 

About two years ago, my mom recommended that I read The Power of Your Subconscious Mind. This year, I have truly come to comprehend its thesis. Of course, you can find similar arguments in other books that began this year in my journey. Louise Hay's You Can Heal Your Life and The Secret are two top ones. Essentially, if you believe strongly enough in something, it is real for you. Hypochondriacs are sick because they focus on a disease that is not there. The argument has several steps between that statement and this, but essentially, your subconscious mind is in control of everything. You are able to communicate to your subconscious mind about a condition within your body (or even your life) and that condition then exists. I do suggest that - if you are lost along this logic – you read The Power of Your Subconscious Mind and then, with a more open mind The Secret. For me, approaching this concept from a drugstore philosophy (The Secret) was not as effective as the powerful arguments laid out in The Power of Your Subconscious Mind.

 

Now that I comprehend this idea, what was happening to me years ago when I read horoscopes does not seem as coincidental. I create my own reality. With that understanding of the world, it is then not a surprise for me to realize that the astrology I read about myself at that time continues to manifest itself in the life of a twenty-something single girl.

 

"While Virgo guy may cling to what vestiges of virginity he might possess, Virgo girl can't seem to give it away. Most men have no inkling that she is actually the Zodiac's most eager beaver. She thus embodies the flip side of virginity: its inherent frustration. She must wait, playing her childish games, until such time as a tall, dark stranger reaches out and grabs, plummeting her into delightful depths of exploring aching, untapped desires. Unaware that true love or lust is best when it finds her, Virgo meanwhile looks for it in all the wrong places. Another seeming contradiction of Virgo, vis-a-vis its Virgin symbol, is the sign's association with midlife, ages 35-42, when a woman is, at once nearing her prime and the end of her fertile years."

 

A Frustrated Virgin at the time of first reading this, I had a much stronger and angrier association with it. Would I be stuck in this sexual purgatory of virginity until 35? The mockery of individuals similar to Steve Carell's character in The Forty-Year-Old Virgin made my anguish that much stronger. In fifteen to twenty years, that would be me! Am I some loser that is unable to interpret social cues and find the utmost joy in life – a relationship, love, and most importantly sex? To this day, I cannot stand any degree of mockery towards socially awkward people or virgins. It is a frustrating position, especially in our sex-obsessed society.

 

My interpretation of the above corresponds well with:

 

"Talk about loaded: Virgo is not only a whole lotta woman physically, she also places tremendous expectations on what another female might simply consider a crush. To most men, she is thus doubly intimidating - especially to the carefree "boys" she seeks to bed, to whom the prospect of a relationship with her is akin to staring into a gaping abyss. First, some of those guys she goes for doubt their ability to sexually satisfy such a zaftig creature. Secondly, because relations seem to be so sacred to her, "entering" a Virgo is like barging into a temple where most men feel unworthy to tread. Of course, being so different, she'd never suspect herself of making others feel insignificant - she'd just read it as rejection and internalize her pain, adding to those churning, burning, yearning feelings deep inside. It mightn't be until years later that Virgo finally appreciates the value of this natural weeding-out process: with lesser men - boys, really - kept at bay, it will be only the most self-assured "grown-up" male who won't be intimidated by this unspeakable force, instead, desiring her for it. Despite Virgo's designation as the Zodiac's empty vessel, she is nonetheless fairly incapable of being objectified by men - she is clearly so much more than a mere trinket. Still, it is particularly difficult for most men to resolve Virgo's double-barrelled aura of saintly sister and sexy mama."

 

Slowly, over the years, I became less frustrated about the entire situation. Using the above passage, I convinced myself that this patience would be worth it. Perhaps, like Sleeping Beauty, I would remain asleep for years until my prince finally arrived to wake me up to the beauty of being in love. Until then, I told myself, being single was not so bad. One night, alone in my room in England, I was able to convince myself that, although only 22, I had had a loving and fulfilled life. If this was all that there was to it, I would be ok as a spinster for the rest of my life.

 

Then, as every love story goes, I met somebody. I fell quite quickly infatuated with him, and he enjoyed my mind, my attention, and my eagerness to accommodate him. Perhaps he fell into infatuation with me as well. Sadly, his infatuation included other women as well and this was not what I could handle at the time. In an attempt to prove my point that this could not work, I ended up injuring myself more than him. Although I pretended that everything was okay, wiped the dirt from skirt, and held my head high as I left that small room, proclaiming once again that the life of a spinster would not be as disastrous as I would have previously thought.

 

Eventually, I healed enough from my injuries to start dating again. This "time away" from further schooling was in fact supposed to be about learning life lessons, not scholarly ones. Dating skills were part of the life lessons. As such, I treated each date as a new lesson learned and gained a wealth of information within the first few months. This portion of my rest for a hundred years (or at least the decade until my sign's turn to shine) would be the playing time. I could go on dates, meet interesting people, and actively observe how people go through these rituals. I was a social scientist, wasn't I?

 

I soon grew bored and starting looking towards school…

 

Then, as every love story goes, I met somebody. He was passionate, and self-made, thought outside of the box, and with one mere question opened up the floodgate to my dreams so that I could begin this last AMAZING year of my journey. For that, I am eternally grateful. He told me to do none of the things I began to do, but merely inspired me to wake up to the life I had wanted to live for the last ten years of my life. In a sense, he could be called my prince. Except that he was not as chivalrous a gentleman that I needed him to be.

 

And so I moved on…eventually. I cut my ties to the emotions he had stirred within me and reaped an immense freedom in sharing that with others. In a sense, he cured me of many of the ailments my initial slumber had only worsened. On the other hand, he brought to the surface the fact that I do possess a "natural weeding-out process." And so, I sit, a Sleeping Beauty hidden in the brambles, awaiting the true knight who will come and rescue me from this life so mundane and love-less.

 

Last weekend, I expressed my utter joy in the prospect of turning older. I believe that I am one of the few, if not the only woman in her twenties that is excited about her thirties. Of course, this doesn't mean that I won't enjoy my youth, pretend to already be older, or even act my real age half of the time. While many of my peers look at 30 as a time for their lives to have already been settled down, careers started and families soon to be had, I don't have many goals that must be completed before I turn the big 3-0. Especially none so dependent on other people, or lucky chances to occur. I look at my 20's as a time to continue to figure out life, gain some experience and meet some great people.

 

"What a great way to age!" most people must think. But that's not really it. I have successfully convinced myself that nothing will actually happen until I have hit "mid-life" (according to my horoscope, but not according to my plans to outlive 100). Until then, I am merely sleeping…and getting better looking every year!

 

 

Hello, my name is Crazy Girl

"Hello. My name is Crazy Girl.  I'd like you to meet my friend, here.  She's really nice.  No...in fact, she's $%#@in' amazing!  You'd be a moron to pass up the opportunity to get to know her.  I know she's not really that appealing in this moment.  That's 'cause she's letting me make all the decisions right now...and, really, who would ever trust somebody called Crazy Girl?

"You see, she's not usually like this.  It's just, that, well, she kinda sorta likes you. A lot. And, although she knows this is the wrong behaviour to do, she's scared of these emotions boiling under the surface. Last time she had them, bad things happened. People said a lot of things they didn't mean just a few weeks later. Words were thrown around too early; words meant a lot to her back then. Now she's kinda scared of those words. And the emotions that come before those words.

"It's alright. She'll recover.  Trust me, I've seen her go through MUCH worse.  You think you're getting it bad? You should have seen the first guy!  I'd be surprised if he ever even talked to another blonde after I was done with him.  I know he didn't say the same words 'cause I ripped out his tongue.  It just wasn't yet time for that special breed of $@#hole.

"Don't worry.  I've become milder with age, too.  I don't think you're all as stupid as you first let on to be.  And some of you actually seem to get hurt when I get the daggers out!?! Who knew you had emotions? I'll try to be gentle with you.  You're a nice one.  An improvement on the last one... I'm obviously doing my job of protecting this little darling from too many douche bags before one of you morons actually wises up enough to convince her it's okay to be herself.  She's ...well, you'll soon learn how special she is and then I'll disappear for a few weeks.  I wish I didn't have to protect her like this. But if you break her heart like the last one, my job just gets easier!

"Oh, one last thing before we let this all come to pass... You're over the last Crazy Girl you dated, right?  'Cause I can hold off a bit on her baggage, but I don't want to have deal with yours, too.  That's what your Stupid Boy is there for.  Let him come out to play for a little bit... I'd like to get acquainted. If this is gonna be a long-term thing, I better get use to seeing him around.  I've learned that she calls on me shortly around the same time that your little friend appears, too. Hey, and unlike her, I'm usually not the one who's late for the party!  Call on him whenever you smell me coming... No offence, but he's probably cuter anyways..."

Lesson: Patience

I explained the virtues of Friends to an age appropriate friend this afternoon.  Although conceivably difficult to imagine, I don't recall having explained these virtues before.  Let me take a moment now to rehash my explanation...

Those of us currently in our 20s have more than likely seen Friends enough through syndication to feel we know their stories inside and out. (Like my friend today insisted.) When you watch it from Season One to Season Ten, however, there are many lessons to learn from the characters as they matured through such an important part of everyone's life: their twenties.

Ah, the twenties!  The seeedbed of the Quarter Life Crisis.  (I find it odd that after three odd years of keeping this blog, I've never wiki'd the term.  It's quite interesting and applicable: read more here.)  After discovering those first few layers of the onion through adolescence, it is now time for the individual to meet the "Real World."  In doing so, more layers of that onion are revealed, .... and crisis ensues.

Friends begins with the six main characters all having established lives, faced with their own struggle to overcome.  There is the recently divorced palaeontologist, the romantically-challenged sexually-liberated sous chef, the new age aura-cleansing massage therapist (who doesn't really struggle until further in the series), the data processing wizzard who wishes he had a calling (but doesn't find it until nearly the last season), the actor (struggling is inevitably implied) and the girl who arrives, soaked from the rain, in a wedding dress.  This girl - Rachel Green - is the most screwed up, but becomes the most sophisticated, put-together character by the end of it all.  She is often the example I use in my head to know that things will get better.  Life will start to go in my favour.  This crisis, too, shall pass.

The series begins with the characters all approximately my age and completely lost.  It concludes, ten years later, with their lives more figured out, many tears shed along the way, but many many more laughs.  This, I believe is not only why I love this show, but why it did so well.  Although I am often laughed at for referring to my "Quarter Life Crisis," it does too exist.  It is easy to dismiss it as "your twenties" but the labelling of a crisis is always much more dramatic (and I do love the Drama of it all).

When I hit my low points, I put season one into the DVD player, and begin watching.  Occasionally I'll skip several episodes and go directly to The One with The Magic Beans (not the real title).  Rachel has only just begun to figure out how to serve coffee (but failing miserably at it, still) when her friends from her last life appear.  The "catching up" visit is cut short when they ask her: "so, when are you gonna give this up and come on home?"  Almost immediately, she realizes how much she gave up to pursue her true calling and it terrifies her.  She comes home to Monica and Phoebe having a margarita-infused slumber party, grabs the recently blended alcoholic beverage still in the blender, and begins to vent about her bad luck.  Within mere minutes, all three are depressed, feel completely lost in their life journey, and have no idea where they will end up.  THIS is a Quarter Life Crisis moment.

The beauty of television shows is that everything gets wrapped up within a 22-minute time-slot.  Of course, their hopes are not restored.  Phoebe's suggestion that Rachel is like Jack, who traded his cow (the life he loved) for some magic beans) fails to reassure all three young women with the despair that Rachel's crisis has created.  But, the seed (pardon the pun) had been planted.  They bond, as women do on tv, by watching (from their infamous balcony) a sexy politician take home a date. Stories of failed relationships, the possibility of dating their male friends, and regular chit-chat improve all of their moods and they are able to move pass this crisis test.  The next day, on the phone with the credit card company, Rachel has found her confidence once again and tells the company, watching her new friends play Twister and enjoy life, that everything is just fine, she's found her Magic Beans...

And that is not far from reality.  We cannot solve our problems by dwelling on them.  Venting about them is fine.  We allow others to know our grief, but then we must move on, trusting that everything will work out in the end.

What is far from reality is the time in which everything gets resolved.  For weeks, I have been waiting for my current dilemma to resolve itself.  I have meditated.  I have brainstormed solutions. I have sought advice from my friends.  But nothing has truly seemed to go in my favour until this week.  Things are starting to come together.  The universe shines in my favour once again.  And I am almost ready to tell the credit card company that "everything is okay.  I've found my Magic Beans."  Not yet, though.  There are still many things left to worry about.  Many other things to put into place.  Much work is left to do.  And trust me that the episode in which this all gets resolved has lasted much longer than 22 minutes!

Isn't that beautiful, though?

I remember when I used to watch television shows on a television network rather than on DVDs.  The show began, I was entertained for a half hour (with breaks), and then it was over for another week.  With DVDs, every evening I can sit down and watch a full year's worth of those short entertainments. Having to wait to find out what happens is no longer a problem.  But, I have missed out on a lot of those characters development.  To condense a week into 22 minutes is quite difficult.

Life shouldn't be condensed that way.  Those afternoons we spend sitting in the sunshine would have been editted out of any sitcom.  That run of customers we chatted with about the run we were doing in a few months time would have been shortened into a four sentence quip about curious minds while sharing my day in the coffee shop with my friends.  Those are precious moments, often eliminated from fiction for the purpose of flow.  And, I should be okay with that...

And one day, I will be.  One day, I'll be patient, look back and know that I got out of that last crisis, I'm sure I can get out of this crisis, too....

A Little Bit of...Writer's Encouragement from the Past

I'm currently packing up all my things (once again) and moving across town.  The most beneficial part of packing, I find is going through all of the "stuff" I have accumulated over the years and rationalizing whether or not I really need to keep it.  As a historian - or so I've made this point before - I have difficulty parting with the media of my past.  Yes, you may call me a hoarder for that!  But, I don't think there's much wrong with being nostalgic for certain things from our past.  A prime example of this is my writing assignments from elementary and junior high.  As I sorted through a three-ring binder filled with schoolwork circa 1990-2001, I realized that I truly had talent as a young writer.  Where it went, I am currently on the search for...

I have a shady memory. Discussing a recent weekend, a friend asked if I had truly been drunk enough to blackout.  "No, I never blackout," I told her.  "But I have a bad memory as it is...and sometimes I chose not to remember a lot of what has happened, whether or sober or not." I feel this applies to my childhood quite profoundly.  Thus the necessity for continuing to keep so much more of the artwork from that time of my life.  The rest of the memories - the people, the places, the situations, embarassing moments - can be forgotten, reminisced over with the friends those people have become in my life, again, revisitted, and re-friended based on who they are now rather than who they were back then.

I do have a fairly functional memory for songs, though, and this is one that always makes me tap my foot.  In grade nine, I wrote a report drugs and Hollywood.  Like many blossoming teenagers in small towns with nothing else to do, I was obsessed with learning as much as I could about show biz.  As I became more involved with doing too many other things with my life, this obsession faded.  This song marks the hallmark of my obsession with Hollywood.  It was re-worded from Lou Bega's hit at the time: Mambo No. 5 (A Little Bit of...).  Whenever I hear the song today, I am taken back to the Health classroom (our junior high theatre), half of the girls in my grade nine year (as we had to be separated for Health/Gym class at that age) and the accolades I received for standing in front of them all, just singing as best as I terribly could.  I was like Weird Al Yankovic, but way way cooler ;-) ... and he was pretty cool back then!

Several months ago - perhaps even years - I tried to find the version of the song that I had written.  It was only tonight, looking through an old old box that I finally found it!  So, I thought I would share it...

I really hope you remember how this song goes.  If not, open this link in a separate window and read the lyrics to the rhythm...

Mambo No. 5 (A Little Bit of...)


One, two, three, four, five
Every one in show biz, says "Let's get high!"
Get the time, on probation, it's all right
Tool man says he got some if you want it
But really don't wanna
Big bust like he did in seventy eight
He must stay clean 'cause cops are keen
Just like Dreyfuss, Downey, Demi and Rio
And as I continue, you know they're getting stronger
So what do they do, I really beg you, my Lord
To them smokin' is part of a role
Any deal does, it's all good, let them dunk it
If they want it with a crumpet...

A little bit of cocaine in their life
A litte bit of heroine by their side
A litte bit of alcohol is all they need
A litte bit of drugs is what I see
A litte bit of smokin' in the sun
A litte bit of parties all night long
A litte bit of death, here I am
A litte bit of drugs makes you their man

Rain Pryor was a druggie and now helps teens
Demi in the eighties wasn't keen
Recently the same is Charlie Sheen
Ben Afleck's dad and Rachel Leigh Cook
Get the message across without being shook
Clap your hands once and clap your hands twice
'Cause it looks like some peeps are doin' it right

A little bit of River lost his life
A little bit of Belushi on the other side
A litte bit of Bowie got all he'd need
A litte bit of Feldman in the nineties
A litte bit of Freddie's dad is gone
A litte bit of Presley and his songs
A litte bit of Barrymore and her dad
A litte bit of help keeps it a fad.

Some do all to keep away from drugs - P.U.!
They can't run and they can't hide
Most celebs just wanna touch the sky!

A little bit of Elvis in my life
A little bit of Corey by my side
A litte bit of Phoenix is all I need
A litte bit of Charlie is what I see
A litte bit of Rob Lowe in the sun
A litte bit of Farley all night long
A litte bit of David Bowie, here I am
A litte bit of drugs give lessons to them all.

Juggling

"Five jobs?"
"Yep."
"Five?!?"
"Yeah, still hasn't changed."
"How do you do it?"
"Oh, well, you know, I like to keep several balls in the air, switching from one thing to the next as often as I can. It helps inspire me ..."

BULL$#%&!

This is my life right now.  A few months ago, I actually took the time to count how many different forms of employment I was keeping and realized that it was legitimately five.  Three of them are working independently for myself, which I call the "soul jobs"; one of them is no longer in the picture; and the fifth is a laid back serving gig that brings me into contact with a lot of interesting individuals who are helping me grow and become a stronger artist.  Sadly, that growth becomes addictive, the lure of the actual paycheques keeps me focused on only the money-making jobs, and my real ticket out of this life of juggling gets lost beneath a desk overflowing with papers from the "In" basket.

I came home tonight with the thought of starting to pack - a moving-into-a-cheaper-place chore my lack of a genuine income produces - but ended up baking for a fundraiser tomorrow: just another "growth" task I've decided to take on! As I finished washing the dishes from that task, I realized what I'm doing to myself...I'm procrastinating my way into failing as a writer!?!

So, instead of turning on some music to numb my soul while I begin the arduous, yet enjoyable task of sorting through my things and preparing to start a new life again, I opened up the laptop, typed away at the keys and put in a half hour's work at job five of five.  One day, I know, that will be job number one...but until then, I just gotta keep writing.  Even if it means putting down the other four balls for a moment to catch my breathe.

Purpose: Joy

I sit at my computer, watching an inspirational vlog from one of my mentors, with my cat sitting in my lap.  I absent-mindedly stroke his back as I soak in the information from my computer.  As the vlog comes to a close, I realize that he's quietly purring like mad, and probably has been the whole time.  I wasn't even thinking about the exchange we were doing: him comforting me by warming my lap and keeping me company while I worked; me comforting him through stroking his soft fur.  The experience was a simple exchange of love between animal and human - two beings who have found themselves together, found themselves in love with one another, and easily enjoying each other's comfort.  Few relationships in my life have existed like this until now, so it is important for me to reflect on the simplicity of it all.

Jito (heat-o, short for "Naranjito," meaning "little orange one" in spanish)

finds a new place to sleep, on an empty shelf in my closet.

Why do cats have soft fur?  Biologically speaking - as a non-biologist - there is no good reason for a cat to have soft fur.  Logically speaking, it is because they groom themselves whenever they have a chance, and their saliva makes their fur softer.  But why?  What purpose does it serve?

Having studied the history of sexuality and sexology, I have come across several sexologist experiments trying to explain this very thing in relation to orgasms, pleasure and sexual acts.  About a hundred to fifty years ago, modern sexologists were preoccupied with explaining female orgasms.  On a reproductive matter, it doesn't matter; although, for centuries, the people who we would now call sexologists - and society as a whole - believed female orgasm was necessary for conception.  After the Victorian period, and the making innocent of female sexuality (which began prior to the Victorians), female pleasure became less important, but babies were still born!  How could this be?!? dead scholars would have thought.  Once people began to recognize, once again, that women could enjoy sex as much as men, the real pursuit of trying to understand this began.  At least, as far as the modern history is concerned. (I'm not trying to deny that people were probably puzzled by many of the same things that puzzle us now, I'm just not sure of the extent of preoccupation that less modern individuals concerned themselves with these things as I have not look as indepthly into the area of history of sexuality, which is a shame in itself.)

Do we really need to have a reason for joy, though?  Or pleasure?  Do we have to understand the benefits of happiness more than the fact that it is a great emotion?  I know that I pursue happiness, pleasure, joy, and all those other positive emotions on a daily basis.  I pursue them to the extent that my greatest grievance is pessimistic people. (If you are pessimistic, at least be sarcastic, so that I can continue to enjoy your presence, please.)  Does this make me a better person than those who do not?  Maybe.  I don't really care, any more.  You can call me selfish if that makes you feel better about my apathy towards being measured successful based on popularity, wealth, or even health.  I know that those three are also important things to have in your life, but all of them mean nothing if I'm not first of all happy with who I am, where I am, and what I'm doing.  Who needs wealth if you're miserable all of the time?

Jito's favourite box to hide in for a few months was my laptop case. 

I'll never really understand why...

 

So, why do I live with a cat?  He doesn't catch the mice in my building, as I live on the eighteenth floor. (And, as our last adventure outside proved, I'm pretty sure he can't catch something unless it comes from a can, anyways.) He won't protect me from house invaders, although he does attack the feet of the dates I bring home that turn out to not be worth my time nor energy. His version of helping me prepare meals involves hiding in the cupboards whose doors I acidentally leave open.  And he likes to think of cleaning as a game of "catch the broom" rather than a chore that must be done weekly (or monthly as it has become - I know: disgusting!).  His mere presence in my life is to bring joy to it, and this stumps many people.  My veganism tends to stump the same people, though.

Jito's attempt at "gardening" when I left him alone all day. 

Needless to say, we don't try to grow cat nip anymore....

As a vegan for animal rights issues, I struggled at first with the notion of "owning" a pet.  To appease myself, I never refer to myself as his owner, because I am not.  He was never purchased, nor bred, for my amusement. I care for him and provide for his food, healthcare and housing.  He pays me back with cuddles, when he wants to cuddle, games of "chase me" or "chase the laser" when I feel I should be working, and the constant reminder of why I could never eat another animal again.  He is my constant reminder of why I devote my life to activism to animals and not humans.  He has no voice that other people hear.  He communicates to me in ways that even other animal lovers think are strange, but which I understand.  We have a special bond, and nobody could ever come between that.  You can call me the "crazy cat lady" if you want; I can handle it.  If I had to spend the rest of my life only with him, I won't deny that I would be lonely, but I would still be happy.  He brings me joy.  And that's all I need.  That, and undying love.

I remember the first day I met home and held me in his arms.  He cried at first because this was a new experience.  Within five minutes, though, he had snuggled into my belly and made himself at home.  We fight and argue about the most insignificant of things (like biting my ankles, cleaning out the kitty litter, biting my books, or feeding him the good food), but we always go back to that first day, and the first cuddle, and I know exactly why he's here.  Some people search for the perfect breed, the cutest kitten, or the animal they'll most save.  I didn't search for Jito, but we were always meant to be together.  Like a parent with their child, my love is undying and my obsession with him baffling to those who have never been in the same situation.  Unlike a parent with the child, our life spans differ, and I know this fact every single day.  And the saddest thing to ever think about is the day he'll die before me...

Jito, as a kitten, tiring of the photo session and just wanting to cuddle...

That's a lot of pessimism, though, so I'll hide it under the bed.  For now, I plan to just enjoy our time together - the good, the bad, and the ugly cuts he makes on my arm.  Yes, I live with a cat; and I think radical thoughts about the relationship I have with another species.  That's who I am.  It means I have a huge capacity for love, a great openness to ideas outside of the box, and a wonderful understanding of the simple pleasures of joy.  If only every one could live with the purpose of finding that joy, we might all be a little bit happier.

Also, I think cats have soft fur merely so that humans will enjoy petting them more.  They are companion animals, aren't they?

Watching the world go by from the top of his penthouse, overlooking my living room window. 

From here he watches the "ants" of students on their way to school, work, or just out for a casual stroll. 

He likes watching the world go by in front of him...

Pass It On

I'm here.  I'm a hippy.  Get Used To IT!

I had a friend ask me the other night if I could possibly do something not because it was different.  He was mocking me, of course, for the helter skelter explanation I gave for chopping off my hair because my other sisters were growing theirs out.  This was not the first time I had been asked this question before, and I know it won't be the last.  Many people think I do things JUST to be different, but that's not the case. Always...

Last night I defended my dietary and lifestyle choice of veganism to my parents.  Again.  After seven years, my family is finally coming to accept this single act of rebellion from my teenage years as my life, not a phase.  As I provided rough statistics, dietary study findings and other "health" reasons to justify my diet (I'm pretty sure that this is not a common conversation between mid-twenty-somethings and their parents, but it seems to be an ongoing topic for myself), we got on to the topic of debates.  Somehow, it was brought up that information from both sides (pro- and anti- vegan, more often related to a compassionate lifestyle than not OR pro- and anti- mainstream, which currently suffers from a multitude of health problems that even mainstream advocates are relating back to nutrition) should be used in the discussion and decision of a healthy diet.  My strongest comment on the discussion was that "when you're trying to shift a paradigm, sometimes you have to stand on your side of the fulcrum and use every scrap of an anomaly against the mainstream in order to shine light on the fact that it's not the only thing out there. Then, slowly, people will move closer to your side of the scale, so you don't have to shout as much."

Luckily, for my friends and family, I am different.  I won't go with the crowd just because it's there.  I'll watch the crowd, be fascinated by it, analyze it to bits and pieces (which used to cause massive anxiety problems), but have never really felt a part of it.  Now that I've realized this, I'm using this "Gift" to create a world where I'm not different, but I'm a leader.

I have a huge heart.  I care too much for others, and struggle to balance out my care for myself.  I've used this before as a "weakness" in a job interview.  I throw myself passionately into so much else, and have struggled to comprehend why other people can't.  It is my "Gift."  I feel like it's the reason that I'm here. 

My sister told me once, in high school, that I was going to change the world.  It took some time, but eventually I began to believe her, and I know that my great strength in compassion for those without voices, passion for causes without mainstream backing, and my ability to analyze rather than participate in the paradigm is how I'm going to do it.

As such.... It's beautifully sunny out here today, my bike needs a good tune-up.  Searching for the available times at my local bike shop, I stumbled upon this lovely video while planning out my afternoon.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I have:

If I Ride