Work your body, feed your soul.

Behind Eden's extravagantly wrought iron fence is Edan's compost heap. Where once you entered, light seemed to glimmer off the dew that appeared to be misted upon all the flora. Air as pure as the ancestral oxygen that first existed when the atmosphere was born. Nothing neared such perfection, nothing was so innately beautiful, as the first few steps into the garden. Until you walked it's entirety and approach the pile of organic remains, hot and wet in it's own decay.

Over the fence, the neighboring garden gradually become unkempt and overgrown. What was once the rose bed has evolved into a tangle of thorns. The life in the pond has been obscured by the blooms of algae turning the clear water murky. Time has a way of amplifying neglect, when such a beautiful place becomes forsaken the compost heap makes it's advance towards those beautiful picturesque gates that once coaxed us into a place of charm. The snails, more obvious now, leave behind a latticework of slime on the bench. The obnoxious crunch of leaves fills your auditory sense, drowning out the other physical sensations to behold.

Our bodies are this proverbial garden, we must tend to it daily. To reap the fruits we must sow the seeds. It's not about being superficial but to be optimal, to be at a humans peak performance. As a individual I hold this ideal in very high regard, it is a crucial value. I have vowed this half a hundred times to anyone who will hold me accountable: I will never let myself go. I will never give up on my body. I will not accept this physical laziness that embeds itself in other people's muscles, this parasitic trait that brings the archetype of vigor to it's knees.

At 14, I set my mind's eye on vrschikasana, the scorpion pose. Even before I dared to attempted it I felt the energy in my upper body, an exhilarating sense of a heart opener that has never left. 12 years later and never losing sight, I'm able to bend my backbone while supporting myself on my forearms. More than a decade later and I'm only beginning to grope at the partial expression of the full posture. This body of mine as taught me patience, resilience, and endurance. This pose is my most inspirational as well as the most humbling.

My journey into arm balances has changed me. I feel more forgiving of myself when I reach my limitations, I know when to hold back and when to go deeper. The line is pushed a little further every time until that fateful day when you finally breath into a pose and burst past the finish line like a Olympic sprinter. Inside stars are bursting and I'm high on that pure shit, that clean oxygen you can only get from breathing with your whole body.

High Expectations Asian Father

When it comes time to multiply, I will undoubtedly be one of those high-expectation-tiger-mother. After spending the weekend with children, I am determined not tolerate some behaviors. I look at one house, run by the children, then reflect on how the new generation in my family is being brought up. Sure, they might not be the best eaters, but at least they listen, don't interrupt, and don't whine. It's because the repercussion of acting out is rewarded with little pity and the hot slap of an open palm.

I see mothers yelling then just as quickly giving up as their children ignore them and do as they were. It disgust me. I think parents are to blame for their shitty kids. They act as they please because there is no harsh consequences to face. So what if they get grounded - is that really so bad? They get to go to their rooms and play with all the toys they've been previously rewarded with. I only wished my parents punished me that way as a child. Punishment for me was real, it was painful, and it tested a child's endurance.

The difference of East and West is this idea of where the individual lies. Everyone has a place in a life, there is always going to be someone higher in ranks as well as those under your direction. Where ever you are in the hierarchy you have a responsibility to respect those above you and guide those younger than you. This is how a large family operates as a unit. We're not born into this world alone, so we must never think about only ourselves selfishly.

I feel like I've done my job satisfactorily. I've taken care of my parents as much as I can; I take them to doctors, give them money every month. I've also adopted the role of guardian to my younger siblings; going to parent teacher conferences, principles office. I feel like this is my duty to make sure my whole family does well. The bottom line is, the more of us that are successful, the more comfortable of a retirement my parents will have and the responsibility of caring for them will be shared.


On another note, I also have little respect for people who raise bad dogs.

Old Bitty

Let me take you to a place I know you want to go

It's a good life 

 

  Am I silly for falling into a structured life so easily? My recently married friend jokingly tells me I'm getting old, I'll lose steam, can't party like I use to. It's true I guess. I don't go to as many parties, I don't intoxicate myself with the same variety, and I have lost that giddy energy for the night. I own an apron now, I bake cookies for my dog children, I make a home with my partner, and I kiss him goodbye before I go off for my 40 hrs a week job. 

  I'm 25 and I'm worried about wrinkles. I'm only in my quarter life and I'm thinking about holding on to my youth despite adulthood. Thinking about what I can do to put more skills on my resume, what labor intensive dish I can make for a dinner party to display my culinary (ahem, domestic) skills. I'm scheduling time with my parents now for meals. When did this maturity dry it's wings from my college cocoon? 

  For the time being I'm working the off shift, which allows me to hit the parties after work. I just gotta wrap it up, change in the bathroom, and by 0100 I'm working my way towards a chemically induced neural firestorm. By the end of the night of busting my ass, I mostly want to just come home and decompress. Drink some wine (like an old lady) and wait for my man to ask "how was work" just so I can recant the highlights of my 8 hr shift. 

  Although I lived by a calender as a student, wrapped up in classes, research, extracurricular resume stacking, I didn't really schedule "fun". That sounds counter intuitive to what fun is to me: impulsive, untamed, loco. Well, we grown now so I spend my days going to bed early (for me which is 0200) and waking up to do yoga. Come home to clean and make lunch. 

  Adulthood is not as glamorous as I tricked myself into thinking. Sure, I can finally afford all those carrots I dangled for myself but it's unfulfilling without higher aims. I'm not ready for domestic servitude. I am happiest when it's nose to the grind working for something bigger than what women are prescribed. My womb does not ache, on the contrary, I'd sell my first born for half a dozen things. 

  I'm not going to let anyone drop a timeline on me. I'm not going to put getting married and having children ahead of contributing to the pool of scientific knowledge. Making spawn does not mean you've contributed, being a stay at home mom is not a real job. A real job is one that finds solutions for the children of the world and not just your own spoiled brats. Sorry mom, it's going to be a while before I squeeze one out just because "that's how things are".

Alien Biology

Summer blues are the color of the ocean. Even worker drones can get away. Fly across the ocean and burrow her little body in the warm sands of California. Tiny little compound eyes taking in the surrounding beauty of our planet while the knot of stringed along thoughts can unwind. The notion makes my human eyes, with it's limited number of cones, tingle.

Random Fact: The animal with the largest number of photoreceptors in it's eyes are that of the Mantis shrimp. It can see in color and polarized light. They see far in to the spectrum that we human's barely scratch.

I wonder what that has to say about us and our understanding of the world. I wonder all the time about what kind of creatures could evolve on Earth if we just let it. Dominate beings that only require a two chambered heart? Or maybe whatever claims the ground at the bottom of the sea will surface when our glaciers melt to expose ever more commercial pieces of real estate. Who is to know when we've become the earth what's happening above it?

I am here on this tiny planet living, breathing, dancing star stuff. It's a beautiful idea to know that our bodies, in an infinite number of years ago, were involved in a spectacular series of reactions and explosions. The force of two things coming together and that energy between them creating a fusion that manifest unimaginable phenomenon. It's hard to think in such a vast universe that we may be all there is.

I wish I could unlock the memory of my past life as an amoeba. Maybe I was a jellyfish with just the faintest of optic cells. Time keeps moving and all of us swing around in a big woosh around the sun. We spin and dance on our axis as this recital ages our bodies to dust. We are infinitely sparkly star stuff and it's insignificantly beautiful.

Guestlisted

I have returned! A girl can lose her sense of time when she's been caught up in micro land. It's far too easy for me to get caught up in subjects. I can be hard to catch, and harder to hold on to but when something grabs a hold of me I am a child fixated on a glimmer. My mind spins at an amazing rate. It weaves questions and conjures up ideas. Sometimes I feel like I'm nerding out too much, then sometimes I don't care because TO ME microbiology is too cool and I don't care what you or your fashion-whore friends have to say about it.

There's this quiet part of me that has always reminded my other self that one day I might just calm down a little and be what I envision a "grown-up" to be. One day I won't get all antsy when I know a good dance party is happening without me there. One day I won't shamelessly promote my ass popping a locking ability on any stage I can climb atop. One day... which seems impossibly far away at the rate I'm going because there is this energy. I have an endless pool of energy to find the music that rattles paint chips off the ceiling. So it happens that I drink too much, dance like I'm trying to throw my back out, and wear clothes that suggest I'm here for a good time. I'm young and I'm still tight, why should I stop now?

It's that voice. The invisible voice wagging it's invisible finger at my antics. Warning me like an old matron, suggesting that my behavior may be inhibiting my future. But...I'm not sure. Is going out and being a pretty young thing really going to put a dent in my most extravagant of dreams? Hard to say. I work as hard as I party. Well, now that I think about it again I think I've tipped the scale since I've aged. I definitely have been having my ass worked by the system. I work hard and play naughty. I guess I'll allow it.

If, then, and now

Sometimes I know where I'm going, only to find myself suddenly wondering where I'm wandering. Just circles, the pattern my foot steps make. Circles and figure eights. A big wobbly oval that perpetuates. I'm just all over the place. Sometimes it amazes me when I just stop to wonder how I ended up here. This funny place I've found myself. These filthily places I've landed. The trouble I've gotten out of as well as the trouble I've gotten into. There's little to extrapolate on but many seconds to just chuckle about and think how wonderful life is, how saddening it's been, how much more there is to live.

Sometimes it's hard to stay in one place, for the most part mentally. It's like having on again off again ADHD. My mind is always racing in directions that cause a loud tear. I can be in all three places of the past, present, and future. Always on the go, that's just me, an A type personality. Sometimes it's a lonely place to be, always trying to be somewhere in "later" but never in the "now". I guess I'm lucky one fine man grabbed a hold of my hand and made me sit the fuck down. It just took a little rough housing to wrestle me into a stillness I've only glimpse at through the corners of my eyes. Submission is the last line.

Want it, get it, have it.

It's been 26 hours since I've gotten any sleep yet I feel amazing. When life is golden, nothing could break that stride. The forward momentum is reliable enough to get you to where your sights are determined to go. And my feet are moving. They're pushing. They're stomping out a path for any willing enough to follow me in my march towards the girlish dreams I dared to think.

It's crazy, bewildering, breathlessly fucking consuming the way it feels to realize those impossible visions I dreamed up as a little girl in a sad place are not just pipe dreams. I grew up long before I was grown in the grayest of two bedroom homes that didn't allow dreams to be drawn up in color. Dad's utilitarian PVC pipe was enough to purge me of most my fantastical ideas. In secret, I dreamed of being a scientist in a white lab coat gazing beyond the known world through my telescope or a marine biologist sinking into the watery deep to discover beast unseen. I wanted to be a writer, creator of minds and circumstance. I wanted train as a teacher, who's guiding hands molded the minds of the succeeding generations. I wanted to be so many things I never thought possible.

But it is possible. I've grown above myself to see that I have the drive, the ambition to do all these things. Before it felt like what I wanted lay at the far reaches of every corner of this galaxy. Working towards one meant getting further and further from another. A horrible case of not being able able to eat some of that fucking cake clutched in bloody fist. I feel amazing because everything in my life right now is pulling all those distant aims closer so they are surrounding me. Just within sight if not reach. It's the feeling of knowing you're on the right track.

I got the job in the microbio lab! This will be a gold star on my resume for both grad school and MSF. From here all I have to do, minimally, is get my masters and I'll be able to teach at a community college. Advancing to a PhD and it's publish or parish. I could write papers or non-fiction like my hero Carl Sagan (Dragons of Edan, one of my favorite suggested reads). I'm already a clinical laboratory scientist; instead of using a telescope to see the macro universe my microscope is instrumental in viewing the microcosm. Finally, with a more extensive knowledge base in microbiology I could join the team of medical professionals and bring relief to a plagued world. Now, that last one is a dream for sure.

Still, I'm not there yet. I still have a ways to go but I can see it on the horizon. As long as I keep my strides long and my pace steady I'll make it there before sundown.

Ready or not, here I come, you can't hide.

A sigh. A swallow. Then, gulp! A cringe followed by a smile.

The sun may rise and set, but that means very little to me. For it's the moon who reigns sovereign over my activities. Awake all night toiling away, working with blood and body fluids. I will miss sitting at the microscope in front of the window facing east. It has the most perfect view of the Fisher building, truly. The bench is set up so that when you lift your eyes from a task complete, you get a glimpse of the world beneath. Then I ask myself "where am I?" and the breadth of my grown years is consolidated into one long sigh. Although I will miss working in hematology the universe has opened a door. Tentatively curious, I inch closer until I'm pawing at the light.

Accepting this job in microbiology has it's draw backs, but those are only superficial and monetary. I will have to work five days a week instead of four and the opportunity to get that overtime pay is not as likely. However, the opportunity to sharpen my expertise in infections disease is not just a step, but a ladder on my way up towards my ambitions. Having this on a resume is like a shining gold star, both for my grad school application and any humanitarian work I wish to be apart of.

I'm convinced the best way to do something is to do it with your whole being. All your thoughts, all your actions become preparation and supports the ideology. If you can't channel every ounce of your character to one pivotal point then I doubt the sincerity of your intentions. Chapters accumulate to tell a story. I've only had a few chapters written in my book. So many empty pages to feather through, I have to resist the urge to write the last page. It's impossible to know if my 5-year plan, 10-year plan, 20-year outline will actually become the table of content for my life. No harm in dreaming, right? Fantasies are fertilizer but sitting around in La-La-Land never got anybody anywhere. I have places to go, I have visited them in my dreams so often my steps have left a pathway.

I'm milk, you're honey

I feel like a silly cat sometimes, the way I maneuver my emotions. I have to admit I have them, bitter as they use to be. They've suddenly acquired a sweetness I swore was artificial. Love is sugar from the cane. Honey off the comb. And I'll lick it all up. Lick it off my fingers, lick it off any place his honey has dripped. Like a kitten, with little laps, I drink up all the milk. A good feline, not a stray. I'm a house cat now, I've decided to stay.

I don't mind being one confined by a house, perched by the window peering out. Outside these walls are plenty of mice and colorful birds. Undoubtedly all things kittens like to chase, to taste even. But one mouthful later and you'll realize, these coveted morsels were covered in lice. Not so tasty as they once appeared. They bite the tongue and itch the ears. I'm convinced it's more comfortable in here with my dish.

His lap is warm, his hands are soft as he runs them down my back. His hands all in my hair. I purr and roll my head in pleasure as my master pets me there. He gets me roaring like an little engine till I roll over for more. Wanting more of those long strokes that get my claws out and my tail swishing.

He makes me feel like a silly cat who only wants to play. For as long as he dangles that toy, I'll be a good kitten who obeys.

Working overtime on a slow day

First step is first. Redundant? Maybe, but plans gotta start somewhere. I registered for a Spanish class offered to hospital employees from U of D Mercy at a discounted price; HFH will pay for my tuition and books. I really couldn't pass up a deal like that. 3 credits for one time non-refundable payment of $185, no need to haggle even. To work with primeros pasos they wish that we have a good grasp if Spanish so this offer came most serendipitously.

Since the wedding + DEMF will eat up most of my vacation time, this medical trip won't happen until sometime next year. I need to work and save so that I can have a month or more to give. This unavoidable wait period is in many ways necessary, for this time will not be wasted. Besides learning the language and culture the organization could use donations. This gives me an opportunity to collect donations to bring with me to the clinic. The next step is writing my letter of intent.

I think it's time I get back on living life via a planner. At one point it drove me crazy, but these obligations don't come with the same doomed pressure that my academic commitments came with. Besides this little mission I'm on, I have also made time for a small tissue culture lab at a local hydroponic grow shop. I get my book on growing plants in test tubes Thursday and will begin training!

I've come to terms with traits in my personality I use to not understand. It didnt make any sense to me why I was always putting myself under such immense pressures. contradicting as it was to sign on then complain about the work I brought upon myself, I realize now I did this to myself in a you'll-thank-me-later kind of way. When it comes down to it, I preform better under (moderately) stressful conditions. I push myself harder when it feels like do-or-die. In that way my successes are much sweeter when it's just me against the odds. It's just the speed I operate. I'm a deep sea creature accustomed to the weight of water, I don't know if I could survive without it.

Blessings in a bottle

“Be water my friend."

Bruce Lee

Be like water, because water has a way of finding where it wants to be. Drop by drop; water collects where it's needed, replenishing the parched landscape. Water finds a way or it carves it's way through obstacles. In the end water is the element that sustains us, provides for us, and imparts life upon us. I must be like water this year, to have my thoughts and actions become fluid enough to squeeze through the barriers that divide me from my ideals. So that when I have found my way, I'll be right where I am most necessary.

One thing after another has always taken up my attention and the sudden accomplishment of these goals has left me in restless place with a lighter load to carry on my shoulders. Although I work full time (while trying to acquire as much over time as possible) I still feel like I could be doing more with abilities. My “adjustment period” excuse is running low and soon I know that won’t pardon me for long. Now that personal satisfaction is wearing, thin its time to move forward again since staying stationary will put you behind.

All the lessons I have taken from this life speaks of one great human obligation: to altruistically give yourself to others. I've translated this sentiment into my own moral constitution. I believe true happiness is found when one can practices selflessness. Good deeds done with the expectation of praise or fame are in jeopardy of falling victim to discontent, bringing one further away from bliss. Find fulfillment in the contentment of others and you will know what unadulterated love is.

In gratitude to the giants before me, I have a responsibility to actualize the potential I inherited, so that I leave this place better then when I arrived. We are so fortunate to know first world luxuries but seldom we consider the lives of those less charmed. I know what it takes to be of service to the community I live in. I know what it means to be the pillar of support for my family. Still, I have yet to know the global scope of volunteerism and it is that which I strive to comprehend.

I have been researching various medical volunteer abroad opportunities for some time and now it’s just a matter of planning. Saving up vacation days from work and the proper funding while I am overseas is the easy part. I should appreciate this lull in activity for what it’s worth, since the time is now to cultivate my spirit for this endeavor. Personal growth is in order so for the next few months the only traveling I will be doing will be within the corridors of my mind.

"In the confrontation between the stream and the rock,
the stream always wins--not through strength but by perseverance."
Buddha

Flip a God Damned Coin

I'm a bad friend

Or

I hate being in the wedding party

Or

Really don't want to miss a moment of DEMF

Whatever it is, it's the knife cutting my heart in half. I'm their daughters godmother for fuck-sake. I also was just in her twin sisters wedding, so this is pretty much (a better version admitting) of the same wedding. At the root of it all, is the simple and maybe selfish fact that I DO NOT want to be away from Detroit for a fraction of a second when that bass drops on the first day of DEMF. The music is my medicine, the sound is my siren.

DEMF, the Detroit electronic music festival, is one acronym that pretty much sums up everything that makes me happy. Booming speakers, masses of half-naked-wet-colorful-party-hardy-animals, substances, energy, beautiful girls, sexy men, and parties that don't stop. Old friends, new friends, single serving friends. Ohh and the booty bouncing. The pop, lock, and drop. The dancing yourself into a frenzy until you're dancing in a puddle of your sweat. Dancing until the sun burns your eyes as you emerge from whatever dark after party cave you crawled into.

When I get depressed, I day dream about DEMF. When my heart is breaking, I think about DEMF. When work makes me want to walk into traffic, I tell myself DEMF is only a few months away. I will work on Christmas, Thanksgiving, and New Years just to get that weekend off. DEMF helped me realize I didn't need that abusive relationship I was in. It was there that I cut and cauterized that malignant growth I call my ex. DEMF was the last time I got to see Amber before she passed away. Hart plaza during that weekend is my sanctuary.

So now I'm torn. Her wedding is the first day of the festival. I'll make it home in time to catch the after parties if I dip out immediately after the reception. It all gets so complicated because my heart is not in it for her. I'll be there, but I'll be so sad. So sad I'm missing the festivities of the first day of the festivals 10 yr anniversary. That guarantees party kid enthusiasm all across the board. Oh God help me, it pains my heart to think I'll be 5 brutal hours from my city.

If I could go back in time, I'd kick Tiffany and Luke in the ass. Kick 'em hard. Some how move their wedding date to the 26th, 27th even! That way I wouldn't have to rush to pack the car after a weeks worth of camping and race back to make it to the after parties. This means I have to pack the night before the wedding. I'm going to be so distracted the whole day. I'm not going to have an appetite or the spirit. Dear god help me if I have to listen to rock 'n roll for a millisecond longer that I have to.

Glacial melting of an ice qeen

Living between days, no longer within days. Floating. Without boundaries my organs fall out of place, a body without skin, without bones. Thoughts bubble out, pushing everything aside. And pop. Gone again. Catching thoughts like butterflies. Chasing the ever evasive insect of idea, only to watch it escape the net.

Where is my mind? Not here. Lost in the summer time. I can remember where and when - without making sense. Images in my consciousness, the front seat, long hair, and cold beers. Did that happen here or from some invasive dream? No, it was shaggy hair and bright moon nights. It was dark streets. It was your hand in mine. It was the prologue to our reverie.

It was a crowded field. It was helping a cute drunk girl piss. It was your kisses, your hands, on me. It was the heat, it was exhaustion. It was poor impulse control. It was your lips, telling me where we go from here. It was just you and me, among a million other bodies. The dots, the lines, the colors, the blurred images of three days four nights rolled into one memory. It became us, not them, not her, nor him.

It was road trips, it was artists, it was after parties. It was one huge stain on the passenger side. It was that hot, hot tent, no cover, and PB&J crackers. It was that freezing knuckle numbing shower. It was the fireworks on the water we missed. It was taking a 25 dollar cab ride in one big circle. It was a straight marriage in a gay part of town. It was hallucinogenic, it was raining, it was my doe eyes and please. Asking please, could we just do what I felt like.

and it was you sighing, but saying yes. Its you sighing enough of the time, but still saying yes to me. It's my heart, just a puddle at your feet.

Birds of a feather

I guess we never know what anyone is thinking. Nor do we know where they've been. I tried to peer into your thoughts. Thinking that maybe if I knew better, then it could have be better. If I could read your mind then maybe I could have be those things you need. But no one knows our true desires, sometimes not even ourselves. We might be convinced it's the best route and make those decisions blindly. Doesn't make it what we really are after.

So then maybe I think I've been going about my inquiry all wrong. Was I too soft when I should have been stern? Too hard up for answers when I should have left it alone? The would have, could have, should haves, that keep you up at night. Questions finding their way into your delicate mind, prick you with their thorny vines. That painful sensation will dull to a throb, until it syncs with your broken heartbeat. I'm sorry it had to be like this, but I didn't know what you were thinking.

Two Kittens Reflect

Oh look at that, another year has come to pass. What does this rabbit year hail? Will it be anything like a soft gentle fuzzy thing or something similar to the bunny from Monty Python? Technically the lunar calendar still calls it year of the Tiger for another month. Oh the blessings of leeway, in regards to resolution no doubt. But in all seriousness and retrospect, 2010's year of the tiger was real sweet to me.

All this crap had my head hanging heavy in the late parts of 2009. Anxious. Taxing. Pressure. A whole year of that shit. Just fucking lovely, I'll have seconds, thanks. Taking too many credits, working too many jobs, volunteering for anything, trying to be the boss of everything, and not trying to slow my roll. I knew I could do it all and fit it all on a resume if I could just make some more room in my resolve, i.e., give self-possession the boot.

Still, when I think back and wave away that fog of progression I can't completely despise that year since it served as good contrast for what 2010 was to usher in. The tiger welcomed me to a promise land of sorts ... or at least a check point on the way there. Sincerely I can say I'm where I aimed to be academically, professionally, financially, romantically, as well as mentally. Moral of the story: Hard work pays, and it tips fat!

Here approaches the second half of my 10 year outline and it's time to start on this part of the rough draft. If I know the nature of the hare, then this year will at least be fair to me. However the forecast has yet to be received so honestly it's nothing but a Schrödinger's box of chocolates. I could do a whole bunch of this or that, per usual, without any real resolution. Was never good at those anyways.

Just because I like to tease, I'll let the cat peek outside the bag. So facts first. Picked up GRE and MCAT study materials. Will take one or the other within the year to save future-self from having to do it. Time to learn mandarin as well as other misc. topics in physical science. Lose 10 pounds, regain my abs, and tone my ass. With my free time I'll probably dote on a new pet, decorate this cute little spot I've posted up in (whatever, call me Suzy), and be a stronger support network for the friends 'n fam. I made it to a good place and I'll pull everyone I love with me.

Poster Girl

It's been a rough few days from my perspective. From any other nothing is amiss, but the porcelain mask I wear is heavily flawed. Only within the four walls of my privacy you can see the hairline fractures the feed into rivers that stream down my face. From the chipped scars I wear on my bruised and broken skin, you could tell from a distance parts of me have gone missing.

Somebody help me collect the scattered pieces of my composure, before the wind carries them afar to places unseen. Somebody help me pull my mind back together so I can think in a logical order. Instead, I'm stuck in a memory I tried to snuff out. In the end it suffocates me with years of compounded questioning. And this part lets me know I'm going crazy: that in the fraught mania of lunacy I almost wish I had a God to cry to.

Brain chemistry is a great thing when it works right, BPD has made me appreciate any given normalcy. My fascination with gray matter (or white for that matter) preceded my post in the cell bio lab where many experiments were conducted on that wonderful organ tissue. Still, it's an conflicting idea to think of my brain as the subject - the specimen. To sit and probe my own thoughts, cut through the bullshit defense mechanisms throw up, and really examine through a critical eye what the monsters beneath my skull are up to.

My doctor tells me to get some rest, but realizes it's near impossible in this state. He prescribes two benydryl and bed rest. He'll see me in the morning. Did you know benydryl can be used as a lite sedative? Well it is and I need it if I want to reach even a illusion of emotional baseline. So, I put water on for tea while I try to regain poise. Pulling the tea bag from the packet, the message on the paper label starts to dry my eyes. They say: Those who live in the past limit their future. And nobody, especially my self, has the permission to restrict my potential.

The vortex into the universe

If I was ever separated from someone at birth from some other being, it might be this girl. So she might be white and whose to say we're even the same age, but seriously, we might have known each other on some other astral plane. She brings up some very good points about vaginae (however I disagree with her stance on pornography). A good start for the vagina who, what, when, where, and how profile.

I love my vag, my box, my clam, my kitty, my pussy, my snatch, my slit, my muff, my twat, my beaver, my cunny. My womanhood! It's a power-box of hormone producing, life giving, pleasure inducing, energy. We should all get excited about them, think about them, talk about them, and respect them. If there's not a Vagina awareness day, let's make it everyday, now. (even you gay men, appreciate it!)

My vagina is my temple, worship it (and in it, meooow!). And if the vagina is not your religion, you should still respect it when you pass by. In the course of history, woman have gotten the dirty end of the stick when it comes to gender rights. Witch burnings, foot binding, honor killings, genital mutilation, sex trade, etc. those may be the extreme, but that does not dilute the disrespect in daily life. So it's not so bad here, but I won't be the one excusing wolf whistles and grabby hand syndrome.

It's tough on a girls mentality when she's raised as second rate. When a boy child is held higher then an infant girl, it's sad because what happens is this build up of pressure creates walls around people. When women are trapped into thinking their fate is to be caught in the domestic Bermuda Triangle of kitchen, bedroom, nursery. That's no way to live if we are to self-actualize and that should be the goal of both chicks and dicks.

The world moves forward when we all move forward. You can't get that far if one leg is chained to a fix point in your jail cell, now can you? Our mentality is that jail cell and the length of that ball and chain is something we can determine. Free yourself and spread the word, others can free themselves too! Cure cancer? Sure, why not? Colonize the moons around Jupiter? Let's do it. We can do impossible things if we just stop holding each other down. We'd free up a lot more working hands if we did that.

Kiss me into consciousness

I'm laying in bed, naked under the sheets. Behind the heavy black curtains the sun pours in around the boarder and the room begins to glow. I notice it only faintly at first. The way you notice someone watching from across the room. This vague sense of attention directed towards you when you're caught off guard. Steadily it gets brighter until the room seems to fill like a basin of water. Radiant yellow-white light splashing all over, painting a picture of the world outside these four brick walls. Then suddenly I'm no longer in this room, I'm everywhere but this room. I'm outside and inside my mind. I've fallen asleep and found the sun in dreams.

One 12hr midnight dreary

It's 4am, then it's 5. The test tubes tink and chime against the metal rack, in time with my steps. These halls are empty, quiet if you're not used to the calm. The hospital in the day is a different creature than what you would expect to encounter in the middle of the night. From here in this far corner, I can hear everything.

The city is lovely from up here. Most laboratories are in the basement, so I feel lucky to have a view from the 6th floor. There's a glass bridge that connects the newer part of the hospital to the older structure and each time I cross it on my way to deliver specimens to micro I feel like I know the city a little more personally. A secret place where Detroit reveals itself to me in a way most others are not as privileged to see. The nature of my job affords me the simple pleasure of watching the sunrise behind the Fischer building, my favorite structure.

With 6am comes the slow trickle of fresh specimens. All around me patients are stirred to rise, prodded by their nurses to expose their blue veins to the needle or to void the contents of their bladder. In another hour I'll be heading out of here, leaving the hustle bustle of the day for the comforts of a pre-warmed bed and a sleepy lover.

Moments like these are small blessings. A slow night that affords me just a little time for reflection. For once in my short life I can honestly say I'm really proud of myself. I did all that the 18 year old set out to do and I even got a title out of it. I never in my wildest, most tripped out hallucinations did I imagine I would get to do all these awesome things before my quarter life.

I passed my exam now it's onto the next. I've decided to take it relatively easy on myself and just get really good at my job for the time being. In a few more grand in the bank and I'll start taking a classes that will gear me up for grad school. But before I devote myself to my studies once again, I'm goin to get really good at what I'm currently doing, because everything I do now is a lesson, preparation for working out in the field. Since the laboratories the the most dire countries won't have the luxuries I'm use to. I'll have to rely on my collection of knowledge if I mean to be of service.

Le sigh

Human lives are funny to me when I think of all the connections. When introductions become reunions, I feel like the world gets a tad smaller. As if my perspective of the human population inflates and deflates, depending on the degrees of separation between the people that pop in, out, or just pass by.

Which is why I love reading the missed connections part of the paper. It makes me feel a little like I'm catching a secret glimpse into the lives of two strangers whose fates have not been forecast. My imagination gets swept up in a Hollywoodesque fashion as I weave a silly story about someone getting what they were searching for. So of course she's slim and beautiful, he's tall and rugged. She's got the glamor and he's got the suave. Cue the music. Act 1.

Unfortunately, not everyone gets what they're looking for. No matter how much gusto they put into their manhunt. Which gets me thinking, how much have I invested in all my quest/conquest? Since I run around like a woman on a mission sometimes, how much of that effort actually came to fruit? It's a good question to ask, but my imagination neglect to hear it. It's busy writing away at some script that will never get read, because if anything it likes to explore possibilities.