Purging the Healthy Way

No Mom - I am not bulimic.

I am in a mood to throw things away. Getting rid of excess is not just for spring cleaning, you see. I think it's wise to continuously pare down one's belongings and evaluate one's attachments to what one owns.

The problem for me is my definition of excess and the way I view any sense of affection for my possessions as being unhealthy and in need of dissolution.

For example: I do not like having two of anything. This ranges from black skirts to place settings to easy chairs to bottles of shampoo (and sometimes to kittens... NATASHA WILL YOU QUIT RUNNING AROUND). Sometimes, though, a person really needs multiples of things. I have been trying to come to terms with this. I have four whole wine glasses and two plates. I have two mugs for tea. And I have three black skirts. Yes, this makes me anxious, but I am trying to be okay with it.

I am not very attached to anything I own except for my kittens and my instruments. In some ways, I would like to have very few possesions that are exactly what I want and that I love. In other ways, I would like to feel as though I could give absolutely anything I own (with the aforementioned exceptions) away to someone who needed them without shedding a tear or looking over my shoulder. Sometimes I test myself by getting rid of things that I like, just to see how it feels. If I feel sad, then I have a nice talk with myself about the important things in life and how you can't touch them.

I am hereby acknowledging that this behavior is extreme. That is why, istead of getting rid of my coffee table or something else that I could justify "needing," I have decided instead to clean out my closet and purge worn out yoga clothes, unwanted apparel, and other useless clutter. Clutter being the key word, not anything that I am actually using.

And then I am going to meet up with Matt for MONGOLIAN BARBECUE and he has a very mysterious 'favor' to ask me, and hopefully it won't be something that makes my boyfriend want to maim him...

Untitled

It can be really overwhelming to think about a significant event in my life by tracing all the little details that led me there. It's scary because sometimes events are set in motion in such a way that, upon looking back, it seems incredulous that it all actually worked out and that nothing got in the way, and had I been ten seconds later or hadn't felt well or burned my dinner, that it would not have worked out the way it did.

In times when I can't fathom how our Creator has set in motion the events that have been ordained for us since the day we were born, I remember that even the hairs on our head are numbered. We are the answer to His question, and the question that He answers.

I Can't Relax

We got home pretty damn late last night (near 2am) and yet I still managed to drag myself to work. The day was pretty intense, and when I got home I fell asleep for about two hours. Which brings me to now and I hate this feeling, like I should be springing into action to make up for my weak will and lazy body that just crashed in the middle of the day.

I frantically did the dishes. Now I am thinking of re-stringing my banjo. And my bouzouki. And I should do some yoga since I will probably be skipping class tonight. Is David going to disown me? He'll at least be disappointed. I should clean. I should study. I should watch a film and return it to Netflix. I should check my work email. I should jog up and down the stairs a bit. I should go grocery shopping. I should clean my closet.

I should take a hint from my kittens and stretch out in a sunbeam and scrunch shut my eyes and breathe deeply and do nothing at all for the rest of this evening which I've dedicated to myself alone.

Why isn't that, like, simple?

Home Again

I apologize for the absence, dear readers (or as Patrick would say, I haven't been blogging enough blogging blog), but I've been up in New England for the past few days helping my grandparents celebrate their 60th wedding anniverary.

Sixty years. Can you believe it?

I'm finally home, and while I wait for my Annapolitan I'll be investigating the mystery of the Two Cute Kittens Who Did Not Get Taken Care Of Like Claire Said They Would. I'm more than dismayed. When I arrived they had no food or water in their dishes and yet there was food left in the bag - and there shouldn't have been if they were fed yesterday. That should have been all of it. Also, Natasha has a bloody gash on her shoulder. Now, I know my little girls tussle with each other from time to time (they are sisters, after all), but I've never seen anything go down between them fierce enough to draw blood. They must have been in the state of agitation that shelter kittens can regress to when left with dry plates.

Poor little girls. I'm glad to be home.

Le repas d'hier soir

Lamb chops stuffed with garlic cloves. A small breed of pasta with a very light tomato sauce. An expertly rinsed salad. Dubliner and pecorino cheeses with tomato and an airy cracker. Da Vinci Chianti.

A handsome Annapolitan slaving away for my affections.

Genius Annapolitan

I can't believe that I am 27-years old and just yesterday found out that Windows Media Player will slow the speed of a track without distortion.

This changes my life.

Explain Something To Me

Let it be known up front that I find cruelty to people, animals, minerals, vegetables, and musical instruments to be categorically abhorrent.

This condemnation, of course, includes dog fighting.

However, I am in an unfortunate business which requires me to think, from time to time, as an offender or criminal may think. I'm required to understand (not empathize) with an evil thought process.

So. If one has invested a significant amount of money into a dog fighting business and the dogs are not performing well, I can understand, on some level, why the dog would need to be put down. Cages, space, food - all these things cost money and can't be wasted on a dog that isn't fighting well. They can't be left for adoption as pets, obviously.

So I guess I always thought that killing a dog in this situation would be sort of a pragmatic undertaking. It's not meant to be a deterrent to other dogs, it's not punishment for the dog in question (because punishment is intended to influence future behavior, if something it dead it no longer behaves in any way at all). It's simply a matter of streamlining the business. So shoot the dog, or abandon it somewhere. Why in God's name would you drown the dog, or hang him, as Michael Vick recently admitted to doing? What is the point to the excess cruelty?

It just seems to me that a person in the business of dog fighting and gambling is a different sort of criminal than the sadist who enjoys inflicting pain for it's own sake. Perhaps I should consult a forensic psychologist, because I just don't get it.

Major Faux Pas

I totally suck right now.

Both of my kitties are months overdue for their distemper shots, and Natasha is almost a YEAR overdue for her rabies shot. So I finally got around to making an appointment to take them to the vet this afternoon.

I rented a Zipcar and raced home from work to pick it up on time. When I got home, I found all of their paperwork, ate a small snack, and went about the intense but usually uneventful task of putting them in their carrier.

Well. The cat carrier I bought for them when they were tiny two-month olds is now far, far to small for the both of them to fit.

So I had to call and reschedule my appointment. Ten minutes before I was due to arrive. Arrgghh.... that's just awful. My girls are probably happy to be spared the drama of a car-ride, for two weeks at least.

I have issues

The other day I ran out of G-strings. It's a really awkward thing to have happen in the middle of the week, let me tell you. Here I've been going work, going to yoga, going to the pub... all the while completely immodestly without any functional G-strings.

I found some temporary replacements, which John was kind enough to feel up for me last night (I saw the grimace... I KNOW! I'm embarassed enough as it is, thank you very much) but... temporary replacements really aren't working for me right now. I just feel so good when I have a high quality, tightly wound, slightly vibrating G-string.

For my bouzouki, people! Get yer minds out of the gutter.

Dream

I know it can be irritating/boring to read about other people's dreams, but I wanted to get this one down for my own edification.

Last night I dreamt that I was supposed to read Psalm 31 at my father's wedding. I know this was in part a day residue because yesterday on the metro I saw someone reading a book about Proverbs 31, and last night before bed I was reading a few Psalms. Also, let it be known that I stood up and read from the Bible at my father's wedding several years ago.

However, in my dream, it didn't work. First, I started reading but the microphone wasn't turned on. Then, once we got that figured out, the page I was reading from was folded over, so I ended up reading the first half, skipping the second half, and going straight into the last part. When I realized what I did, I tried to go back and read the part that had been folded under. Then the microphone stopped working and I couldn't hear myself at all. Then people started talking and not only could I not hear myself talk, I knew no one was paying attention.

This is an interesting variation of my recurring theme of not being able to talk on the phone in my dreams. I will try to dial, but end up with the wrong number. Or the wrong person will pick up. Sometimes I am trying to call my mom, or 911, and it just won't go through or I won't be able to stop dialling the wrong number or some random stranger will pick up.

Deeply frustrating.

Tired of Summer

I'm ready for autumn.

Summer clothes are starting to bore me. I'm craving the warm tones and luxurious fabrics of fall.

The cooler months are always my favorites. Everything settles down. I revisit the classics and enter a time of contemplation and waiting. Something about the clean air, changing colors, and later, a blanket of snow on the ground just signals a time of sitting quietly.

Rumi-nating

Borrow the beloved's eyes.
Look through them and you'll see the beloved's face everywhere.
No tiredness, no jaded boredom.
"I shall be your eye and your hand and your loving."
Let that happen,
and things you have hated will become helpers.

A certain preacher always prays long and with enthusiasm for thieves and muggers that attack him on the street.
"Let you mercy, O Lord,
cover their insolence."
He doesn't pray for the good,
but only for the blatantly cruel.
Why is this? his congregation asks.
"Because they have done me such wondrous favors.
Every time I turn back towards the things they want.
I run into them, they beat me, and leave me nearly dead in the road,
and I understand, again, that what they want is not what I want.
They keep me on the spiritual path.
That's why I honor them and pray for them."

Those that make you return, for whatever reason,
to God's solitude,
be grateful to them.
Worry about the others,
who give you delicious comforts that keep you from prayer.

Friends are enemies sometimes,
and enemies friends.

Consider a porcupine,
if you hit it with a stick, it extends its quills and gets bigger.
The soul is a porcupine,
made strong by stick-beating.
So a prophet's soul is especially afflicted,
because it has to become so powerful.

A hide is soaked in tanning liquor and becomes leather.
If the tanner did not rub the acid,
the hide would get foul-smelling and rotten.
The soul is a newly skinned hide, bloody and gross.
Work on it with manual discipline,
and the bitter tanning acid of grief and you'll become lovely
and very strong.

If you can't do this work yourself,
don't worry.
You don't even have to make a decision,
one way or the other.
The Friend, who knows a lot more than you do,
will bring difficulties, and grief, and sickness,
as medicine, as happiness,
as the essence of the moment when you're beaten,
when you hear Checkmate, and you can finally say,
with Hallaj's voice,
I trust you to kill me.

-Rumi

Last Night's Fun

At the behest of Josh and in honor of Christie's brief return, we rallied the troops last night and descended on Nanny O'Brien's, the scene of my entry into DC Irish Trad and of many a debaucherous, whiskey-filled session.

Wide Awake

My brother's girlfriend cooked a lovely meal earlier tonight: roasted leg of lamb infused with garlic and rosemary fresh from their garden, roasted vegetables, peach and mango cobbler, an amazing petit syrah.

It was a lovely evening filled with talk of the future and the finer things in life.

Then I dreamt the following, separately: that I seduced an Army Ranger, narrowly avoided an abduction that surely would have ended in my rape and murder, smuggled a piece of artwork. Something else macabre that I can't quite pull up, now that I'm awake.

It's 4am and I am tired of dreaming. I am tired of waking up every hour disoriented and shaky. I could feasibly sleep for five more hours before I need to get up for yoga. What are the chances my subconscious won't interrupt me?

What I Need Right Now

I have been sitting here for I-don't-know-how-long trying to articulate the longing with which I want to play the piano.

I miss my piano so much.

THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE

This is the Ashtanga jump-back. It happens about fifty million thousand times in one practice and I just do not get it. Many, many thanks to Roboramma for his always helpful YouTube videos. Maybe one day it'll click...

Hi Tina :)

I just love it when I have new readers, especially when they're people who know me in real life!

In other news... absolutely NOTHING has been going on lately.

Let's see... I'm reading Water for Elephants (novel), No Man is an Island (contemplative), and am about to delve back into the Claudius novels, which are some of my favorites.

I'm watching The L Word (netflix) and waiting eagerly for Season Three of The Office to be released on DVD.

It's freaking HOT outside.

The metro has been running really slow. My hair needs a trim. I played tunes last night and this morning my fingertips are sore. There are no good Irish trad streaming radio stations for me to listen to at work and I am too lazy to bring in CDs, so I am listening to the "Celtic" station which pretty much sucks.

That's it. Bo-ring. Sorry :)

Less Angst, More Nipple

Thanks for the sage advice, John.

A brief narrative update, which is what I resort to when the time for a more thoughtful post eludes me. Yesterday I attended a very interesting wedding and got to spend time in the car with Kyong-Ju (yay!) and her husband (grrr). We connected over a love of Korean film, which I imagine she just calls film.

The ceremony was in Korean and English. Not sure how the Spanish-speaking family of the groom were following along, but I assume that it had been discussed. At the reception the bride and groom changed into traditional Korean dress and there were some ceremonial elements such as bowing, etc, that were beautiful.

Korean food, Latin music, interesting people, and I didn't even need to partake of the vodka-filled flask that Gretchen brought along, just in case!

Tonight I am meeting some very interesting friends for dinner at Hook. And by interesting, I do not necessarily mean that any nipples will be involved, I just mean that they are both complex people and the conversation will undoubtedly go towards... shall we say... fringe topics.

Speaking of fringe, I recently watched an interesting documentary called The Lifestyle: Swinging in America (and I'm not talking about dancing). There were some nipples involved, just FYI, but they weren't necessarily attractive ones.

Off to yoga and I will try not to let my mind wander too much toward what gorgeous cuisine awaits me later on...

Welcome To My Hermitage

Ever since Matt and John have linked to my blog in various ways, I've been getting a lots of hits from interesting places around the country.

If you were teased by Matt's vague and romantic description, prepare to be disappointed - you won't hear anything of my day-job here. Just random musings that I promise will be of little interest (even to me!).

But please visit as often as you'd like. It's a joy to be hidden, but a tragedy to never be found.

I met a hot Korean chick last night

A friend of mine, who I helped save from blackmail and extortion by the people who used her for slave labor when she first came to the States, is getting married on Saturday. Last night was her bridal shower. I had bristled at some of the instructions ("wear pink!") but ended up having a pretty good time.

The bride is Korean and doesn't speak much English. Her groom is Hispanic and doesn't speak much English. Neither of the extended families speak any English. One of the bride's friends is from Togo. The hostess' roommate is Brazilian. We counted at least six fluent languages present (including ASL and English). I love that!

Some of the Korean bridesmaids were totally hot. Asian girls can get away with some very edgy looks that Westerners just can't pull off. I couldn't take my eyes off of Kyong-Ju and Emily. Metallic makeup, razored haircuts, risky fashion... I'm jealous, and slightly in love.