Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!


clickety clickety nails on the keyboard, you can be the office type / or like to strip - been amusing myself with some gangster rap lately, holy crap. It's all hos and stuff, who's pimping, who's got Gucci-something... quite a change up. Then I heard Glen Hansard on the radio this morning and longed for the movie I haven't seen yet -

I went to therapy last night for the first time in a month. I had completely regressed to the point of insanity, I've been thinking and writing and "what's wrong with me"ing myself into a freaking coma, and Roxanne looked at me last night with such concern and love and said:

"It must be hard to miss your mom so much."

I looked up from a mountain of Kleenex and was just totally dumbfounded. I have been so caught in what am I doing wrong, am I not going to enough meetings, I don't know how to meditate, I am terrified and anxious all the time, and I can't get anything done - anything - I have a show in three weeks and I haven't done a thing about it - I get all paralyzed and then upset and worried about everything I'm having a hard time doing because nothing is getting done... once all the anger went away that's what was left. And so obviously I know that the anniversary of my mother's death is coming up, but I didn't want to give it any energy, and when I get stressed out this is what happens, and I'm not good enough, and everybody else has it figured out but me... so I thought this was just the same shit and therefore meant that I hadn't gone anywhere or gotten any better - but it turns out that this is my poor excuse for coping skills. I keep tying it to all these other things, but what's really going on is that under enormous amounts of strain I tie the effects that the stress is having on me to something external, to everything external, besides the thing that is causing it. I'm so used to feeling not good enough and not skinny enough and all that that it's a natural thing for me. And Roxanne, who doesn't know me well on the grand scope of the Universe, can see it as clear as day, as clearly as I can see certain facets of alcoholism, as clearly as we can see shit manifesting in other people that they can't put together. It was all like early AA, where she was like, would I steer you wrong? Have I steered you wrong? Has this worked so far? Then why would I start lying to you now?

She wouldn't. I don't have perspective. It's like I'm in an abusive relationship with myself that I can't see. And I wonder why I feel like I've been shot in the face and beaten half to death, and suddenly I look down and I'm the one holding the bat, waking up, wondering what happened.

So, just like last year, I'm not crazy or not good enough or any of those things. I'm a girl, a woman, who lost both of her parents and misses her mom. Who feels like she doesn't have any family left that's not insane or drunk, because she doesn't. Who was thrown from a warm living room and suburban Sunday dinners out into the road like a stray cat. And I can feel like all that and be upset about all that because it is all true and it's all really happening. And I'm not a retard for something that I find so trivial, or that I don't want to push energy into, to be affecting me so much. It's out of my control.

I'm all crying and like, Roxanne, I have four dollars in my account and she's like, well, last time you didn't have money you came anyway, and then when you got money you paid me, so why can't we keep doing that?


Bills are hard, money's tough, we went from Raf making a grand a week to being lucky that he's got inside work for the wintertime, so it's hard. I switched jobs, I made choices to be happy instead of rich for a while, and I've got to sacrifice to make the investment into working here because it could - it should - turn into something great.

Wow. There's a lot of free space in my head right now, I just looked out the window and there was dead silence.

I guess I'll keep coming, right?


all set with that? great. here's another one.

quickies count