Not Proud

So, as I said in my last blog, I've been sick.  Well, today it decided to manifest when I got home from work.  Instead of eating a healthy lunch and getting my butt into gear, I got distracted by my own imagination and sickness and just never did it.  Now, it's pretty easy to rationalize that I'm sick and I probably shouldn't be working out.... wrong.

The thing is, it would be easy to rationalize, except the other day I was more sick than I am now and I did Zimbabwe for 30 minutes and I went for a 30 minute walk later that night. So no, I can only attribute it to my own distracted laziness.

That being said, I'm working on an interesting project.  I'm going to be doing a vlog based off of illustrations that I do.  Or rather, based off of little snippets of my life that I tell via audio and then illustrate with drawn pictures. I'm not 100% sure what I want my style to be like, though but hopefully I can figure it out.  I went ahead and created a new username on YouTube.com which is OwlsOnFoot. There aren't any videos yet but I'm going to record the voice-over tomorrow and then move from there.  I'm looking forward to the project because my BlackCanaryII account on YouTube wasn't really that great so I didn't really want to stick with it.....or maybe it wasn't great because I didn't stick with it......

........

I'm not sure.  Either way, I'm done with it.

Anyway, no venting or raging tonight. It's 2am and I'm posting this blog from my phone just for giggles, really.  But it will make blotting easier, now that I can do it from my phone....

.....which is better than your phone.....

...be jealous.

Burn.

I Hate Being Sick

So, last night my mother went to the hospital. While I was at work, I realized that my phone was going off in my back pocket. I check it, and my mother has been blowing up my phone. So, I go to call back and my father answers the phone saying, "Everything is okay, the emergency people are here and taking Mom to the hospital." Well, I immediately freak out, of course, leave work and get to the Hospital to see my mother all plugged up to machines and things like that. Of course, I immediately believe that my mother is dying, but somehow manage to keep from crying--I honestly believe it was an act of God, because I was seriously about ready to lose it. My mother was eventually placed in her room, by which time she was apparently feeling better. Bottom line, she had a serious panic attack that she thought was a heart attack, coupled with a serious intestinal viral infection and back-spazms. Not fun for my Mom, but she's okay and was able to come home last night which was great.

But then I, who have been feeling slightly under the weather, wake up this morning and I can't breathe, I can barely talk, I'm coughing up gross stuff and my head feels like it's going to explode. So, as it is, I have called out of work so that I can help my mom get back on her feet, meanwhile I feel like crap.

I'm laying on my couch, trying to fall asleep but I feel so bad and the backs of my eyes hurt so bad that I can't keep them closed for any length of time. Seriously, I feel like my nose is about to explode off of my face. At least then it wouldn't hurt so much.

In any case, I've been getting into shape. Sort of. Right now, my primary goal is to lose all of this extra weight that I've gained by being lazy. I've been at it for three weeks and I've already lost roughly eight pounds--which is kind of interesting. Basically, I've really just been watching what I eat and working out. I also have this great little tool on my phone called "Noom". It helps a lot and it allows me to log what I eat, set small goals for myself, track my weight and work-out patterns. It's pretty nifty. I'm looking to drop back down to my goal weight of 140...which means I have a lot of time to go, but will post it up as I pass certain milestones.

Ah, well. Time to pass out. I'm exhausted and feel like poop. :(

Just Woke Up

So, I just woke up from a little power-nap. And I have to say it sucks. Perhaps it's just the idea of being responsible, but I absolutely hate waking up from a great sleep...only to realize that I have to get ready to go to work. Bleh.

Maybe it's just Target. Because I don't usually wake up and think "Ugh...I have to go to school..." or "...ugh...I have to get a cup of milk for the baby..." Any other kind of responsibility or obligation, or anything really, I don't mind. It's just Target. I'm just so tired of working at a job where I do the same thing every day, get paid sh*t money, and come home too exhausted to play with my children.

I mean, if I was at least getting paid around $10/hour then that might actually be a reason to stay, but as it is I get paid less than $8/hour which is barely enough to pay the few bills I really have, let alone set aside to save up for my children.

I hate it.

But I recently applied to a few places, including my school Book Store (which pays $10/hour and it wouldn't interfere with my classes--boast). I haven't heard anything back yet and it's so disappointing. All I'm trying to do is hang on until I can find something better, but between disappointing job-satisfaction (or lack-there-of) and the bad pay it's getting harder and harder to do the "responsible" thing and get my butt in gear to get ready and go in almost every day.

If it weren't for some of my kids and a few of my co-workers, I would have bailed long ago. Oh, well. Off to work.

"Who Am I? 24601" ...but not really

So, it has been a relatively long time since I've updated my blog. I suppose that is because I have had a lot going on with me as of late. A lot going on, but managing not to get anywhere, if that makes any sense. I rarely vent online--I have a personal journal for that--but I suppose I'm wondering if there's anyone out there that can give me a bit of perspective. Or perhaps, just trying to put who I am and the things I've done (or haven't done) into words that are accessible by pretty much anyone will somehow make me feel like I'm making some kind of leap into becoming the type of person that I want to be. Or if anyone ever wants to get to know me, they can just look at my blog and realize that I am not what I seem--and not in that "oo, she's so mysterious and cool" kind of way. I mean, "Wow...I had no idea she was even capable of those kinds of thoughts...creepy..." but in a negative way.

I don't really think that I've been making a lot of sense yet, so let me just start on the surface:

On the surface, everything looks fine. I would say that I am a pretty average 24-year-old, at least an average, White, American, Female 24-year-old. I would say that I'm mildly attractive, I'm over-weight, wear jeans most of the time, work at Target, go to school full-time for Graphic Design, live with my parents who don't charge me rent, and I have two beautiful, identical little girls that have smiles that make the sun's light seem dull in comparison. I'm single, but it never seems to be an issue, I have a good family even if we have our problems, I can sometimes be over-powering and a little "out-there" but I still manage to find people who tolerate me enough for me to call them friends. I am a somewhat-talented first-year student, studying Graphic Design and I have a lot of opportunities in front of me to succeed in my field. Although I'm not particularly in love with Target, I like the people I work with though not necessarily under. But all in all, I really don't have a lot to complain about--at least nothing that most people would tell me I have any right to complain about.

I'm so tired of people telling me how strong I must be...

Oo...I'm a single mother of twin toddlers...ooo...I'm a full-time student...I'm working on campaigns for Graphic competitions, I'm working as often as I can at Target to try to help my family, the father of my children is with someone else and now has a new baby and I just brush it off...I must be SO strong because I can handle everything going on in my life and manage to wake up with a smile.

Can I just call bullsh*t on all of that?

Okay, yes, I can easily be perceived like I have some semblance of control and that I can balance my life and emotions really well...but it is probably the biggest lie I've ever spun. I'm perceived that way because I want people to think that I am strong, so I can manipulate those around me with what I say and don't say, or the fact that I can behave nonchalantly when really I'm screaming on the inside.

Honestly, I don't want to be perceived as pathetic, although I am.

Let me explain.

Here I am, single, with two daughters that I love, while their father--whom I still love--is with someone else and has a child with her. And interestingly enough, it is my fault that he is with her and not with me because I let my pride and fears get in the way of what I want, and I let others' reactions dictate my life for a long time. And where am I now? I think about him constantly--whether it's good, bad, comparing him to someone else, wishing I could tell him something funny...anything. Meanwhile, I am going about my life, working, going to school, taking care of my children with the help of my family, excelling in Graphic Design and school, and having fun with my friends. Meanwhile, when I get home and it's time to get in bed, I'm acutely aware of how alone I am and how little everything else means because my family is broken and the person that I love and father of my children isn't there to wake up to in the morning. I have literally cried myself to sleep on numerous occasions and as horrible as it sounds, I seek solace in my daughters because without them nothing would be bearable. Meanwhile, I still talk to him, still try to have a positive relationship with him for the sake of our daughters and our own sakes. And I wait, rooting quietly for his relationship to fail because realizes that he is settling for something comfortable and constant (because he knows that she will never leave him, where I have in the past). Basically, I'm waiting for either one of two things to happen: one, they break up and we try again; two, I fall out of love with him.

The disgusting thing is that I know how pathetic it all is, and how disgusting it is to even feel/think like that. It bothers me that I sit and cry and worry about all of this ridiculous nonsense while I have real problems that I'm focusing on, or at least higher priorities. My children, for one, are my biggest priority and instead of worrying about their dad, I should be worrying about them and just be happy and grateful for them. I'm talented, and I should be concentrating on developing my talents and finding a great job in my field or starting my own company. And no matter what I do, no matter how I fill my time or how long I put it off, at the end of the night, I'm sad about all of the stupid things I shouldn't be.

So, what's the definition of "pathetic?" According to Dictionary.com, one definition is "causing or evoking pity, sympathetic sadness..." Yeah...and if I were to tell anyone about how I really feel or how sometimes I feel like I'm hanging on by my f*cking fingernails, people would either pity me or tell me to man up--which I already am.

So, to escape the pity, I "man up" and in doing so I give off this illusion that everything is fine with me and that I don't need anyone or anything, which was never intentional. People take my "strength" for granted and just expect me to be able to handle things, so they tell me things and treat me as if I can take anything that comes at me with a grin. People expect me to make the hard decisions, to be the first one to come up with a solution, to be the "boss", to leave me because I'll make less of a scene than someone else, to be a "friend" instead of anything more, and to be their rock because I'm "so strong and stable".

F*ck that.

I'm tired. Just because I don't loose my sh*t every time I get knocked down a bit does not make me stronger than anyone else, and I'm tired of people just expecting me to keep calm, to handle everything that they can't, and to help them with their problems. I have problems of my own and I don't have anyone helping me and holding my hand except for my parents whom I'm not sure where I'd be without their support.

All I want is to have my little family be a family and to finally be the "girlfriend" not just the "friend". I hate being alone, and although I manage well enough and try to be the best mother that I can be under the circumstances, I'm only surviving and doing what I have to so that I don't drop off of the end of my already frayed and breaking rope.

The Prodigal Son

So, I don't know if I've established this, but I identify myself as a Non-Denominational Christian. If you'd like to know what I mean by that, feel free to ask, but I have absolutely no intention of discussing it publicly on my blog. Moving right along, last night while I was at church, the sermon was centered around Luke 15:1-2, 11-32. If you are unfamiliar with the Bible, that is the story of Jesus telling the story of the "Prodigal Son".

The story is that of a man's son who takes everything his father has to give him (money, a good name, etc) and spites him. The son leaves to go abroad and squanders everything (presumably on prostitutes, booze and gambling) until he is left in poverty. Long story short, he decides to go home (meanwhile, he is starving and presumably pretty gross-looking) to serve as a slave in his father's home because he believes he is not worthy to be his father's son. When he returns home, his father sees him in the distance and runs to embrace him. When the son starts to apologize, his father has a robe and sandals brought to him and declares that there will be a feast in honor of his son's home-coming.

Meanwhile, the son's older brother comes up from the field that he works for his father and questions a servant about the celebration going on. The servant tells the older brother that his brother has come home so his father wanted to throw a celebration in his honor, which upsets the older brother. The older brother lashes out at his father and lays his resentment at his father's feet, stating that his father never celebrated anything for him so why should he celebrate his unworthy brother? the father simply states, "My son...you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found," (Luke 15:31-32).

Well, that's the end of the story basically, and was purposefully left up for interpretation. I'm not going to get into the reasons why and all of that, mainly because I do not want to offend anyone (and lets face it, very few things offend people like conflicting religious beliefs). But after listening to the sermon, it made me think of what I would have happen at the end of the story. I had this insanely vivid image of the father asking the older brother to come into the house to join the celebration (which I believe he actually does in the story, I can't remember right now...maybe). When the older brother is about to refuse, he catches a glimpse of his younger brother and sees his debilitated state. The son would be skin-and-bones, dirty, wearing tattered rags beneath the robe his father had given him, has deep circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks...his hair would be grimy and straggling in his eyes, his beard would be long and unkempt. The older brother would see this and suddenly realize how he had romanticized the son's life of sin. He would see how the son had suffered and be filled with compassion rather than jealousy. And then I had the mental picture of the older brother coming into the celebration--after publicly disrespecting his father--and embracing the son to the point where they are both so over-come with emotion that fall to their knees, the older brother wrapping his arms around the son's shoulders. A circle has formed around the pair, while the festivities have become a blur, though the bright colors and hint of a celebration could be seen like a soft halo of light around them.

It's upsetting. I have this vivid picture in my mind and I have no means to express it. Yes, I've obviously written it, but I have this picture of it in my mind as a water color piece. What upsets me is that I lack the skill to put what exactly is in my mind to any canvas. I suppose I'll try and get frustrated time after time until I eventually get it right. More than anything, I think posting this blog will keep the image in my mind forever. But if I can't convey the image artistically, I wanted to express it with words. It is such a powerful image to have and something that could change someone's life if they see it the way I have. It is only a shame I can't do it justice.

Dream Log 2

So, I'm not quite certain what it is about alcohol that will make you sleep like the dead, but I certainly had one of those evenings where after one drink (went to T.G.I Fridays with some friends last night and partook in a "Cosmo-Rita" ftw) and a large meal with good friends, I was utterly exhausted. As such, when I got home, I knocked out as if I had been shot with a tranq dart.

Honestly, after waking up this morning to my blaring alarm clock and my whiny baby (Rosalie this time) and rushing to get ready so that I could get to class, I can't really remember much of the dream. As it is, it's relatively unfortunate because I do remember that my dream was awesome.

The first part that I remember is that I was standing in a field of what appeared to be wheat. Do you remember the movie Gladiator starring Russell Crowe, when he's dying and he's walking through the rolling, Tuscan hills of golden wheat? Yeah, it was like that. The same high-contrast coloring and everything (obviously, my dreams get pretty detailed). So, I'm walking through this field and the wheat is blowing in the wind and whipping at my stomach. I'm wearing this flowy dress that does not seem to have any distinctive color and for some reason my hair is really long and curly (in reality, my hair barely touches my shoulders and it's Asian-straight). I remember feeling the tips of the wheat whipping me...it kind of felt like it had sawed edges and it kind of hurt a little bit through the fabric of my clothes. I really don't know why I was walking through it, but I just was. It was relatively peaceful and I remember feeling calm, despite the mild pain and irritation of the wheat.

After that, I don't remember too much. But I remember that everything went really dark and I looked down at my hands and they were glowing as if they were fluorescent "day-glow" and a black light was being shined but there was no black light. I know, it's strange but since it's a dream I hope no one will judge me. Ha. So, I'm staring down at my hands and as I'm looking at them, this petrifying sense of foreboding fills my chest to the point where a cold point in the middle of my sternum begins to spread throughout my veins to every single part of my b0dy and I can't feel my legs because I'm so nervous. Suddenly, the lines on my hands (on my palms and the joins at my joints) begin to split open and blood starts pouring from hands in these spider-webby patterns. The lines open up more and more until I can see the gore of the insides of my hands; my muscles are ripping apart to the point where they look like a raw steak being torn. It was bright pink, just like a rare steak, and the blood was this deep red like you see in macabre compositions (photos, digital paintings, stuff like that). My skin-tone had evened out at this point until it looked almost normal, only they were pale (save for where the blood was) and they had that same high-contrast look as before.

Oddly enough, the feeling of foreboding went away and the feeling came back into my legs. That same sense of peace that I had had before returned to me, and I felt utterly calm.

....

And then I don't remember anything else because my stupid alarm clock went off and I didn't have time to just lay still and think about my dream because my daughter woke up and I had to get her up. So, there was really more to that dream but I can't really remember it, but it is unfortunate--like I said. Right now, I'm actually in class and we're discussing basic html (something I already know how to do, so although I'm keeping my ears open for my name, I'm not really paying attention unless I'm helping someone...hence the blog), so I should probably become more involved with the class as of right now. But given the fact that it is a new Term for school, I should probably be paying a little more attention. I like to be engaged in my schoolwork. So, ta' for now!

Side-note: yes, I understand that my dream appears to paint me in a relatively masochistic light but I don't really think I am. It's just a dream. Ha.

Dream Log 1

Okay, so I learned last year while I was pregnant that it was probably a good idea to write down the more interesting dreams. Well, I've decided to blog them in an case, simply because a lot of the time they don't make any sense and it helps me to write them down. Besides, if I blog them, there's a higher chance that I may get some input. Not that anyone reads my insipid blogs as it is. Ha!

In any case, I don't remember a lot of my dream, but I remember one, distinct piece of it:

I remember that I was a child--a young boy (don't ask me why, I have no idea). In fact, it may not have even been me. I might have just been an observer of my dream. It doesn't matter. In any case, there was a young boy, and he seemed very afraid. Like he knew that someone was out to get him. At one point it seemed as if it were Christmas morning and rather than having the presents laid out under the tree, it seemed as if several of the presents were hidden about the house like Easter Eggs. The boy went searching for them, coming across spiderwebs in several locations with rather large, disgusting spiders in them. Bleh.

Moving on, the boy is interrupted by his father (who looked like my father). It's night, and the father appears to be moving something heavy outside, like trash bags or something like that. Either way, it didn't really make any sense. I remember that the boy felt like his dad was the enemy or something like that, but he knew that his dad didn't know it. It was like the boy knew more than the dad did.

It was later then, and the boy was outside of some type of water treatment area, in the road or something like that. I couldn't really understand, but Jeffrey Dean Morgan was there, looking awesome like he did in The Losers (teehee!). He was there for a meeting with the little boy or something like that, explaining that they were next, or someone was coming to get them or something strange like that.

After that the boy has an eventual confrontation with his father, and explains that he knows what the man is doing. Apparently he's been killing off the boy's "team", which I don't really understand--especially considering that it's just a kid. But apparently the dad is not really the one who's been doing it, and they work together to try to figure out who is. Meanwhile, there was a lot of blood and guts all around because somehow they were back at the water treatment area, and and someone had hacked up a body (not sure who's, but I think it was Jeffrey Dean Morgan) and the boy's mother is there, who looked like Kelly Preston. So, the boy tries to protect his mother and father--who knew what was going on but was not a part of it...I don't know--and there was this extreme sense of urgency and foreboding....and then my mom woke me up by plopping Delessi on my chest.

All in all, the dream didn't make much sense and it seemed a lot more intense than what I was able to write here, but I didn't know how to explain it in writing. I love when celebrities pop up in my dreams, though, which happens rather frequently come to think of it. Other than that, I really don't have much to say on the topic. And I wish I could explain more about why people were getting cut up, but I honestly don't know and I can't remember what it looked like in my dream. It was so random. But other than that, I think it was pretty awesome.

Let's Talk About "Glee"!!

So, I haven't stated this in my blog before, but I am a complete gleek. I love the show and I watch it religiously every Tuesday night. It all started one night when my sister had rented the entire first season from Blockbuster--where she used to work (by the way, I'd just like to take the time to say how AWESOME my sister is. Thank you, Ashley. You know why you're awesome!). In any case, she rented it and was watching it before season two came out. She asked me if I'd seen it, and I explained to her how much I hate reality shows (she has a tendency to watch them..."Jersey Shore", anyone? *gag*). Ashley quickly put my fears that another horrible reality show was created to rest, and she informed me that it was more like a musical than anything else. So, she put on the episode where Kurt teaches the football team to dance....and I was instantly in love. And believe me, at this point, my love for "Glee" far surpasses my sister's nuke-warm affection for it.

Let me start off by saying that I completely identify with Rachel. If you're unfamiliar with Rachel Berry, let's just say she's certainly not everyone's favorite sometimes. The "Rachel Berry (Glee") page on Wikipedia at one point describes her as a "...type-A, uber-talented, self-involved know-it-all who's usually alienating her classmates...". And yes, I suppose it's not a good thing, but a lot of the time I find myself feeling the exact same way that she feels when it comes to people. As a singer I sometimes feel a lot more entitled than other people to certain roles (I've been known to have a bf or two behind the scenes of choral concert)--or at least I used to when I was in school. And even now, I easily alienate myself from my co-workers and friends by being too abrasive. From the first time Rachel was introduced, placing a gold star by her name on the sign up sheet for Glee Club in Episode 1, I knew she was going to be my favorite character.

I'm pretty sure the reason why I'm so obsessed with "Glee" is because the world of "Glee" is almost exactly how I wished the world was in real life. Let me explain: In my ideal world, everyone would be able to sing and dance, everyone would randomly burst into song and harmonize perfectly and everyone's mutual respect for music and passion for performing would bring people together to make a spectacular show. I wouldn't necessarily want to be the Rachel Berry of my world, but being a part of something special like that? Yeah, that's definitely important to me.

I suppose I've thought about this way too much. But let's face it, it doesn't look like "Glee" is going anywhere any time soon (thank G-d). The reason it's such a big success is because there's too many crappy reality shows on television and people want a break from real life. People want to feel happy and inspired again and I think "Glee" does that for people. It's like "Dancing With the Stars"--people just want to have a "feel-good" show that they can watch, and maybe even spend some time with their families while they watch it.

Fair thee well, fellow gleeks!

...it's okay. I'm certified!

Fighting Writer's Block

Well, there's been a lot going on recently. Things have been pretty busy, but then what mother of twin infants isn't busy? Of course, I'm thankful for all of the help I have with my family, their father's family and my friends.

But I suppose the thing that's been bothering me the most is that I haven't been able to write. I have a lot that I have to do with my book. It's horrible to have this huge idea, have everything planned out....and then simply be too distracted or tired (there's a thousand excuses) to just sit down and write. It drives me bananas, because when I do actually sit down to write, I forget what I've been writing the next time I get to it, or I'll re-read what I've been writing and it's not as good as I hoped it would be.

I'm sure that what I have to do is just sit down and force myself to do it, but when I do that I don't feel creative. Blah. I really wish I knew how to get over this horrible bought of writer's block. It's not fair--because I role play and things of that nature on IMVU and on AIM and any story-lines I happen to be working on there I do great....it's just having to sit down and do it by myself, I suppose.

Argh. I need to be more focused!

To My Children . . .

Falling leaves circling,
  No sound, save the wind's sweet music.
Laughter and tears,
  Trials and tribulations.
Sunlight shines like angel's song,
  to dance upon our faces.
Spinning until we're lost,
  Falling like the leaves.
Finally, eruptions of laughter.
Peace and Calm.