Who Chopped the Legs off of my High-horse?

Beach front property in Dubai spreads out like palm fronds. It's topography takes it's cues from the natural and yet it is unnatural like a Double-D boob job on a 5' woman. Human beings seem to be constantly trying to enhance what they already have. Consumption and expansion are key words here. It is like we all never forgot the word "mine" once we learned it.

Lately, I have been thinking about the incredible amount of "stuff" I purchase and consume. Frankly, I am worried. I have addictions to buying scented lotions and organic produce above and beyond what I need. I buy too many items of clothing and it is inching me out of my bedroom because I have no problem buying "NEW" into my life, whilst I have a major problem scooting the "OLD" stuff out because some day I am going to need that uncomfortable silver shirt so I can pretend I am a space alien. Right? Wrong! Someone else could be rocking that shirt. Someone who can't get enough of the metallics. For years I have been thinking that I should make a gigantic quilt out of all my old ratty clothes that I never wear unless it is Halloween and even then I can't wear all of them at once. What's wrong with me?! I'm a pack rat and I need help. I love HGTV and often fantasize about having one of their organizational gurus making a visit to my apartment. Number one rule to organizing one's life is to get rid of things you don't need. I know how to be a minimalist, sadly the sentimentalist in me jumps in the way almost every time. In essence, I am being consumed by my own consumption. For all my admiration for environmental activism I am still a perpetrator. As I live and breathe and buy I am hurting the planet by making more trash. I recycle. I scoff at styrofoam. I used to grow my own vegetables. I drive an economical car and chose a job close to home. I rarely use my air-conditioner. Yeah, yeah, yeah - I am contributing in my own way, but I feel guilty for not doing more and for not doing less. The pathetic part is even as I am writing this I am fantasizing about all the crap I want. Someone should slap my hand and send me to my room pronto.

Last night I dreamt about the earth in it's most pristine state: undulating coast lines, thick forests, birds chirping, clean water with happy fish, gorgeous pink and blue skies, frisky dogs in moist meadows, vibrant flowers and not another human being nor building in sight. As I looked around my eyes welled up with tears and a smile leapt across my face. I woke up smiling.

We should be better to mother earth. We shouldn't take so much without giving back. Giving waste is a miserable gift. I wouldn't give my mother a basket of trash, so why do I continue doing that to the earth? A "Sorry" does not cut it, something must be done.

Pretty Monkey

Have you ever gone to sleep with freshly washed hair wherein you used the most expensive and glorious shampoo and conditioner you could afford? Did you take your moist hair and smooth it above your head because, "burrrr", it made your ears, neck and shoulders cold? In the middle of the night as you emerged from your bed for your nightly jaunt to the bathroom did you revel in the clean and refreshing scent of your head and felt everything was right with the world? Did you wake up and slide into an outfit that didn't fit you quite right, made do, and then progressed to preening your hair? Upon running your fingers through your tresses did you then realize that you looked like a monkey post debugging and strung out on cocaine?

Apokalupsis Eschaton

Surely this fatigue can't last forever. This ache in my back and neck drones on and on and adjustments only relieve the pain for minutes at a time. It is all that fighting inside that makes a boxing ring out of my skeletal, muscular, and nervous systems. As hormones fuel my rage I hear my foundation teetering and cracking deep.

Last night I could not sleep as my heart was played by a punk drummer named "Iced Tea", so I will address a dream I had this past Saturday.

I was in a home filled with tattered girls berating me because I didn't say the right words at the right time when all of a sudden something frightening brought everything into perspective. The house started to shake and rumble as an approaching object fell from the sky. A nuclear warhead plummetted through the ceiling and met the ground with a sonic boom. I witnessed heat expanding off it like gel moving through the air as I went deaf and a quick burn enveloped the front of my body. The pain was so intense that I stopped feeling and ran into the street filled with charred people who looked like they were screaming. I still couldn't hear.

The moonless night was lit up by explosions all over the industrial landscape. Everyone still alive ran around like ants who had lost the scent of their colony's trail as the dying and dead made their steady decline to the ground. Their ashes whisked off of their bodies and into the frenzied hot air.

I looked on until everything went black and the silence made me realize I was already dead.

In death, I awakened to a new day: Sunday. The end of the world chirped a new beginning and I could hear again.

Pro

I'm a pro. I'm a pro when it comes to having vivid dreams that don't end just because I have to get up and go to the bathroom several times in the middle of the night. It's like my dreams are on TIVO. My memory is actually pretty rockin', Folks!

My slumber frenzy last night went on and on until the break of dawn and then revved up again for another hour.

On my last blog entry my mom wondered if my slumber recall is a result of my healthy diet and exercise regime. I think it is just a character trait that I have had since I was a little girl. One of my oldest friendships was solidified by our constant story-telling. Dreams were incrediable fodder for our ficticious tales. Any time that we slept over at each other's houses we would wake up and relay the dreams and sometimes nightmares we had. We trained ourselves to be lucid dreamers and rather than letting this ability wane over the years it has intensified for me.

Due to another strong trait that I have, namely my over-sensitivity, I have opted to use my dreams to pschycologically address issues in my waking life. My dreamworld is the best therapist I could ever ask for because who better to understand myself than me.

Well Lit

Inside the conversations snapped from right to left and my head felt like it was enclosed in an eggshell.

I walked outside and smoke hovered above my head. I crouched down like my parent's dogs and peered through a crack in the gate. The street where I had parked my car was lit up, not with lights, rather with a blazing fire. The heat danced on the asphalt and slapped me across the face to break my gaze. The fire was intimately close like a lover's hot breath. I shuddered and quickly ran back into the house to warn everyone. Everyone was gone except for Stella. She was chatting to herself about the luke warm pinto beans smeared all over her highchair. She was still strapped in.

I unstrapped her, picked her up, and fled the house as she calmly chattered away. I ran in the opposite direction of the inferno, but I didn't have a plan. I didn't know where we were going. Where did everyone else go? Were they really gone or just so deep in the house that they didn't hear my shriek? Did I scream? Did I say anything at all? Was there really a fire?

Full steam ahead and the weight in my arms got lighter. I looked down and Stella was not there. I looked ahead and I was in a Mall parking structure. The smell of rubber tires and gasoline permeated the air and the sounds of tires swishing into spots and honks tapering off in the distance cocooned my head. I was alone with rattling bags in my hands still running.

I ran into the mall. I bumped into shoppers with my shoulders as the smells and sounds shifted to cheap perfume and slow rock. I kept moving as people I know made appearances in the corners of my eyes and spoke to me in whispers. My cousin Samantha told me not to worry. A couple of ladies from my work talked about sharing a burger from McDonald's. My appetite was spurned by this conversation. I suddenly craved meat. I asked them to get me one. They were shocked.

The running never stopped. I never got a cheeseburger. My abs burned and my quads, hamstrings and calves tightened like brand new rubberbands. As I sped by, my spirit got tired and left my body. My soul stared after my frame as I raced off into the distance.

I woke up tired. I am still tired. I can picture myself getting out of bed and deciding what to wear.

Celebrate Life

I'm struggling here to write something profound. "Celebrate Life" is all I can come up with today. This is coming from a lady who is obsessed with remembering birthdays and the dead. Supposedly, my card in Tarot's Major Arcana is "Death". Death can be translated into rebirth. This is called, "Thinking Positively". I am warming up to the idea.

Within this past week a baby named "Liam" whom I only know of through the power of blogs and my cousin's biological mother both passed away. These deaths were followed by my dad's 60 birthday and Father's Day.

People die and life goes on. No, it is not that simple. People die and it breaks your heart, but people living and celebrating the years that they have been alive, whether tormented or not, warms my heart. I don't understand why the same people who spend time grieving don't want to spend the same amount of time celebrating the people that are still around. Do you? What the hell is wrong with them anyway?! It's natural and healthy to mourn a loved one's death and yet remembering birthdays conjures cavalier twists of the wrists and "so-whats?" I have always valued the importance of birthdays because birthdays are the designated days of the year that we celebrate life. Yay, for life! Yay, for acknowledgement! We all want to be acknowledged and revered, right? We all deserve a pat on the back that means "Hey, you know what: I am happy that you are alive!" Let's party!!!

Someday we will all pass on and leave a heavy wake of tears, but in the meantime let's celebrate! Life is a gift, so at the risk of sounding like a Hallmark card, unwrap it and discover the wonder in your hands.

Finding Calm in a Dream

Curves cup me and protect me from falling off the edge and into the beauty of life sometimes.

Sometimes we all feel spent from the rush of the life we have created for ourselves. I am looking at you mom and you are tired. You need a bath and a foot-rub. You need to sit back and enjoy the smell of wet earth and find peace and tranquility again. I dreamt about you last night running up and down five flights of stairs to orchestrate dad's 60th birthday party. You were exhausted and aggravated and blew up at me. I didn't take it personally. I searched for a way to help without you noticing, but fell down the rabbit hole instead. The crowds made me run and hide. Please forgive me, but I am sensitive and know my limits. I wandered up into an amazing five-story home. Each level unfolded the images of the intense beauty of the water and pink skies. The distraction was inevitable: I had witnessed a backdrop that was the most magnificent I had ever laid eyes on. The rounded openness of the architecture made the air easier to breathe even admidst the high altitude. I wish I could re-create the image for everyone I know. I wish I could take us all there to forget the stress that envelopes us and makes us forget how truely wonderful life is. We need to share what beauty and happiness we have inside and let it flourish, let it cascade off of balconies and into the sea to swirl around the lovely sea creatures and sunbathers.

My heart feels full and calm. I can help the world, again.

Emmanuel Kant's Doors

The main contenders in my dream last night were doors. I swear I have never opened and closed so many doors within the course of one day. The opening, the closing, the opening, the closing... I was about to go mad. It was important that I open doors to get to my destination just as it was equally important to close them immediately afterwards. The reason being: I was taking care of a toddler. I had to constantly make sure that she was safe with me and not trapped in some prior room where anyone could get her. We were on our way to her mother and father. They were somewhere at the end of this maze of white hallways, rooms and doors waiting patiently for her. I was the caregiver and the guide alternating between hand-holding, carrying and twisting doorknobs right and left. I was haunted by the clicking doorknob sounds, echoing footsteps and screeching hinges. Everything was amplified and cold to the touch. My feet started to ache and so did the toddler's and yet we trudged forward knowing that there were wonderful people waiting for us that were dressed colorfully and smiling. They would finally shatter the monotony of white walls and the toddler could finally squeal with delight again rather than wearing her shoes thin with too much walking. She gurgled baby gibberish and looked at me for confirmations that what she was saying made all the sense in the world. I knodded my head as I staired at her wide-eyed. She would smile, but when she was not looking my brows were furrowed and I frowned. This journey was taking too long. I started questioning whether the parent's remained at the end of this path. I started questioning whether they existed at all. I started losing my grip and lingering too long at each door secretly wishing that we could turn back, go around the maze, and meet the parents directly at the exit. Then it occurred to me that I was the parent and I had chosen the most boring and barren path of all because stability was on the other side. Stability was the cheese. It would provide us sustenance after our long walk, so that we could live another day to meander through yet another maze or rather the same maze all over again.

Lonely Parade

Last night I had a nightmare that my boyfriend was cheating on me. When I confronted him he had no remorse. In fact, he said matter-of-factly that he thought that we were both attractive, we being this other woman and I. That was his excuse. I was floored. I was hurt. I felt all those emotions one feels when he/she has been betrayed. I screamed at him that that was no excuse, but I might as well have been screaming at my computer monitor because I got no emotional response back. I eventually ran off flustered and teary-eyed. He didn't run after me.

After running and then walking for what seemed an eternity I came upon a crowd of people rehearsing for a talent show. They were all dressed in loud costumes being loud and gyrating up and down the catwalk. They moved around me like a riptide: sucking me in.

I was in no mood to perform. I could barely see through my salted contacts. My feet hurt. My heart hurt.

I felt not an inkling of compansion from the performers, just a steady tug to take the stage.

As the line to the stage chugged along the current moved me forward around the stage and up the steps. Like an ax swinging down I eventually found myself in the center of the stage with my hands crookedly arched in front of me. A cast in green danced and sang twirling about me.

I crumpled into a ball and felt the gravity of my loss and even admidst all those people I felt truly alone and helpless.

This is Not Light and Fluffy

It's been a while, I know. I have been dreaming so vividly for the past few days that I don't feel like I am getting enough rest. I wake up tired and wondering why my neck hurts so freaking much. Night after night I have been chased, lassoed, yelled at, poked, grabbed... basically, people, someone is hunting me in my dreams! I am sitting here looking at the computer glassy-eyed because I am exhausted and sore. What does all this mean? I have some wierd psychological crap that is trying to work itself out in the only time I have time for it: in my sleep. Somehow the mind and body finds its own special way to synchronize.

Here is the rundown of reoccurring characters:
Dad
Adrian (my brother)
Sarah (my sister)
Mom
Anthony
Samantha (my cousin)
People who want to humiliate me
People who want to physically hurt me
Dogs

Important plants:
Succulants
Yucca
Rolling green lawns
Pine trees

Places:
Other people's property
Luxurious mansions
Dirty apartments
The great outdoors: Cliffs and Mountains

Personal Actions:
Running
Climbing
Falling
Some more running

I have been interpretting the hell out of all this. This is personal and bizarre the way my mind and heart confront me. It is like getting intimate with myself whether I want to or not. This sounds like crazy talk, but it is not. My intuition is flooding my neurons. I am standing here wanting something in this mess to be structured and linear, but its like a philosophy course deconstructing everything I thought I already knew. Stability is like an M.C. Escher drawing: it is difficult to discern where it begins and ends. The saga of my dreamworld is both brother and sister to those drawings.

My cortisol levels are high and I am living in two realms at once delivering anticipation and anxiety, but I'll be fine... I'll be fine...

Crazy Ceviche Costs

Did you know that there is a difference between ceviche and ceviche tostada? It's about a $4.39 difference. My boyfriend and I learned this the hard way yesterday between struggling with loads of laundry and overwhelming hunger pains. All we wanted was two orders of ceviche tostadas and a fish taco to make the horns retract back into our heads, unfortunately in the feverish hunt for food only the words "two ceviches and a fish taco" could grumble out. Upon reviewing the receipt the numbers didn't add up to our liking. Apparently, the $1.59 ceviche tostadas that he and I have come to love jumped in price to over $6 a piece. Whhhhaaaat? I know, I know that it is not a lot of money in the grand scheme of things, but mistakes like this do add up. In conclusion, the manager was summoned, the proper change was returned, the food was served, we ate, and we finished out laundry. Whew!

I know, I know that was an epic story filled with desire, tragedy, and triumph over great odds and you will hold it close to your heart for the rest of eternity just like the smell of lemon and fish on our fingertips.

This Bridge I Must Cross

I had an anxiety dream last night. I went to bed late and proceeded to run until I woke up. A scary creature was not chasing me, rather time was. I had been expected at a very important party and was running late due to a plethora of bizarre obstacles in my path. The first was a crumbling cliff that I had to climb up trying desperately not to dirty my dress and scuff my fancy shoes. Once I got to the top I was faced with a very long old mutated rope bridge high above a row of sharp peaked houses. As I scurried across it like a squirrel on a telephone line I nearly lost my breath and my mind. I'm terrified of heights awake AND asleep. When I got to the other side I spun around not knowing exactly where to go next. I heard my sister and my mom calling me with the bitter tone of "You're late". I rushed in the direction of their voices. The floor was slippery against my dress shoes, so several times I had to struggle to regain my balance in order to not slip and fall. Finally, the voices changed to a welcoming sing-song of "You're here!" from my friend Sophia. "I'm so glad that you could make it!" She smiled, took my hand, and brought me into a Victorian style bedroom of rich dark wooden furniture and mint and chartreuse bedding. I looked around at the beauty and history of the room and laid my purse on the bed consumed with coats and purses of the punctual guests. My sister and mom walked into the room, looked around, and in hushed tones said, "How beautiful!" Sophia humbly responded with a 'Thank you." In that moment I looked down at my scuffed shoes, stained dress, and torn purse and felt utterly embarrassed on mutiple counts. I couldn't remember if I was showing up for a wedding shower, baby shower or housewarming party. In all circumstances I was looking and feeling unfit to be there. When I raised my eyes my sister and mother were looking at me with disappointment. Their judgmental gaze hit me with a sudden urge to run to the bathroom. Without missing a beat I woke up and hurried to the bathroom.

Lesson learned: no more sipping gin and tonics before bed.

Umbrella Science

The words will come if I just sit down here and type and let the thoughts gush out of me as if my fingers were water spouts and my brain the faucet...

As the sun beats down on the pavement outside, I am in here at work counting down the minutes until I leave and plan out the rest of my day, which usually ends in rest if I am lucky. Wish me luck! On second thought, save your wishes for yourself and not for me.

Have you ever thought of scales being more than two-sided? I feel like the scale I am always trying desperately to balance is composed of more than two measly parts. It is more like an umbrella turned up-side-down that is structurally unsound. You know, the kind of umbrella that lets the wind turn it in-side-out and then "decides" to rebound back and splash several cups of rain water on your head. Yeah, that's my scale. Nevertheless, I do experience brief moments of shelter and those moments I cherish.

The weather had better change to sunshine soon or it looks like my head is going to get sopping wet again.

My dreams have been erased from last night and replaced by work and anxiety. This is a slow burn anxiety. I'm no longer fretting over possible cancer, I am worried about how much I am going to miss my boyfriend when he leaves for China in a month. He will be gone for 3-6 weeks missing half of the California summer, our year and a half anniversary, and my 29th birthday. This is a long time to be apart and I know that we are both adults and we will carry on. It is not the end of the world, but he is my best friend and I am going to miss him oh so much. I tell him everything about myself down to what I ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We laugh at each other's gas. We are silly and playful. We have a lot of serious fun together. When we are sad we turn to each other for comfort and when we are angry with one another we work it out. We hug and kiss and the world is new again. That's us. What is it going to be like when we are continents and time zones away from one another?

Merging

On my way to work this morning I was driving round the bend from the 2 to the 5 freeway when I saw a baby coyote shivering on the divider. It was a simple sighting, but it meant a great deal to me. It made me think about the Griffith Park fire, dwindling animal habitats, and the danger an animal like that faces every day living in a world monopolized by human beings who drive lethal vehicles. Los Angeles is ruled and run by the automobile industry. We trail and cross each other all day long on the veins and arteries of this city. Sometimes we cause cardiac arrest with traffic jams clogging the flow.

When I sit in the grass at a park or the sand at the beach I can sometimes forget that I live in a stressful city and see the world through the eyes of a wild animal. The trees grow slowly, the seaweed grows quickly, the ground drinks the rain and the ocean flows in and out.

I know animals don't live entirely stress free. They have to hunt and gather their food, protect themselves from predators, and create homes for shelter and warmth. Evenso, it is all too apparent that we are infiltrating their lives and destroying what serenity they have by moving onto their turf.

I can't help but wonder if that coyote pup survived the day or its bloody remains painted the 5 freeway as an effigy of the plight of wild animals living and dying in Los Angeles. This saddens me.

Later on today when I merge onto the freeway I know that I will feel the eyes of that scared pup staring into my soul again and remember for a second that I am an animal, too. I am an animal, too.

Another One!

These "Back to School" dreams are haunting me. Last night I had yet another one, wherein I moved back in with my college roommates. The carpeting was still stinky and stained and the beds were haplessly made. The bedrooms were dark and ringing with the buzz of laptops. The kitchen sink was brimming with dirty dishes. I was disgusted and scared and kept trying to remind myself that I moved back to save money while going to school only to discover that the rent was higher than my current rent. The squalor and over-abundance of roommates made me quickly realize that I had made a huge mistake that I could not take back. My future was paved out ahead of me like a bad rerun. I began to sweat profusely as I smelled the mildewy lining of my new/old world and I could hear the blood ringing in my ears like traffic in LA.

When I woke up I was relieved to realize that my life was not the one I saw in my dream. I've grown up since those chaotic university days when I trudged up and down UCLA's campus rolling hills from my apartment dubbed "The Love Boat" because it looked like a ship with its curved pink stucco and white metal railings sweeping around the outside walkways. I have grown up since those days of cooking and burning myself with bacon grease and stuffing the freezer with a lifetime supply of popsicles. I still remember those carpet stains that came back like ghosts after we washed them. I remember them so well that I am still dreaming about them. Now, now I have hardwood floors and a roommate that does her dishes and I rarely eat bacon and occasionally eat popsicles, but the best part of it all is I have money in the bank and the books I carry are chosen by me and not just chosen by some professor whose secret wish is to break my back. I've earned this.

Random Recognition

The other night I sat down to watch "So You Think You Can Dance" and I was enjoying the mind-blowing moves, hilarious and sad attempts at dancing, and heart-warming courageous armless and legless dancers when all of a sudden I recognized someone. That someone was Shane Sparks. When I was 19-years-old and going to Glendale Community college trying desperately to find my academic niche I attended several dance classes focusing on Modern, Hip Hop and Jazz dance. My introduction to the Militaristic postures of Hip Hop was from our artist in residence Shane Sparks. The guy could dance and that was for sure, but even then he seemed quite full of himself which tainted my learning process. It was as if he demanded adulation from all the girls in the class. Most of the girls cooed at him, but I stood outside the pack and rolled my eyes. I mean, please, ladies keep your leotards on! He smugly smiled as the pretty obnoxious ladies stood like pillars on each side of him. Sometimes it seemed that he got so wrapped up in being popular that, in my opinion, he was a lazy teacher. This is why I don't speak highly of him. There is another reason too, I may sound like a prude, but it honestly disturbed me: on our first performance night he walked into the ladies locker-room with the pretense of pumping us up for the dance, but instead gawked at the half-naked ladies chuckling to himself. He looked like he had hit the jackpot.

Little did I know that a decade later he would still be surrounded by 18 and 19-year-olds and slyly gazing at them under his baseball cap: a happy man indeed!