Can't Sleep

Sometimes I think that I can remember everyday of my life. It all seems so vivid. The major events, the family issues, and even the tiny, unimportant things like: my Aunt Suzy teaching me how to put on make-up and telling me I didn't need it, like when I was a girl, I put sparkly nail polish on my favorite Barbie's eyes and her eyes rubbed off- my mom painted them back on, she had to repaint them every so often for the next several years.

These little things just keep coming to me when I try to relax. It is just odd. They aren't traumas or anything necessarily life changing, but the are little pieces of me that haven't been thought about in awhile.

I just wonder if everyone else thinks about their lives like this. The details.

When I was good...

Earth Day just came and went, and like usual, I feel ashamed of myself. I wasn't always such a consuming loser of monsterous proportions. I stopped caring at some point, but I didn't stop so much as I was postponing my concern. Like, as soon as I had money i would do more, or when I was settled I would look into getting canvas shopping bags, why?

I remember watching an Earth Day special in the late 80's with Bette Midler as Mother Earth. I remember tearing up over it. I hit my teens shortly after where I argued saving the Ozone all day in my Gandhi tee-shirt. In the following years, I became a vegetarian and I worked at a restaurant that served only the best seasonal organic food. I recycled, I made bookmarks from old packaging (for gifts), I never went to Walmart and I truly had passion about the environment.

One day, I wasn't a vegetarian anymore, I can't even tell you how it happened. I was 24. I was having some identity issues. I had broke up with my perfect vegetarian boyfriend. I was about to go to Europe with my best friend, who was known to be the anti-hippie. (in an odd side note, this same gal is now the biggest granola chick I know. She will talk your ear off about organics and dope, it just goes to show, you really don't know who you are destined to become.) But I didn't wake up one day and decide to eat meat and shop corporate. it was an evolution. Maybe I WAS back-peddling a little bit, but it has brought me to who I am today.

Now, I have been eating meat for 6 years (ironically, the same amount of time I was vegetarian) I shop at Walmart ans Sam's Club. I am not proud at either of these things. I do, however, try to be mindful of my consumerism. I do try to do good where I can. In truth, I still plan on being better when I make more money, get married, have kids, have a real job, have more fre time, etc, etc, etc....

Existential Crisis

I really love being 30. I know it isn't like I changed over night when my birthday came, but I am really noticing myself lately. I know this probably isn't a positive thing for most people. I guess it is easy to think that your hips were smaller, your hair was thicker, you were much cooler when you were 18, 23, 25. I don't know, I just feel more like me, than I have before. I feel less apologetic, but more open. Less critical, but more observant. I don't feel like I have any obligation to change the world or change anyone. It is a very comfortable place to be.

I have returned to school full time, so I am around people in their "prime" all day, and I am so thankful I am who I am now and not worried about approval from my peers. Hell, my own peers, gave up on me long ago. My own peers have their own businesses and families, I have neither. Not that I would change things. I am pretty glad that things are the way they are. And I am glad I am who I am, but I never thought that day would come.

I think women are so beautiful as they age and I finally get to join in that process. I do feel more beautiful at 30. Actually, I feel more everything at 30. I feel more. I really try to make the things I do and say genuine and I am aware of the things around me. I hate to sound like Oprah, but I am trying to live mindfully and focus on my lifa as I live it instead of just going on autopilot for the next 50 years.

History

I was thinking about some old friends today. Not the close friends that you keep for a lifetime, but the ones that just pass through your life. It is amazing how close you can be with people and not know them at all in a few years. I have a lot of these because for a long time, I thought that I didn't need anymore close friends. I have a handful of the greatest friends, but none of them live, or lived in the same city as me. So in my mind, I had this solid group around the globe, then I kept my stand-by friends that were just for surface conversations, thrift store shopping and benders at the local dive. But lately I have been remembering those quickie relationships and thinking that it is mind-boggling how close you can get to someone when you think you are just passing the time, especially if you are both miserable.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am not a barfly loser crying in my beer, but for a short time, I pretended I was. I holed up in a mountain town for 3 years, hoping, I guess, for some Northern Exposure-like existence; somewhere that I could work hard and blend into the local scene, maybe become known for a schtick. I was the scholarly young woman who decided to become a farmer and hang out with the old timers instead of pursuing the academic career like society wanted. The idea was so romantic to me. I had this fantasy of living in an old airstream in a field but studying philosophy and religion, learning to play violin, and growing herbs and veggies for local restaurants and markets. In this dream I was so content in my solitude. Then one day I would leave with little notice and move to New England or Vienna and continue my formal education, all the while impressing my peers with my poise and quiet wisdom.

It didn't happen that way, not at all. It should have though. I did live an isolated life in the mountains, but I was lonely and made stupid decisions. I did go to a local college for horticulture, but I was too scattered to keep it together to start a business. I did get a schtick, but I was the scholarly young woman who came to town, then lost herself dreaming on a barstool about being someone else. I don't have a ton of regrets. I have some wonderful memories. The smell of my kitchen in summer; it was fresh lemons, hand picked mint and tomatoes. When I smell a tomato vine, I can see that kitchen, my poor old dog and I can hear my neighbors yelling across the fence.

The real regrets in my life are the times that I didn't get to know people better, or when I didn't keep in touch, or when I wasn't there when they needed me. There are a few people that I made "friends" with in that small town, that I never was genuine with, I never really valued them or took them seriously, they were just characters in my little TV show, and for that I am sorry.

Friday the 13th

It is a good day to start writing. I find that I am usually too embarrassed to blog, but too lazy to keep a journal. I guess if there is some possibility of someone reading this, it feels more like a conversation and less like I am talking to myself. Not that I have a problem with talking to yourself. I just think that I live too much in my head and I have to spew it out in to some outlet, and since, I am too lazy to journal (I was so good at it for so long), I am not particularly talented at anything else such as: artwork, music or sports. I need an outlet.

Also, I keep a journal steady for 15 years and every single book I started writing in always started like this. Like a disclaimer, an excuse. I am not sure why. I guess I have this weird guilty feeling because I want to assault the rest of the world with the things I should only keep to myself. But though I have no aspirations whatsoever of being a writer, I have this awful compulsion to write. It is really disturbing at times, like an addiction.