The Moment

Be in the moment -- my moment is discontented with what I could be doing in that moment which is other than what I'm doing. I can't be in the moment. I have to stand outside of the moment, like being in outterspace looking at the Earth, that there is so much more than the square of sidewalk I'm on.

One moment out of many -- forgiving perspective; yet, sometimes I just want to hide. Sensory overload. Too much energy. Not there, my energy is calling for something else. I just don't fit into the moment. I feel that I don't fit into most moments -- unless I'm being productive. Hung up on practicality. Ironically, just breathing is all I have going for me right now. I don't believe in "just breathe." It doesn't help anything. Breathing is involuntary anyway.

Put my energy out there, even without incentive of return. Came back to me with a chance, the potential of receiving that return. Pleading with the Universe. Regrets and more negative energy spent, that I didn't say enough, didn't show enough interest. My persistent following up proved my interest. Unnerving feeling between just knowing and the inconvenient, unnecessary doubts that won't change a thing, that crowd out the relative peace. Please, I feel sick with anxiety induced nausea and a chipping away of the spirit. Tears to release an energy between worry and joy.

Strength waning, pressure gaining, my mind vulnerable and shaking, like a muscle reaching failure -- the bliss in letting go.  Like the death of a star: collapse under pressure. 

Release of baseless beliefs and irrational perceptions - of no purpose and unsubstantiated; yet, held for long enough to manifest seemingly irreparable imbalance. 

Headache, but my cat is happily sleeping on me. Cold and dark, quiet and unnerving, I don't know. What do I know? That sensations of suffering have been in the forefront of my mind. Mind chatter, energy clutter because things get left around. Ideas and intentions left undone. It's a holiday weekend; places aren't open. I can't call and get my questions answered. What do I know? More like what don't I know? And how can I find out?
Ticking clock and traffic, the sounds of the day passing. Wiggle my toes to feel something, to distract me, to engage me in the feeling of being alive, a feeling other than the wrench clanging in my head.

Need a change

When what I'm doing isn't working, change it.
Seems like when I move, I don't only live in a different place, but my purpose follows suit and changes too. Life has to shift along with the new location.
I kept stuffing the same thing into a different place and it's just not working out. I'm tired of feeling like concrete was poured and hardened around my feet. I'm tired of watching the days cycle, the energy shift, the evening curtain closes the sky around 5pm every day and I'm still in the same place. It's time I shift too.

Eicosanoids - my new favorite thing, well, more like the coolest thing about which I've learned lately

Mind Overload -- Instead of it all pouring it, it's clogged up.  They go undone anyway.  One thought and before it's finished its rampage, another.  Then, in this limbo-esque place I'm in, experiences of people come in, as if I have to be on a certain wavelength to have human experience thoughts, opposed to just my own.  Then, different chemicals become activated, responding to the thoughts, mirroring the original response of the experience -- emotions spark and I become annoyed, pissed off, aggitated, just like I was then. 

Damn you, brain.  I wish I could just turn you off. 

Information overload -- is there such a thing?  I guess it depends on the source.  Read this, then that, learn from my own experience.  One replaces the other. It's this, because I read it in this book, regardless of that which my own body has shown me.  Lost in the information.  But I love it. I want to know.  Then I read something that says the oppposite.  I want the truth!  The truth is lost somewhere between here and there.  I don't know.  Then another answer is found, opposing what was already read. But this one is better, it tells me what I want to hear; I'll go with that. 

And thus the human experience.  What I want to hear, what you want to hear.  I can't hear you, because you're not telling me what I want to hear.  Do we really listen?  What a waste of a lovely sense we have.  Are we really fair to one another?  If I tell you what you're looking for, even if it's not my truth, I'll get what I want; I'll get the job.  Anyway...      

Is it really only 10:43am?

I love to write and I'm tired of writing to myself.  I don't have a degree in English.  It never crossed my mind to go to school for it, it was always just a hobby.  So when I looked for writing jobs, free lance, anything, I couldn't provide a degree or writing samples. 

Passion comes second, unfortunately, for uber-productive minds like mine.  Passion = starving artist, essentially, in my opinion...and not that there's anything wrong with being a starving artist.  Well, I didn't want to be a starving artist, so I went to school for a Paralegal Certificate.  I liked the idea of being the support system for something bigger than me.  I like getting things done, to put it incredibly simply.  I like performing the underpinnings of things of a larger scale.  Subconsciously, it could be seen as fulfilling the subordinate position a woman is "meant" to have, according to a patriarchal society's standards, of course.

 My passions: fitness and writing.  I did get the fitness thing down; I became certified as a Personal Trainer via NASM, but the writing -- that's what this is for.  And it's online -- paperless, eco-friendly, going green! 

And I'm still floating around in the Universe looking for some kind of foothold.  Just by looking at Writer's Digest.com warranted receiving e-mails, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, considering I can use all the help I can get.  It said that for aspiring writers who want to get out there -- the best way was through a blog.

Here is my blog.  It's awesome.  No specific topic to write about, no deadline; I can just ramble on and hope that someone finds it interesting enough to enjoy it and pass it along to their friends.  Maybe I can fall into the lap of a publisher who wants a mind just like mine.  Here is where I can think up all these scenarios that end in success, get my adrenaline pumping, endorphins dancing, feel like all is wonderful and lovely.  Then I come back to reality and I see my parents' basement because we (hus and I) don't (can't afford) have Internet...

Anyway, yes, so it's not noon yet.  Amazing.  All this emotional energy I spent today and it feels like it should be at least 1pm.