Seattle!!!

I don’t know what it is about Seattle but I’ve wanted to visit the city for years now. I can’t even remember how I got started with the idea of going. A client maybe? A book? I don’t know but I’ve finally planned a trip out there. I haven’t had a trip by myself since Stockholm two years ago. I actually went there instead of Seattle right before I moved to Chicago thinking that I better squeeze in one more overseas trip before moving further from the eastern part of the country ensuring a shorter flight time and a direct route via Delta Airlines. Once in Chicago, I would always have to connect through Atlanta to get across the ocean.
Two days before leaving I had another appointment with Joanna. I wanted to fit in one more acupuncture treatment in before going. The kind receptionist told me upon checking in that Joanna was out sick and Giselle who was also every bit as wonderful would be taking care of me. I don’t like to bounce around with service providers but decided that for whatever reason I am supposed to meet Giselle. Instead of rescheduling, I sit and wait.
The receptionist was right I think to myself as I’m back in the familiar room with Giselle and her assistant Marie answering the same questions Joanna asked me a week before. I feel like a bug being tacked to a board as she inserts needles in various extremities and leaves me to rest for a little while. I fall asleep again amazed at my ability to do so being I never take naps.
Giselle explains that she wants to see me again and I simply decide that I will reschedule with her. I’ll see her as soon as I get back from Seattle.
At 8:35am on Wednesday I’m sitting in an aisle seat on an American Airlines flight with a silly, girly book as the plane takes off for the west coast. I realize while I’m reading said book that I have no idea how to get to my hotel once I land. I completely forgot to get the directions. I keep reading thinking I’ll figure it out when I get there.
And figure it out I do after a half hour walk from my gate to a train that takes me into downtown. I then take the Monorail to the Seattle Center and follow directions from a map finally reaching my hotel, happy when I’m told I am able to check in early. Once in my room I flop on the bed and giggle. I’m here!!!



Over the next few days I run along an ocean path, spend lots of time wandering around the Pike Place Market, eating incredible fruit and taking in all the energy of the people swarming around me. I usually don’t like crowds but I’m somehow not entirely bothered by them right now. I go to the Space Needle one night and ride an elevator to the top and wander around. I take in the view of a sunset over the vast expanse of land and water.





A friend from Chicago gave me her best friend’s number and she and I met up for a yoga class the next day, following up with coffee the next afternoon with her husband at the shop he works at. I decide yoga and massage must happen during every vacation as the latter of the two happened the day after yoga.





I went to Ummelina after a friend from Atlanta recommended it. I met Molly and was blown away at how the place was set up. Before my service I took a shower in a giant “room” that had an overhead showerhead that felt like it was raining on me, while “jets” on the side walls horizontally blasted water in the most amazing way, onto my tired body. I wanted to stay there all day.
I dried off with a heated towel, and put on the “gown” I had changed into earlier and followed Molly into a small room that felt like being inside of a tree. The walls, floor and ceiling were all wood. She left me to get comfortable, face up on the table under a thick sheet.
For the next ninety minutes she worked hard at all the knots I’ve accumulated in the passed six months. I felt many of them release as I did my best breathing through all the uncomfortable spots. We talked a little. I told her about all the things I wanted to see while I was here. She brought to my attention that I don’t need to race around everywhere while I’m here in Seattle.
“You’re not going to see everything while you’re here, so it’s best to not try but to go slowly, figure out what’s important to you and go from there”
It’s almost like a switch flipped and suddenly I felt like I had permission to be at ease, to simply do what I wanted to do despite the well meaning suggestions from friends and clients. Most of these suggestions, restaurant recommendations, tours, day trips to islands via a ferry, and the like sounded appealing. It’s not that I didn’t want to do these things but I was on a hunt for something else. I wanted answers to questions I didn’t even know I had and wanted to relax into myself in ways I don’t normally allow when I’m in the swing of my day to day routine at home.
Once Molly was finished and I was back in my gown, my hair wild from air drying and having my head being massaged, I emerged with eyes half open and watery from tears that came when she worked on my back in between my shoulder blades. This happens every time. Tears are sparked despite having no memory to evoke them. She puts a heated neck pillow across my shoulders and has me follow her to the waiting room to sip some water and further relax before heading out into the world again.
“How do you feel?” she asks, sitting across from me.
“Amazing.” I smile.
“Glad to hear it. You had some pretty tough spots in there. I don’t know what you were doing but your body released them pretty quickly which is great. Do you have any questions for me?”
I decide to tell her about my back and the tears. “What is that about?”
She nods. “Funny you say that because when we keep our emotions in, we store them in our bodies. I’ve had that reaction too. We need to find ways of releasing those emotions. Also, I was going to ask you how is your digestion?”
“Slow.” I laugh.
“I thought so. I think acupuncture would be great for you.”
I squeal and tell her I’m already doing it.
“Good! Keep it up! Also, find ways of expressing those emotions so they don‘t get trapped.”
Molly and I chat a little longer before she continues about her evening and I sit still a little longer.
Later that night I lay in bed after a long bubble bath, barely staying awake for a movie that I ordered through the hotel.





My remaining days in Seattle were filled with a certain calmness that I have rarely experienced in life before. I set about each day to the ocean to watch the water before taking a walk in some unknown direction, discovering some coffee and eating fruit from the market or granola from a cute place I kept happening upon. I visited the neighborhoods I wanted to see, wandering in and out of different shops. I talked to random people and really listened to them happy for a little bit of company. I went out to fancy dinners, saw a burlesque show, and found my way to Volunteer Park. I found all the coffee shops I wanted to visit and took bubble baths every night. I even managed to take naps. I had boundless energy due to what, I don’t know. Was it the fact that the sun didn’t set until 10:30 pm? Was it that I wasn’t talking for ten hours a day like I normally am when at work? Or was it simply because I was somewhere else? Maybe a combination of all three. Whatever it was, it was glorious and I desperately wanted to bring this feeling back to Chicago with me.






On my last day I was up early and once again, at the water watching it move, my eyes breaking away a little to stare at the mountains off in the distance. I talked to God for a while before walking to eat that delicious granola one more time. I made one more trip to the market before heading back to my hotel to pack up. I felt completely calm the whole morning. Usually on the day I’m traveling I am filled with anxiety, even when I’m completely prepared. Not today though. No freaking out about how I’m going to get back to the airport, no anxiety about packing even though I had to use my body to help zip my bag closed because I was bringing so much back with me. There was nothing but contentedness.
I found my way through a little bit of rain to the train station and after about an hour, made it to the airport. At 10:30pm, we gently landed at Chicago’s O’Hare airport and by nearly midnight I was in bed vowing to do this vacation thing a little more often.

Acupuncture...

“Would you please just go to the clinic?” my roommate Dana pleads to me one Sunday evening after I’ve relayed the details of my ever-increasing overeating and stress lately. I’m embarrassed to say that after nearly 4 years after my last binge, the idea of indulging in that crossed my mind and freaked me out so badly that I had immediately gotten myself to an OA meeting.
“I will.” I promise. “I‘ll call tomorrow.”
Dana has been asking to try acupuncture since we met given my issues with dermatitis on my hands, constant anxiety and lets not forget my personal favorite, PMS. I’ve read a thousand times that acupuncture helps these issues among many other things, by ways of regulating the flow of energy within the body. I don’t see how sticking a bunch of pins into various body parts will help but I’m so desperate right now that I’ll try anything.
On Monday morning I call the clinic at the school that Dana attends and am able to get in to see Joanna at 3pm. I am told to wear comfortable clothing, to eat something before I come and to prepare to stay for ninety minutes. I text Dana immediately and squeal about my upcoming appointment before setting about my day.
I arrive at the Pacific College of Oriental Medicine a few minutes before 3pm. I’ve been here once before with Dana when she wanted to practice massage on me, something I will never turn down. The classrooms take up floors 17-21 in a massive building in the Loop. The giant windows in each room reveal spectacular views of downtown Chicago. I’m so glad I’ve at least been here once before, otherwise, I don’t think I would have found it.
I get to the 21st floor and check in. As I’m filling out the stack of paper work feeling grateful that I have no allergies and I’m not currently taking any medicine I feel I familiar stab in my lower abdomen. I sigh as I’m stabbed again by a dull aching pain sending heat throughout my entire core. Cramps. Great. I take deep breaths and continue to fill out the paper work hoping they don’t get any worse while I’m here.
Once completed, I hand over the stack to the receptionist and sit down again. Usually when in waiting rooms, I grab a magazine or a book from my bag but I have no desire to do any such thing. I try to examine whether or not I’m nervous. Nope. Not really, which again is unlike me. I don’t mind trying new things obviously, but I still get nervous. Today there is nothing but hopefulness that this acupuncture business will work.
“Melissa?” A pretty brunette materializes in front of me.
“Yes.” I smile.
“I’m Joanna.” she smiles back extending her hand.
I stand and shake it. “Good to meet you!” I exclaim, while again being stabbed in the stomach.
“This is Charlene, my assistant.” Joanna steps back and I shake Charlene’s hand.
“Come on back.” Joanna and Charlene lead and I trail behind them until we enter a small room with a massage table in the middle of it, a few chairs against a wall and a counter with some cabinet space and various doctor-looking things on it. I try not to stare.
The three of us sit and Joanna, holding my paperwork, asks “So what brings you in today?”
I explain everything and she asks if I’m nervous.
“Nope.”
“Good.”
The questions that follow are more intense than anything I’ve ever told even my primary care doctor before. I don’t feel shy in answering, as I feel I’ll do whatever it takes to make this better. The cramps are ever increasing and I feel myself beginning to sweat. I don’t however relay to her that this is happening.
Joanna and Charlene take my pulse. They look at my tongue and Joanna writes some things down. Minutes later, I’m on the massage table with my shoes and socks off, my yoga pants rolled up to my knees, and I’m staring at the ceiling while Joanna and Charlene prep.
“Ok, I’m going to put two needles in your ears first to induce a calming effect.” Joanna says before I feel a tiny sharp prick in the upper right part of my ear. She does the left and asks how I feel.
“Good.” I nod. I have no awareness that anything is sticking out of my ears at the moment.
She rolls up my shirt a little to expose my stomach. She puts four of the tiny needles into my belly. Two on top, two on the bottom. A few more are placed into my arms, and legs. I’m amazed at how I barely feel anything.
“Ok. I’m going to place this heat lamp over your abdomen.” Joanna says, bringing over this contraption to have it hover over my exposed flesh. “I’ll be back in five minutes to check on you then leave you for another fifteen. That ok?”
I nod.
She and Charlene exit and in about a minute and half I’m practically asleep until I hear the door open.
“How are you Melissa?” Joanna’s head peeks through the cracked open door.
“Good.” I smile.
“Good. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
I do actually fall asleep in this time and it feels heavenly. Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen seconds as I hear the door open again and Joanna returns with Charlene. She removes the lamp and the needles asking me if I’m ok with taking some herbs.
“Of course.”
“I want to give you two. One for the PMS and one to help calm the itching in your hands.”
“Perfect.”
“I’m going to leave them up front.” Joanna says removing the last needle and doing another quick check to make sure she’s gotten all of them. “I want to see you once a week for a month and then we’ll re-evaluate where to go from there. Sound good?”
“Yes.” I smile.
Later, when my shoes are on, my herbs are in my bag and I’ve made my appointment for next week, I notice as I walk out with Dana, whom I ran into, that my cramps are gone. Completely gone, as if they were never there.

26.2...

I threw myself a giant pity party that lasted for three days, mulling over the half marathon and whether or not I’d do a full. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter so long as I am happy with whatever I choose. No one says I have to run 26.2 miles. No one is pushing me one way or another. However, I have marked the time off of work to do this already. All I have to do is sign up…and then train.
A co-worker of mine runs marathons. I have clients of all ages, lifestyles and backgrounds that have done at least one if not many. Why do I feel I can’t achieve this? Why do I feel that I’ll somehow drop the ball again?
Before I can talk myself out of it only to talk myself into it, the out of it again, I go to the office at work and get online. I find the Atlanta race and sign up.
Eeekkk!!!!

13.1 Part Two...

This…is a bad idea. I think to myself as I’m packing up to leave work. It’s Friday and I’m getting off early to head to some area of town I’ve never been to in search of the athletic store I have to visit to pick up my race gear for tomorrow’s half marathon. I signed up for this wanting to train more than I actually did. Chicago handed over the ugliest spring of my life and sadly, not much running happened. I seem to have a problem with training anyway. It seems the minute I set a goal, I turn around and run in the opposite direction from it. I often leave myself scrambling in the end to “fix” it or “catch up”. Running is cumulative though. I have to train to earn the high mileage days that carry me through a race. Some narcissistic part of me believes that because I’ve been running since high school, I can do this. I logged ten miles a couple of weeks ago. That’s good enough right? I can do 13.1 tomorrow. Right?
Eventually I find Fleet Feet at Piper’s Alley, and tell the kid behind the desk of race bibs my name.
“Melissa?” he says and I nod.
“Does your last name begin with an “N”?
I nod because all of this is done alphabetically and I’m standing in the line where the “N’s” should be.
“What’s your last name again?”
“Nipper.”
He thumbs through the race bibs for a second time now and I’m getting nervous. I know I signed up for this.
“Nipple?”
For the love of God. No one has said that to me in a long time…not since elementary school.
I pretend I didn’t hear him and spell my last name. He still can’t find the race bib. Another guy comes over and asks my name. Four point five seconds later he’s handing over the blue and white bib with my number, corral letter and first name printed across it. I walk away to the next station where we are to pick up our t-shirts. Some pushy old lady is following behind me so closely I can practically smell what she had for lunch. I’m tempted to turn around and say something snarky but refrain. I try to take some deep breaths and acknowledge that my PMS related hormonal issues are no one else’s problem. Even if they are breathing on me. This is reason number 545 I shouldn’t really be doing this run. I’m already fatigued and full of my usual dose of monthly self loathing that I will only find fault with my efforts. Plus experience has taught me that my best races certainly don’t happen during this time, adding to the self loathing. Still, I don’t want some nasty, negative part of me telling me what I can and cannot do.
I leave Fleet Feet and walk back to the train. I look at my race bib and see I’m in corral “A”. (most races have a staggered start so everyone isn’t running all at once. They group corrals together based on estimated finish times) No. I stare at it. This isn’t happening. My mind races, looking for another letter that could possibly happen before “A”. Nope, “A” is first. Yup. Not only have I not trained well but I’ll be running with the fastest group. Awesome.
I don’t remember what I said my estimated finish time would be but I do remember annihilating my last race time, finishing half an hour faster than I had anticipated. When I signed up for this one I thought that I would be training harder and improving even more.




At home I shower, make dinner, and call to schedule a taxi to pick me up to take me to Millennium Park so I can catch a shuttle to the start line. I attach my race bib to a t-shirt, make sure I have cab money ready and my iPOD is charged. I set my alarm for 4:30 am and pass out.
At 5am, I’m dressed, fed, caffeinated and in a cab. The driver asks me how to get to Randolph and Michigan when I tell him that‘s where I‘m headed. I tell him I have no idea and think to myself, isn’t that what I’m paying you for? We get there and I get on a school bus with a whole bunch of runners and we head for Lake Shore Drive. The girl sitting next to me is holding her race bib and I see that her name is Michelle and she’s in corral “J”. My heart begins to race again and I feel sweat begin to dampen my reddened face. I’m being reminded again that I’m going to have to run like I stole something for a little bit until I can mix in with the other corrals.
The sun is rising over Lake Michigan. It’s stunning. The water glitters beneath it and everything is peaceful. I’m getting excited. I enjoy the ride, seeing things I haven’t before. I haven’t made it passed Soldier Field before so this is certainly interesting.
Once we arrive at the South Shore Cultural Center I meander looking around before finding a place to sit for a while and people watch. We’re awfully early. It’s just before 6am and the race doesn’t start until 7:13am. Runners of all shapes, sizes and ages are milling around. Some are stretching, some are jogging to warm up and some are taking pictures. I love the energy of a race day. Everyone seems happy and excited and I feel lucky to be a part of something. I also feel a little lonely. I prefer to run alone. I prefer to race alone so as to not worry about whether or not I’m “slow” or “fast” based on my running partner(s). I say this but I truly enjoyed running track in high school. Our long runs didn’t seem so long when we went as a group. I didn’t pay attention to much except for the conversation. My co-worker Lindsay has mentioned to me the benefits of running with a group and I’m currently thinking that maybe it’s not such a bad thing to at least attempt.
Not only am I watching people but I’m watching for their corral letters. I find several people with “A” on their bibs and I relax a little. Only a little. Most of them are men it seems. Tall men with long legs like giraffes.
Twenty or so minutes before the race begins we’re to line up in our corrals. We’re told that because of the rising temperatures that we’re advised to slow down. The sun is already up and bright. My belly begins to do weird things. After the Star Spangled Banner and a count down is completed, we’re off! Michael Jackson sings to me via my iPOD and I’m giddy. I go and go and go and finish mile one in 7:45. Whew! Mile two and three are also completed in under eight minutes each and that is when the decline starts. The weirdness happening in my belly increases. Sweat is pouring down my spine and my breathing is so labored that I don’t have a choice but to slow down. The next two miles are completed in nine and then ten minutes.
By the time I get to mile seven I feel a gigantic sense of relief that I made it to the halfway point after seriously considering turning around and going back. It’s completely ridiculous to be out here. The sun is burning my skin and the temperature is still climbing, and we’re all still running.
Mile eight and nine are sprinkled with more walking than running as I feel my legs getting heavy, and the soles of my feet begin to burn. My ass feels like it’s carrying giant bags of rocks at the moment and I want nothing more than to be done.
By the time I see both mile eleven and twelve I am walking entirely. A black flag has been called signaling that the race has ended due to the weather and the clocks have stopped. I run the last 1.1 miles and am grateful to not know how long it’s taken me to reach this point.
I bumble around a moment, drink some water, and stand in the shade stretching my calves feeling lost. I wish Jeff were here. I’m standing in a sea of tired runners and eventually make my way to the shuttle buses and climb aboard.
At Millennium Park, I get off the bus, still pouring seat and covered in a thin film of dirt. I had planned on taking the train and a bus home but decide that will take too long and get into a cab right outside of Intelligentsia. I think about Jeff and while knowing he has to work, I wonder if he’d be up for getting brunch with me. I’m staring out the window wishing I had my phone with me, when I see him crossing the street heading to work early. Out of all the people surrounding him. he is the only person I see.
Later I’m at Toast on Damen, completely ravenous, eating like it’s the last day of my life. Jeff has called twice but we keep missing each other. I turn over in my head how do I expect to run a full marathon when I didn’t bother to train for this half? Maybe I won’t. I decide that just because I run well doesn’t mean I have to race. Still, some nagging part of me won’t let go of the marathon idea and how fun that challenge will be. Another part pipes up and reminds me that I stand for a living and will destroy my joints. A cross-training part tells me there is always yoga, cycling, dancing etc…the ever optimist part says I can do anything, and the pessimistic part says to throw in the towel.
I decide that I don’t have to decide and call it a day.

The List...

I’m sitting the break room between clients one day at work when something tells me to pick up the Glamour magazine laying next to me. I don’t feel like reading but the feeling persists so I open it, my fingers landing on a story that won a fiction contest Glamour held last summer. There is a new contest and entries are due Aug 4, 2011. First place receives five grand, a meeting with a literary agent, and of course, having the story published in Glamour. I salivate over this, brainstorming what I could write about and mentally decide to enter this contest.
A couple of months before this sighting, a client tells me about a half marathon that is taking place at the Chicago South Shore Cultural Center on June 4th. It sounds like so much fun so as soon as I finish her hair, I go sign up for it.
Months before that, another client and I decide before our 30th birthdays we’re going to run a full marathon. I find a race in Atlanta at the end of October, three weeks after my birthday, decide it’s close enough and ask for the time off.
I’m still making jewelry and finally set up an etsy store (www.sweetladybee.etsy.com) but have become so overwhelmed with the tediousness of getting myself out there, networking and trying to better my photography skills that it’s been really easy to somewhat abandon the idea. It doesn’t completely go away though. It gnaws on my brain torturing me slowly into some kind of action that I will inevitably take when I’m tired of being chewed on.





I still have a great love for my collage projects as well and wish sometimes to expand on the ideas I already have. I think it would be fun to make some that are more diorama than an image on canvas. I want to decorate a hat box with glitter, neon colored birds and fake flowers. I want it to be as obnoxious as I can make it. Again, this just stays in my mind though as starting can be the hardest part.




Then there’s writing here in my squirrel’s nest and I’m easily lost for words. My inner critic is awfully loud today telling me I have nothing to say and no one wants to hear it. I get wrapped up in wanting to write something specific, wanting it to be a certain length and acknowledging a desire to add pictures to the mix. All these parameters are paralyzing and I do nothing.
Also I feel I’m desperately stumbling around wishing something would fall out of the sky and tell me what to write when it comes to the novel project I’ve started and stopped and erased several times now. It would help if I turned on the computer, or opened a notebook to allow for this idea to fall from the sky, and give it space to land on. I always want it to work the other way around though. I want to know how it goes, how it ends before putting my pen to paper because it’s safer that way. There are no surprises and I can feel confident in the fact that I have a direction.
What fun is any of that though? There is nothing fun about having all the answers, about knowing everything. The mystery that resides in all of my creative endeavors is the hardest part to get through and accept. Losing Rob amplified my already intense desire to know all outcomes, to anchor down everything that is important to me so as to make sure nothing and no one were going anywhere and I can protect myself from ever feeling that kind of hurt again.
My creative endeavors once served a purpose ( and honestly, when done sanely still do) to calm me down, take me out of my land of crazy, of grief, of responsibility, of the mundane parts of life and place me somewhere where I could incubate for a little bit, heal the broke down parts and feel strong again to keep moving ahead. Lately, none of this is true. I have a list a mile long of things I want to accomplish and I go at them militantly at times at such break neck speeds that I leave no room for my ever changing moods, or life to happen. This builds resentment faster than anything. I resent people who are doing things faster and better than myself. I resent the ones who are doing them joyfully as they should, in my opinion be done. I resent my ever changing moods, my sometimes lack of energy and or fear of starting a project. I am a master procrastinator and a master of guilt trips, constantly trying to corral myself into some kind of schedule or plan to get something done in what I perceive to be a timely manner. Not to mention I still have a full time job, a relationship and friendships I’d like to hold up. There are vacations I want to take, family I want to see, meals I want to cook, movies I want to see pictures I’d like to draw, images I want to photograph, and more I’d like to learn. Part of me truly believes I can have all these things. Another part, the one I listen to the most makes me believe that I can only have part of these things. It has trouble deciding what to do next, what to write next and or what to make next. I am caught up somewhere in the storm of the decision making process feeling guilty for choosing one thing over another.
My therapist Beth has asked me twice now if I truly want everything I’ve piled on to my plate. I sure do. I want the challenge of running a full marathon, feeling that I can make it happen. I want the satisfaction of finishing another book. I want the experience of entering another writing contest and yes, I want to see my sparklies in stores one day. The critical part of me pipes up now saying “who are you to get to do all these things? You can’t have all of that.”
Well why the hell not? I forget to move slower, to take baby steps, and to trust that answers to questions I’ll inevitably have will appear. I forget that my life has been made up of choices and I’m still continuing to choose. My list is long but somehow I plan to check off every item on it.

Mess Makin'...

Sadly burlesque didn’t end up happening as something came up for Haley. I enjoyed a lil collage project action, dinner and some much needed sleep. Work the following day was pleasant as was the rest of the evening. Today I woke up to the birds chirping outside my window and the sun rising. I…have no plans. No where to be and nothing to do. Well… a few minor things but still, it’s a lovely and somewhat scary feeling. I’m trying to go with it and not question it.
On my walk home from coffee and writing at the Knockbox I was daydreaming about writing simply to write. No agendas, no topics or themes, just writing for the sake of it. I used to attempt this when I was in high school. I’d try to concoct stories to send in the Seventeen magazine, never finishing them, forever beginning and allowing them to trail off. I could write in a journal all day but write something you might read? Not so much on that. I would become (and still become) paralyzed with fear, suddenly stopping or allowing myself to become distracted, forgetting about the piece.
My thoughts meander still to thinking about my dad’s mom telling us every now and then how when he finished eating, he’d make sure all the crumbs were cleaned up never leaving a mess. My dad is in his fifties and still to this day, crumbs do not exist.
I am this way in certain aspects of my life. Especially at work. I don’t like clutter and everything has it’s place. When I’m working on my jewelry I don’t like everything to be everywhere, although it most certainly looks that way. When I cook or bake I clean as I go, putting away ingredients as I use them. If writing happens it happens because I have something in mind that I feel needs to be expressed or accomplished rarely for the sheer joy of writing.
I’d like to say that I’m not into making a mess but judging from my room on most days chaos seems to be where I’m most comfortable. Lately, I’m trying to change this along with allowing myself to make a mess as I go in other areas. This may mean taking over the living room with my sparkly-making, or blowing up the kitchen one afternoon during a muffin baking extravaganza. It also may include, I hope, writing for the sake of writing. Telling a story simply because it enters my mind and I want to write it out to see what I might discover.
At Lovely this afternoon, I attempt this. It takes two paragraphs, like it sometimes take two miles to really get into a run before I begin enjoying it. I write and write and write until, I stop. The story ended on it’s own without my help. It sit back for a moment, digesting the experience before closing my notebook. What was that and can I have more of it please? Time seemed to not exist for a little while. The weird music wasn’t so piercing and the voices around me sounded like white noise.
What would life look like if I didn’t try to contain and compartmentalize it all the time? What if I left the crumbs every now and then? Let go of perfectionism? Got a lil messy? Then enjoyed it…

As If...

I’m awake at 6:30am, feeling slightly disappointed I didn’t sleep later but excited to be awake. I feel I have plenty of time to write before heading downtown for a matinee. One of my favorite girly books “Something Borrowed” by Emily Giffin is now a movie and it opened yesterday. I hate going to the movies at night when it overly loud and crowded. I have today off and am so thrilled at the idea of a movie in the morning after some coffee.
Once out the door I’m watching the sky. It’s sunny. Kind of. Off to the east the sun is bright and shining. To the west it’s dark and gray. I am prepared to stay inside today and it feels like a vacation. I’m honestly not sure if that’s going to happen though. I order an Americano at the Knockbox but don’t finish it. I’m trying to calm down a bit with the caffeine. I used to consume about 24 oz of caffeinated beverages a day and I’m currently down to 6 oz. I’m not sure I can quit entirely. I certainly don’t want to but I do want to see if the dermatitis on my left hand will want to feel like calming down with less caffeine. I’m also curious as to what my mind will feel like when it’s not jolted first thing in the morning and running at 100 mph.
I write Jeff an email before pulling out my journal. This email I construct is novel length relaying the details of my work day yesterday and the events of last night which involved a very dear client of mine, veggie nachos, beer and some live music. It was so great to be out. I usually go straight home after work, exhausted and bitchy but I’m thinking, only thinking about trying some different things. Starting last night. My client and I talked and talked. I adore this woman. We have the same birthday, born on the same year and the same quirky weirdness like a serious lack of a sense of direction and the same desire to be asleep by 9:30pm to get up and going in the morning. Both of us were yawning and giggling about it by 10:30pm despite thoroughly enjoying ourselves. We had dinner at the Heartland Café and went to see some friends of hers play some fabulous music at The Red Line Tap next door. I got sucked in thirty seconds into the first song, and fell in love with the singer’s beautiful voice. Listening to her made me feel at times during different songs like I was in Atlanta with a group of friends in a dive bar on a hot August night listening to a friend perform. My mind bounces from that to some image I’ve dreamed up of being barefoot in someone’s backyard watching the lightening bugs light up among giant oak trees.
An hour later, I drop off my computer at home and head out again to catch the bus. After crossing over Michigan ave I realize I should be on the Grand bus and not the Chicago one. I get off and haul ass through the swarms of people toward the theater. I can’t believe how many people are out and about this early on a Saturday. I know it’s almost ten, but the stores don’t open until then. Right? Who knows…
I am captivated by the giant tulips that line the street, kicking myself for not bringing along my camera. The city does such a beautiful job every year with the flowers on Michigan Ave and Millennium Park.
I make it to the theater in time for the previews. Again, it’s packed and I’m amazed. I remain captivated throughout the movie, laughing out loud at several parts, feeling simply delighted by the plot, the setting, and falling in love with the characters. My thirteen year old self is having a blast.
When the movie ends and I’m outside discovering that it’s not raining some part of me is begging to go to Betsey Johnson at Water Tower Place. I remind this part of what day it is. Nightmare shopping day. The tourists have already been swarming these past few days. Even on the quietest days, Michigan Ave isn’t always the most pleasant place to be. Still this part argues back, not caring so off I go to discover what it is I may find.
What I find is my imagination. I am turned on to all the stunningly beautiful fabrics, the sequins, purses and the shoes…oh my, the shoes and all their sparkly goodness. Folks, where is my trust fund? The images take me hostage and I feel I must touch every garment. There is a floor length strapless black ruffle dress, a cream colored lace and chiffon one. I see pink ones with sliver bows, lavender cream puff corset numbers, short magenta ones that look like giant fluffy cupcakes. A voice whispers to me to try one on. This isn’t the first time I’ve played dress up here, concocting some story to the women that work there about going to a wedding, a Christmas party, a work event etc… today though when the spunky platinum blonde woman asks if I’m searching for something in particular I say no, that I haven’t been in in a while and wanted to look around.
“Let me know if you need any help!” she beams.
I thank her and keep moving. I could talk to these girls all day. It’s the only store where I don’t dodge the sales people because they seem so genuine and they give plenty of space. I roam around, meander, and try not to drool. Before I know it I’ve pick up a blue, white and yellow swimsuit. This may be a horrible idea. The last time I had a swim suit on was September of 09 in Hawaii. I’m not sure I’m ready to see the effects this winter has had on my body. I don’t let go of it though and before I know it the blonde has taken it off my hands placing it into a fitting room. “Might as well try on a dress.” I tell myself and pull a blue and pink ruffly one off the rack feeling giddy.
“You want shoes with that?” the blonde smiles mischievously.
“I do!” I exclaim.
“What size?”
“Hmm..7.”
She grabs another dress for me. A pink and black one saying she thinks it will look good with my hair.
I put the swimsuit on first and fall in love. Ok so the winter was bad but…maybe not so bad…I am amused by the dresses in all their fancy, ruffly glory when I slip into them. Oh if I could manage to blow stupid amounts of money I’d have a closet full of these dresses. Let’s not forget about the shoes now. They are three inch heels with a sparkly rhinestone bow residing over my toes.
I’ve been in dressing room far too long it seems fantasizing about where I could wear these things to, talking myself into and out of buying something before putting on my regular clothes and stepping out of princess mode, entering the real world again.
“How’d you do?” the blonde asks.
“I love everything, but sadly I have to give them back.” I hand over the lovelies while watching her face fall and turn to something that resembled irritation. I walk out of the store feeling a lil bit guilty but then quickly reminding myself that her job is to deal with clothing and customers. End of story.
Once outside again, I pass a nice looking man holding a sign saying “Free Hugs” I’ve seen these people standing there before and part of me regrets not stopping for a free hug. It doesn’t get any better than that.
I stop by Trader Joes for some groceries and head home. While on the bus, I get the idea suddenly out of the blue that in order for me to stop giving myself such hard time about my writing, doing it and or not doing it and letting go. I’ve been thinking about it all day. I’ve been wanting to record this feeling I have. I can’t even explain it but I want to attempt to write it out but that feels scary as usual and I avoid it. Is it avoidance, or is it me letting it incubate, and mature before attempting to define it and touch it with words? I don’t know yet.
Other thoughts enter my mind about writing as if I am already published, as if I’m already out there in the world and known. I put so much pressure on myself to “write well”, to “write perfectly” but really, what does that mean? If I let go and act as if I’m already being assigned a project, I’ll have nothing to worry about right? I should just write right? Noticing this is the most freeing feeling I’ve had in a while. Now the question is, where do I start and with what project? Being patient and letting the writing happen instead of controlling it is excruciatingly difficult.
I see today that playing around in pretty things, artist dates, getting out of my comfort zone allows these realizations to happen. Again, it’s the letting go that feels super hard. I want it all to happen my way when I know good and well someone much bigger than me has an even better idea, something I didn’t even think of.
Once home I see that Dana is out and our place is silent save for Noodle’s occasional meow. I pull off my rain boots and push my feet into my running shoes. I go for about three miles before suddenly stopping, wanting to walk and day dream for a bit, concocting something I may want to write a story about despite feeling silly about it. We’ll see.
I make a late lunch, read and drink some hot chocolate before heading over to the Knockbox to get online and find this theater I’ll be heading to tonight with my friend Haley. We’re going to see a burlesque show late this evening. I went to one in Atlanta that left me feeling weird so I’m curious as to how this one will be. I’m also happy to see my friend. I better sneak a nap in or I won’t make it too far tonight...