I process my world through words. It starts in my brain and heart, gets scribbled down on paper. Sometimes when I feel brave, they get thrown back out into the world.
Glasses are meant to be filled
With the stuff that nourishes us,
Releases us, Gives us pleasure,
Makes us real and whole.
Beware of the insatiable.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
Friday, October 31, 2014
Bleeding Wounds
From years ago:
I work in an emergency room, and I'm sometimes assigned to help the triage nurse take initial vital signs, medical history, etc. A few times, I have encountered patients covered with blood, cradling a wound they had bandaged themselves prior to entering the waiting room. The story is always different: Broken crockpot, Stingray bite. Car accident. Tripped and fell. But the patients are the same. Scared, helpless, in pain, hoping for the right kind of help and healing. They tell me that it has been bleeding, they are not sure if it has stopped, and they think they need stitches.
When we bring them back into the ER, we have to remove their makeshift bandages, usually towels or clothing (not necessarily the most sterile of items). They are apprehensive. They do not want to feel pain or risk of seeing or opening the wound again. But they trust. In order to start the healing, we have open their bandages to assess the extent of the damage, clean the cuts, scrapes, gashes, partial amputations, and treat accordingly with bandaids, sutures, staples, antibiotics, or surgery.
Today's takeaway:
I recently had a conversation with my cousin about the importance of being vulnerable in our romantic relationships. She is a self-professed queen of self-help, and recommended a book on the very subject. My dilemma is that I'm afraid to take off the bandages and expose my wounds. Until I do, I don't think I'll be able to heal.
I work in an emergency room, and I'm sometimes assigned to help the triage nurse take initial vital signs, medical history, etc. A few times, I have encountered patients covered with blood, cradling a wound they had bandaged themselves prior to entering the waiting room. The story is always different: Broken crockpot, Stingray bite. Car accident. Tripped and fell. But the patients are the same. Scared, helpless, in pain, hoping for the right kind of help and healing. They tell me that it has been bleeding, they are not sure if it has stopped, and they think they need stitches.
When we bring them back into the ER, we have to remove their makeshift bandages, usually towels or clothing (not necessarily the most sterile of items). They are apprehensive. They do not want to feel pain or risk of seeing or opening the wound again. But they trust. In order to start the healing, we have open their bandages to assess the extent of the damage, clean the cuts, scrapes, gashes, partial amputations, and treat accordingly with bandaids, sutures, staples, antibiotics, or surgery.
Today's takeaway:
I recently had a conversation with my cousin about the importance of being vulnerable in our romantic relationships. She is a self-professed queen of self-help, and recommended a book on the very subject. My dilemma is that I'm afraid to take off the bandages and expose my wounds. Until I do, I don't think I'll be able to heal.
Bad words
I am on a Facebook hiatus, which means I need an outlet for expression. I had come to the realization that I was spending entirely too much time on that social networking site and I was not social nor networking. I convinced myself that I was keeping in touch with friends with a "like" here and a comment there, but it all was superficial. Don't get me started on the creeptastic way I explored, *ahem* stalked, my FB friends.
This week I informally started a personal "dinner with friends" tour. I needed to really catch up beyond cyberspace to vent about and marinate in the states of my world. First dinner was chicken enchiladas and the Book of Life (really cute Day of the Dead themed animated movie) with Jay. Last night, I visited a college friend and shared Halloween pasta (shaped like bats, pumpkins, and spiders) with chicken, artichoke, salad and a side Law and Order SVU. C moved in with her boyfriend C after much compromise and reconciliation about love, freedom, and personal space. They shared a lot about the place of rationality and practicality in romantic relationships. The consensus was that in order to work, every romantic relationship had to have an element of the irrational, crazy, doesn't make sense chemistry and rapport that Love brings.
I'm in a relationship that I see as very practical. It's comfortable and reliable. He's thoughtful, can cook, and is good with money. The more I explain it, the more I realize it's a bad idea to have practicality as my prevailing sentiment. I should expect that out of my car, not my relationship, right? Wasn't I supposed to learn this after watching the Joy Luck Club? I'd rather say my partner is boat-loads of fun, laughs, and have a sky's the limit level of adventure-seeking than having a relationship that merely makes sense. C+C explained it a little more clearly last night when they said that you'll need the crazy-in-love part to pick up the practical part when it starts getting boring and mundane. Without that freedom that comes from unbridled love, I will probably start using the words "stuck" and "obligation" when talking about my boyfriend. That would suck. I have used both those words this week.
On another note: C channeled her glorious inner hippy and told me that I might have a cosmic connection to one of my former lovers, because our energies seem intertwined and my subconscious has been creating dreams that compel me to keep in contact with him. This is not to say that I should act on it, but just to respect (from a distance) the feelings he continues to incite. More on that later.
There is a thin line between being overly rational and geeky and clever in this statement. I think it's cute.
This week I informally started a personal "dinner with friends" tour. I needed to really catch up beyond cyberspace to vent about and marinate in the states of my world. First dinner was chicken enchiladas and the Book of Life (really cute Day of the Dead themed animated movie) with Jay. Last night, I visited a college friend and shared Halloween pasta (shaped like bats, pumpkins, and spiders) with chicken, artichoke, salad and a side Law and Order SVU. C moved in with her boyfriend C after much compromise and reconciliation about love, freedom, and personal space. They shared a lot about the place of rationality and practicality in romantic relationships. The consensus was that in order to work, every romantic relationship had to have an element of the irrational, crazy, doesn't make sense chemistry and rapport that Love brings.
I'm in a relationship that I see as very practical. It's comfortable and reliable. He's thoughtful, can cook, and is good with money. The more I explain it, the more I realize it's a bad idea to have practicality as my prevailing sentiment. I should expect that out of my car, not my relationship, right? Wasn't I supposed to learn this after watching the Joy Luck Club? I'd rather say my partner is boat-loads of fun, laughs, and have a sky's the limit level of adventure-seeking than having a relationship that merely makes sense. C+C explained it a little more clearly last night when they said that you'll need the crazy-in-love part to pick up the practical part when it starts getting boring and mundane. Without that freedom that comes from unbridled love, I will probably start using the words "stuck" and "obligation" when talking about my boyfriend. That would suck. I have used both those words this week.
On another note: C channeled her glorious inner hippy and told me that I might have a cosmic connection to one of my former lovers, because our energies seem intertwined and my subconscious has been creating dreams that compel me to keep in contact with him. This is not to say that I should act on it, but just to respect (from a distance) the feelings he continues to incite. More on that later.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Monday, June 3, 2013
Challenging
**From March 2011**
At work I overheard someone tell a person on the other line of his telephone that your thirties are great. You grow a lot as a person and in the end you are better. As someone who continually strives to be better than I was yesterday, I am looking forward to it.
I've gotten pretty good at challenging myself physically. I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff, but here is my running total (pun intended):
5k: 10
10k+: 5
Half marathon: 4
Marathon: 1
Mud run: 1
Warrior Dash: 1
Training miles: too many to count
Miles hiked: numerous
I've gotten pretty good at challenging myself physically. I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff, but here is my running total (pun intended):
5k: 10
10k+: 5
Half marathon: 4
Marathon: 1
Mud run: 1
Warrior Dash: 1
Training miles: too many to count
Miles hiked: numerous
Maybe it's time for another type of challenge. Lately I've been thinking that it's been easy to be tomboyish and aggressive in my life, but that I'm not sure if I'm good at being a refined lady. When couples dancing, I have a tendency to anticipate and lead. When on a road trip I like navigating AND driving. I love fixing things. It can be kind of emasculating when I can change a tire for a guy.
I could be less crass. I could build my repertoire of dishes I'm good at cooking/baking. I could be more feminine (as the social construct defines it). I could listen better. I could be more compassionate. Not that these are only things that and person should be or do, but they are things that I could be so much better at doing.
I have decided that my next challenge will be to wear a skirt (or dress) for the whole summer season, which I have arbitrarily designated as starting on Memorial Day and ending on Labor Day. I think this exercise will require more discipline and planning than any running has in the past. The skirt will remind me of all the things that I am working on.
(to be revised and updated)
Elephants
If the elephants have past lives / Yet are destined to always remember / It's no wonder how they scream / Like you and I they must have some temper /
And I am dreaming of them on the plains / Dirtying up their beds / Watching for some sign of rain / To cool their hot heads /
And how dare that you send me that card / When I'm doing all that I can do / You are forcing me to remember / When all I want is to just forget you /
If the tiger shall protect her young / Then tell me how did you slip by / All my instincts have failed me for once / I must have somehow slept the whole night /
And I am dreaming of them with their kill / Tearing it all apart / Blood dripping from their lips / And teeth sinking into heart /
And how dare that you say you will call / When you know I need some peace of mind / If you had to take sides with the animals / Won't you do it with one who is kind? /
If the hawks in the trees need the dead / If you're living you don't stand a chance / For a time though you share the same bed / There are only two ends to this dance /
You can flee with your wounds just in time / Or lie there as he feeds / Watching yourself ripped to shreds / Laughing at as you bleed /
So for those of you falling in love / Keep it kind, keep it good, keep it right / Throw yourself in the midst of danger / But keep one eye open at night
/ RACHAEL YAMAGATA - ELEPHANTS
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Fremont Ave
After tonight's events and shenanigans I found myself driving on the very street on which my heart became retarded. That is to say, it lost the ability to determine what it really wants, what feels right, and started developing some sort of philophobia. Is there such a word?
It was on Fremont in a shopping plaza parking lot that I let go of the person that I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. When your heart decides something like that and then you force it to not act on it, it's jarring. And it leaves a scar. Its been over 3 years and im still not sure if it's healing right.
In nursing school I'm taught that the heart is body's pump, helping to move nutrients to tissues and waste away for excretion. Physiologically, I think my heart still works. The not so visceral, more emotional? structures of my heart-- that's what needs the roto-rooter and creation of alternate pathways that make up a coronary artery bypass graft (triple or quadruple bypass probably required). Maybe then I'll be in a stronger, more confident place to make decisions about love and romance.
It was on Fremont in a shopping plaza parking lot that I let go of the person that I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. When your heart decides something like that and then you force it to not act on it, it's jarring. And it leaves a scar. Its been over 3 years and im still not sure if it's healing right.
In nursing school I'm taught that the heart is body's pump, helping to move nutrients to tissues and waste away for excretion. Physiologically, I think my heart still works. The not so visceral, more emotional? structures of my heart-- that's what needs the roto-rooter and creation of alternate pathways that make up a coronary artery bypass graft (triple or quadruple bypass probably required). Maybe then I'll be in a stronger, more confident place to make decisions about love and romance.
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