Pleasure Notes

by aphotoshooter/flickr

I’ve been very silent for the past week or so, both online and off. I don’t know what it’s about, really. I simply get hit by a wave of exhaustion when I think about… thinking, much less talking or writing. I’d love to blame it on the June Gloom that descends upon Los Angeles at this time of year, or an incredibly busy schedule, or an epic natural disaster but, alas, none of those hold up to scrutiny, or even a side glance. And since I have no idea what’s causing this current phase of misanthropy, I’m not sure what to do to get out of it. Which is why I’m now purging on the page.

Not that I’m expecting you to sift through my bile or trudge along as I write myself out of the vagueness– or actually, that’s exactly what I’m asking of you.

If you’ve been around here a bit, you know that I spent most of 2009 in tears. The tears stopped in 2010 and I thought:

WHOOPPEE!
I’m done.
I never have to feel sad again.
Everything will now fall magically into place.
I deserve a fairytale ending, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!
Oh, and look, there’s some chocolate.
Let me eat THAT for breakfast, lunch AND dinner…

And down the rabbit hole I went…

Have I ever mentioned that I use food like others use alcohol or heroine? Not in the recreational use kind of way, no. That wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, there’s a twisted sexiness to that use of addictive substances. Or at least I’d be skinnier.

But no.

Instead I (choose?) to use food because I frequently feel like my head screams a version of the following:

CHECK ME OUT OF THIS EMOTION THING NOW – I DON’T LIKE IT -  I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING – WHAT AM I DOING – MY LIFE IS UNMANAGEABLE – OH MY GOD THE DISHES ARE DIRTY AGAIN – WHERE IS THE GODDAMN KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR – THERE’S MOLD IN MY BATHROOM – HOW DOES EVERYONE ELSE KNOW HOW TO NAVIGATE EXISTENCE – WHY AM I NOT FAMOUS AND BEING FED SEEDLESS GREEN GRAPES – I WILL BE A SINGLE, CAT LADY FOREVER – I AM MORE PATHETIC THAN THE ROTTING TURD ON A DEAD CORPSE IN THE RAIN – THE WORLD IS FULL OF IDIOTS – EVERYTHING WOULD BE BETTER IF I CONTROLLED THE WORLD – PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME MAKE A DECISION – MY BRAIN IS A HAMSTER WHEEL SPINNING SPINNING SPINNING – PLEASE STOP AND SHUT THE FUCK UP NOW

Consistent consumption of food has worked better than any Bose silencing headphones to reduce the chatter. Of course, it also silences everything else. Not so good.

There’s a saying in 12 Step rooms that you know if someone is an addict when she calls 9-1-1 after breaking a nail. I wish I could say that was an exaggeration.

Laundry piles defeat me. Dirty tubs defeat me. Wardrobe decisions defeat me. People defeat me.

I’ve been known to binge on snap peas, for crap-sake.

About seven years ago, I got help. I was tired of avoiding birthday parties because of an overwhelming sense that I would ruin the event by showing up and being fat. I hated the shame of broken promises to myself about things I would or wouldn’t eat, activities I would or wouldn’t do. I’d started hiding food even when no one was around from whom I needed to hide anything. I was done with feeling entirely hopeless and helpless.

Then, things got better. So very, very much better.

But now, I find myself once again looking at invitations with dread, breaking promises to myself, not showing up for others in the ways I wish. I am a turtle shrinking into my shell.

by littleREDelf / flickr

This is familiar terrain on which I tread, but I have NO INTEREST in taking routes already walked.

My heart is that of an explorer.

So I’m lifting up my machete, with this purge of words, and stepping into the wilderness once again. I’m scared and uncomfortable and already doubting the sense of leaving behind the comfort of isolation and silence.

BREATHE DEEP. Off I go…

6-28-10

I have decided that the peony is my new favorite flower. It arrives in such glory and then is gone again so quickly, a reminder of the fleeting nature of life.

by Voyageur Solitaire-mladjenovic_n / flickr

Is this the bench onto which an old couple crumbles,
To rest their battered soles?

Does a disgruntled girl stub out her red-rimmed filters
On its fine ironwork,
Her cloak of hostility
An affront to its delicacy?

How many passers-by shrug away to avoid stains of rust,
Oblivious as their dogs
Relieve themselves
At its feet?

Have there been more proposals than ultimatums here?
More stolen kisses than forgotten mittens?

Beyond the decay,
Through the decay,
In the decay –
Love.

The bench was just one of many, in its newest, shiny state.
Only now, scarred by time, does it reveal its uniqueness.
Who are we to walk by without seeing what it has to offer?

What would happen if we sat down,
Still,
And stayed for a while?

As I was writing yesterday’s rant, I started hunting through that delightfully fertile creative ground commonly known as Flickr for a suitable image of a cow. I discovered that many, MANY people like taking pictures of cows. I also discovered the artistry of a Serb living in France who has chosen the ridiculously long “Voyageur Solitaire-mladjenovic_n” as his handle. I will forgive him for creating this headache because he also creates such stunning photographs.

The picture that first caught my attention stars a quartet of cows, of course.

"306 Cows 2"

Then, I delved deeper into his collection, and I lost my ability to breathe – in a good way.

"014 Red Rose 2"

I am a sucker for flowers, as you know, but seriously… Anyone who can capture so many facets of nature in one shot should be lauded, in my opinion. Don’t you agree?

"218 Blue Sky"

If you’re inspired, I encourage you to do two things:

1. Go explore the dude’s portfolio for yourself.
2. Pick up your own camera and capture a bit of the world you see.

Everyone has a right to be an artist. Everyone IS an artist.

Share how you see the world.

I guarantee someone will be struck by the beauty of what you see. It will surprise them. It might even surprise you.

And it won’t be a waste of time.

If one can be convinced of cows’ majestic beauty, just think what else is possible!

by hurleygurley/flickr

I’ve been acutely aware each day, for the past few, that I haven’t written anything in this space. Since the inception of Pleasure Notes, I’ve only succeeded in creating daily ramblings during one month, despite my continued desire to write every day. I don’t beat myself up over the gap between desire and reality in this regard, or at least not usually. But for some reason, it’s currently driving me crazy. Perhaps it’s because I’ve committed to 21 5 800 and I believe that the community created by challenges is best served when the participation is public. It could also be that I love this space so much, and the creative outlet it provides is such a highlight in my life at the moment, that I’m uber-aware of my own absence. When I do show up here, however, I like to at least strive for coherency. And there’s the rub.

by Sabrina Campagna/flickr

At the moment, my thoughts are so jumbled that I’m more likely to land on the moon by day’s end than find any degree of coherency in my mind. Poor brain.

***

As I mentioned, I now resemble Uncle Jeb’s third cousin once removed because of some dental hi-jinx. It seems that was not horror enough. Over the weekend, I momentarily forgot that bed posts are solid and decide to slam my toe into one, leaving me crippled for a day and contemplating x-rays and crutches. Yesterday, my thumb suddenly decided to lay siege to the poorly defended carpal tunnel. And in a mysterious turn of events that has nothing to do with the increased availability of mini soy ice cream sandwiches at my local Trader Joe’s, I have added a new tire to my Michelin-envying waist.

by NuageDeNuit/flickr

My body has betrayed me and now I will never be cast in the remake of Catwoman!

***

I fear that I am THIS CLOSE to becoming a shut-in, and I blame it all on my furry feline friend, Bella. I grew up with dogs. I also grew up ridiculing people who owned cats. Now, I have one. What’s worse?

Eating cat hair with every meal, and finding it woven through every piece of fabric that has ever entered my home, no longer fazes me.

by exper/flickr

Also, the torrid, entangled affair that cat hair and dust bunnies seem to be carrying on in every nook and cranny of my truly humble abode is downright unseemly, and it is for this reason alone that I’m leaving them untouched.

One benefit of maintaining this level of filth love on all surfaces is that, like fog, it reflects light in interesting and unusual ways. I can pretend I have a floor covered in disco balls.

***

I should be pregnant. I already have the silhouette. I’m hungry all the time but NOTHING IS SATISFYING, not even chocolate. My boobs have enough storage space to hold milk for quintuplets, at least, and are in dire need of something to restore them to gravity-defying plumpness.

by Pikaluk/flickr

Of course, there is the prerequisite of sex, and I’d have more luck finding a cow to tip on the streets of Los Angeles than engaging in that 3-letter word at the moment.

***

I would have made a great heiress.

***

I will never be an Olympic gymnast. Damn you, Nadia, for putting the idea in my head!

***

Why do I love office supplies and kitchen utensils so much when my fondness for offices and kitchens is so tepid?

***

Will I ever have a coherent thought again?

by vaXzine/flickr

Welcome to my world. How are things looking in yours?