What's a Meme?

What sat mean?
Okay so what? How long ya gonna let itaffectya?
Fiftyone? Fifty? (Get it- 5150! HA!)
It just doesn't make any sense, ya know?
Well, I'm trying to do some work on forgiveness.
Forgiving people is tough, but it can also mean giving yourself a great big break, too.
So, there's something very tempting in just the thought of that.

And here's how it started (yeah, my ego feels the need to document this. I can delete it anytime):
We were at this outdoor mall. We watched the fountains do their thing. See, it's not important, really doesn't matter, but I was talking and really felt the need to be heard. We started walking toward the restaurant.
For some reason I had to tell him my day's big story. Needed to feel important. I don't know why.
And I felt not just that I wasn't being listened to. I felt disregarded. Like I had to hurry up to keep up with someone who was attempting to ditch me-someone who didn't even want to be seen with me. I couldn't keep up, because I'm so much shorter, so much more out of shape, no matter how much I work out. I wasn't able to speak loudly enough. He didn't even know I was speaking, because I couldn't get close enough and speak loudly enough to get him to acknowledge my presence--or so it felt. And then all of a sudden, my feet went flying out from under me to the left, as my head and torso went to the right! my head hit the ridge of the fountain--not once but bounced and hit twice!
I was stunned.
A woman came running up to me from my left, a security guard came running up from behind, but HE kept walking. Didn't know I'd fallen. It's happened so many times like this. No responsibility in the situation. No understanding that it would be nice for us to walk together. It's not a competition to see who gets there first. That if he doesn't want to walk with me, why are we here????
So there's something wrong if we're not together in the moment. I THINK.

And I've been hurting ever since.
And I finally get a chance to talk to Robert about it. And what the fuck? It's over. Did I say anything? Did I protect my little girl? It's over. So I need to forgive and go on. Is it a show-stopper? Does the relationship live-or-die by this one individual situation? No. Does a relationship last forever? Maybe this one does, maybe it doesn't. It just led me into the prolonged discussion with Robert over forgiveness. It began with forgiving JFH, and actually ended up thanking him for staying away all those years. Next I'm learning to love RJE in a different way - for who he is -not who I want him to be. He doesn't understand his responsibility in how he lets me down on a regular basis. He doesn't understand what love really is. He thinks it's protecting me from having to make a few extra credit card payments or having to be without a few material things. He really doesn't understand about feelings at all. But I'm giving him credit for trying, which is what this work is all about, because he's a good, kind, and sweet person.
Then there's the other part of me that doesn't get what she needs in this life. The emotive, sensitive person who needs to connect with people on a different level. I was hoping I would be able to do this with my husband, but he doesn't know what this is. I have been trying to learn how to forgive him and myself for not meshing on this level.
The hardest work is coming in an older, deeper layer. This is about forgiving Sylvia and Glenn. I never thought I'd be working on this, to be honest. But the work is now here, and I can't deny that I have come to it. They need to be forgiven, so I can move on in my life and be happy. Here I am, willing and ready to do this work--not to 'forgive and forget' but to forgive and transcend the part of my life that included them. So I can be free of the anger that keeps me stuck in a negative cycle in my life. I have hated them for so long. I have pitied them for being so disgusting. And I have been so so angry at them. Now I realize that those words that Sylvia spoke to me so long ago really were true. She did the best she could. Which was very very poorly. And I forgive her for doing it - or not, as the case may have been.

So what IS a meme? It's something you are told to be true and just take to be true as fact.
Like I deserve to be treated a certain way.
Or he shouldn't want to walk with his wife to the restaurant.
Or I can't balance very well.
Or I'm a klutz.
Or I don't want to be loved.
Or I can't forgive them.
Or I can forgive them.
Or you deserve to be happy.
Whatever I want to say to myself and believe.
If you were to split it up, and dissect it, it could just be me-me instead of meme.
Ya know?
More later...

August Blogust

Another Title Could Be: Why Time Magazine Made Me Cry

Yeah. And everything.

So the weekly TIME Magazine came yesterday. Now I want you to know that I've struggled with my weight all my life.Why? Because someone besides Rick and Aaron and Katie need to know. So, my entire life, I have always been an off-and-on exerciser. I'll go a year or two without exercising and then I'll go three or four doing some pretty intenstive workouts every day. So I guess I'm up.
But I eat. And I don't eat healthfully at all. And I became a vegan on July 19, 2008 after reading the book, "Skinny Bitch". It changed my life for good and I'm glad but sugar is the devil for me and alcohol is a close second. Well I guess alcohol is sugar, so alcohol is number one devil too. whatever.
So, back to TIME.
The photo on the cover looks like one of those Skinny Bitch'es at the gym who looks like she's never downed a bag of Cheetos on the 134 headed east out of Glendale going about 40 mph on a Thursday evening around 6pm wishing she didn't have 3 days worth of work left to do this week and a husband who didn't understand a thing she said and a diabetic cat and another one who just cried all the time for a chance to go out in the backyard and no time for herself and too many weeds in her front yard and a daughter-in-law she wished she were closer to and a house that really needed to be cleaned and a son she wished she hadn't passed on so many of her issues to, and a car that needed a fucking oil change--oh, and could you wash it while you're at it, please? BUT I DIGRESS, don't I?
Anyway, this tiny little woman is on some kind of cardio equipment that I bust my ass on four times a week--NOW this is the cover of TIME Magazine, mind you--she's not sweating a drop! Her vision is directed via dotted line toward this unbelievably large cupcake-I mean completely out of perspective size-wize cupcake--and the caption reads some bullshit like:
THE EXERCISE MYTH
While it may be good for you, exercise will not help you lose weight.

It's about what you eat

FUCK ME
I have to change.

Shotgun, Dave. Great Song.

Saturday in July

Just another weekend in the c'mont. It's warm and a bit muggy and I'm kinda tired of the work /workout/ drive/ sleep -- then crash hard on the weekends routine. I don't really feel like I have anything to look forward to anymore, and I kinda wish I could just check out. Although most of the time, I'm pretty checked out when I'm at home, so what's the difference?
I really should get my act together. I know if I'd quit smoking and drinking I'd feel better and my weight would go down almost instantly. But then, what? What would be the point of all that? What fun would I have in life? I remember once when I was working on anger, I was afraid of letting go of something because I didn't know what would be left when I did. But stuff --good stuff-- came in to fill in the giant chasm that was left over when I let go of that. So why not let go of this now? It's time isn't it? Well, here's my argument to that: this doesn't feel like bad stuff to let go of to later be replaced by good stuff. I like the way I feel when smoking and/or drinking... I just don't like what it's doing to counteract the healthier things I'm doing: working out, not eating animal products, caring for others, etc. I don't know what to do...

A Chance to Catch My Breath

So it's been a really long week. How is it that whenever the hard, hard work lets up for awhile, it takes me a long time to get back into a good flow? The thought of having to not be just plowing ahead with my head down all the time, unable to breathe, is so foreign to me now. I'm going to try to stay more conscious of this so I can ease more gently into the lifestyle of a normal workload. I feel insecure and vulnerable. So I am trying to remember that these feelings are leftover from old scripts that came from a feeling of being harmed in various ways everytime I looked up from the grindstone, so to speak. Being invisible, blending in, playing the game, taking care of everyone, making others happy. All and more are methods I've used to keep myself safe. I want to acknowledge those feelings and give them the relevance--or lack thereof--that they deserve. Once their size and stature becomes more proper in my mind, they will have less of an effect on me, too.
That's really all I want.
Really.
REALLY.

Oh, and I want to find out what happens after that, too.

JazzFest was wonderful. I loved the city, the people, the way everyone moved. And then I moved wrong. I wasn't yet out of this city--didn't have Los Angeles out of my body yet. I was in too much of an L. A. -fuck you all- hurry, instead of an LA -love you all- saunter myself along, and it cost me. I wasn't into New Orleans yet. Perhaps it wasn't inside of me yet. But it's kind of silly to waste time figuring shit like that out now. Really.
I went to get a drink and some food for Rick. As I finished my last stop, Crawfish Monica--a true Jazzfest staple--probably the most-loved food of the old-timers there, I turned to hustle back. With my 2 beloved daiquiris, sweet potato chips (without the powdered sugar-why do I feel like I have to tell you that?) and the steaming hot, rich sauce-covered pasta with crawfish meat bits all on the tray, my mind wasn't on where I was walking.
My left foot somehow ended up getting caught under the 18-inch long protruding foot of the police barricade right next to the food stand I was turning away from. I was moving way too fast. Things were all happening too, too fast. I wasn't in rhythm with anything. Most especially my surroundings. It was happening. Again. It's happened so many times, and it was happening again. One of those accidents that happens when I'm out of my body. It was going to ruin everything. I couldn't let it happen. I stiffened my entire bod. It didn't help. It happened anyway, and that stiff bod of mine? That made the whole thing worse. Shit, shit, shit. When I opened my eyes, there I was. Here was my body sprawled on the pavement, which was covered lightly with about an inch of sand and now, Sweet potato chips, two daiquiries, a small order of Crawfish Monica. Hmm. PISSED!
People began rushing up to me, around me, talking to me--and all I could think of was whether or not my underpants were showing. I was wearing a denim skirt. I couldn't imagine what it would look like for all those people to have an aerial view of my giant underpants blaring out at them from below, yet I was too embarrassed to put my hand back there to check. I couldn't see. What to do? I couldn't get up. I tried to move, and felt the back of my skirt touch the back of my thighs right where I expected it to be. One issue down. Many to go. Could I STAND? Would people just stop talking to me? I wanted to disappear. One lady wanted to put her ice-laden HUGE drink, an iced tea no doubt, on one of my injuries. I rebuffed her advance because I hadn't even taken stock yet of what those were! I hadn't had time to feel anything physically. I was barely even back IN my bod yet.

The next thing I remember was hearing someone ask me if I wanted him to call me an ambulance. Somehow I knew he was an older, black man. I'm sorry. I know that sounds racist, but it was the way he said it: AM-BU-laaaaaaance.
I started to laugh, and looked in the direction of the comment. All I could say was, "No, I want you to move this damn thing, before someone gets KILLED!" It was the 'security guard' who was in charge as it is, of the area around the barricades. Ya know, it's a volunteer deal. I grabbed onto and climbed up the barricade to stand up. I didn't dare put my hands on the ground as that would mean forcing my ass into the air to stand up. I knew I couldn't do that but this was a much more awkward way of getting up. But somehow I was on my feet. I looked around, realizing all the stuff I had been carrying had disintegrated. I suppose someone picked up the containers, etc. At the time it was a huge mystery which defied comprehension. The food and drink were just gone, melted into the sand. A few sweet potato chips visible in the sand was about it. There was a huge, unexplainable loss. I was a child again--about losing the food, the money it all cost, the physical pain. It was unfair painful embarrassing and I was going to get in trouble for it. I mentioned the money I had just lost due to the dangerously based barricade to no one specifically and the man at the food stand dished up a new bowl of Crawfish Monica and offered me a large pump bottle of Purell. Setting the food aside, I grabbed a few napkins out of the dispenser and tried to clean up using the Purell. Giving it back, I began to rant about the barricade again. Telling the guard about the lawsuit that I was going to file, how the barricade needed to be moved back, finally resorting to moving it back myself. Security dude didn't seem to know how to react. He stammered, stuttered, moving the barricade back into harms way, now the sting was raging. EVERYWHERE. I felt lightheaded too. I asked for the Purell again having realized that a full half of my bod was injured that I hadn't even noticed earlier. Good grief! I wanted to be invisible so badly just now. I cleaned myself up grabbed Rick's second bowl of food, and took my time getting back to our seats, finally, literally in pace with the place. Then I cried.

What's in a name?

So, I'm thinking about the name of this blog- -
What they don't know @wont hurt them.
Because really, ignorance is ba---liss, Nay?
I keep thinking about my name Gay---lin. Gay---LYNN. The emPHASSSSis is on the latTER sylLABBLE.\