Eat, Pray, Love...and then eat some more.

Ever since the lovely Lindsay bestowed upon me a copy of Eat, Pray Love, I've been somewhat (read: completely) taken with it.

I still can't understand why every woman out there in the world doesn't love it as much as I do, but to those of you that don't, I guess I can see where you're coming from. As for me, I'm reading the book for a 4th time. Yes, that's FOUR. It just SPEAKS to me. No, I have not been married and divorced like Elizabeth Gilbert. Nor, incidentally, have I actually been to Italy, India or Indonesia. Go figure.

I have, however, been through soul-torturing relationships (relationshits) and somehow managed to heal. I've read this book after every single breakup of mine over the past few years (please, let's not do the math there...we all know my romantic history is a complete and utter hot mess) and it always helps. It's like when you hear a song for the first time and are captivated by how well another human being has articulated the EXACT way you feel. This book does that for me. I'm more than a little apprehensive about the upcoming film version, but I'm sure I'll see it anyway.


On a less dramatic level, the book affects me DEEPLY in that every time I read it, I want to GET UP AND GO SOMEWHERE.

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote that in Italy, she spent the first few weeks of her time there completely lost. I loved reading this, because I can, naturally, relate...

Rewind to August 2008. I've been in Copenhagen for 3 hours, and have never set foot on European soil before. Cursed with an unfortunate inability to sleep on planes, I was wide awake throughout the red-eye flight and EXHAUSTED upon arrival, but the minute I stepped off the plane I was alert and ALIVE. Granted, it was just Copenhagen, a city I had never really claimed to want to visit...I think if I had started my European travels in Rome or something my head might have exploded. But still, it was EUROPE.

After a brief hotel stop my aunts, my mom, and I went to dinner in Nyhavn. After the meal, they were content to sit at the table, and I went for a little stroll. The sun was setting. I walked by cafes, and boats, and children, and gorgeous men who smiled at me. I walked on cobblestones and docks. I stood on a bridge and took this picture:


I had NO idea where I was or where I was going, but in that half an hour stroll, I felt more peace, independence, sheer happiness than I had in years. There is something so inexplicably awesome about standing in a place you have truly never come close to standing before. Everything, everyONE is new.

It's like a drug, and I'm not gonna lie...feeling a little deprived.

So, dear readers, I need some suggestions. Come December, I will have almost a year off of school. I'm feeling like this would be the time to feed my travel addiction before I buckle down for nursing school. Tell me your favorite place in the world you have or HAVEN'T been. I am desperately seeking the next place(s) in which to get hopelessly lost.

Here comes the sun, little darlin'...

So, the bad news is, my former Wonderful Man, is, by many accounts, turning out to be a bit less than wonderful. Maybe not as bad as some of my past winners, but certainly not as perfect as I once believed him to be. It hurts to find this out, but the good news is...

It doesn't matter. I'm free. I stood up and walked away. Sure, I cried a little, but I cry a little at A Baby Story, and commercials for the United Negro College Fund. The good news is, whatever horrible things he may have done or might still be doing, it is not my problem anymore.

Hell yes.

I'm suddenly feeling all kinds of excited about life. When all of the anxiety I formerly carried because of him was finally lifted off of my shoulders, it was like every other aspect of my life came flying back into focus. I dropped out of school, for starters--I don't want to be a psychologist, go figure. I realized I hate my job, so I'm going to look for a new one. I lost five pounds last week! Not "I'm so depressed I can't eat" pounds, but "I'm eating healthy and exercising like a madwoman because I finally FEEL good!" pounds. I'm going to start singing a bit with a band, and recording. I also really want to write, a whole lot more. Expect to see the overflow of that on this blog--perhaps with some photos, being that the word vomit is likely going to get old.

We broke up, allegedly, because of children. He was also old, and while the sex wasn't (usually) bad, let's face it everyone--I'm a 23 year old woman. I've had better and dammit, will get better on a regular basis in the future. Word.

But back to the kid/future/epiphany thing. Everywhere I've been this week, I've been seeing and noticing the little ones, and it just keeps reinforcing to me that I was just born to be a mama. Other than Prince Charming to father them, there is nothing I want more than babies. I want them to be loud, difficult, hilarious, cute, smart, special, slightly neurotic like their mother, just plain AMAZING little human beings. I want the chaos, the mess, and every sweet little moment that comes along with them. And I want to share that whole sweet, chaotic mess with a man who loves me, who is my partner, who makes me laugh and makes me breakfast. I deserve that. Shit, we all deserve that. I've decided not to settle for less.

It's coming, I know it. And while I truly cannot wait, I am looking forward to all of the experiences that get me there. Which, let's hope, given my current account balances, includes me becoming independently wealthy.

Fingers Crossed.

Piecing life together, step one: Organization

So, my parents are trying to sell this place. This requires the house to remain "staged" at all times when no one is home--meaning that I, naturally, am expected to keep my bedroom/bathroom looking like no one lives here.

I know, I'm stifling the laughter too.

Here's what the outside observer sees when looking at my closet:



This is what they would see if they opened the door:



Here's an up-close view. See those poor little weights? Anyone care to guess the last time those were lifted? And when I say lifted, I don't mean lifted as in used in actual exercise, I mean lifted as in MOVED OUT OF THE DAMN WAY AND PUT BACK WHERE THEY BELONG.



It has occurred to me that someone viewing the house may want to see the inside of the closet and open the door. To that end, I took all of the lacy thong underwear and moved it to the back of the pile. I should point out that these are all clean clothes. I guess in my crazed/depressed blur over the past 6 weeks-ish, I've been taking my clean clothes out of the dryer long enough for them to sit on my bed, waiting to be put away. This never gets done, because the room always has to be "presentable" and I haven't found the five minutes it takes to open and close drawers. So, apparently, if you're me, the closet is the new dresser.

I'm sure little changes like cleaning up my mess will make a big difference as I attempt recovery (and, ahem, day 2 of no texting has come and gone). I'm sure you're all wondering, "Well, if it's going to make you feel so much better, why don't you clean the mother-effing closet instead of taking photos of it and posting them on the internet?"


Good question.