Hormonally yours (this isn’t a sad post)

Some days you cry when you are happy and sad, and it isn’t so bad.

I’d take a day like that over any other day sometimes, because it is often on those days you well up with tears so fat and pure just for the love of being alive. Alive and knowing love, pain, and all the tiny things that make up life, and the knowledge it is fleeting and short. I think about my husband, long suffering against all these emotional tides I tread day to day, and that he is always there with that smile he has, his gentle ways and his patience, oh lord, his patience with me. He has very little patience with most things in life, you see, because I think he uses most of it on me.

In this holding pattern today, listening to music and going through the motions of work or something suitable enough to pass as such. Future plans and thoughts on the back burner barely simmering today. Missed a workout last night due to household appliance fuckery and general malaise. There happens to be a thing called Keto Flu and I do believe it is true. Aching and generally exhausted today caused me to forgo the fasting this morning and dig into the mixed nuts and olive brine. Yeah I drank it. I think you have to listen to your body sometimes, and just drink the stuff you are craving. There has to be a good reason and my reason is that I am probably dehydrated and not eating enough at this point. It’s a thing, it really is. I mean the not eating enough and I know it isn’t good, but what can I do that isn’t in the extreme. Someone tell me.. I’m waiting.

There is a possibility of poetry tonight, if I can convince myself to put myself out there at all. It takes energy and resolve to be in a room half full of people that despise you! Hey it’s all true, dear readers, I have haters, and if that isn’t delightful I don’t know what that is. You don’t hang around for 25 years and get things done without them.  So in order to make tonight happen I have to find something to eat that the both of us will accept, dress up in something that doesn’t make me feel old and fat, decide if I have anything even worth performing, drive all the way to Fort Worth, find a table that isn’t too close to the ghouls I mentioned earlier, have enough money to drink at least 3 cheap drinks, get up on that stage and expend what little energy  I have left at that point, then make my way back home at a descent  hour because of this gig ya know. So come to think of it.. it all sounds ok. When I get out and around people I generally feel better. All it takes is watching a few people on stage to get inspired to kick ass.  It’s really all I look forward to.. you know sometimes life is a mess and you have to find the things that make you happy. This is one thing.

Other things:

Cheese

Spotify

Zilch Podcast release days

Twin Peaks

Working out and getting ripped

Losing a pound

The Swimming pool at FOE

Thrift Store shopping

Riding my bike for fun

Hiking with friends and family at the OCNP

Live Music

Beer

Falling asleep to M*A*S*H on the TV

My daughter’s smile

The brothers, Jack and Benny

DANCING

Unexpected text messages from friends

Lunch Dates

Espresso shots

Serge Gainsbourg

And more.. that’s just a bit for now, and I feel better.

This was supposed to be a fashion blog. I guess I need to figure out all of that eventually but gee, for now it’s just nice to talk to you.

Photo by the late, great Dan Rodriguez. Miss you. 

Through the Static and Distance..

Farewell Transmission 

They say depression is carried all the way back from your ancestors. From what I know of just my immediate family I would have to say this is true for myself. The trials and hard times were apparent to me as a child, only to have been put on the back burner when my father began to work a better job that paid more. It also kept him far from home which was a bonus for me..we didn't get along very well. But that's another story for another time.

There were stories from my mother about destitute poverty that they lived in in the first years of their marriage in the big city. Stories about not having money to get home from work in a sewing factory and having to sell postage stamps at the bus stop to make it home. Eating pots of mashed potatoes for meals on end. Procuring furniture and curtains for their small home from the dumpsters outside of work or throughout the city.

Theirs was an American story. By the time I was around there was a good home, a full fridge and a pickup truck in the driveway. I had all the things a kid could want, my own room, lots of hair ribbons and stuffed animals, pink wall paper and a pink fluffy bed of my own. I had a creek behind my house I could play in for hours and a big circle neighborhood I could ride my bike on all summer long. But inside I've always been sad.

I was the kid who could cry at the drop of  handkerchief. I was terrified of my father, cats, the dark, the canopy on my bed, the closet and people not liking me. I could listen to a sad song and cry for hours after I had heard it, one most notably was Sloop John B by the Beach Boys. I wrote a poem about that whole incident. I still don't think anyone understands what it feels like to be so aware of mortality at such a young age, and the mystery of why I was so privy to that understanding. I had night terrors at an early age about just being invisible.. fading away..basically being dead and no one even knowing I was there in the first place. The scariest one was of the playground at school being empty and desolate, the swings swaying in the wind and the dust picking up the dirt and the teeter totters without anyone riding them. I would scream all night with these images in my head and I can still see these images clearly now. How strange for a 5 year old to have an existential crisis. Sometimes I wonder why no one thought that was strange? What could have been done to change that in me?

I've had much foreboding on death throughout my life. All of this spells out Trauma. Really deep trauma from a time I still cannot recall, but it must have been before I was having these dreams. I'm not an armchair psychologist, but I do know when something is wrong. Really wrong for the picture of my past. A big black wall covering something I won't allow myself to remember. In passing sometimes a trace of sadness, fear or uncertainty. I see my face.. my sweet chubby legs running away as fast as they can.

Now that I am beginning to unravel these memories, I can't remember a time of being completely care free. I think this is why I make such a big deal out of things now. I like parties, nights out, social events, cookouts. For a while I hosted many events and made sure everyone of them was a big fun night out for everyone. It made me feel good to bring that to people, especially my friends who I feel can relate to all these things I just wrote about. I love my friends. I hate that I isolate from them so frequently. Sometimes I go for months without any contact.

I don't know if I am every going to change. I just hold on to the next spike of glorious freedom from sadness.. as I know it is coming again, as quickly as it left.

Right now, I'm not sad so much as I am tired of all of it.

Boring, baby

They said you are boring, baby

But that’s alright with me

I just want my phone to ring.

My text message to ding.

And whispers to sing

About love

And naughty things

I’m writing a song.. my first one. that’s the beginning..

(I miss love letters. I miss letters, period. I guess you have to write em to get em tho. )

1.5 pounds down since the first whoosh of keto eating. It’s been good and I feel 100% better. Eating more plant and protein combos and almost no sugar now for the first time in my life. Even during gestational diabetes I had a few sweets to get me by but since July 2 I have been almost  sugar free.

My alcohol consumption is down, but I found White Claws and other spiked seltzers and I like the way it doesn’t bloat a sister up.

So I had this crazy dream a few weeks ago that really hasn’t left me. I used to have this reoccurring dream about looking up at the night sky and watching catastrophic things happen right before my eyes. It could be a bomb, a plane crash and sometimes weird celestial implosions or space craft flying toward us with some feeling of dread and foreboding.. always knowing in my mind that this is some kind of sign.. like something big is about to happen. I usually chalk it up to watching too much news or eating too late at night. But this last one was so vivid.

I dreamed C and I were in an open field in the night time, holding hands. The grass was tall and swaying in the breeze very nice and tranquil. I know in my mind that it isn’t going to be good tho, because it’s night time and we are close to the sky. I look up and I see the Imperial Star Destroyer from Star Wars in the sky so close I can see the details of the grey ship.. it is incredible and huge and floating silently above us.. then out of nowhere comes an old 747 that is oddly more penis shaped than anything else. I mean, no imagination there, right? Well the plane is coming, all lit up.. and get this it has red, white and blue stripes along the side of it in a decorative V shaped across the side to the end tail.. the plane goes straight for the starship.. and grazes the edge of the ship. Still silent, the ship begins to crumble and the debris seems to just evaporate into the night sky, not coming down on us or the earth at all.. But we know we are in danger but we can’t stop staring and marveling as it moves like this giant monolith over our heads..  The plane had disappeared into thin air.. Without notice.. it just wasn’t there anymore.

I wake up and think, wow.. what detail. These dreams are always vivid but I always have the sense that it’s trying to tell me something BIG is about to happen.

Or maybe I ate too late.

Baby, they say you are boring

But that’s alright

Send me your dreams

Daylight or night

I’m giving you warning

I’ll wait till the morning

Sun shine so bright

In new love’s  light

The reality of bipoloarosity

In all its glory can be a fascinating state of existence. On the other hand, it can be a real pile of shit.

Mania. Glorious manic tide pools of incredible motion, energy and creativity. Feeling ten feet tall, sexy, unstoppable, *not hungry* bold, fearless, a whirling dervish of ideas thoughts and delights. Dancing all night, getting up early and hiking a few miles, increased awareness and a general sense of well being.

Healthy ideas, except for the smoking, drinking and running oneself ragged.. spending more money than you have, saying EVERYTHING on your mind aloud. Professing you love to everyone and everything. Physically wanting to be closer to every human being you come in contact with. Scaring people. Scaring yourself, but laughing it off.

Slowly slowly unwinding into

The zipper blues, your clothes not fitting well, nothing looks good on you.  You just want to eat and smoke and listen to a particular artist or sometimes a song.. the saddest one you can find. The blahs. The heavy sighs. The muddied thinking, missing details and getting chewed out at work. Feeling worth less. *eating everything* no energy, wanting to stay in bed and watch reality tv.. especially the 800 lb life one. Not feeling sexy..don’t brush your teeth/hair or want to bathe. Paranoid Behavior. Remembering all your dead friends. The mean reds. Anxiety. Anger.Frustration.

Sharp turn back into

Mania. Glorious manic tide pools of incredible motion, energy and creativity.

The person I am to you all depends on when you meet me, see me, run into me. If you do run into me, no matter what, I’m doing ‘ fine’ I’m doing ‘great’

Or maybe I will call or desperate text you, give you some kinda line that makes you say ‘whoa..what the hell is going on over there, opal?’

Or he will ask me, ‘what is wrong?’

Well, I don’t’ know…

But I do.

And I say just hold on because it’s bound to change soon.

I hope.

Quick guess on where I am now. 

All Hail the Drama Queen ( or Save the Drama for your Blogguh)

When you grow up in chaos it becomes the norm. Your brain become accustomed to the sharp turns that family dynamics can take. I am always on alert that someone somewhere may lose their shit and I know I have to be prepared. Like a cat on the edge of a perch you have to be poised to jump, run or get out of the way. There is always a tremor under everything and the solid background you have prepares you for fight or flight. Exhausting it is.

When I think back to the way things were I don’t see it as being strange. When you grow up in chaos it becomes the norm. When you finally get away from that life everything drops off, and sadly you get bored. I can’t tell you how many times I have been bored with my awesome life and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. I don’t get to use my coping skills much, and I can’t pounce where there is nothing to defend myself from.

This is why people create drama.

So what will it be today? Getting betrayed by a good friend? Being ignored? A fight at work? A fight at home?  Someone sick, dying, quit the scene.? Rehab, Chemo or Car Accident. These poets hate these other poets? Money lending or money stealing? My posse is better than your posse. I got invited and you didn’t. My husband/wife/partner hates you. My husband /wife/partner is having an affair with my best friend/ enemy/ a total loser. So and so got published and here I am with nothing. I should have sold twice as many books. Who showed up late and screwed it up now? Why don’t people react to my selfies? Am I obsessed with my looks/weight/importance? Who am I going to fall in love with now? I’m bored let’s get drunk. Am I drinking too much? Maybe I’m the one who needs rehab. Did you hear about what he/she/they/said when they left the show/reading/dinner party? He/she/ is more interested in my partner than they are in me. I haven’t written anything solid in months. I’m old/washedup/uninteresting.  Did you see they had the same dress on? Did they break up? Whose side are you on? Hurry up/speak up/shut up. What does it say on facebook? Why can’t I just be normal? What is normal? Let your freak flag fly! I’m not being experimental enough.  God, why am I so strange?

I smoked too many cigarettes last night, I think I’m addicted. What on earth does he think about me now? I’m a stalker now. Is it possible to be addicted to the gym?

What’s got you today, Drama Queen?

Oh Life.. Is Bigger.. Is Bigger than you..

I wonder if my fat is sad.

Among all other things going on in my life I have been on a weight loss journey for over 10 years. I have gone from 320 (probably higher but I stopped looking after that) to 195. I am now at a point when I know I am only pounds away from a very important goal. My first set over ten years ago for 180lbs, the weight I was when I met my husband. Why is this number, after all it isn’t very slim? I think it is because at that point in my life I could physically do things that I had never been able to do before.  See, I had gone thru a drastic loss (from the 300s ) before then, so really this is my second time around. Can you imagine what my body has been through? Depression, self- abuse, discipline and reshaping and remolding time and time again. It’s exhausting. It’s a daily struggle not to give in and self-medicate with food, which had been my only medication for so long. You do understand this is how humans become obese, right? They eat their emotions. I mean, everyone likes cake.. but few of us can manage to eat an entire one in one sitting. That was me. I was a champ at it.

My favorite binge situation was always in the car, alone, parked somewhere far off away from prying eyes. My favorite foods.. baked goods, thick with preservatives and more sugar than could be processed by any human being. Why? It numbed the pain. At least I told myself this, but what it really did was numb everything. I was working with no emotions but a melancholy wave running under my skin at all times.. and the only thing I could do to quell it was to push it under with more food filling me up.

It’s been almost 2 years since I have binged in secret. I don’t miss the feeling, the guilt or the pounds. I don’t miss the numbness..because I have found that emotions are beautiful and strange and wild and crazy and exhilarating and exhausting and good.. really really good even when they are bad. Something bad happened to me a few years ago. I was betrayed severely by someone I really trusted and when it happened, everything clicked. I felt like I wanted to honor the lesson and take on the pain instead of hide it under layers again. I wanted it to hurt so that I would never put myself in that type of situation again. The situation was blind trust.. and as sad as it is, I don’t have that so much anymore. It’s made me a harder person for sure, but It has taught me how to keep safe. It also taught me how to feel, how to cope and how to rebuild myself into a person that wouldn’t be in that situation again.

Oh life.. is bigger than you.

I always feel REM when I talk about things. In fact music is my life. I used music to cope through my traumas in life. I still do. I also listen to it when I work out, which is weird and exciting to say because I was never that kind of person.

So although I am pounds and pounds away from my goal right now.. and I am fighting every day to get stronger and healthier.. The journey is my life. It is behind all my motivations and emotions. It is behind the door that has opened and allowed me to write about it all now, without tears and regrets. I let go of so much of myself.. and I feel better all the time.. but I wonder if the rest of my fat is sad. Does it miss the other fat that has gone? Does it really want to hold on to me because I love and nurture it still now but in a different way?  I honor it as energy and as a battle scar for all the things that have pushed against me have been pillowed by it. It protected me when my heart wasn’t strong enough to take the pain, back when I was small and hiding from the world I was presented with, heavy with violence and abuse as it was. I don’t hate you fat.. I honor you differently now. It’s ok that you want to hang on. I get it. I kinda want that too because shit might get real again and I might need your help..but then again.. maybe I am strong enough for the both of us now?

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt

I’m trying to get everything in some kind of order these days. I have mental lists of tasks and bullet points I have created that I somehow believe will make things go smoother. Things haven’t been that rough.. things just have been different.

As with this blog I have all the best intentions on seeing so many projects through.  I have a slew of projects on my plate, all delicious and very involved.. which is really the only reason I choose to do anything these days. I am also on my second leg of my health journey, and while that is really involved I am fighting everyday to keep it on the back burners while keeping my creative work flowing.

I have a new day job after being laid off for almost a year I am back in the workforce, 9 to 5 drudgery that I thought I was somehow done with. I can’t tell you just how much this cramps my style, man. But at least I have money to spend when I go out, money for bills and a general sense of productivity that I was unable to capture while I was hustling for that long time. I just resigned from the nonprofit board I was on for the past year. I went to my first event as a non-member yesterday and it was very enjoyable. By stepping away I feel that other members that were not always present will have to step up. But whatever.. I’m done with it and now I am free.  My performance yesterday at this event was off the charts..I rarely boast about my work like this..I’m pretty modest and almost always self-critical.. but yesterday was different. The combination of stepping down, feeling healthy and somewhat more prepared for performance, along with the amazing performance space made for a stellar moment. I love the feeling of performing.. it is everything to me and is really the only reason I push myself to continue to create new pieces.

The most interesting development so far has been the evolution taking place with the project Your Loving Son.  Though this project I have met some amazing young artists, namely the performance troupe called Avant To Leave this Planet.  If I had to describe it to someone who never witnessed any time of real avant performance I would say it is a vaudevillian/burlesque/LGBTQ/Experimental showcase of a variety of talents and spirits. Every show is different and the energy that follows each night is it’s own show in itself. The average age of the performer and spectator is decidedly young in comparison to my age, however I feel that I have always been welcome and appreciated both as a performer and a spectator. I had the good fortune to perform my poetry not long after the release on my book and soon thereafter got to perform with our duo Your Loving Son. We are slated to perform again in October and Carlos and I are extremely excited for the chance to really put something special together.  

I love these young artists with all my heart. I have really gotten to know some of them and being around their energy and creativity is inspiring and wild. I am learning more about what it is like to be a young creative in this community at this time in history. The political tensions notwithstanding, there is a real joy in participating and witnessing these shows.. these events.. these happenings.. Last night I was struck by each and every performance, every moment was a piece of art ready to be indulged in, a wide open pool of color, noise, tulle, skin, makeup, suitcases, bright lights and exhilaration.  The room was electric and each performer took us all on a magnificent ride.

So, a tour in in the works for next year. I am planning a short tour for spring.. I would ideally like to hit Denver, N Mexico, San Francisco, NOLA and the Valley, Tx.  Maybe Austin and Houston on the way to the valley. End back in DFW, and have a big show at the end with the Mad Swirl folks maybe.  Just starting this up and making some plans. So little time, so much to do.

How many times will I post here? I vow to make it more than once a month, or once a year. Blogging is good practice and should become at least a weekly habit. Please also read Harry McNabb’s  Social 0nanism and Susan Duval’s  Dante's Easy Bake Oven and if you have one too please pass along.

Until the next open mic.