zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
Had stomach cramps for months that time...

Sometimes I wish life wouldn't hit me over the head with my weaknesses.

I figure if I'm ever in a good marriage it'll be a lot like Buddhism is for me today: it'll be good and healthy and stabilizing for me so that I know I have to stay, even though I'll want to run screaming from the hard parts every day. The hard parts where I have to face myself. I've gotten so good at running away that I'm not sure I know how to stay and negotiate new terms.

/cryptic

want to curl in a ball and read fanfiction under the covers. dharma isn't an escape anymore, and it's scaring the fuck out of me. i hate it when the gods decide it's time to give me a kick in the ass in the right direction.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] cshushki said yesterday of the guy I'm crushing on, "Sounds like he needs to be needed. You could try being more needy."

Turned me right off, that did. I think I may need to reevaluate this crush. And like I told her, I'd probably lose him to the first needier person who came along.

This is not to say that I'm not needy. I am. It's just I regard that more as a personal failing, and not something I'd get into a relationship to remedy. And also I would never trust anyone else with my neediness. Trust issues up the wazoo, that's me. But also, like Alanis Morisette says, I don't want to be your other half, I believe that one and one make two. It took me a long time to learn that I could take care of myself and I don't know that I'd be able to give that up; it's a hard-won knowledge but it's a good knowledge.

Perhaps I should not be posting from work on my slightly fucked-up inner dialogue.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)


Sounds about right... depending on what day it is... tomorrow it will be totally different.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
Sorry to drop off the radar for so long. Wish it were for better reasons than it actually was. Not completely back yet, but getting there. Hopefully.

In the time since I've last written, I've managed to lose my cellphone. This means I no longer have many of your phone numbers (wail of despair!!!).

In the time since I've last written, my brother's roof fell in. Now he is living in his landlord's shed. ...Yup... Well, look, he'd be living under my bed, wouldn't he, except he's five states away from me!

In the time since I've last written, my tentative plans of becoming a Buddhist nun met a fiery and ironic death. Nuff said.

In the time since I've last written, I discovered Pros fandom. Oh. My. God.
It is the crackiest crack in the world. And since The Professionals aired before I was even born, the fandom has thirty years of crack. Mmmmm...

In the time since I've last written, the world has gone to hell in a handbasket, and those of you who are planning not to vote? DEAD TO ME. I don't care who you vote for, just do it, dammit!

In the time since I've last written, I had a wonderful, beautiful, lovely, exquisite week in which depression did not once touch me. It was amazing. It was awesome. It was just so... nice. Then the black netting caught me again and pulled me under for two weeks, worse luck. Just barely keeping afloat these days.

Er... travel plans:

1) I'll be in SA over Christmas, so all those (two or three) people whose numbers I lost with my phone? You should definitely give me your phone numbers before then.

2) I'll probably be in Boston for a trade show for a few days in October. Do I know anyone who's still in Boston? If so, call me, because I guarantee I don't have your number... I mean, I couldn't even call my dad cause I don't know any numbers by heart!

3) All you DC folk, I am collecting strays for Thanksgiving. I'm flying my brother up here--ghod willing he'll have a home by then--and I'm hosting an actual honest-to-Pete dinner at my place. We hope it will not be a disaster... I've never even cooked a chicken in my life, let alone a turkey... but we figure if we burn the house down we can go to the Olive Garden across the road. So if you are in the area and don't have Thanksgiving plans, please come! Only let me know a bit beforehand if you can, please, so I'll have a rough count of who all is coming.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
Seriously bizarre thing happened at work today... I was over at the other store, bringing them an order of cheese and picking up an order of tofu (and when did this become my exciting life?) and there's a woman there I'm friendly with, we talk supplements and the Local 400 and sunshine every once in a while. But she's never touched me before, and today she got really really close into my personal bubble and while I'm a touchy-feely person with those I know well it completely freaked me out because I don't know her well, and usually I'm the person to initiate touch, and there's a certain control to that. And she's easily twice my age and although upon consideration I would totally dig aging hippies I was totally not prepared for that kind of come-on. At work.

Anyways. Unprocessed thoughts. Kinda freaked out. Made me reconsider my personal stance on touch. Which I seem to need a lot more than many people I know, or maybe I'm just starved for it, but I'm just now realizing that I can count on one hand the number of people I let touch me. Two hands if you count the people I see once a year or less. Huh.

spring

Apr. 18th, 2008 06:48 pm
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
It's spring, and spring is always bittersweet for me. It takes me a while to remember, sometimes, that spring is about death as much as it is about life; cherry blossoms and daffodils and green green grass fill me with such unhesitating joy after the dark of winter (seasonal affective disorder R Us) that I forget how fleeting it is.

Dacey asked for daffodils. He'd offered her anything she wanted, but she asked for daffodils. Elijah couldn't understand. "But they'll die," he said. And she wouldn't ask for anything else, didn't want any strings--as if saving someone's life isn't the biggest string possible--so he gave her daffodils every week, even when he had to have them flown in specially from the islands, in an effort to prove that his love was not as fleeting as the flowers she'd asked for.

It's warm out and there are flowers and I've been loving it so much, and just today I remembered that for all spring is a celebration of life, spring doesn't stay. And sure, we wouldn't appreciate the beauty if it were all around us all the time, but I still have trouble living in the now and enjoying what is. And I know it's a cycle, but I get caught in the death part... spring always takes me by surprise, and every year I don't quite believe in it until it's already over, and things are getting ready to die again.

Daffodils are my favorite flowers. They're just so ridiculous and lovely and happy and spring-y. And they're never here long enough for me to believe that they'll last... love and life and spring.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
It's been the most bizarre day off. First off, I woke up at 7 AM and could not get back to sleep. Finally I got up, took some herbal calming stuff, and wrote out a list of all the things I've got hanging over my head that need doing. I read till eight, did three of the ones I could do today, and managed to get some more sleep. One of the things I needed to do is buy a dress for Daniel's wedding (where I will know no one, omg), so I actually went clothes shopping today. For the first time in about two years. It wasn't horrible, either. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't horrible. Except when it comes to finding decent plus-size dresses... I mean, really, fat chicks have one thing going for them: ample breasts. So why is it that every single dress out there seems designed to show off the tummy roll I don't want noticed and to totally cover up my chest??. Seriously, folks. I am not a sexless blob. Basic capitalism: give me some decent-looking clothes and I will spend money on them. The demand is there, now where's the supply??

I found a decent top to go with a skirt I already have, for the wedding dinner, and for the wedding itself I tentatively have a dress, pending Heather's verdict. My dad will hate whatever I wear, so maybe I just need to get over that.

Shopping, though, is a seriously bizarre experience for me, and it made me sufficiently off-kilter that when a random guy came up to me and asked for my phone number, I didn't even think about it until after he'd walked away with it, and then I was in this headspace of what the fuck just happened? Seriously weird. Also I bought a pair of jeans since all the ones I own have holes in embarrassing places, and once the weather doesn't call for long underwear anymore I'm not going to be able to get away with that.

Also went to the Bethesda Coop today, just to check out the competition, and it was pretty cool. It's more traditional-coop than Silver Spring Coop, with the healthfood store smell that I remember from the coops we went to when I was a kid. Much more laid-back than my workplace... that's another story.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
I finally put up my collage-posters, and my room has magically become home.

I started them my senior year of highschool, mostly by accident; we'd moved so many times that we were just keeping all our "real" stuff in storage, including my posters, so I'd cut pictures out of magazines and stick them on the wall of wherever I was sleeping at the moment, then glue pictures to pictures, then put up stickers and postcards and ticketstubs. I now have 12 posterboards, a little worse for wear for having been dragged all over the country, and they cover most of my available wallspace. I'll take a picture if I can ever figure out how to get the pictures off my camera.

Anyways. My altar and my collage-posters and my books: elements of home. I can't really believe how much more settled-in it's making me feel.
zana16: The Beatles with text "All you need is love" (Default)
Part of starting to get my head sorted out is trying to get to know the person that I've become while I wasn't paying attention.

You wouldn't think it was hard to get to know yourself, but then you're not me. I'm no good at getting to know people, and to suddenly realize that I can't count on my mainstays--am I really a writer if I haven't put anything to paper in almost a year, am I really a mathy type when I go whole weeks without even thinking about integrals and differential equations, am I really a workaholic now I've found more fun things to hide myself in, am I really that responsible one now that my friends have grown up and I don't have to be the designated driver anymore?--anyways, it's disorienting. I'm not my history, not anymore, but it is a part of me, I guess.

So I'm trying to get to know myself, and it doesn't help that I'm running away constantly. It's like I'm afraid to get to know myself cause hey, maybe I won't like myself. So it comes down to little factoids:


SUBJECT: Zana

LIKES: avacados, dark chocolate, good fiction with complex characters, philosophy, slash, ecology, amusing conspiracy theories

DISLIKES: the Maryland DMV, buying clothes, projectile ketchup, cleaning my room, the medical establishment


Doesn't give me much of an idea of what makes me tick.

And it's not much use trying to get to know me through my friends. The other night H, in the middle of a discussion about smoking pot with one's parents (I haven't, she has), said to me, "Anyways, it's been a few years. You're the person I'd go to if I wanted to smoke out now." I looked back at her and said, "But you're my go-to person for illicit substances. Well, shit." And then we felt old. Apparently, old is when you've gone so long not smoking out that you don't have a source when you want to.

On a related note, a friend has learned how to make ice cream and looked up on the internet how to make pot ice cream. Only he can't find a source, either. We all suck.

Erm, lost the thread there. Oh right: getting to know myself. My point is: I spend so much time in my own head, you'd think I'd know myself pretty well by now. But I don't.

I keep reading fiction revolving around "How well can one person really know another?" Even if you're related, even if you're married, you only get a slice. But with myself, I don't know who the fuck I am. This may be an indication that I need to get the fuck back into therapy. But first I need to get to the point where I know that I actually want to get to know myself.

...I swear, I can't have a normal nervous breakdown like anyone else, can I? Noooo, I have to be the one with issues nobody else seems to share. Where am I supposed to find a support group for "coming out of years of depression, not sure whether I'm an interesting human being now that I'm not navel-gazing anymore"???

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