So, Mr. Zips will be spending lots of weekdays/nights at my house over the next couple of weeks. He got a contract gig at a local company doing video editing. It's good money and an even better opportunity. And I am really proud of him for pursuing this.
But to be honest, I'm pretty nervous.
I know he and I have talked about the possibility of living together. But honestly, I'm not sure that I'm ready or even that it's something I will want to do eventually.
But with everyone I tell about this latest development in my personal life, I get the response, "Well, it will be a good test." This even a friend from so far back that he knows I will NEVER get married again.
Why does this have to be a test? Why do we have to test relationships? Why do we have to prove that we can live with one another to prove that we love one another? Is our relationship any stronger or weaker because he doesn't want to talk in the mornings or because sometimes I would rather read a book than watch Alton Brown?
It bothers me that everyone assumes that the conventional lifestyle is for everyone. I am quite happy living on my own, being responsible for my own mess or my own tidyness, taking out my own garbage. I don't need to set up a test run domestic arrangement to know that I love him.
Why can't that be OK?
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Yogasmic
All that worrying for naught....
Week I of the Immersion was amazing. I am now, officially, an Anusarian. I hope they get Richard Dreyfuss for the screen adaptation.
It was too amazing and too full to go into here in detail. And my mind is still racing. But I'll give you some highlights.
I am SORE. Sore in muscles I'd forgotten were there. Stiff in joints I thought I'd long ago learned how to work 'till exhaustion. But it's not the stiff and soreness that comes from a herky jerky aerobics class or a pulled something or other. It's a sore that says I have expanded and opened to new depths. New experiences with the Universe. In some ways, it reminds me of the sore I get while farming. Interesting, that....
Deb is way cool. She's out there but really down to Earth. While offering lecture on Saturday, she was talking about recognizing the inherent goodness in all of us. And then she said, "Of course, we're all like, "SURE, you see beauty, but if you only really knew me..."" Acknowledging that we're all secretely afraid that there's something missing or flawed at our core. Which made me feel infinitely better. Because if she feels that way too, there's hope for me.
Yoga is orgasmic. When you get a pose - when your body GETS pose - it's like a huge fireball going off in your body and mind that screams YES! Just ask Patrick who finally understands Trikonasana.
It's all about balance. We can't be too concerned with extending outward -- fixing the whole world, always saying yes. But we also can't be too concerned with concentrating at our core -- fixating on ourselves at the expense of all else. A lesson it's high time I embodied.
And the final thing I learned -- knowing a lession and embodying a lesson are two different things. And yoga is the -- no, yoga is "a" -- path from one to the other.
Namaste.
Week I of the Immersion was amazing. I am now, officially, an Anusarian. I hope they get Richard Dreyfuss for the screen adaptation.
It was too amazing and too full to go into here in detail. And my mind is still racing. But I'll give you some highlights.
I am SORE. Sore in muscles I'd forgotten were there. Stiff in joints I thought I'd long ago learned how to work 'till exhaustion. But it's not the stiff and soreness that comes from a herky jerky aerobics class or a pulled something or other. It's a sore that says I have expanded and opened to new depths. New experiences with the Universe. In some ways, it reminds me of the sore I get while farming. Interesting, that....
Deb is way cool. She's out there but really down to Earth. While offering lecture on Saturday, she was talking about recognizing the inherent goodness in all of us. And then she said, "Of course, we're all like, "SURE, you see beauty, but if you only really knew me..."" Acknowledging that we're all secretely afraid that there's something missing or flawed at our core. Which made me feel infinitely better. Because if she feels that way too, there's hope for me.
Yoga is orgasmic. When you get a pose - when your body GETS pose - it's like a huge fireball going off in your body and mind that screams YES! Just ask Patrick who finally understands Trikonasana.
It's all about balance. We can't be too concerned with extending outward -- fixing the whole world, always saying yes. But we also can't be too concerned with concentrating at our core -- fixating on ourselves at the expense of all else. A lesson it's high time I embodied.
And the final thing I learned -- knowing a lession and embodying a lesson are two different things. And yoga is the -- no, yoga is "a" -- path from one to the other.
Namaste.
Friday, January 26, 2007
It Can Be Unnerving to Align with the Divine
Tomorrow begins the much anticipated yoga immersion. I am very excited. I am also very nervous.
I am always questing. I am one of those people prone to looking for the next big thing that will "change my life." (Why I want my life to change so badly is a book unto itself because, really, it's not so bad.) The fact that I realize this and acknowledge it is probably good. But it means that I tend to build things up in my mind. And we all know what happens when there's high expectations.
The theme for this particular immersion is "Align with the Divine." The description describes recognizing and uniting with the divine spark that exists within all of us. Pretty heady stuff. If ever there was a life-changing experience, sounds like this would be it, eh?
So although I *have* built this up in my mind, I'm trying to ignore that. Focus on the enjoyment of preparation. Accept that the immersion will be what it will be and that I will still be Kalesy -- better or worse -- when I get through.
Also trying to ignore the obnoxious voice in my soul that tells me what really is inside me is a deep pit of black tarry muck which no amount of yoga can ever fix. Cuz that's counterproductive, really, now ain't it?
I am always questing. I am one of those people prone to looking for the next big thing that will "change my life." (Why I want my life to change so badly is a book unto itself because, really, it's not so bad.) The fact that I realize this and acknowledge it is probably good. But it means that I tend to build things up in my mind. And we all know what happens when there's high expectations.
The theme for this particular immersion is "Align with the Divine." The description describes recognizing and uniting with the divine spark that exists within all of us. Pretty heady stuff. If ever there was a life-changing experience, sounds like this would be it, eh?
So although I *have* built this up in my mind, I'm trying to ignore that. Focus on the enjoyment of preparation. Accept that the immersion will be what it will be and that I will still be Kalesy -- better or worse -- when I get through.
Also trying to ignore the obnoxious voice in my soul that tells me what really is inside me is a deep pit of black tarry muck which no amount of yoga can ever fix. Cuz that's counterproductive, really, now ain't it?
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
State of the Union
A friend of mine made an insightful comment at my writing group last night.
"Kalesey," he said, "really cherishes her personal space."
He's not wrong.
The very same subject had come up just hours before with me and Mr. Zips. He'd made a similarly insightful comment when he said he realized that there's only a part of me that wants to be in a relationship. The other part wants to be left alone.
He's right.
Wierd thing is, I don't know which part of me I like any more.
It used to be that I loved that I loved my own company. I was the crazy writer cat lady (YOU are a CRAZY cat lady) who had weekends where she spoke to not a single human soul. It meant that I could get lost in my own plots and details. And when I went insane - as I was sure to do - no one was there to get hit by the shrapnel.
But now that I have another (wonderful) human being in my life full time, I find that I'm feeling apologetic -- even guilty -- about wanting to be such a loner.
And this morning, when I woke up in his arms and realized I had to say goodbye to him in a few short whiles, I was genuinely sad.
What this means for me or my future, I have no idea. But at 31, it's probably a good thing that I'm still learning about myself.
"Kalesey," he said, "really cherishes her personal space."
He's not wrong.
The very same subject had come up just hours before with me and Mr. Zips. He'd made a similarly insightful comment when he said he realized that there's only a part of me that wants to be in a relationship. The other part wants to be left alone.
He's right.
Wierd thing is, I don't know which part of me I like any more.
It used to be that I loved that I loved my own company. I was the crazy writer cat lady (YOU are a CRAZY cat lady) who had weekends where she spoke to not a single human soul. It meant that I could get lost in my own plots and details. And when I went insane - as I was sure to do - no one was there to get hit by the shrapnel.
But now that I have another (wonderful) human being in my life full time, I find that I'm feeling apologetic -- even guilty -- about wanting to be such a loner.
And this morning, when I woke up in his arms and realized I had to say goodbye to him in a few short whiles, I was genuinely sad.
What this means for me or my future, I have no idea. But at 31, it's probably a good thing that I'm still learning about myself.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
From Her Loins
It's no secret that I have no desire to be a breeder. I would be a terrible mother.
But if there's anyone who would (will) be a fabulous mother, it's my friend from high school, Q Valentine.
Take a look at this picture of her precious, angelic, brand new little girl.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
This Perfect Day
I went for a walk around Walden Pond today. I probably shouldn't have, since my doctor has told me to stay off my feet until the swelling goes down. (Thirty years old with bunions? Are you kidding me?) But I really needed to get out, go hug some trees.
It was cold but bright, so when the wind calmed down I could feel the warmth of the sun against my skin. The water on the pond is still trying to make up its mind about freezing, and slush was just starting to form around the edges. In a few places, air had been trapped under the ice and came bubbling up to the surface as if some strange undersea creature was letting out its breath in slow, measured exhales.
The winter birds were in full song, darting in and out among bare branches. I played hide and seek with a woodpecker for awhile. He was determined not to let me get a good luck at him, always perching with the sun as a backdrop or darting around to the back of a thick trunk.
Halfway around the pond I started noticing red rose petals strewn along the ground, their bright crimson in stark contrast to the mottled brown leaves underfoot. I have no idea who left the petals -- maybe a heartbroken woman scattering a peace offering from an unfaithful lover. Maybe a black-fingernailed goth girl performing a mystic ritual. Maybe it was just someone who didn't want to put a wilting flower in the garbage can.
It's nice, once in awhile, to have a happy mystery occupy your thoughts while you're out clearing your mind.
It was cold but bright, so when the wind calmed down I could feel the warmth of the sun against my skin. The water on the pond is still trying to make up its mind about freezing, and slush was just starting to form around the edges. In a few places, air had been trapped under the ice and came bubbling up to the surface as if some strange undersea creature was letting out its breath in slow, measured exhales.
The winter birds were in full song, darting in and out among bare branches. I played hide and seek with a woodpecker for awhile. He was determined not to let me get a good luck at him, always perching with the sun as a backdrop or darting around to the back of a thick trunk.
Halfway around the pond I started noticing red rose petals strewn along the ground, their bright crimson in stark contrast to the mottled brown leaves underfoot. I have no idea who left the petals -- maybe a heartbroken woman scattering a peace offering from an unfaithful lover. Maybe a black-fingernailed goth girl performing a mystic ritual. Maybe it was just someone who didn't want to put a wilting flower in the garbage can.
It's nice, once in awhile, to have a happy mystery occupy your thoughts while you're out clearing your mind.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
The REAL Story of Harry and Sally
I have this friend. In college, he was a good friend, a best friend even. We talked about stuff. Important stuff. Less important stuff. We drank coffee and we drank SoCo. And, yea, there was always a lot of sexual tension. But whatever. In a way, I loved him. Not "loved him loved him," but it probably was love.
And then, one day, we had sex.
And then we didn't talk for a really long time.
And then we started talking again, but only because we pretended that we'd never had sex.
And then we had sex again.
And then, we stopped talking. Not actually. I mean, I still hear from him. We chat occasionally and text often. But we've stopped really talking. Every time I try to have a conversation, it devolves into stories about underwear. Or the lack of underwear. And his efforts to get girls into or out of underwear.
I miss my friend. I miss pointless debates and insightful remarks. I miss having a deep relationship that didn't take a lot of work because we just sort of got each other.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm glad that I got to experience some of the world by his side. But I don't know that I ever really wanted to trade a friend for a lover. And now that he's not really either, I'm not sure where that leaves me.
And that makes me sad.
And then, one day, we had sex.
And then we didn't talk for a really long time.
And then we started talking again, but only because we pretended that we'd never had sex.
And then we had sex again.
And then, we stopped talking. Not actually. I mean, I still hear from him. We chat occasionally and text often. But we've stopped really talking. Every time I try to have a conversation, it devolves into stories about underwear. Or the lack of underwear. And his efforts to get girls into or out of underwear.
I miss my friend. I miss pointless debates and insightful remarks. I miss having a deep relationship that didn't take a lot of work because we just sort of got each other.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm glad that I got to experience some of the world by his side. But I don't know that I ever really wanted to trade a friend for a lover. And now that he's not really either, I'm not sure where that leaves me.
And that makes me sad.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
Self-Service
It's nice to receive compliments - what my dad calls "AttaBoys." It's nice. (It's also good to keep them on file just in case HR calls....) But sometimes, people really don't care about you when they give an AttaBoy. And that ticks me off.
If you ever wanted an example of exactly why Napolean, my boss, drives me nutso, I submit the following evidence:
To herald in our new website with a proper Irish (Irish American) celebration I'd like to invite (on me) the office out to a local pub for a few pints next week when I'm back up. Guinness must be available at the pub selected to make this a propercelebration not to mention I favor Guinness these days if you must know. I suggest a Charles Street establishment if appropriate or other pub within walking distance from the office. KALESY is our guest of honor as the program lead on the website so she can choose the venue. I suggest we do this around 4:00pmish on Wednesday afternoon if that works. Hip hip hurrah!
First off - Wednesday night is my yoga night. He knows this.
Second off - I don't drink Guinness.
Well, it's not like I'm the guest of honor. Oh, wait, yea, I am.
Alas, Napolean's trip north got cancelled, so I got a reprieve.
Karma is wonderful.
If you ever wanted an example of exactly why Napolean, my boss, drives me nutso, I submit the following evidence:
To herald in our new website with a proper Irish (Irish American) celebration I'd like to invite (on me) the office out to a local pub for a few pints next week when I'm back up. Guinness must be available at the pub selected to make this a proper
First off - Wednesday night is my yoga night. He knows this.
Second off - I don't drink Guinness.
Well, it's not like I'm the guest of honor. Oh, wait, yea, I am.
Alas, Napolean's trip north got cancelled, so I got a reprieve.
Karma is wonderful.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Why Don't I Rain on Your Parade?
May I vent?
Anyone who knows me knows that I've been working on our company's new Website for months. This thing is a beast. We've changed the site map a gazillion times. We've edited and reviewed and re-edited the content ad nauseum. People have been fired over this damn thing.
So I called my mother to tell her the good news. Below is a transcript of the conversation:
Me: "My website goes live tomorrow!" squeal "It's done! Yee Haw!"
Mom: "Gee, honey, that's great. Did your father call you?"
Me: "Dad? No. Why?"
Mom: "Oh, I didn't think he would call you. He's just a wreck because this project he's been working on isn't turning out right and he's worried they're going to fire him and close down his division."
Me: "oh." voice noticeably sadder
Mom: "Glad to hear about the website though!"
Maybe this would upset me less if I hadn't been up all night worrying about my new website. But, alas, I was Up All Night Worrying About My New Website. So, hearing about my father's impending unemployment wasn't exactly the way I wanted to celebrate.
So, yea, thanks mom.
Anyone who knows me knows that I've been working on our company's new Website for months. This thing is a beast. We've changed the site map a gazillion times. We've edited and reviewed and re-edited the content ad nauseum. People have been fired over this damn thing.
So I called my mother to tell her the good news. Below is a transcript of the conversation:
Me: "My website goes live tomorrow!" squeal "It's done! Yee Haw!"
Mom: "Gee, honey, that's great. Did your father call you?"
Me: "Dad? No. Why?"
Mom: "Oh, I didn't think he would call you. He's just a wreck because this project he's been working on isn't turning out right and he's worried they're going to fire him and close down his division."
Me: "oh." voice noticeably sadder
Mom: "Glad to hear about the website though!"
Maybe this would upset me less if I hadn't been up all night worrying about my new website. But, alas, I was Up All Night Worrying About My New Website. So, hearing about my father's impending unemployment wasn't exactly the way I wanted to celebrate.
So, yea, thanks mom.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Topless Hiking in January?
Well, here I am, "home" once again in P'boig (aka Phillipsburg). One might say that this is a little too much family togetherness. One might be right.
I'm home to take my mother to see a bullriding event in NYC tomorrow. The PBR. Professional Bull Riders. Have you seen these people? It's regulated insanity.
But those boys are nice looking, if you can see past those little crosses most of 'em got stitched on their collars. They sign your program (if you care to stand among the throngs of big-haired "buckle bunnies" there to get themselves a husband) with a flourish: "Jesus Loves You, NAME." Of course, if you're 8 seconds away from death, maybe you really are looking to be saved.
Anyway, in order to get away from the good ole fam, I went for a hike today at my favorite resevoir spot. And hilarity ensued.
Friends of mine know that I'm prone to excessive sweating. My internal thermostat is shot. Which causes a little embarrasment but no real concern at my healthclub where I'm a regular gym rat.
It causes a little more concern when I'm out in the woods. Because today, I was not dressed for the weather.
Correction, I was dressed fine for the expected weather, but NOT for the actual weather.
It hit 72 degrees in the tri-state area today.
So, there I was in a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and wool socks. Sweating. A lot. And I thought, hmmm - haven't seen people around in awhile. Maybe it would be okay if I just lifted up my shirt a little. Let some air circulate. But then, that felt so good. So maybe it would be okay if I just took my shirt off, just for a second, and got some breeze on my skin.
Not okay.
Because on 70+ degree days in January, lots of people take their kids out for walks on a Saturday. And the one thing they don't want their kids to see is a 30 y/o hiking with only a bra on.
The good news is, I heard them coming and got my shirt on in time. The bad news is, I got so nervous and jumpy when I heard them that I got even sweatier. Seemed like a good idea at the time....
So tomorrow, we're off to the PBR in NYC. And I get on an Acela Express at 6 p.m. and don't have to be "home" again until next Thanksgiving.
The holidays are officially over.
I'm home to take my mother to see a bullriding event in NYC tomorrow. The PBR. Professional Bull Riders. Have you seen these people? It's regulated insanity.
But those boys are nice looking, if you can see past those little crosses most of 'em got stitched on their collars. They sign your program (if you care to stand among the throngs of big-haired "buckle bunnies" there to get themselves a husband) with a flourish: "Jesus Loves You, NAME." Of course, if you're 8 seconds away from death, maybe you really are looking to be saved.
Anyway, in order to get away from the good ole fam, I went for a hike today at my favorite resevoir spot. And hilarity ensued.
Friends of mine know that I'm prone to excessive sweating. My internal thermostat is shot. Which causes a little embarrasment but no real concern at my healthclub where I'm a regular gym rat.
It causes a little more concern when I'm out in the woods. Because today, I was not dressed for the weather.
Correction, I was dressed fine for the expected weather, but NOT for the actual weather.
It hit 72 degrees in the tri-state area today.
So, there I was in a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and wool socks. Sweating. A lot. And I thought, hmmm - haven't seen people around in awhile. Maybe it would be okay if I just lifted up my shirt a little. Let some air circulate. But then, that felt so good. So maybe it would be okay if I just took my shirt off, just for a second, and got some breeze on my skin.
Not okay.
Because on 70+ degree days in January, lots of people take their kids out for walks on a Saturday. And the one thing they don't want their kids to see is a 30 y/o hiking with only a bra on.
The good news is, I heard them coming and got my shirt on in time. The bad news is, I got so nervous and jumpy when I heard them that I got even sweatier. Seemed like a good idea at the time....
So tomorrow, we're off to the PBR in NYC. And I get on an Acela Express at 6 p.m. and don't have to be "home" again until next Thanksgiving.
The holidays are officially over.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Exhaustion
It's been well over a month since I've posted. And I really have nothing much to say. A lot is going on, but so much so that I feel unable to sum it all up.
Mr. Zips told me today that what I need is a vacation. He's right. But that feels so selfish to say after the holidays. Of course, a week with mom and dad is hardly an actual vacation.
What I think I need more than anything else, is to sit on my couch with all the lights off and stare at my Christmas tree for just one more night. I hate taking it down. I hate saying good bye.
I know, could I be more pathetic?
Mr. Zips told me today that what I need is a vacation. He's right. But that feels so selfish to say after the holidays. Of course, a week with mom and dad is hardly an actual vacation.
What I think I need more than anything else, is to sit on my couch with all the lights off and stare at my Christmas tree for just one more night. I hate taking it down. I hate saying good bye.
I know, could I be more pathetic?
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