Good versus Bad, Shantaram Style

I'm currently reading the Indian epic, Shantaram. I have been feeling a bit nostalgic about India and decided to deal with it by reading as many Indian-themed books as possible. When shopping at a garage sale in Grand Junction my grandmother noticed the torn copy of "Shantaram" and insisted that I read it; it was obviously a sign from Ganesh, Hindu elephant God, himself (or a sign that the garage-sale ladies liked winding and dramatic romances). While it helps to satiate my wandering mind it's a far cry from the eloquent and spiritual "Siddhartha."

Yet, there is one section of the book that is particularly striking. The main character is receiving a lecture of the difference between good and evil and the determination of right versus wrong action. It is important to acknowledge the fact that the lecture if being issued from the mouth of the highest mafia don in the city to a former heroin-addict and new recruit. Still, I can't get the section out of my mind. Here's a quote:

"...The universe began about fifteen billion years ago, in almost absolute simplicity, and it's been getting more and more complex ever since. This movement from the simple to the complex is built into the web and weave of the universe, and it's call the tendency toward complexity. We're the products of this complexification, and so are the birds, and the bees, and the trees, and the stars, and even the galaxies of the stars. And if we were to get wiped out in a cosmic explosion, like an asteroid impact or something, some other expression of our level of complexity would emerge, because that's what the universe does. And this is likely to be going on all over the universe...the final or ultimate complexity- the place where all this complexity is going- is what, or who, we might call God. And anything that promotes, enhances, or accelerates this movement toward God is good. Anything that inhibits, impedes, or prevents it is evil. And is we want to know if something is good or evil- something like war and killing and smuggling of guns...- then we ask the questions: What is everyone did this thing? What would help us, in this bit of the universe, to get there, or would hold us back? And then we have a pretty good idea whether it's good or evil."

There are so many days when I go through my long list of "shoulds" and "to-dos" and effectively paralyze myself by asking, "What's the best?" When I attach so much meaning to this idea of effectiveness I enlarge the question to a case of right-and-wrong, good-and-bad. The inability to prioritize and see the truly inconsequential nature of decisions makes them so much larger than they need to be. Whether I order a sandwich or a salad is not a case of right and wrong; it is simply a case of needs and preferences. Will I inhibit the movement of the universe if I choose one over the other? Absolutely not. Even in less trivial matters the distinction becomes clear. I spent the greater part of yesterday debating about whether or not to apply for a job I had heard about. I ran through all the lists: pros and cons, potential outcomes, why I was being silly, why I was being reasonable. In the end, I applied. After all, I might not even get an interview. After I applied the roof did not cave in, the world did not stop spinning on its axis, and I went to bed relieved. Applying for that job was not a "right or wrong" decision. It was just another variable that the world presents us with.

As I further reflected on this statement I realized how applicable it is to choosing to act on disorder thoughts. For quite a while I've been operating on the idea that anyone could choose not to try to rid their lives of their eating disorder. This comes from the fact that I believe that the individual human life is rather inconsequential. We are really only the sum of what we make ourselves to be and the effect that we have on those around us. So, if someone wants to be sick, maybe even die from it, the impact is only as large as the effect they have on the world. If they want to choose not to effect the world around them and hide behind the body they think they should have, that's just one little speck of a decision in the grand scheme of things. They're choosing not to have a part, and that choice is an option like any other.

While I haven't completely turned away from this line of thought, the above passage did give me a new perspective on it. One must first determine whether having an eating disorder is an issue of right and wrong. According to my argument above, it's not really a choice of right or wrong, simply of choosing how influential one wants to be in the world. However, an eating disorder can also be a case of right-versus-wrong. It's obviously hazardous to one's health to act on one's disordered thoughts. Being disordered also causes undue hardship on those who one loves. But the real reason why an eating disorder may be considered "wrong" is enlightened by asking and answering the questions posed in Shantaram: "What if everyone did this thing? Would that help us, in this bit of the universe, to get there, or would it hold us back?"

If everyone had an eating disorder the universe would be a chaotic place. All of our conversations would encompass odd, stuttering syntax, as we devote half of our minds to our neurotic obsessions and half to the task at hand. No one would ever be in the office because they'd have to get in late/ leave early/ take a long lunch break to exercise. No one would present quality deliverables because they wouldn't have the cognitive functions to do so. And everyone would be so damn tired all the time that they wouldn't even be able to form business relationships in social environments because they'd need to get to bed. The economy would cease to function and everyone would run around like manic cocaine addicts, trying to swim against the current.

In applying the Shantaram argument on a personal level it also dictates the "wrong-ness" of disordered action. If I consider myself as being a part of this ever-complexifying, moving whole, then I must protect my own ability to progress toward the ultimate truth. Every time that I don't eat when I'm hungry or sacrifice another part of my life to exercise more than I need to I inhibit my own ability to access a more evolved, complex self. Moreover, I don't help to create the sort of environment that allows complexity to flourish. My acting disordered is both a personal and grander impediment to the Earth's movement toward Truth. So it just can't be right.

I don't completely espouse the Shantaram argument yet; I've got a hard time agreeing with a mafia don who uses the same argument to justify killing as "the wrong action for the right reason." Still, it's food for thought (pun intended).

Today I will play my part to accelerate the universe, one snack at a time.

A Little Yoga Wisdom

As we lay in savasana (final resting pose), my teacher said,

"We rest when we have finished our work. We rest knowing that we gave all of our effort to our heart. Then we rest, giving to something higher."

Quote of the Day

Said by Roberta, one of my favorite Italian immigrants:

"My brain is like a swiss cheese with a train going through it."

Talking About Oneself

As most of you know, I began this blog because I wanted my friends and family to be able to log on, read about my time in India, and save me the hassle of trying to write everyone individually and repeat myself. I was a little lazy, so to speak, and while I felt guilty about not being willing to write 17 individual e-mails, it allowed me to spend less time in front of a computer and more time exploring Tamil Nadu.

When I went to treatment this blog was utilized to the same strategic means yet took on an entirely new scope. Not only did it help me to avoid verbal/ written redundancy on painful topics, but it became an outlet where I could re-discover my own creativity. Being sick and in school I forgot about my own expressive ability. I wasn't inspired by movies or books or people and I lacked the cognitive function to create. This blog has become one of the greatest therapies I could pursue. Of course, we cannot forget that I am a professional guilt-monger, and the fact that I sit here and write about myself in the great expectation that others will be interested in it sparks little guilt fireworks in my mind. The topic of talking about oneself has popped up thematically several times recently, in fact.

Yesterday I went to lunch with a friend-of-a-friend. Within minutes I was acutely aware of one important thing: this lady enjoyed talking about herself. At the beginning she attempted a feeble, "So how are you liking your new job?" and then quickly divulged her life-story and subsequent insights on living. As soon as I realized that a) she really enjoyed talking about herself and b) she was also an incredibly successful person, I fed into that scenario like a fish on worms. I asked and asked and asked, rarely offering information on myself. It's true that I wanted to learn about her past and how she'd managed to live the life I desired in such a short few years. But it's also true that I was hesitant to talk about myself, lest she decipher how utterly unimpressive I was. At the end of the meeting I felt bitter, worthless, and guilty for judging her topical choice and my own inability to move past my personal hang-ups. In retrospect, I realize that I could have made interesting contributions (don't get me wrong; I fed her some bait but when she failed to pick it up I failed to keep trying. I let my own sense of inadequacy bar me from sharing. Talking without listening resulted only in negativity.

And then there's therapy. Even if you've never been in session with a therapist you probably are aware of the value in sitting yourself down in a comfy armchair and verbally vomiting all over someone whose only job is to listen. The best therapists do offer responses, usually tools for dealing with the most obtrusive emotions, but really they're the wall and you're the racquetball. How many times have we sent an idea their way only to have it bounce back in a million miles an hour to hit us right between the eyeballs? Yes, talking without listening results in painfully beneficial realizations.

Still, I informed my therapist that we need to take a little break and I'm not sure if this is the middle-school type (i.e., I will be back) or the big-kid type (i.e., I'll start looking for something else). Once a week I went to her office and sat down to explain in as much emotional detail as possible everything that had happened to me. All of those nasty little booger-thoughts infiltrating my otherwise-healthy mind spilled into kleenexes as I blew my nose. I often left feeling cleansed. However, I also left feeling judged (she's a very opinionated and responsive therapist) and guilty (surprise, surprise). It's true that the guilt often stemmed from admitting things that I didn't want to, whether they were actually negative or just negative in my mind. Talking about the things that we try to hide from on a daily basis is the first step in allowing them the acceptance and observation that make them manageable. Still, I wondered if blowing my nose actually made me more congested. Was the accountability truly functioning to deter negative action and emotion? Or was it the "right thing to do" for a recent treatment-grad like myself? Was talking without listening truly the route to redemption?

So for this next couple weeks rather than going to therapy or seeing my nutritionist I'm trying to invest my energy into other ways of exploring my thoughts and emotions. I'm trying to journal more often and I'm here writing to you. Last week I went to meditation, I've gotten acupuncture a couple of times, I've made it to the easiest-possible yoga class twice and loved every minute of it. I religiously attend my Eating Disorders Anonymous group and I'm spending time in front of the fire with my family. Also, I'm reading Siddhartha, one of the most enlightening spiritual texts ever written.

One point on Siddhartha's spiritual journey, a point very close to his reaching Nirvana, necessitated his learning to listen. It all began with him talking. He attempted suicide by throwing himself into a river. Instead of seeing his doom as he leaned into the abyss he heard and felt "Om." He then went to Vasudeva, the ferry-man, and told him the entirety of his life-story. Vasudeva listened, smiled, and led him back to the river. The answer was in listening to the world as it flowed by. Siddhartha spent years with Vasudeva listening to the river and the stories of those ushered across. Talking with listening led to Nirvana.

There's a middle-ground here, people, that we've got to find. This isn't racquetball and it's not verbal vomit. It's not hiding behind words and it's not assaulting others with them. It's like meditating while reading a book and writing in the margins. Its like hitting a racquetball, having it soar toward your head, and then Harry Potter swoops in and grabs it and hands it to you (and then he falls in love with you). Thinking with listening equals beautiful living.

You know one thing that helps? Comments from all of you. Let me know what you think whether it supports my statement or not. Show me you're there because I love you for it. Let's play tennis.

Tune in: My Television Debut!

In my spin classes I met a fantastic, fun, female friend named Heidi. This is Heidi (on the left):

Heidi is an Entertainment correspondent with 9News and an online host for Denver Metromix. She decided to do a special comparative piece detailing the unique struggles being faced by a recent college graduate and a retiree. Being a cool chick, Heidi got to profile the younger counterpart to the piece. Lo and behold, Heidi chose to profile me! The story airs at 9 p.m. this Sunday on 9News; it shows again at 10 p.m. and can be accessed on 9News.com thereafter.

I do believe the term "debut" is a bit of a misnomer in this case, as it seems to imply that there will be more to come. Because this story is a product of my current economic struggles and their relation to the big fat lie that is the "American Dream," I sincerely hope that this is the only story of its' type for me. Still, it's been a total blast having Heidi follow me around and, who knows, maybe the CEO of My Dream Job will tune in. The only thing that I wish is that the hot barista boy had been there today when I was filmed in the cafe with my consulting team. He might have confused me for a movie star. Alas, beggars can't be choosers...

Grab some popcorn and a seat on the couch; my two minutes (shared with some old dude) of fame are here!

Sick-pression

I've come down with a bad case of sick-pression and I'm afraid that I've only got my own hubris to blame. I'm a champion non-believer in flu shots; every year I say, "I've never gotten a flu shot and I never get the flu!" My skillfully selective memory blotches out that first week in January last year, when I was couch-ridden for 120 hours straight. Karma's a boar, because this year I got hit again. Luckily, I had a little more juice in my system than my previous bout with Flu-nami, but I've still been in the bathroom and asleep for the past four days. For me, the problem with getting sick is that the malady never stays where it starts. It always seeps from my stomach right into the little nuerotransmitters in between the brain-coils of my already-plagued mind, sending the electrons all the wrong ways and rendering me a depressed bundle of snotty gook.

Before I detail my current depressed state, I'd like to give you all a little to laugh at. I got hit with the stomach flu while house-sitting a bachelor pad belonging to a man named Bob and his dog named Bear. I had agreed to spend a night there, walking Bear and feeding him while Bob did business-y activities elsewhere. Well, lo and behold, I got hit hard by one of the worst cases of stomach flu on this side of the Equator. His house looked like it had been hit by a really, really gross tornado. Eventually I called in Troop Mom. She found me naked in this poor bachelor's bed, a trail of destruction in my wake, the dog whimpering from ignorance and stench and not having been fed in hours (I couldn't think about any food, his or mine). My mom took the dog for a walk, I cleaned up, and Bob won't know the difference (I just hope that he doesn't notice the cleaned bathrooms because I don't think they had been cleaned in a long time...) Was this all worth $25? I'll let you decide. Still, if anyone is in the market for a good movie plot I'll sell you the rights to this story. For at least $25.

The first day of being sick is always the worst. When you're fighting for the life of your bowels there's little space for darkness to creep in between your ears. The second day I begin to feel better and might actually enjoy being laid up. After all, when else do I lay on the couch for days on end, watching television and allowing myself not to stress about "all the things that I have to do?" But after that is when things get dangerous. Unfortunately, they've hit real hard this time around.

In my sickness I've realized a few things that turn my hope and motivation into cheese curds. First of all, I've realized how insignificant I am in the operational schedule of The World and of The People who inhabit it. So I miss two days of my temporary job? I've got so little actual responsibility or impact there that no one really notices. A friend stops by to drop off some Ginger Ale for me; I appreciate the gesture but really I've got so few friends these days that even that comes as a surprise. I realize that the reason I've got so few friends is probably because I haven't brought Ginger Ale to any one of them in a very long time. I look out the window and see groups of cheerful friendly young people walking through the sunny streets and I wiggle a little deeper into the quicksand. My family comes home and dotes on me but this is functional: first of all, having a family member sick puts all family members at risk. Second of all, as my little sister said, "That's what families do for each other." I count my blessings that I've got my parents' couch to sleep on. Then I am smacked by the realization that this time last year I had the same sickness on the same couch with the same general life-scheme. The only difference was that I was pre-versus-post recovery. And this sends me down the next spiral...the hopelessness that is my current state of being.

Yes, people, you say you like the whole dirty story, so I'll give it you. Right now I'm sick and the gurgling in my stomach whispers much more than "you might vomit at any moment." It says, "You're still in Denver, on your parents couch, and you'll be here forever. You've got nothing to look forward to except more searching, turning up empty-handed, pretending, making yourself feel important..." When you're sick you lose the incentive to wake up every morning and make up Important Things to do. Attending networking events to try to make friends and get a job? Out. Go to work for your mother? Boring and embarrassing. Garden in the yards of rich people? You'll give them the flu. Apply for jobs? As if you have the energy. Research leaving the country? They'll never give you a medical pass. And without all of the ways to Feel Important, you're left with the very obvious realization that your days aren't actually Important or Interesting at all, and it doesn't matter.

Now let's talk about Sick-pression and eating disorders. Of course ED is my favorite couch-time buddy; he's real good at keeping me company when the rest of the world is making me jealous by being Very Busy. He and I sit on the couch and we watch TV, discussing the bodies of the stars and comparing them to mine. He whispers all the ways that this sickness is ruining my body and keeps telling me to get off my fat bum and go for a run, that this is the real cure to any problem, REMEMBER. He tells me that my swollen intestines are not merely upset from being sent to China and back for 24 hours straight but that they are actually getting bigger from lack of exercise and that since I'm too unhealthy to move the only way to rectify this problem is to eat as little as possible. Sickness and ED work together this way because my intestines gurgle in some foreign language that can be easily interpreted to suit the needs of any other party, including ED's Truly. When I finally feel up to take a run he chases me the whole time, telling me to run faster and longer than I can and then calling on Guilt to stop me in my path when I actually decide to walk.

All this is the norm. But something else happened to me and ED this sick-time-around. I can't determine if it's positive or negative growth but I guess it's a change all the same. I finally got on the scale to see if I'd lost as much as I worried that I did (I was only one pound from my goal before El Flu-no). I had. But as I stood there on the scale I realized that my body didn't explode from lack of exercise like all of the illogical mental worms in my mind told me it would. I lost weight, which wasn't welcome, but I also didn't balloon, I didn't lose all of my muscle mass, I didn't look completely different, and it wasn't actually all that much of an altered state. I turned to ED. He gesticulated and laughed at me. "What's it all about, then?!" he teased. "You work out to keep this body and here you find it actually doesn't change all that much! Why bother?!"


So that's the final straw to sick-pression: it rids me of that go-to means of achieving daily Importance that I know I can count on or trick myself into believing matters. When I'm sick and on a run it isn't fun, especially not with ED running behind me and Guilt blocking my path. And I probably got sick because I did exercise and now want to exercise because I'm sick. What matters, what matters, what matters?

As if to foreshadow the coming tidal wave, I had a sad little conversation with a friend before I got sick on Wednesday night. We were sitting discussing God and Humanity and how important it is to be passionate about something. He talked about his passion for skiing. I asked him what he thought I was passionate about. "Working out," he replied.

The lights in the cafe simultaneously shut off. I swear to you it's true they did. Somehow, the darkness couldn't hide the tears in my eyes.

"Really? When you think of me and what I'm passionate about that's all that you can come up with?"

He looked at me in amazement. "Well, it's what you like to do every day. And I guess your career. Yah, I guess you're passionate about your career."

Oh, great, I'm passionate about my career. WHAT CAREER?! The one I idealize in my mind that at this point in time is about as likely as Palin-for-President? Oh, no, he must be referring to that career that I actually do, working for my Mom and a client-less, income-less, clue-less "consulting company." Wait! Silly me! It must be my career in Funny Money, including but not limited to house-sitting, pet-sitting, gardening, mystery shopping, and flyer-posting. Yes, I am passionate about my career. All 9 million versions of "it."

I do believe that's enough complaining. There's a homeless guy laying on the sidewalk that's reminding me just how self-absorbed I've become. Send in the National Guard; this storm is winding down and some serious clean-up is going to be required. Let's begin by taking inventory to find out what really needs to be cleaned and what may bloom once the wind blows the ash away. Here's my Ten Gratitudes:

1.) Little sisters who like to play nurse.
2.) Little sisters who win soccer games and speech tournaments.
3.) Classical music.
4.) Being taken to the symphony by a friend.
5.) Betsey Johnson pink dresses in lace with velvet bows.
6.) Friends who hand-down such dresses.
7.) My Aunt Beth, who is both a human and an inspiration.
8.) Cookies.
9.) Disinfectant 409.
10.) Toilets.

Thanks for listening.

Falling for the First Time

I have an excuse for not posting in such a terribly long time: I have fallen in love.

Yes, my dear readers, it was inevitable. With the sweet sun on my skin and the golden hue surrounding me I fell like a middle school girl. And like all great relationships, it's over practically before it started.

For the first time in my life I fell in love with Fall. Although I've always claimed this my favorite season I was never truly aware of how magical it could be. I've spent every other Autumn in a classroom, sucking in the crisp air and drinking the image of cascading leaves as I ran between classes. The Man was robbing me and I didn't event know it; I was experiencing Fall not in its true glory but during my snatches of time between class, meetings, and work. And of course there was last Fall, which I barely remember, because I was much too busy worrying, calculating, and feeling quite hungry and miserable.

Have you ever wanted to really experience the beauty that is Fall? If so, I offer a simple solution: graduate from college and do not commit to a typical, office-centered job. Go to interviews, but ensure that they are at every compass point of the city and take the scenic route there. Sign up as a gardener on the weekends. Run outside in every open-space possible. In fact, find a single trail to frequent at periodic intervals so that you can monitor the world as it navigates the majesty of the season.

If you do this, you will fall for Fall.

With the first freeze and the first snow well behind us, Fall is now merging with Winter. I am so grateful for having lived this past season as I have. With little true experience I still assert that this was a particularly glorious season. Every morning the world emerged slowly, rolling around in its bed of leaves as the sun gently warmed and matured it. Harvests were fruitful; even the small vegetable gardens that I worked in yielded massive, juicy tomatoes and zucchinis feet in length. Their owners offered the booty to me and I ate them on the spot, letting the tomato juice trace sweet lines through the dirt on my chin. I spent an entire day making pumpkin pie with a friend- we even picked the pumpkin from the patch and I missed my Eating Disorders Anonymous group to stay and chow on a second piece (I thought that was sufficiently recovery-focused). Most mornings I woke up early enough to watch the sun rise and was outside to see the sun set. I spent many days buried knee-deep in flowers, unperturbed by discomfort because the temperature was somehow always just right.

Most people lament the fact that Fall turns into Winter; it's always too fast, they say. I lack any identification with that sentiment this year. Fall developed, ran its course, and is now complete. It was sweet and kind, evidence of the natural rate of things. It provided us with gifts and and we were thankful for them. Fall knew that the end would come; it has come every year past and will come every year in the future. It looked forward to that changing point but remained enveloped in the moment, knowing that living a day worried about tomorrow only deteriorated that day itself. The grace with which Fall now takes its leave is possible only because of the grace with which it sensationalized every day of its existence.

I remember this time last year. I was beginning to get cold; people with eating disorders often lose the ability to regulate their body temperatures and Fall was a signal that I would spend the next few months pretending like the cold wasn't threatening to permanently seep into my bones. I didn't celebrate Halloween and I spent a large portion of Thanksgiving trying to walk off my meal. I was so involved in my Blackberry that I hardly every looked into the sky when outside. And I hated Fall for moving so fast, for signalling it's end by simply choosing to start. I didn't want Fall to change and yet I knew that I couldn't be happy in it.

For the past month or so, Fall has been one of my greatest teachers. It has taught me to embrace the moment and rejoice in the fruits of my own labor. It has reminded me to be bright and colorful, to keep an extra jacket on hand in case the wind blows, and that the dropping of leaves is a natural part of the life-cycle. It has taught me to embrace the process of change as its own entity, separate from that which beget it and that which will derive of it. It reminded me of how much I love to be in the open sun. It kept me in touch with my body, eating so that I could spend long days doing yard work. And it did all of this is the most clever and forgiving ways.

I want to live my life like Fall. I want to be in a continuous state of harvesting that which is nourishing and dropping that which no longer serves a purpose. I want to explore all of my colors. I want to embrace change not as a goal but as an endeavor within itself. I want to be grateful for my past and move toward my future by utilizing the moment at hand. I want to be full, healthy, and fun.

You can call me Autumn. I'm in love.

Shivering Someone's Timbers...

Happy Halloween! I will be posting tomorrow morning- so sorry for the long delay. I miss you!

Cohabitation

A friend recently told me that I was an "enterprising individual" because of the many silly little ways I've endeavored to stretch my own buck or solicit the bucks of others. In reflecting on this statement I've decided that my next "enterprise" is getting NPR to pay me for representing their stories every single day of my life. I'm the most "NOW" thing I know, damnit; take a look at the recent headlines:

"55% of people 18-29 are unemployed"- I'm making money for the things I don't love and paying to do the things I do. I'm not really unemployed or underemployed. I'm backwards employed. It's all the same.

"Middle Eastern leaders are disappearing"- my Moroccan best friend is lost to me somewhere in Argentina with her new husband. I need a satellite to locate her, STAT.

"Gas shortages expected due to fighting in the Middle East"- Gas shortages are expected due to fighting between income and expenditures in my bank account.

"Bipartisan government doesn't agree on anything"- There's Emily, and then there's her foe, Emily's Eating Disorder. They sit in the same chamber and debate the same ideas but Lord knows they're not going to agree.

Last week NPR ran a little story on cohabitation. Apparently, many families are now moving into single households to save money and better utilize their resources. Lo and behold, look who just moved back into her parent's house...

Ah, the joys of cohabitation. I don't believe anyone can truly understand the domino effect until they live with another. There are currently five people in my family; multiply that by however many dominoes exist in a set and you've got a full-blown tsuanami. Hyperbole aside, I need to admit that moving back in with my family is the single most scary step I've taken since going into treatment. Actually, it feels a lot like treatment.

There are a million things that I worry about when considering the implications of living with my family. First, there's what society tells me to think. My old roommate and I recently had a conversation about how "so many lazy people are just OK with living with their families and taking jobs they don't like." Then there's the fact that at 23-years-old I "should" be working my first real job, beginning to pay off my bills, living in my own apartment, etc. Says "them."

That's the first layer. The second layer is what the people immediately around me think. What will those friends say who voted me "The Next Oprah" in high school or told me that "one day I would be President" in college?

Layer three: my immediate family. How many terrible repercussions might come of my moving in? My sisters have to combine rooms, absorbing my impact. My parents have to take care of another person under their roof. Then there's one of my biggest worries of all: living with people who can be affected by your emotions. I've found that with my family I am much more likely to vent, complain and act dramatic. I know that they'll always love me so I find myself become extra emotional, belting my feelings because it feels kind of good to be over-the-top and in-the-moment. Doing this on the phone is one thing. Doing this every time I walk in the door is too much of another. I've got to learn how better to regulate my emotions.

Next is the dark layer: my eating disorder. I would be a liar if I didn't say that I've been struggling to keep up the weight gain and limit my exercise; I'm now trying to put in thousands more calories than the average person. Living at home might be a godsend in that I always have access to tasty food and often someone else to make it for me. But to my eating disorder this constant temptation to "indulge" feels a wire sponge scratching my temples. My eating disorder whines that my parents will notice how much I exercise or how little I eat. My eating disorder compares my food intake to my that of my family's, tells me to eat the "light" food that is ubiquitous in my house, and shows me how to restrict. Living at home is one of the biggest challenges to my eating disorder yet, which may also mean it's one of the best things I can do.

Finally, after everything else, I wonder how I actually feel about this move. I feel scared...nervous...my lungs constrict a little bit and my eyes seem to slide a little further back in my head. I feel guilty, very guilty, and a little ashamed. But I also feel warm, comforted, and loved. I feel a little less bogged down by decisions. And I feel like it's silly to impose judgment on these emotions. My time is better spent unpacking.

I'm here; that's really all there is to it. I know that the way to mitigate any of my worries is to do what needs to be done: find the strength to make the best of this situation, count my blessings within it, and use the break to shore up my resources for the next surge forward.

Wait, didn't NPR just report a win for the good guys?

My check will come any day now...

Today's 10

I'm about to go into the 4th situation today in which I must "network" (read: sell myself) and I'm not feeling very impressive, worthy, or perky. Take the antonyms of those words and you've summed my current state quite nicely. So, here goes:

10 Things I'm grateful for today:
1.) Living alone.
2.) Having the option of living at my parent's house again.
3.) Guys named Jose who can fix a clogged drain lickety-split.
4.) Vintage black lace dresses.
5.) Being a mystery shopper (paid to eat dinner and critique someone else's service?? Yes, please!)
6.) Strong business women who are willing to meet with women like me.
7.) The coffee guy from Turkey on 16th street mall.
8.) Networking events with free alcohol and food.
9.) My mother
10.) Chalkboards (which allow me to communicate with my roommate despite the fact that she isn't speaking to me)

10 Things I like About Myself:
1.) I dress well.
2.) I find good deals.
3.) I'm curious about other people.
4.) I'm doing the best I can.
5.) The best I can do is pretty good.
6.) I'm facing my fears.
7.) My eyes.
8.) That I really, truly, genuinely love my family.
9.) I try my very best to show people that I love them.
10.) I say "thank-you."

Now, it's your turn.

Let's make new habits, you and me together.

10 Things I am Grateful for Today

It goes without saying that the awareness and expression of gratitude is one of the best ways to connect with positivism and the spirit. In particularly unpleasant situations the expression of gratitude can be a means to pull oneself out of minute obsessions and anxieties. It doesn't mean that feeling sad/depressed/scared/anxious isn't valid; it just means that other things are still happening, too. Gratitude to attitude, that's the translation I'm working on. So here goes todays':

1.) My grandmothers and the fact that we all have birthdays in the same month.
2.) Yoga studios that have so many students that they don't notice if someone sneaks in for free.
3.) People who are curious. Just simply, purely, curious.
4.) Leaves falling.
5.) Little sisters. Talented, loving, strong, little sisters.
6.) Roommates who shop at Costco and can't finish all of their edamame beans.
7.) Planning vacations, no matter how short.
8.) The recognition that I am self-absorbed.
9.) Sunshine.
10.) Entrepreneurial spirit.

There exists a particularly difficult corollary to the expression of gratitude. That is the expression of things that one is proud of or likes about themselves. My bad days almost always relate directly to my self-absorbed obsession over all the ways that I haven't done everything well enough, all the ways I feel inadequate, or the things that I feel hopeless to alter. This list is a lot more difficult to publicize. I want to ask you not to judge me and I'm judging myself for doing so.

Ten things I like about myself:
1.) That I have finally accepted that my hair will always be short.
2.) I do not let life run me over.
3.) I'm creative and a problem-solver.
4.) I'm doing my best.
5.) My best is pretty good.
6.) I make really good food concoctions that I call "casseroles."
7.) I like going places alone and meeting new people.
8.) I love learning new things, especially if they're complicated and scientific and I've really got no hope of retaining any of the information.
9.) Sometimes people think I have an accent.
10.) I like my big Tonelli nose.

Now, it's your turn.

In a final act of positivism-building this is a picture of my best friends at the wedding I recently attended. The blushing bride is the gorgeous angel on the right.

Status Update on Housing and Jobs

Dear All,

I'm still in the jobs search and I've decided to stop looking for jobs specific to my major or area of interest. Right now, I'm just trying to pay my bills and hopefully get to South America within the year, where more job prospects and a graduate degree await. I'm always taking advice, ideas for leads and other connections, so I'd love to hear yours if you've got them!

After many months of continuously struggling to make my living situation whole and tolerable, including changes in management and roommates, I've decided to move out. Luckily, I never signed a lease. I am looking for a new place but have got a very tight budget and am unwilling to sign much of a lease. Rooms for rent or sublet are perfect. I've been posting ads for myself as a Professional House-Sitter. If yourself or anyone you know of is leaving town for a while and needs a live-in house sitter (I can garden and take care of pets as well) please send them my way! Finally, I was thinking that I might try to get a job in an apartment complex- two birds with one stone. If you know of any hiring, let me know.

Current statistics bemoan my state. 55% of people my age are unemployed; it's the worst time to look for a job if you're 18-29 since World War II. And craigslist.com ads are full of older couples and individuals who can no longer afford to live alone and are looking for rooms to rent in other people's homes. It's a weird, weird time, and I've got to remind myself not to be so self-absorbed to think that I'm alone in this struggle.

Final Installment of the Very Vacation-y Saga: Wandering Alone

I vacation on the East Coast alone. Of course, I was going to stay with and visit friends and family but I knew that no one had the time to entertain me. I spent time with others when they were available and the rest of the time I spent doing exactly what I wanted to. Of course, I had a list of all the things I wanted to do and see and merrily spent my vacation checking them off. I never anticipated the profound effect that this alone time would have on me.

The first thing I realized when I was wandering through Washington D.C. and New York was how important it is that people are able to spend time with themselves. I look back on my formative years living in one city or another with my young parents playing by myself. I'm very grateful for those hours that allowed me to explore to caverns of my own imagination. Tapping back into that quiet, curious side of ourselves is one of the healthiest ways we can honor our own thought-processes. There's also something to be said for being seen alone in public, especially in tourist areas. Go to a museum alone and watch the families and couples around you; sometimes it's like being on the outside of a fishbowl. Then stick your pinkie in and stir it around. It's fascinating how open to chat total strangers are, especially if you're a young woman who's only obvious goal is to see and hear. That's an important key to being alone: being willing to make friends. Because when you're alone you've got the power not to. You can be as autonomous, quiet, and shy as you please. Or you can strike up a conversation, make a new friend. You are singularly your own desires and actions. How often can we say that?

The most profound impact of my being alone during my vacation was actually the very succinct recognition that I didn't in fact feel alone. This hit me one rainy day when I was trying my best to make the most of another long, winding expanse of alone-ness. Sometimes it got me a little down: it's hard to entertain oneself in foreign cities (and on a tight budget) for days on end no matter how much one respects the time. On this particular day I trudged through the New York rain from cafe to cafe, waiting for something interesting to happen. As I walked along, the thought crossed my mind that I was lonely. But it dinged around like a marble in a hollow bowl. My mind told me that I should be lonely in that moment. My heart and soul didn't feel that way at all; they felt the power of something walking by my side, holding my hand in the most warm, pleasant manner. See, the whole time I was on my vacation I felt very spiritually connected to my divine entity, named Fate. Beware: the term "Fate" is a bit of a misnomer (to be explained in a later post). But I've taken to utilizing this ideology to express thank-you for all the great things, little and small, that happen to me and to ask for help when I need it. I've become very connected to this spirit-being. The whole time I spent alone I was acutely aware that this being was by my side. And I never once felt lonely.

In my Eating Disorders Anonymous group, we might call this a "Milestone."

Wandering alone on my vacation taught me a lot of things. It wouldn't be a full lesson on the self without revealing some of the darker sides of my psyche, as well. The problem with being alone on vacation when you're recovering from an eating disorder is that you've got a lot of space in your mind for disordered thoughts to infiltrate. My vacation was rife with little triggers: all the walking involved, extra time for working out, excuses for "tourist runs," lots of new and foreign foods, a tight budget, and a lack of social interaction. My meal plan was completely lost to wandering the city and trying whatever new foods struck my fancy. I'm proud of the many previously off-limits foods I indulged in. On the other hand, it was so easy to over-exercise, so easy to justify not spending money on snacks, so easy for my mind to tell me why this was OK. In retrospect, my trip highlighted one very important part of my eating disorder: it's effects are best mitigated by spending time involved with tasks and engaged with others. When I'm active and conversing I notice my hunger cues quickly. If I'm underfed I can't function in conversation, I get irritated and bored with tasks, I fumble through interactions, and I get headaches. When I'm alone I find it much easier to ignore or avoid these issues; I can float along in a sort of dream-state.

When I visited my nutritionist two weeks later I had lost a lot of weight. Nothing that I can't gain back but it was devastating all the same. The thing was, I knew it. I could feel it in my body, the way my clothes fit, the way I always seemed hungry and yet distrustful of that hunger. Just wait to eat, spread out your meals, maybe you'll eat less- that's what ED said. And I could feel it in my mind...sometimes, I didn't know where my mind even was.

Losing weight is a bad, bad thing when you're in recovery. If you give the ED space to take over it fills those mind-gutters like a monsoon in the summer. You've got to build up the levees and keep the thoughts at bay with a strong, clear head. I'm proud to say that I reached my first weight-gain goal and am (hopefully) nearing my second. At this pace I should be back where I need to be in a couple of weeks. It was scary and depressing but I'm determined not to let it get the best of me. Every time I feel the urge to restrict, I remind myself not to. It's my mind at stake.

A Sidenote to the Very Vacation-y Saga

The reason why my parents made me leave Ireland:

Celtic Fest, 2011. It rained the whole time.

Episode 2: Travel Karma

While I have many Buddhist tendencies (supported, in fact, by legions of therapists who work with eating disorders) I do not believe in karma. It's nice to think that my roommate might return as the same turd that overpowers the sweet smell of my morning oatmeal, but it's simply one spiritual idea that I cannot grasp. Many people choose to believe in those things that bring them the greatest sense of hope and satisfaction. Thinking that I may come back as a roach is much less incentive to do good than seeing the smile on someone's face. Anyway, roaches don't think- how would I even know that I was being punished? Also, roaches don't have to apply for jobs. That's a counter-incentive I don't need polluting my life.

Nevertheless, my inklings toward belief in travel karma were expounded on my recent vacation. I consider myself to be a "good" traveler: I'll take any seat and am willing to stand; I enjoy public transportation; I don't expect to sleep but sometimes can; I give myself plenty of time and stay flexible with my options; I enjoy talking to fellow travelers; and I assume that something will go wrong and therefore do not freak out when it happens. All important things happen in 3s, so it's no surprise that I had three major demonstrations of travel karma during this trip. You may become a believer as well...

1.) Obviously, the airport sprint of my previous post. I'm never late for flights or cut in line. But, at the point of total desperation the seas parted for me like Moses in a storm. How blessed was that?

2.) My friend and I took the bus from Washington D.C. to New York. An hour into the four-hour bus ride the bus mysteriously broke down. Our insane bus driver (who had spent the first five minutes yelling at a customer) jumped off and started muttering things about "computers" and acting exceedingly exasperated. He would re-start the bus and then it would break down and we'd stop again. At every stop he'd mutter and jump out. I did my best to educate the rest of the bus on what was happening, as we were sitting directly in the front and could hear his mutterings. This turned into the "One-Man Emily Stand Up Show" and I felt the trip worthwhile simply because I could entertain the crowd. A little laughter helped (at me or with me, I don't care). I calmed my friend the whole time, telling her to wait and let others take the recovery buses before us; we had nowhere to be and it was fun to sit and chat. Eventually we made it home, relaxed and in one piece.

The next day our tickets were completely refunded for bad service. What do you get when you stay flexible, calm and accepting? Free stuff, my friends.

3.) I was supposed to arrive in Denver on Wednesday evening; my flight was canceled due to rain. Bored and ready to go, I got to the airport two hours early on Thursday, only to find that my flight was indefinitely delayed and I would probably miss my connection. So I surveyed my options and ended up taking two buses to get to Newark where I had a direct connection. All the typical chaos ensued around me: people cut in the bus lines and yelled at bus drivers; there was traffic; things were late/ early; people were stressed. I bounced through the lines and chilled out, making it Newark with time to spare. I got a call from La Guardia saying that I could have made an earlier flight and didn't need to go to Newark. I shrugged it off like a New York Jew. L'Achim.

In the Newark security line I caught eyes with a well-traveled but perky business man. We started chatting. At the end of security he turned to me and asked if I wanted to go to the "Red Carpet Room" with him. Um, yes please? It turns out that the Red Carpet Room is the hotspot for United Airlines frequent flyers. Well, myself, my new friend, and my cheap Southwest Airlines ticket strolled right into the Red Carpet Room like we owned the place. I made a bee-line for the free snacks, filling my purse and the plastic baggies that I always keep with me (free food should never go to waste) with the dinner that got me through the rest of my trip. My friend informed me that the Red Carpet Room also offers free beer and wine. 1.5 glasses later, I've got my resume in his hands, a glass of wine in mine, little bits of cheese and crackers stuck to my lips, and the best view in the house. I spent one of the most enjoyable airport hours of my life that day and got a hilarious new friend with excellent business credentials out of it. Travel karma, people. Live the dream.

To top it all off, I made friends with the girl next to me on the plane. Turns out, she was recovering from an eating disorder and studying to become a psychiatrist. We had a wonderful conversation and she gave me 1/2 of her sandwich. Shortly before she started drinking cocktails, that is. I woke her before we landed.

So, what have we learned today? Smile at strangers and you get free food. Run through airports but only when absolutely necessary. Always give yourself extra time because it will inevitably turn into too little time. And be open, for in the laws of travel karma, you shall receive.

Next Episode: Wandering Alone.

The Very Vacation-y Saga. Episode 1: Full Exposure

Hello, all! Sorry it has taken me so long to get this to you. I'm finding that my life pursuits are shooting like rose petals in a million directions, and while this isn't something I'm unhappy with it makes time management tricky. I've prioritized writing in this blog, where my only followers are apparently in Singapore, underneath some of my other endeavors. But I do love to talk, especially when I don't have to deal with a response. ;)

Of course, the other reason this post was so long coming is because I feel like I've got a lot that I want to say and am unsure about how to say it or what you even care about! So I'll start with the most embarrassing since those posts usually go over well. I will also break up my vacation into shorter articles. I believe this may tease you into reading more and it will make my thoughts much more manageable. Plus, I've always wanted to write short stories.

As you know, I won my Southwest Airlines ticket in a race. My prize was a sort of green receipt with booking instructions. I didn't bring the receipt to the airport as it didn't have any details of my flight information on it; I had my booking ticket and figured that was all they needed. Wrong. When I was informed that I had to get the green receipt to get my booking ticket I was forced to call my mom (who was driving back to work) and have her go to my house, retrieve the green receipt, and bring it back to the airport. Let's do the math. It was 9:16. My flight left at 10:20. It would take my mom 1/2 hour to drive to my house and 1/2 hour to drive back to the airport. That's tighter than Hilary Clinton's...forget it.

I've never looked so much like a terrorist in my life. I went outside to the waiting area and paced like a lion in a cage. I prayed with every bone in my body, saying this: "Fate, I know that you've got whatever planned that you want to give but please throw me a bone here. I'm so grateful for this opportunity and know that I can re-book if I don't make it, but I really just don't want to have to do that. Please let this happen!" I texted my Grandma and friends and had them say a little prayer. And I prayed for the Godspeed and safety of my mother.

She arrived at 10:06 and without stopping the car threw the ticket to me. I ran down to security. With tears in my eyes I begged other people to let me through the line. Shockingly, all did; some even expressed empathy. Of course security asked me to go through the body scan. When I stepped out she pulled me aside for extra screening. People, I was wearing a t-shirt and the lightest skirt known to man. Where, I beg, might I have been holding a grenade? When she motioned me to the side I stammered, "Please, please let me go. My flight leaves in 10 minutes." "10 minutes?" she responded. "The doors are already closed." I pleaded, "Please just let me try!"

I didn't hear her say "Ok" because I was already running barefoot to the trains for the terminals. Over the speaker John Hickenlooper welcomed me to Denver as a simultaneously begged for deliverance and thanked Fate for getting me this far. Escalators are cold on bare feet, but I didn't care. I flashed half of the airport as my skirt flew up when I ran (see any grenades, security lady?). I flew to the gate; it was empty but the door was open. I ran down the ramp. The guy at the end stood there laughing at me, took my ticket, and welcomed me on flight.

Somehow, there was a window seat left. My poor seatmates looked at me very oddly as I exclaimed breathlessly, "Omygod Itotallymadeit! Thatwas like A MOVIE!" and giggled hysterically. What an entrance.

And that's how I made my flight to D.C. I spent the rest of the flight thanking Fate from the bottom of my toes, through my newly exposed behind, and up to the top of my head.

If you've got a bottle of wine send it my mom's way. In fact, I hope one day to buy her a whole liquor store. My only regret is that no one was there to see me stumble, barefoot, through the airport, like I was saving a kitten from a fire. Oh, the drama...

Next Episode: Travel Karma.

Will Post Soon!

Hi, all! I just returned from vacation and have been busy getting back into the swing of things. I realized that it would've been a good idea to note that I was going on vacation- ah, well. I just want you to know that I will post about all the quirky little things that happened to me while in D.C./ New York ASAP, as soon as I've settled a bit!

xoxoxoxo

A Sign of the Times

A tag in my alleyway. Wouldn't it be nice if I could throw my debt in the dumpster?

The Reason I am Still Unemployed

To Whom it May Concern,

I am writing this cover letter to apply for the position of Entry-Level Account Management Support Peon Teammate. I learned of this position through my friend John Johnson, who works as Next-to Entry Level Assistant to the Vice President's Aide. I believe that my natural character and learned skills render me an excellent match with AlmostAwesome Social Marketing, Inc.

To begin with, I have a great deal of experience working with angry clients. The most important action when dealing with unruly customers is to provoke them enough to become unruly in the first place. Had I not sufficiently degraded the quality of the situation, I may never have made them mad and thus learned how to appease them. Secondly, I am very good at completing boring tasks in the least time-efficient way possible. This is achieved by distracting myself in asking unnecessary, ignorant questions to other employees. You will note that this also fulfills the aspect of your job description that asks me to "demonstrate strong communication and team-work skills." I love teams because they allow me to delegate tasks to other members when I do not want to complete them. Moreover, working in teams allows me to blame my mistakes on others. The job description also calls for a detail-oriented and organized employee. One example of my detail-orient is my paying close attention to my Facebook account. I check my Facebook every 20 minutes during the work-day, ensuring that I know exactly what my friends are doing. I organize my responses to them in a logical manner, i.e. I respond to the most juicy gossip items and best party invites first. Finally, you ask me to demonstrate my sales experience. I am in fact completely inept at selling anything at all. However, there are many stupid people currently being paid thousands of dollars to do similar levels of nothing-ness and I therefore believe that I am qualified for this position.

I would like to schedule a time to meet in person so that you may establish that I bathe myself. Feel free to contact me on my MySpace account: 2cute4u2handle@myspace.com. I know that the description asks me not to call with inquiries about the status of my application, but I think that if I bother you enough times you may hire me simply to be rid of my calls. Therefore, I look forward to leaving you a voicemail in a couple of hours.

Thank you for your consideration.

Ending in a Good Place

This post is about trail running. It's really about being nice to yourself, respecting your accomplishments, and taking time to appreciate progress. All the things that I didn't let myself do when I became caught in the continuous quest of success, its overseer (expectations) and its outcome (self-punishment). Its running downhill at the end.

Trail running is a kick in the ass. To complete a trail run, follow these steps: 1.) Find small mountain, peak, or big open hilly space; 2.) Put on running shoes; 3.) Run uphill until you reach the top of the peak, and then maybe around a little bit more; 4.) Run back down.

I love trail running.

I love trail running because I love putting myself in 3rd gear. I love being chased by squirrels and dodging branches and feeling my heart beat in my chest. My lungs fill with the freshest Colorado air. I like trail running with other people, hearing our feet hit the ground and seeing the little pillows of dust fly up. I love it when hikers and mountain bikers look at me like I'm insane. And I love standing at the peak, looking at the gorgeous, green Colorado landscape stretch in front of me.

And then I love the run back down. There's nothing more exhilarating than watching your legs move quickly and freely up the very same mountain that forced you to exhale heavily on every step, the muscles in your legs stiffening with every lift. When you run up a mountain you know that it is very difficult; there's not doubt that you're getting a workout. But when you run back down you realize just how far you went. You see rocks and marvel, "I just jumped over that?!" I don't think that I would have the same sense of accomplishment after my trail runs if I didn't go back down. Surveying one's work after the fact creates a sense of pride and gratification. It's a celebration of one's accomplishments.

In my disease and the years leading up to it I lost the ability to celebrate my accomplishments. I was constantly working to achieve but when I finally reached the end it was never quite good enough or there was something more to do next. I could never just loosen my knees and run downhill, all hell flying lose behind me, laughing at myself.

Today I undertook EMDR therapy for the first time. Its a way of reframing the habitual negative thoughts in one's brain, like placing the old memories in more thoughtful, productive places, or accepting them and moving on completely. Today we found my "safe place," a nice memory that I feel calm within and can recall in times of need. My safe place is the sun-room at my Auntie Val's house, complete with Auntie Val giggling in the corner (she's wearing blue). To complete the EMDR session we opened by imagining my safe place, putting myself there with all my senses aware. Then we recalled a memory of one of the first times my disordered thoughts got a hold of me. Over and over we recalled this memory, recognizing the emotions that came up each time. The session ended where it started: with my Auntie Val in my safe place. "I'm not going to let you leave feeling sad and vulnerable," my therapist said. "Sit here in your safe place and feel proud with the hard work you've done."

It felt like running downhill. All of the sweat and stiffness was whisked away by Auntie Val's bubbling, falling giggle. I saw that I had just put in an incredible amount of effort and I now deserved to feel safe, happy and proud. I took a moment to respect my effort. I left a little lighter than I arrived.

After I'm done with this post I'm going to find a picture for it. Then I'm going to re-read and edit it. Once I'm satisfied with it's content I'm going to re-read it once more. For that final read I'm just going to like it. I'm going to enjoy it and be proud of it. I hope that when you all see it you will enjoy it, too.

10:39 later...

Last weekend I ran a race called "Step Up For Cancer." It was a big cancer benefit where racers ran the stairs around Dick's Sporting Goods Park. I won the race as the fastest female, finishing in 10 minutes and 39 seconds. Guess what I won? A free ticket on Southwest Airlines! So I'm going to visit my best Muslim friend in Virginia for her wedding. I. Am. So. Excited. She is having a traditional Muslim ceremony with her ravishing Argentinian beau. Not only that, but her brother and his Indian/ Pakistani fiance will also have their ceremony at the same time. Then, our other best friend is coming from New York to attend the ceremony as well. Together, we will go back to New York, where I will spend time with her and some of my other long-lost loves. Did I mention the fact that my family friends are so graciously letting me stay at their place in Virginia for free?

Basically, for a mere 10 minutes and 39 seconds of work, I've gotten a week of freebies and the chance to see one of the most beautiful, touching wedding ceremonies I will surely ever encounter.

It pays to be healthy.

I'm Just Not That Into Them

There are a few topics in which Americans feel cautious to discuss: religion, sex, and politics are examples of conversations that most of us are unwilling to introduce. People feel too defensive about their opinions on the matter or are so accustomed to encountering defensive attitudes that they are unwilling to take the risk. The topic of this blog, however, is not religion, sex or politics, but a hidden taboo so safeguarded by the average American that even the utterance of a contrary belief can cause unlimited scorn. The topic is this: I do not like animals.

I was a vegetarian for six years but not because of animal rights. More like animal wrongs. I just didn't think animals tasted good. I had no interest in them at all, whether it be saving them or eating them. If we've already stepped onto the Honest Path then I should probably admit that I love leather. And I love fur. I like to wear animals, okay, not because they're animals but because it makes me feel like a hardcore biker chick or a rich mafioso's wife. Is that so wrong? (Even though I opened this blog to commenting, I beg of you to recognize the rhetorical questions herein).

I don't care how cute or sweet or loyal or strong Rover is, he is not my friend. Believe it or not, there are others who feel the same way that I do. They asked not to be named in this blog for fear of retribution. Retribution, because they cannot form a loving relationship with that hairy, smelly, slimy thing others call a companion. I remember the first time I told one of my friends that "I really wasn't an animal person," and she looked back at me, eyes wide, whispering, "Neither am I!" We are a small and cautious minority. I feel that I must use this space to enlighten the majority of animal lovers on what it's like to just not like animals.

Walk only five blocks through Denver and you'll likely come across some sort of storefront dedicated to animals. Where women once had girl's spa days you can now get a massage, mani/ pedi and aromtherapy with Fido. Is your dog showing signs of depression? Anxiety? Loneliness? Take it to the dog therapist and they'll throw in a free session to help you deal with the emotional distress caused by empathy for your lovely pet. Buy the perfect outfit for your pet's big night and then take it to the pet dry cleaner the next day. Think your pet might be your long-lost great Aunt Edna? Take it to the pet psychic, who can surely help you to connect on another plane. As if wiping their behind and vacuuming their hair wasn't close enough.

I considered the value in the market for animal goods and services. There's obviously a demand. I wonder how it's come to be that in this economy people won't spend on groceries but will buy their pet a $30 ball-throwing-thingamabob. I am glad to see people spending at all, doing their part to keep the economy moving. Useless things for your pet: the modern stimulus package. However, if people are running up their credit or refraining from saving in order to keep Murphy's coat shinier than Tucker's, we've got a bigger problem.

One of my most frequent pet encounters is at the park. From no less than 1/4 a mile away a pet walker can see me. As we near, they do not move to reign Buddy in. When I finally reach them and am forced to run another 1/4 off the trail to avoid Buddy
(usually muttering some sort of irritant under my breath) they look at me with an expression of ignorant shock. "Oh, can you not run through my dog?" they seem to ask. Of course, I also experience animals from afar when I hear their owners call to them. This is an infinite source of confusion to me. I remember seeing one man call in panic, "Ashley! Ashley! Ashley!" I looked around- did he lose his child?! Then, I saw some hairy thing barreling toward him. He hugs it. "Oh, Ashley, I was so worried about you!" Between the Ashelys, Freds, Charlies, and Ramonas I can't figure out who's human or who's pet. I'm beginning to wonder if the owners can't either.

Then there's the interaction I get with the pets that live in my house. I know that many of you are rolling your eyes right now because I do in fact live with a lot of animals. A dog and three cats is a few too many. One of the cats has five toes so I'm really past the threshold on this one. I also must admit that their owners are dismally inept at taking care of them, meaning that the house smells atrocious and the animals irritating. Still, when my roommate went out of town I offered to take care of her cats. I didn't really have a choice but I still hoped that having some responsibility for them might increase an emotional feeling of connection. After changing the litter two times, I definitely felt something emotional, but it was far from connectedness. I'm sick of their hair showing up in my toothbrush when they treat my sink like a personal pool. Or the dog barking at a leaf rolling lazily through the street. What's fun about that?

Many people say that the reason they love animals so much is for the undying, unquestioning, limitless love and affection. I've got several bones to pick with that one. Indeed, I do not give love and affection to animals so I should not expect it in return. Yet they treat me in the same way that others interpret to be a display of love. They lick me, drool on me, jump on me, make odd noises at me, and follow me around. I see this as normal animal actions, not love. I follow my parents when they feed me, too. Then there's the fact that limitless love and affection is not in itself grounds for love in return. If that was the case, I never would've broken up with my spineless ex.

When it comes down to it, I don't despise animals. I think they're cute when they're little. A lot of the time they do funny things, usually out of stupidity, but I enjoy the gesture nonetheless. And they're a great way to forge a connection with a hottie (I would be a liar if I said I hadn't used my parents or a friend's dog to go flirt with fellow walkers at Cheeseman). But, as a non-animal-fan of mine once said, "I simply don't have that emotional connection with them." No matter how cute or cuddly or kind Winston is I don't want him knocking my knees when I walk by, getting stuff on my clothes, or mewing outside my window at night.

In fact, one of the reasons I was most hesitant to write this blog was because I feared that it would end up being a ranting entry. I loath ranting blogs and never want this to become a space where I argue, complain and bitch my thoughts away. So I'd like to close with a letter to all you pet lovers out there, expressing my solidarity.

Dear Pet Lover,
I understand that Harley is the best thing that ever happened to you. I am so happy that you and Harley can share breakfast in the morning, roll around in the grass together all day, and sleep curled around one another at night. It looks like a beautiful and loving relationship, which is all we can really hope for in this world. Sure, I will pet Harley. If it makes you smile I will find something on his massive fury facade to compliment. I will listen to you tell me all about how smart Harley is despite having a brain the size of a pea. You are welcome to bring Harley when we go to the park. In return, I ask only this: Please pull Harley back when he confuses my lower leg for an interested female. Do not let him treat me like a couch or chew toy. And when I'm running pull him even one inch closer to you. If he chases me I will kick him. That's just the way it's going to be.

I respect all you pet lovers out there. I apologize, but I just don't get it. I'll stick to talking to my plants, thanks.

Be an animal lover, just like Sarah Palin!

A Great Quote!

Thanks to a new friend:

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal."
-Albert Camus

I posit:

Why not redirect one's energy? Normalcy is a fallacy, I believe.

I Got Hoes

Forgive me for my lack of class but I really couldn't come up with a better title for this post and am confused by what politically correct means these days, anyway (see my post: "Racism? Really?"). Since I understand that a great deal of my readership is of the, how can I say, aged population (just like fine wine) I should probably explain that "I Got Hoes" is a line out of a very famous rap song and is oft repeated by those classless barbarians that we call youth. Moving on!

This is it: I love women. No, I'm not using this blog as a space to come out (someone please make sure that my Grammy still has a pulse). Really, I don't think it could handle it- first India, then eating disorders, now she's a lesbian?! What's next- a picture of her lower back tattoo?! What I'm saying is that I've met so many unique, brave, fun-loving, adventurous women in the last few weeks. I'm awestruck by this phenomenon. I can hypothesize on the root of the movement but the fact of the matter is that more women are taking charge of their lives, trying new things, opening up to opportunities, and doing it all with an unfathomable level of relaxation and grace. Since when did women get so, well, cool?

In the last couple of weeks I've met four women who left their homes and moved to Denver just for the fun of it. They heard that it was a nice place to live so they packed their bags, met a roommate through craigslist.com and showed up here a week later. I met these women at social groups like yoga events and running clubs, which they looked up on the internet and joined. They showed up alone, smiled and struck up conversations. They drank a glass of wine or a beer and left alone when they wanted to go home. Most were unemployed and talked candidly of how difficult it was to look for a job, explaining that they tried not to place to much pressure on themselves. "I work on it a little bit a day," said one women. "Then I explore!" These women weren't fierce or intimidating. They were just looking to see something new, meet someone new, try something fun. They were devoid of judgments about the situation and that left them devoid of judgments about themselves or me.

I can't get enough of these women. I want them old, young, curvy, skinny, long-haired, short-haired, blue-haired, send em' my way! These women make me feel so much more confident about myself because they are all so differentiable. For the first time I feel like I really fit in because none of us really fit in so all of us are in, period. At groups and events I find myself gravitating toward the women, although this leads me into the potential negative aspect of feminine appreciation: I really have no patience for men.

Since I've been out of treatment I've undertaken a couple pseudo-relationships. I use the term "undertaken" with sincerity because that's how it's felt. Today I noticed an advertisement for property managers and I thought, "Hell, what about a boy manager? How much would that cost?" After a couple botched attempts I came to the realization that I do need a lot from a man right now and if he cannot provide it then he's a goner. "It's okay to be needy," said a girl in my ED support group. I also think about a good friend who remained uncommitted for years, saying, "I just have really high standards." I thought she was insane to miss out on the glorious-ness that is falling in love. She now has the most spectacular relationship with a guy totally above par. She was needy and committed to getting her needs fulfilled. I plan to do the same.

It's difficult for me not to be judgmental of the men my age, though. I see women enjoy a drink or two and sunnily ask for a water next and then I see men downing their sixth can of beer with a look of disgruntled hopelessness. I see women admitting that they are unemployed and holding out of a position that is fulfilling to them and I hear male friends calling me up with stale sales-pitches that they admittedly loathe to give. I see women going places alone and men rolling five-deep to meat-market bars. The only men I like talking to right now are nerds, old friends and grandfathers.

I don't blame men. I actually place blame on the warped societal standards that we've created for a "successful" man. I think women have been allowed to grow slowly, quietly and personally, while masculine toys have received steroid-like treatment and men suffer the pressure of trying to be economically sound in an unstable economy. It can't be easy to see more and more women get better jobs, run faster and party cooler. Men could use a break, sans the booze.

I'm sure this is a phase (good, because my Grammy is worried that I'm becoming a feminist). But I'm really into women right now. Until men buck up, I think that's just the way things are going to have to be.

One of my favorite cool, creative women: the model, Veruschka

Calling all Comments!

Not only is my Muslim friend great because she's not a terrorist, but she's also great because she's very good at blogging and has shown me many secrets about my blog that I never knew before. For instance, I know which of my posts are the most popular ("How to Lose a Job in 4 Days." Gee, thanks guys). I also know that people in Singapore seem to read it often. And I've learned how to change the "comments" settings so that non-Gmail or Blogspot users can openly comment on my posts. I wish that I had learned how to do this ages ago. Taking the time to try might have helped.

So feel free to say whatever you'd like! I love feedback, advice and constructive criticism. And if you notice a grammatical error please, please let me know- that's not what my Undergraduate degree is for, nosireeBob.

Racism? Really?

In America we teach our children that racism exists from an early age, albeit picking and choosing what kind of racism to discuss. Several glaring examples are always easiest: African slaves and the Holocaust. Then, teachers tactfully talk about other types of racism, like wrongs committed against Native Americans and our own Japanese concentration camps. We've all heard racist comments from that neighbor/Uncle/coworker, causing a stutter, eye roll and sigh. In the last few decades it seems that conversations about political correctness, racism and equality have increased; workplaces now bring outside consultants in to lead courses on diversity, schools actively accept students on a basis of diversifying their populations, and more and more inter-race couples marry every year. Of course, there are still fierce debates about whether aggressive diversification and ethnic support policies foster or harm equalization, but at least the conversation has been opened.

So why is it that I seem to notice so much racism around me? In fact, I've come to wonder what racism actually is today. After all, we can't forget about the big mixer, that effervescent 'G' word: Globalization. The borders of Europe grow fainter and fainter as citizens are encouraged to explore, live and work in other countries. With an increase in civil war there is also an increasing number of immigrants, asylum-seekers and refugees. Universities offer programs like "International Studies" and "Intercultural Communication." Citizens from every country are more likely than ever to encounter someone foreign. How can anyone be racist today?

To help me understand my own experiences I turned to the good ol' Webster's Dictionary. Accordingly, it defines racism as: "a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race." In some ways, racism that I've recently encountered does follow that trajectory, but in others it certainly does not. There are two instances in particular that I'm having difficulty understanding. Allow me to share them.

The first happened a couple weekends ago. I brought a very white, blond-haired American and her equally Caucasian boyfriend to a club with myself and my Puerto Rican friend. We were sitting at a table reserved by my Puerto Rican friends' friends who all looked like they may be of some Hispanic descent. At the end of the night my friend realized that her phone had been stolen. She flew off the handle, screaming that my "stupid Mexican friends stole her phone." I was mortified and tried to shut her up compassionately but saying, "I understand, this is horrible. Just please do not use that term. We can talk about it later, but please don't bring race into it right now, okay?" Eyes wide, chin out, she exclaimed, "Well that's what they are, right?!" I said, "I don't know! My friend is Puerto Rican but who knows!" She spent the rest of the night cursing Puerto Ricans.

When we got back to our place, I looked at her and asked, "What am I?" She stared blankly at me. "I could be Norwegian. I could be German. I could be Welsh. Can you really tell?" I pointed out that in that situation she was the minority, she was the odd man out, and therefore presumably the least trustworthy. She didn't stay over that night.

Scenario number two: I was chatting with a man with dark skin and an accent that I placed somewhere in North Asia or the Middle East. I finally asked him where he was from. He paused for a moment before leaning in and quietly saying, "I am from Pakistan and I am Muslim but I am not a terrorist, no no no, I am not a terrorist." I wagged my head and said that I had lived in India and thought he might be from the North and that one of my best friends was Muslim. That seemed to put him at ease. He explained, "Everyone in this country thinks I am a terrorist when I tell them where I am from so I say that I am Indian."

Then, there's the fact that I was just recently "let go of" by an Arab man. And before that I was fired by a Japanese man. And before that I struggled to work with a Mexican man. When I explain this to some people they offer consolation that "a lot of people say Arabs are hard to work with." Yet my friends involved in international business, one of which has also worked for my previous employer, say, "Ya, it probably wasn't a good fit."

So where does racism fit this day in age? I chalk the statements of my racist friend up to habit: when she was in her most distressed state she turned to what she knew, which was racist ranting (I've heard her mother do the same). For the Pakistani man, he experience racism and actually further fostered racist misunderstanding by trying to protect himself from it. As for my friends and family, they're trying to say anything that will detract from my placing all the blame on myself. They are trying to shed light on a difficult situation, in the way that seems to make the most sense. And it does make some sense, after all. Turning to bad habits, botched protectionism, and reframing the truth? Sounds a little bit like an eating disorder...

I'm not sure what it means to racist, or not to be racist, this day in age. With the advent of the European Union many countries have enacted policies of cultural protectionism, trademarking things like ancient styles of basket weaving and all Swiss chocolate. China and Brazil in particular have rose to prominence by securing their borders against the fiscal and physical infringement of outsiders. While equality seems to be on the tip of everyone's tongue, reality seems to be pointing a different direction.

This is all very vexing to me. When it comes down to it, there's very little I can say: one of my very best friends who has taught me so much about God, faith and love is Muslim. She looks German. My boss and I weren't a good fit and working with anyone from another culture has been difficult for me. I really like ethnic food. I really like living abroad. Given the ever-changing nature of our world today I don't think the complexities of this discussion can be sorted any time soon.

In closing, I'd like to acknowledge that it is the second full day of Ramadam. Nearly 1/3 of the world's population is fasting. People might seem a little irritable (but we can't assume every irritable person is Muslim, now can we). So, go hug a Muslim, I say! Find one in the street, offer them a cheerful pat on the back, and remind them that you respect them for being who they are- and starving for it!

Here's a picture of my favorite Muslim friend:


Send a virtual hug her way, if you dare!