Honestly

Life is stupidly simple. I don't care which way you swing it. How many family issues you have, political disjuncts, millions of friends, lack of friends, diseases, what have you. Life is life and it is made up of elements that are so black and white; you're either yes or no.

Doing your job or not.
In love, or not.

Honestly, it's all about Honesty. Break it all down to the bare minimum and it becomes strikingly clear. It's simple, even despite, for example, all of the confines that New York State Law places on a procedure.

However simple honesty may be, it is often the hardest thing to face. But believe me when I tell you; face the scary monster, he's really just a facade before the truth.

How could there be any other way?

I am perfectly cognizant of the fact that there are inumerous ways in which one can carry out their plans, make decisions, prioritize and organize and frankly, I wish other people were as well.

This "pet peeve" of mine, I think, has shattered the pet peeze structure and crossed the line into being simply something I cannot stand. It proved this, when it broken several friendships or potential relationships up.

When someone offers an alternative, I am thrilled. Their input and advice is always so greatly honored and admired. However, when someone offers their advice with full passion that their answer is the pinhole into eternity, I am hurt and irritated by their lack of realization that hmm, perhaps I put some thought into my actions, too.

You see, just about everything I do has a great amount of thought behind it. If it doesn't, I'll be the first to admit it. And when someone else comes in with their (certainly, thrilling) idea, undercutting the fact that I chose my way for a reason, I choke on my explanation in anger and just shut down.

These were the first starlings into my realization that I tend to think differently. My second clue was that I have synesthesia. My third, that I almost always disagree, argue, "guess wrong" or just think differently than class collectives, teachers, advisors, etc. I knew I was either frighteningly brilliant, or disgustingly dumb.

Here's what conclusion I've come to. I say all the time, that I have not lived a normal life thus far. I have experiences that have effected the way I behave and think. I had a true test, this past weekend. I was point blank asked why I was doing something a particular way, and the answer was based on an experience no one my age has had yet.

Mystery solved. I'm not necessarily wrong, and neither are you. Just different. And I like my way better =)

Check

Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it – don’t cheat with it. (by Rebecca Tabor Armstrong)

Selfish

I realize that my posts have slowly turned into quite the introspective and honestly very selfish sessions of almost diary-like thoughts.

What if dance got ripped away because fat knew something else was coming..and that if all my heart was in dance I wouldn't give it to Him...


What if now I don't want him anymore....

Rotten

I just wrote a great post, and came to a really great conclusion. It was all about healing, and how sometimes "moving on" isn't what your mean't to do or want to do, and really sometimes we just want to go backwards.

Unfortunately, going backwards isn't an option, and going forwards is something that can't be helped. So sometimes we need to take a snapshot, and just keep that memory forever.

It was a great post, really. Quite strong, and the colors were all right.

Except I didn't agree with myself. I don't want to take a snapshot of the 15 years I spent slaving on a dance floor, I want to keep going. I could show you the spots of blood on the floor that belong to me. My heart beats to the music. I had beat the odds already. I'm not ready to heal, I don't want to heal, I can't heal. So when going back isn't an option, and moving forward is inevitable, and a snapshot is just a cheap, two-dimensional version of the love of your life, what happens then?

I died. And I don't know how to come back to life. And I don't really know if I want to.

Rotten

I'm a great healer. I can bounce back like rubber band. Resilient, bending and not breaking, agile, the whole lot. Generally, this is because I never really let things get to close to me, but c'mon, that's neither here nor there.





I've been through alot of what I call "bee stings". It's like a huge massive tragedy when it actually occurs and it stings like crazy. When you hold an ice cube against it, the ice cube just melts and you get all wet and messy, and then the summer sun gets to you for a minute or two and your good again. But no one can deny that bit of fear that clutches the pit of your stomache everytime you hear that little demon buzzing around you..probably for the rest of your life.





Then there's the time when your goldfish dies. You tossed the ring around the coke bottle and picked "Butch" up at the county fair. Two days later he's belly up and your left with a full canister of fish-pellets (can't figure out what these are made of?). I cried.





Whether it's the half a dozen scraped knees or bee stings, or the couple of fishy tragedies, we've all, I'm sure, had our fair share of let downs and heart breaks. We are quick to grab the tub of ice cream and begin the healing process - usually.





But what I'm feeling is a less-than-eager sensation to heal. I actually, don't even like and can't even grasp the fact that I got hurt after all. Sure, this is the "denial" part, but when I guess that I'm in denial I realize that's a step in healing and I dig my heels into the ground all over again. This is a scary standstill and I keep trying to force time to move backward which HELLO, doesn't work. But I refuse to move forward as well.





Maybe some things aren't meant to move at all. It's like Old Hollywood. We can't go back to it, but we can't keep ourselves from moving forward. Instead it belongs in a snapshot, to be gazed upon and learned from incessantly.

Fluid

I get cranio-sacral therapy because I have possibly one of the most oddly designed body and health systems on the earth. Although that is a story in itself, the actual therapy is ridiculously fascinating, and as I laid there on the table, I had an hour long session to compare it to life itself, as I do, because I'm weird.

First things first, you are powerless. Laying horizontal on a table. No feet on the ground, no head in the clouds. The focus is the spinal column, spanning from the Sacrum to the Cranium, and the spinal fluid that flows between and around the column.

The therapy essentially checks in on the flow of that fluid, and unjams any vertebrae that may be holding up the flow. The lack of proper flow has a list of negative effects the length of the Great Wall, just know it's bad news.

I'm no doctor, but there is a certain part of your sacram where when tipped back, it opens up and lets a rush of fluid flow through the rest of the column. You then tip it back to be sure the fluid will rush back in - and thus you'd have an open gate - good health.

My gate opens wide open, and apparently has a great rush. But it won't close...it never sucks back the fluid. It dries up, and remains stagnant. Only rushes it out into the rest of the column....

Here I go being all philosophical. How much "fluid" or "energy" do I pour into everything except ME? And how equally long is that list of negative effects when my energy gate is closed?

One effect of poor spinal fluid flow - which I have witnessed, thank you spinal tap, I hate you - is literally a knock to the floor. You feel like your brain falls out of your head; you go out of your mind.