Aye. Well said Mr Kerouac.

immobilized

Between turning 33 (somehow more devastating than any other birthdays of this, my third decade, or any birthday, really), the demise of my constant (Siena, the cafe, that place I both loathe and love), and awakening from the stupor that was the love of my lifetime (a devastation in so so so many ways), a part of me, an unrecognizable new part of me (you might say something that could be defined as "adult") has decided that enough is enough.

The procrastination, the bullshit, the rut, the laziness justified with a mountain of excuses, the rise of dramageddon, the endless array of disliked characters in wait-til-you-hear-this! stories, the broken promises, the desires unfulfilled and ignored, the old constant negativity and whining, the dodging of people that had previously pleased me somehow back then, the not doing what I really want to be doing and instead feeling constantly gripped by guilt and concern that I missed the important phone call, message, opportunity to be a good daughter, sister, best friend, friend, lover, writing partner, employee, coworker, acquaintance, etc.

I'm not sure exactly when it all got to be too much. I look back on the last six months and I see how stifled I've been feeling, how suffocated and submerged life has become and I know I have no one to blame but myself. I want to do it all and I want to have it all and ironically, I end up with little scraps and remnants of nothing, piles of sand that disappear from my hands so quickly. At some point, I lost the focus I had, the focus that gave me discipline and a map to follow. In trying to figure out what the new approach to this unexpected life should be, I have dabbled in so many things and succeeded at none and constantly feel overwhelmed.

Last year in January, I did something which seemed to many a strange and horrific thing, but as I look back on the cleanse (also known as the lemonade diet)--in which I spent twenty one days free from the confines of consuming solid food, which led me to be unable to frolic about with most people I know, who gather around food and drink like they must have centuries ago, just to be together and feast, espousing all theories and ideas well into the night--I realize it gave me some focus outside of school or work that I had never experienced before.

I enjoyed that time for so many reasons, despite the obvious setbacks (my life and thoughts largely revolve around food), mostly because it was a giant pulling of the brake on my constant busyness. Without food as a agent in that machinery of mine, I had to alter how and when and who I did things with. I toy now with doing the cleanse not just for the health benefits (I know it's regarded as a silly quick fix diet heralded by celebrities, but people have been fasting for various reasons for a very long time), but to enjoy the serenity that comes from not being able to go anywhere or do anything that revolved around food or drinks (90% of my outings with friends, I'd say).

The benefits I experienced were plentiful: I quit smoking for a while, I started doing yoga on a daily basis, I began knitting and crafting things again; not to mention my liver from the future tried to get me sainted in gratitude. Also, I realized that my friends, my real friends were the ones who didn't care that I was doing some kooky fast and just wanted to spend time with me. Heck, even Walter was begging me to join him at the bar on the first day of breaking the fast, when I was only allowed to drink juice, I sipped on grapefruit juice until the bar closed and he seemed very happy to see me after so long.

To me the fast was like pressing a reset button. I could start anew on eating a vegan/vegetarian diet (which I've since become a vegetarian-at-large), I could commit to exercising via daily yoga (which, admittedly didn't last long with my crazy schedule), and most importantly, I managed to break that nasty smoking habit (at least for six months or so).

All I know is that right now, something has got to give or improve vastly in my life. I am tired of peeling myself out of bed every morning (perhaps the bed exchange is partly to blame), relying on my precious coffee to just be normal and not a giant grouch, feeling like everyone else is enjoying life and I'm stuck in the same old place. I am tired of washing away my woes or perceived woes in a glass of beer and getting high just to get fake happy. I am tired of feeling disconnected. I am sad that it seems like I never accomplish anything, yet I'm always busy. If it's my own damn fault I'm disappointed in life, then I need to try something else in the search for satisfaction.

Oh my!