Crazy

It seems like a while since I've come here. Why? Because these days, I spend the majority of my time grinning like a fool and listening to music that I can't relate to.

Example: last night, I was driving across town with the last of the Arizona sun warming my face, smiling the smile of the hopelessly happy and listening to old R&B on the AM radio. I'm basically a one-woman cliche.

I haven't really wanted to write about it because I'm afraid of jinxing it. I haven't felt good about myself or my life in a while and I don't want to scare away the good fortune. The beginning of the year was rocky for a variety of reasons. My demons came back for me and for the first time in a long time I didn't see a way out. I thought it over plenty of times and was just beginning to accept the fact that I was meant to be unhinged when something happened. I can't quite pinpoint what changed or how I got out of it, but I noticed one day that my head was a little clearer. Yes, the static and depression and overwhelming urge to obsess and control were still there, but the ideas that scared me so badly were now just speaking to me instead of shouting.

A while later, I realized that I wasn't so concerned about how I was going to make it through the day. Before, I had to have a firm plan of what I was going to do during the day, down the hour, because having free time to be alone with my thoughts was too risky. Suddenly, I had the free time that I dreaded so much and, very surprisingly, I wasn't afraid of it. I started to embrace it and it felt familiar. I realized I missed having time to myself.

These days, I can't quite remember what it the first four months of the year felt like. I remember what I was doing and saying and how damaging both tended to be to me, but I can't identify with the feelings anymore. It's like my brain re-arranged itself one night and I woke up feeling new. I went to work and my eyes weren't glazed over. I started caring about myself and things I deemed important. Funny thing is, after I started to realize that I wasn't crazy, things just started to fall into place. I'm two years away from being a college graduate, my relationships with my friends and family have proven to be stronger than I ever expected, I met The Boy and, while I'm still some way from my weight-loss goal, I am absolutely confident that I will make it to where I want to be.

Like I said, I don't know what changed. I still have moments where I don't know if I'm allowed to be this happy. It doesn't feel real a lot of the time, but instead of spending a lot of time questioning or analyzing it, I'm just accepting it. Every single thought that kept me crippled during the beginning of the year is still there; I don't think those will ever go away. But they're quieter now and don't interfere as much. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I've beaten it. I don't need a label, especially that label, to define who I am and what I think about.

This isn't at all what I intended to write about, but I guess it just needed to come out. Funny how that works.

Jesus, dude, none of us know what to do with you.

Wow, that last blog post was a week ago, eh? Whoops.

Guys, I have a confession to make: I'm burnt out on the blogging.

It's not that I don't enjoy it (where else would I spout out my random thoughts?), it's that I don't really feel like I have much to write about.

Things have changed a lot in the past few weeks and, if I were a good blogger, I'd write about them with such zest you would think I was a lemon. (Lemon zest! Get it? Anyone?) But, here's the thing, I'm so excited and happy to be living it all that I can't properly sum it up afterwards. I feel like if I take the time to write about everything, I'll miss out on what's happening in the present. At this point, I care more about keeping the memories than writing about them. Barf, right?

Maybe I can find a way to make my new found zest for life co-exist with the writer inside of me. Compared to how rough everything was a few months ago, it's still new, exciting and pretty damn scary that everything has seemed to just fall into place.

So, because I feel like I'm completely butchering what I'm trying to convey, here is my horoscope for this week. I feel like it sums up a lot of what's been happening lately.

Cancer (June 21-July 22): In honor of the karmic cleanup phase of your astrological cycle, I invite you to do the following exercise: imagine a pit in the middle of a desert that holds everything you've ever used up, spoiled and outgrown. Your old furniture is here, along with stuff like once-favorite clothes, CDs and empty boxes of your favorite cereal. But this garbage dump also contains subtler trash, like photos that capture cherished dreams you gave up on, mementos from failed relationships and symbols of defunct beliefs and self-images you used to cling to. Everything that is dead to you is gathered here. Got that vision in your mind's eye? Now picture yourself dousing the big heap of stuff with gasoline and setting it on fire. Watch it burn.

Yep.

Letters

Here are some things I've been meaning to say. Because I'm girly and mushy and you want to vomit because it's so cheesy. Well, there's a bucket right over there.

Dear M and Garland,
Happy Anniversary! You two are awesome and I love you both very much. Miles is going to be adorable and no girl will ever be good enough for my nephew. I hope you enjoyed Vegas.

Dear Simon,
Thank you for being an awesome dog and even better napping partner. However, I think you need to know, you desperately need a bath.

Dear Mom and Pop,
Happy 25th Anniversary! It's really amazing to see you guys make it through 25 years and still be really and truly in love with one another. Also, thank you for not smothering M, Red or myself, although I'm sure it was very tempting at many times, like earlier this morning.

Dear Red,
When did you get funnier than me? Thank you for trying to make me better at tennis. It is going to be a sweet, sweet day when we play a real game and I spank you.

Dear NE,
You're this blog's #1 fan. If I ever write that book, you're getting an acknowledgment.

Dear Thurber,
I'm happy for you, but OREGON CAN SUCK IT. Not really, but I'm going to miss you. I'm buying a plane ticket the day you leave. Do you think one flannel shirt will be enough to suffice? Should I buy Birkenstocks?

Dear Poppa J,
I'm glad we're cool again. Nobody else would ever put up with my daily "The Office" or "Waterboy" quotes. "Wake her ass up, we gotta win tomorrow!"

Dear Pickle,
You are an adorable cat. Why did you run away from me today? I LOVE YOU.

Dear Nikki,
Way to stick it out in school. I'm proud of you and you deserve to be happy regardless of what you're doing. I'm glad we're back to being cool too.

Dear Deezy,
You are like the coolest chick on the planet. Thanks for always giving good advice even though I openly and proudly admit to loving Justin Timberlake.

Dear Twitter,
You are more addicting than crack with much less pock marks and missing teeth.

Dear Hair,
Thanks for finally being awesome and not obnoxious.

Dear U of A Hat,
Thanks for keeping that asshole Hair in place.

Dear Boy Who I've Been Hanging Out With Recently,
The more I hang out with you, the more unbelievably awesome you become. Kudos.

Dear Dave,
YOU ARE GOING TO BE FAMOUS AND IT IS GOING TO RULE. You truly are one of my favorite people and I'm glad we met in our crazy little high school.

Dear Alison,
Why don't you hang out with us anymore?! I miss your face.

Dear Living Room,
Stop being so effing cold. A scarf doesn't really go with this outfit.

Dear Lama,
Come to Tucson immediately so we can hang out because I also miss your face.

Dear Robert Smith,
Please cool it with the lipstick. Seriously, it's weirding everyone out.

That's all for today, guys. Happy Friday!

Nostalgia in aisle 3

Yesterday afternoon, I slowly trudged into my house, seeking relief from the brutal Arizona sun. My work uniform was stifling and I couldn't make it to my room fast enough to strip out of the hot polyester. I made it to my room and closed the door. I wandered over to the window to pull my blinds closed and I saw my grandpa sitting on the patio, smoking a cigarette and staring off into space.

Tata has been a part of my family for seventeen years. We moved in with him when I was five and my Nana passed away. I don't know why our family was the one who moved in, but I remember being in awe of our house in Nogales. It was big with wing-backed leather chairs and tile floors. Some of my favorite memories were coming into the living room, sitting with Tata and watching old episodes of "Looney Toons" while he laughed louder than I'd ever heard a grown-man laugh. Other times, I remember him putting on his military uniform, complete with badges, stars and a white helmet, and trudging off to the cemetery to participate in burials.

When I was nine-years-old, we moved to Tucson. I was still fairly young, but I don't remember there ever being a question of whether or not Tata would come with us. Along with my parents and brothers, he was a staple in our immediate family. We hadn't been a family of five in years; we were now a proud family of six.

Our first few years in Tucson, Tata was the same as he was in Nogales. He made the same jokes, laughed at the same things and even had a girlfriend. I rarely had a real conversation with him about my life or his, but it was just assumed that we cared for each other and there really was no need to discuss it.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I brought Tata into my U.S. History class so he could speak about his time overseas during World War II. At first, he sat in front of the class and didn't say much.

I tried to encourage him to talk about the discrimination he might have faced as a Mexican man. "Tell them about the time--" I started, but Tata held his hand up and cut me off before I could finish. He took a deep breath and launched into a story about how he and his buddies used to hang out in the Burmese jungles during their down time. He told stories of the cute girls he saw overseas, the jokes him and his friends shared, and how his experiences during WWII shaped him. It was the first time I had ever been impressed by my grandfather. I felt an overwhelming sense of pride that this was my Tata who was sitting in the front of the room, cracking up my classmates.

The Tata who sat in front of my sophomore U.S. History class was not the same Tata I saw yesterday. He sat in the same patio chair he always does, smoking a GPC cigarette and staring off into space, looking at something I can't see. He's quieter these days, a little slower too. The Tata who used to watch "Looney Toons" with me is long gone and sometimes, it makes me sad to think that one day he won't be here at all.

I quickly changed my clothes and made my way into the kitchen. Tata came in from outside.

"Hi, mijita," he said. He smiled at me and pat me on the shoulder, same as he does every day. I put my hand on top of his and smiled back.

"Hi, Tata," I said. He squeezed my shoulder and shuffled back to his room.

A lot has changed since that day seventeen years ago when we moved in with Tata. Much more has changed since that day thirteen years ago when Tata moved with us to Tucson. Our family of 6 has expanded and we are all getting older. I am coming to terms with the idea that one day I will wake up and there will be nobody to squeeze my shoulder and call me mijita.

But that day is not today.

It's getting better all the time.

I don't know what it is, but I've been in a really good mood lately. Case in point: today, for no reason at all, I just started giggling. I'm not talking about a little tee-hee-ing, I'm talking full on giggle fit. Japanese school girls came out of nowhere and were like, "Hey, KV, chill with the giggling. You're embarrassing yourself."

I don't even know what to do with myself. Mind you, I'm not complaining. It's just that my situation hasn't really changed at all, so I'm kind of caught off guard. I'm still clueless as far as life goes, I have no idea how I'm going to pay for the transition to a state university, my summer is jam packed with work, school and social obligations and my car/phone/computer/life breaks down every third day of the week. I'm still in the exact same situation as I was a few months ago when I was sobbing myself to sleep and doing my share to help with the failing ice cream industry by eating enough Dryers to put the half-ton man to shame. I was basically a walking Lifetime movie.


I need to work on my seduction eyes.

So why the change now? Why am I falling into giggle fits and taking detours down Shit-Eating Grin Lane?

I don't know. I don't know and, honestly, I don't really care. I'm happy with whatever happened in my brain that triggered this good mood. So, I'm going to try something that I rarely ever do.

I'm going to enjoy it.

I'm still not making any coffee, though.

A couple weeks ago, I had a conversation with M about our jobs.

"I just want to do something that I like. I don't even have to love it, but I'd like to wake up and go to a job where I'm doing something that I care about," I said.

Without missing a beat, M said, "I want to make money. I want to make enough money to be able to do whatever the hell I want."

Today, as I was sitting in on a meeting that had little to do with me, I couldn't help but remember the conversation M and I had weeks earlier. I felt bad. The woman leading the meeting flew in from out of town. She was looking to talk to someone about records and, for reasons unbeknownst to yours truly, I was the best representative. I listened, nodded, made the appropriate comments at the appropriate time and generally did my best to look like I belonged there.

The woman studied my face as I spoke. She watched me so intently, I started to think she could see right through me. I focused on her eyes and silently dared her to read between the lines.

"I don't know what I'm talking about," was the underlying statement.

"I don't care about any of this," was a close second.

"I'm just biding my time here until I get transferred to the department I really want to work for," came in third.

Then, as I was in the middle of rattling off something not even I understood, it hit me: I need to grow up.

I have this thing in life where I just expect everything to work out on the first try. I expect to love the first job I have. I expected to get into my first choice college and have it all figured out by the time I walked in the door. I expected to graduate in 4 years and have a job lined up doing something that both pays well and is emotionally fulfilling.

Um, no.

None of that happened. And, much as I regret some things, I'm kind of glad it worked out this way. I'm starting to realize that only on the rarest of rare occasions will life go according to plan. It doesn't make it less painful or frustrating, but at least life is kind enough to be consistently cruel. For now, I'm struggling to figure out what kind of job I want and if it's possible, or even relevant, to have it be something that satisfies me emotionally.

"Just do something that makes you money. It doesn't have to be something you love, just something you can stand. Once you have the money, do the thing you love," M said it to me and it just clicked. It made sense and I was a little amazed that I hadn't thought of it before.

M's voice filled my head as I spoke to the woman who was leading the meeting.

"Sure, I can look into that for you," I said.

Her eyes bore into me and I thought, "I can do that, but not because I care. There are fewer things in the world I care less about. I can look into that for you because it will eventually lead me to the road I want to be on. I can sacrifice some of my interest and happiness because I know that someday, it will be repaid to me in full. I can look into that for you because I am putting faith in myself that I will follow through and become the person I want to be. Most of all, I can look into that because I have the knowledge, talent and ability to."

The meeting let out and I walked back to my desk. The ever-present urge to drop everything and walk out the door was still there, strong as ever. This time, though, instead of trying to repress it, I welcomed it. I allowed the feeling to make itself at home, hoping that it would never leave me. Praying that it will remind me that while I may not know what I want to do, I sure as hell know what I don't want to do.

I took a deep breath, sat down and got back to work.

But, Baby, It's Cold Outside

The past few days have been terrible. Awful. Horrendous and incredibly, incredibly shitty. Thanks Universe, I owe you one.

In between bouts of unconsciousness and nonstop sobbing, I've been thinking about a lot of things. What sort of things? Oh, mostly my life. Mostly my life and what I'm doing with it. Mostly my life and what I'm doing with it and if I'm a huge failure. The answer I've come up with so far is (are you ready for it?):

I don't know.

Revolutionary thinking, right? Quick, I want to copyright that. Someone look into it.

Thinking about how much I suck has gotten me nothing except puffy eyes and an unhealthy amount of sodium. I stress eat beef jerky like nobody's business. (To all the cows that had to die in order to supplement my depression, my apologies.)

Yesterday in particular was rough. I came home, sobbed myself into a stupor and saw the dark hand of depression coming back for me. After all these years, it was finally back to claim me in the name of all those who had gotten lost before me.

"I'll bring you freedom," it said. I was terrified.

Lucky for me, I have some amazing people in my life who helped me out. And upon further reflection, I would like to say this to the depression that has come back and made itself welcome:

Fuck you. That's right. Fuck you right in the face, you silly bastard. You're not better than me. I will do everything I can think of to pull myself out of this hole. Oh, and this hole that I'm stuck in? Fuck that, too. I am better than this and I realize it now.

So here's to getting better. It's scary and cold outside, but I ain't stayin' here.

Breakfast memories

I went to breakfast with my dad this morning. Nothing fancy, just a little mom and pop diner close to our house. This morning was the first morning in the past two days that I haven't felt like bursting into tears.

Over pancakes, we talked about the family. We talked about my Tata, my brothers, uncles and cousins. Then the conversation turned to my nana. Nana Irma died when I was five but I still miss her. I like to imagine what she would be like now, how she would react to the person I've become. I find myself wondering if she would be proud that I'm her granddaughter.

"I don't really have a lot of memories of her," I said. "But I like to think she was a no-nonsense woman. A strong woman, someone who was the rock of the family."

My dad drank his coffee and nodded. "She was a good woman," he said. "If there was something that needed to be done, she didn't make a fuss about it, she just did it."

I suddenly felt very ashamed. I've spent the past few days mourning the past. I've beat myself up over things that I can't change. I've been focusing so much on what needs to be done and how I'm going to accomplish it instead of just doing it. I don't want to be a martyr, I just want to get my stuff done.

I look at my family and it's clear that I come from a strong line of women. From my grandmother to my own mother to my aunts and cousins, I think there is very little the women in my family can't accomplish. I think I possess the strength they all have, I just haven't been using it.

Still, I wish my Nana were alive. I wish I could ask her what she thought when she was my age and if she was happy with her life. I don't think people are ever satisfied with their lives. I don't think the doubts ever go away, it's just a matter of learning to work around it.

That still seems like a pretty raw deal. But there have been millions of people before me who made life work somehow. I just have to get on with myself.

I just put in new wallpaper...on the inside

Good evening, children.

I didn't mean for that to come off as creepy as I think it did. I promise I'm not in a windowless van with shag carpeting and candy (or am I?*).

I have a confession to make: I've been cheating on Second to a Sitcom. Yes, it may be shocking. But there comes a time when a girl and her blog just fall out of love. I still love STAS, but I'm just not in love with it anymore. That's the bad news.

The good news is I think I discovered why. STAS has become an obligation. It started out fun and fancy free and now I feel like it's become rather forced. I come home from a long day at work and it's "nag, nag," this and "the kids are hungry" that. I'll write something, come back and read it later and think, "Jee-eeeez, I'm retarded."

This is where the cheating comes in. I've been writing elsewhere instead of here. I actually get nervous to come here. I get cold sweats and my stomach starts somersaulting more than a five-year-old all hyped up on Fun Dip. I feel like STAS is judging me. "I know you've been writing all over town you harlot," I imagine it thinking. It's true though, I'm writing everywhere else except STAS. I'm like an addict; don't care where I get my writing fix as long as I get it. I'll write right here in this dirty alley on a dumpster instead of my nice, sweet, welcoming STAS.

For this I am sorry. To the readers, yes. But mostly to STAS. I'm sorry I done you wrong, baby. But if you take me back, I'll never do you wrong again.

Thus, I am going to do a bit of re-imaging of STAS. Yes, I'll still talk about nonsense. A girl can't be expected to be serious all the time. But I'm also going to talk about whatever comes to my mind and I feel like I need to write down. I like writing to an audience; maybe it's my middle-kid syndrome acting up. Or maybe it's because sometimes late at night when my ego had been inflated to maximum capacity, I think I can write. I don't know. Jury's deadlocked on that one.

STAS will go forward, but not as planned. I only have the half-assed, semi-thought out, above mentioned plan. And plans and me don't necessarily go hand in hand. I'm winging it, is what it comes down to.

So for now, STAS and I are staying together. You know, for the kids.

*I am!

Days Like These

Today I woke up and something was off. Not bad, not good, just off. It happens occasionally. I can usually feel it coming the night before.

Sometimes I won't sleep. Sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, feeling like I just missed something important. Other nights, I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering what it is I'm supposed to be doing. There's always that nagging feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something, that there's something I can't quite remember.

The mornings that follow such restless nights are rarely good. I swing my legs from the bed and plant my feet on the floor. I take the first step of the day and trip on nothing. I bump my elbow on the door frame and burn myself with the straightening iron. I am definitely not in sync with myself.

I don't have an explanation for days like these. Days where I'm doing nothing out of the ordinary, but there's this force and purpose behind everything that wasn't there yesterday. Simple things feel so much more significant. I feel like I'm moving in slow motion. I can see my breath and the tiny, gusts of air that follow my fingers every time they move. Nothing feels real.

I am more suspicious on days like these. I don't understand how everyone else doesn't feel what I feel and doesn't see what I see. How can one go about their business on days like these? How can a person function with such force all around them? Days like these, I can feel my chest expanding. My brain is trying to take in too much and I usually end the day with a headache.

Days like these. How curious.

Sweat Fueled Revelation

Tonight I got home and did what I normally do: I ate dinner. Chicken and chili stew, it was everything a dinner should be. Hot, tasty and homemade, it frolicked in my mouth and danced down my throat. I had a large bowl and then sat around wondering what I could do to burn off all the calories I'd just eaten. That's all that my mind thinks about these days.

If I eat that, how much would I have to do to clean the slate again? To be on even keel?

It's incredibly tiring and most of the time, takes the joy out of eating. Tonight I took Simon for a walk. I chatted on the phone with an old friend for a long time. I missed talking to my friend and before I knew it, half an hour had passed. We said our goodbyes and Simon and me headed home.

I got home and plopped into the kitchen chair. "Great," I thought. "I'm done now. I can shower and not worry about calories for the rest of the night."

I looked down at my lower body and knew that wasn't going to be the case. Some nights, I'm proud of what I've accomplished and the parts of me I've lost. Other nights, I am disappointed in myself. I'm angry that I haven't accomplished more. But tonight, I felt selfish. I had left the girl I used to be behind. Physically, I don't remember who that girl was. I see photos of her and I don't recognize her. I feel sorry for her. But I forget sometimes that I was her. That I used to laugh in her body. That I had friends who cared for me no matter what I looked like on the outside. For all the times I was insecure or angry in her body, I was also happy. I told jokes and stories and had really great times. I loved and was loved in her body.

I rolled my mini-trampoline (the min-tramp) into my bedroom, put on some music and jumped on. The music was upbeat but I didn't really hear any of it. My body was moving but my mind was still thinking about the girl I used to be. A while back, I put up an old Polaroid of that girl on the wall for inspiration.

"So I'll know I can never go back," I thought as I tacked it up. It caught my eye as I was bouncing. Suddenly I heard the words of a song I'd heard a thousand times before.

I'm going on, the song said. I looked at the Polaroid. "Well, I guess that's true," I thought. I bounced more and listened to the words. It was like hearing them for the first time.

But every once in a while, I think about her and smile, one of the few things I do miss, it said. "Good Christ," I thought. "That's exactly right."

But baby I got to know, baby I've got to show, baby I've got to prove it. And I'll see you when I get there.

I was completely consumed. My legs were aching and my chest was tight, but I couldn't stop. I felt weightless. I am not leaving her behind. I'm ditching the bad parts and taking the rest of her along with me. Sure, I'm terrified. I've been terrified since the beginning. The fear of failure and regression tug at me every day. It probably will forever. But looking at that photo and listening to those words, suddenly everything made sense. There is no going back, ever. There is no failure, not with this. There is nothing but what I choose to do.

And I promise I'll be waiting for you. Goddamn right.