The Master Cleanse: DAY ONE

The idea of a cleanse makes so much sense. Spring cleaning for your insides. I think, when hunger pains strike, thats the only time it won't make sense.

4 hours in:
Let's be honest, it's only 4 hours. It feels like I forgot to eat breakfast. All I've done all day is type, so, really, are my fingers famished and weak? Nah. Still, it's exciting to not have given in. Which seems silly, but for me and food, we have a pretty needy relationship.

First real world test, I'm off to town to get a book from the library, and maybe do a bit of study in a coffee shop, is that a good idea? Hmmm... we'll see!! I miss coffee, but not as terribly as I thought I would. Coffee was the first to go, 11 days ago. WOW! I think I can do 15 days. Really, I think I could go forever, but, thats not what I want. I miss my morning coffee tradition. I like to sip and type, or sip and read or sip and crumble something sweet. Anyways, thats enough birdwalking on the topic of coffee (although, isn't a blog a giant birdwalk?).

I'll check back in, in a few hours. Really, I think 9pm tonight is going to be the hardest. And, when I have to go to work tomorrow, that also I can foresee as being tricky! Oh well, bring on the trickiness, I've got tricks!!

You Coulda

Oh You Coulda

Coulda had something realllll good.
Something solidly good.
Classic good, punctuated with quirky good.
Fun, songs and games and laughter good
Yup, I live this life good.
Good so good it made smiles linger and eyes wrinkle,
Smells of campfires and swampy bogs
Hot winds and cool pond water
Unspoiled goods
Could have had it
Right now.
Allllll over this blog
But you fucked it up.
You broke your word
and you went behind my back
You judged me and pretended to care
Fuck that
You won't ruin me for others
I've got shields
And fake horses
And jousts
And more icons than the thrift store
You could have had that all too
Real good stuff
The kind that makes you dust off books
sip lemonade
and move slower
and laugh like a child
But you fucked it up.
I guess I'll see you later.
Don't worry
I don't play people
So.
I'll still have my goods.
My real good goods.
You coulda had it too.

poems

Like the leaves in the wind

To push the momentum

of a force created by every

lost moment, then gathered

and stored away to ignite

A future need to recapture

something past

and harness this for

the momentum

that sets the leaves

in motion.



A moment blink

and all can be lost

a moment blink

and all refound

Of the most fragile elements we're given to

watch over in this great world

life is that



Random randomness

that makes you laugh

like a child caught in a fit

rolling on the floor

slappping knees

big fat tears

stop! stop! oh gosh stop!

Grab your stomach, lean in.

Pushed over

Caught in the wind.

A strange rant from my coughs

My cough took me to the ground. grounded me. placed me back on the earth. hands and knees, hacking and pushing and wishing up all deep within. It seems linked, at times. Certain thoughts or moments, I spasm and am hacking again. I know, physically my body is trying to expel phlegm that it is creating within my lungs... but, I want to allow thought on all things from different angles. Different realms? Maybe this would be better if I was more in a transition. Maybe if I was breaking up with a boyfriend of several years, or pulling myself out of a negative experience... maybe then I could see all this forceful purging of inner darkness (although, the phlegm is not dark, itself. But, that's jumping dimensions of thought back to mainstream).

My most intense coughing today started when a friend called. A good, healing, loving friend from a distance. I haven't even spoken to him yet, in fact, he's on the phone with another friend. However, even his voice, his connection with us has allowed my body to try harder. It's like encouragement, but, so so very very physical. So physical my abs hurt from all this unintentional encouragement.

dreamers talk. just coughing really. it's going around. I must say, of the past illness of the Nov-January realm, 'dis is nothin', babe!

practical talk. grapefruit seed extract, liquid form: 10-15 drops in water (very bitter)---bulk tinctures: echinacea and astragalus 1-2 oz, humbolt hack-a-way (usnea) alpine meadows botanicle 70% alcohol.

Photos

I'm so bad at timeliness. It's not a virture I embody. I definetely lack.

Well. Photo uploading-- now there's a beast that I rarely take time to tackle.

So. Here are the beginnings (because, hey, that's a start!).

http://community.webshots.com/user/loveyourdori

The Arrival of the Box

A package arrived in the mail today. Oh how glorious. The satisfying pop as you break the tape, the little breeze you make when you pull open the flaps. And there. Something. Anything. Excitement was already at it's peak, for me at least, the joy is in the opening. The expectation. Granted, it's many levels better when it's something you've been expecting, or something amazing you didn't expect! I love the anticipation. I love the moment just as the scissors hit the box, the moment of pulling up the first layer of packaging before the goodies inside. Those collective moments make me want to drink lemonade and slow down.

What does that say about me? Do I like plans more than reality? Possibilities more than actualities? Do I like to picture joy rather than experience it? Am I reading into this too much? Yes, probably, but I didn't think about this so much until just now. It's an amazing thing, writing, how it lays things before you to examine.

The box was very exciting. Even though I packed it myself, many months ago, it was more exciting than it would have been had it arrived, as scheduled, many months ago. But, in opening it, and handling the goods I felt necessary to ship myself, I also found myself questioning my mentality and revisiting the moments surrounding the packing of the box.

Sweaters, two... brown. Two brown sweaters. Is it ironic that when I opened the box I was also wearing a brown sweater? So I own three brown sweaters. Maybe I should throw a sweater party. Brown only-- rotating every hour (i'd be the only hardcore party goer I expect!). Also, a shirt that doesn't fit (ahhh hope), a shirt that didn't make the morocco cut (welcome back), a pair of pants that got much love when I was in the classrooms (why are you here?) and a black button up shirt (for my formal hike? Huh?). Baby pictures (yay!), Grandma jam (dare I say, double yay!), my external hard drive (now there's a metaphor... shipping my external memory to myself. Hah!) and a pair of socks (sweeeeet). Simple items. So much joy. Oh and tiny fake flowers for my scrapbook. ESSENTIAL. Hah!

So, should I tell myself that this is acceptable behavior? To mail myself my own items because I want to. Need? no no no, my friends, and I am very aware, it is a want for sure. For now, I accept this behavior and allow myself to indulge in what I want (not getting to crazy, keep that new laptop and camera and house in fiji at bay, christine, but you can splurge on the goat cheese). At some point, when I open a box I pack for myself and note that I packed two similar things, and am also wearing a similar article of clothing-- maybe then I will realize I need to keep myself in check.

The Ordinary Meh

Meh. That's 50% of emotion right now. A part of me is ready to leap and run and go go go onto New York, back to the woods of south western New York, the sugar maples, beech trees, wide braken ferns, dappled sunlight, loud summer thunder storms. A part of me is just feeling pretty meh. Meh..... Not meh about New York, just meh about my life. I know it's just a passing meh, but this time, I'm looking at it, and letting it fill me. I'm letting it settle in certain parts of my body. Certain, very fleshy parts, are really feeling very meh.

Never want this blog to turn into a body-bitch-blab-and-boo hoo... but I must say a few things... every now and then. Met a woman who was a size 8, then size 22, and now resides at a 14, sometimes 12, occasional (if i really try) 10. Hm. I'm a realist in some ways, others, a total dreamer. It has served me well (really, honestly) to be a realist about my body. I'll flux between a few sizes, but, for the past 5 years, I've pretty much stayed between two sizes. The rollercoaster of emotion about the whole ordeal has also calmed to a steadier, more enjoyable pace. Punctuated, of course, with thrill rides-- some boo hoo and some wooo hooo! Anyways, I did not start writing to complain, or to moan, or to have some way to e-vent about this all, but instead, to realize two very simple body thoughts.

One. This body can change, and does, and will, and many times--- won't. And I love it. Love its changes, love that it is me and that I am it and we are a very odd couple... strutting about in a meant-for-eachother opposites-attract kind of way.

Two. I'm young. I'm not 30 yet. I've got a lot of life to live... and it will all occur in one place. This body of mine.

So, the choice to treat it well really is not a choice. The choice to be nice to it (verbally, mentally and physically) should be no choice, either.

I'm at a bumpier part of the ride right now... feeling pretty meh. Realizing the meh-ness subsides every inch I take closer to treating this kid better. This 20-something's body is directly attached to the meh-ness, and even in the times she feels meh, and the times she lets it sink into her, she's still got it, and it will always be there. Like it, love it, or hate it.

Ready to run and frolic my way to New York. Not exactly, but I've got the legs that have the potential to help me with those actions.