Read it and Weep- My Tribute to John Wooden

Passengers aboard flight 060910, this is your captain speaking for the first time since 042210, much to the dismay, disappointment, and annoyance of the majority of you. I know this because you've told me. To my face. On my facebook wall. Over the phone. And so to those of you have voiced your concern and irritation, apologies are due. But in all honesty, since the beginning of May, I have just been having the most entertaining, enlightening, most random and awesome six weeks of my entire life. I'm going to blame me having been away from my blog on the fact that I was doing field research for the rest of the summer's posts, really getting to know myself a little better (slightly undecided on how I feel about what I've learned), making new friends, maintaining old friends, compiling chapters of material for the novels I will one day write. I have laughed and drank myself stupid this past month, which is what adhering to a six drink a day minimum will do to a person. I still have two major issues in my life that are in dire need of correction, but I am steadfastly resolved to starting to right them soon, and that regardless of their existence, I am alive and well. And more than that passengers, and I say this with no hesitation, I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire 26 years of life. And this, is just the start, of a live well and wildly lived. Fasten your safety belts.

I honestly was compelled to get back to all this, not only because you and I have missed it, but because of another article I read a couple hours ago on the legendary college basketball coach, John Wooden. It was written by the talented sports writing genius Rick Reilly and caught me off guard not only in its portrayal of Coach Wooden and his selfless, moral, and wise attendance to what matters most in life, but because it made me cry. (Sidenote: I'm not on my period). I suppose I shouldn't be too caught off guard by the fact that a couple tears splashed down onto the laptop's keyboard, as I had my first sports cry as a 10 year old when Chris Webber called his non-existent time out and cost the fab five a national title, and then sobbed like a blubbering idiota this past winter when I watched my baby sister lead her high school team to the first girls sectional basketball title in her high school's history as a sophomore. No, but honestly, what surprised me most about the cry wasn't that it was sports related and I'm a sucker for that shit, but because it was the part of the article that described Coach Wooden's relationship with his late wife Nell, who passed in 1985. He just went on five days ago. His ten national college b-ball titles are unmatched. His no nonsense attitude and humble demeanor, unparalleled. His "Woodenisms," concise and yet spot-on reflections on every facet of life. But his love for Nell, astounding. Breath-taking. Tear-inducing, for me at least. And this is coming from the MsHap most of you know who flips through boys like a Rolodex, and re-words lines from Jay-Z songs like "on to the Next one," to read "I have a million ways to get it. He was one." The same MsHap who has loved with all she had/s in the past and had her heart broken in several irreparable pieces to the point where I'm not sure I believe in soulmates or even true commitment anymore, although of course I want it.

Nell Wooden passed away 25 years ago. Coach Wooden stopped all the clocks at the time of her death. He slept until his own departure days ago on only one side of their bed. The other side was unturned, and covered with stacks of letters bundled together. He wrote her once a month since her death chronicling the lives of their children and grandchildren and reiterating to her how much he missed and loved her. He only stopped months ago, because he could hardly see. He never dated, never kissed another female after she was removed from his side. Rick Reilly who wrote the story once asked Coach in the past to co-author a book with him on how to make love last. The day he went over to Wooden's house to talk to him about it, Coach came to the door crying, saying it was "just too soon." Nell had been deceased 15 years at this point. I've honestly got a lump in my throat just re-writing all of this for you guys. Until tonight, if you would have asked me what love is, depending on my mood, I would have either made a general statement about family and friends, or told you it was a state of mind, and a fucked up one at that. Coach Wooden, for a million reasons, I could thank you. For living a stand-up life. For your contributions to the game of basketball. To your insight. But no, tonight I thank you, because you gave me faith again. I have been so unsure of love for so long, but now I get it. And can't wait one day to find my own Nell. I just started crying again. It's because I know right now you two are intertwined, and you aren't sleeping alone anymore. Maybe that's what love is, patience. You both waited so long. She had to be so happy to see you. RIP Coach John Wooden. 1910-2010.

I'll post more later after I get a run in and a yoga class done. I'd rather not walk into the gym with swollen eyes. However, sports fan or not, you all need to read this article. Put down your summer school classes textbook or whatever Oprah's bookclub you're into and give this ten minutes. It's time well spent.

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/news/story?id=5260677

Team Selfish...

Passengers aboard flight 042210, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I was called "selfish" yesterday, by an individual with whom I have had a romantic relationship in the past, and the idea that I am possibly so has been reverberating in my head since. This particular comment was flung at me during one of our standard arguments, typically prompted by me not paying a bill on time, or finding myself in the position to not be able to pay another one at all, due to a plethora of reasons. "Honestly," said he, "you're starting to become one of them," (referencing the inmates he is around at the Federal Prison). "You only care about yourself, don't pay attention to the important things in your life, and then expect everybody else to bail you out when you can't take take care of your own shit." I stood momentarily stunned. Something about being likened to a convicted felon wasn't sitting right with me. He went on, as he can always say more, berate me more. "You are irresponsible, and selfish. You need to get a better job. Did you know I worked a full-time factory job overnights when I was a full-time student in college? You can't just keep thinking a serving job is going to cut it. You need to start telling the people around you 'no'. No more dinners with your friends. No more of your sister's AAU tournaments. No more unnecessary expenditures. Focus solely on your bills. In fact, school can wait. These debts are more important. Grow up. It is time to grow up." I don't know if he simply ran out of nails to pin me to the cross he was erecting, or needed a breath. Either way, I know him stopping had nothing to do with the fact that he was beating the shit out of me like I was a verbal punching bag. It was almost as if he were trying to reiterate to himself in that ten minute tirade just why we got a divorce in the first place. You. punch. Are. punch. No. punch. Good. punch. However, although bruised, I had a million retorts rising from the depths of my wounded spirit. Only one took form. " I am not you. And I am thankful for that."



Don't get me wrong. Certain things he said to me have validity, could be applied to my daily life and aid me in my quest for lessened debt, lessened stress. I do need to prioritize bills more adequately, postpone and/or eliminate certain purchases and activities altogether until I can afford them without having to later struggle for a couple weeks when I try to pay off the things I put off to have them. All the while ducking calls from creditors, tearing up letters from my bank, knowing that I am taking an AK-47 to my credit score with each passing minute. Yes, he was right in this respect. I am irresponsible, with money. But does this quality make me overall a menace to society? The society in which I function aside from my financial failings in as a great friend and family member, respected and well-liked co-worker, intelligent mind in my classes.



And further more, perhaps he had a final valid observation. I let his use of the word 'selfish' invade my mind yesterday, and continue to marinate like 4th of July meat skewers into my today. And now, having pondered it so intently, I see that in this classification, he was right yet again. I am selfish. But that's just it. Selfish in its typical meaning, connotation is heard and perceived as a dirty word. But to me, it's not unclean. It is, if nothing else, paramount to the success of an individual, to contentedness, to the ability to affect the lives of those around you in a positive way. If we ourselves do not take the necessary steps to ensure that we are of sound mind, body, soul, and spirit, just how legitimately are we giving anything to another? Perhaps to him it is incalculable, and ignorant that I would put off paying my car loan for a week to spend the weekend in Chicago at my kid sister's AAU basketball tournament. But I know myself. And the overall reward to me psychologically from watching her drain 3 point baskets on a defense shattering step-back, or thread passes like needlework to teammates that I don't realize are even open is my life force, has the ability to help me maintain perspective in a life that is otherwise filled with "big picture" types of things, like homework, and having a second job, and shit, dating even. I could have gone ahead and paid that certain bill on time, and then worked closing shifts all weekend and made even more money to use on other bills. But with every, "And what may I bring you to drink?" and "Are you through enjoying this?" and fake laugh, and wine recommendation, and 20 percent tip I would have thought of her. And how quickly she is growing up, just yesterday a jaundiced little bundle new to our house, an unexpected little sister that mom became pregnant with at 40, to just days ago standing before me, 16 years old, in her
Rihanna'esque prom dress with boobs that make me think it's time to go ahead and upgrade my own. My sister. My heart. I can already hear his reply. "There will always be other tournaments." But as I didn't have the energy to say to him yesterday, I say it now, "There will always be bills." And yes, I know that they as well have the ability to affect my mood, negatively when not cashed out, caught up right away.

But I, and don't count me as one of those fatalist type personalities, do understand another element to why it pays to be somewhat selfish. Life is short. Make yourself smile. Talk to and surround yourself with the people that make you laugh, make you whole. Know that things like debt should be taken care of, but that it is more than okay to let them sit there a little while longer and go ahead and take that trip that might change your mindset, change your entire world. Besides, the person on the other end of that debt-collecting phone call is getting paid regardless of whether you hit the "hater" button on your cell phone when he/she calls.


So yes, Ex Factor. I am all those things. Irresponsible. Prone to Excess. Fucking Selfish. But if you must know as well, I am also loved. Respected. Believed in. Counted on. a Ticking time bomb. And seriously, you know all these things anyway. Because if you believed me completely bad, a convict as you said, you wouldn't take the time to lecture me in the first place. I am avoidable. Here's to you passengers, do something for yourself today. And don't give a shit about what you're not doing for whomever else when you do so. The others will be happier for it, even if they don't know it yet.


And now, the 60/40...

1. Good- Watching playoff basketball in a restaurant the other night, the bartender said to me, "You really aren't like other girls." I took it as a compliment. I am going to sports broadcast one day you know. Anybody can be tits and a teleprompter. Not that I'm above upgrading to a C-cup. I just want to be the most statistically knowledgeable boob job in the room.

2. Good- On a further sports note, my Yanks have won 9 of the last 10 and the Red Sox are well...check out espn.go.com for yourself. (Ensuing evil laugh).

3. Bad- I really am drowning a bit with bills. And something about barely keeping my head above water and having it constantly up my nose and searing my throat is a hard emotion to juxtapose with relative happiness in the other elements of my life.

4. Bad- I have a huge E359 Women's English Lit exam tomorrow at 11 A.M. I haven't started studying at all.

5. Good- There are only about two weeks, possibly less, of school left.

6. Bad- I have to go straight away after publishing this post to handle some business that I should have wrapped up months ago. And b/c of how little attention I paid it in regards to everything else in my life, it is now not close to be finished, and more along the lines of just beginning. And probably worse.

7. Good- I am going to get to see him this evening.

8. Bad- My premier mini-marathon is in 13 days. I plan on completing it. but I am going to be far less competitive than I had hoped to be. We will see how my planned 12 miler this week goes.

9. Good- We are about to have a wine tasting at work. Yay cabernet.

10. Good- I just found out that the local Applebee's will be having donkey's to ride and take pictures with on Cinco de Mayo. It is so stereotypically perfect. Only in Indiana.



Escuchar (Listen)- Nicky Minaj and Sean Garrett- "Get it all"- It's sexy, it's catchy, just listen. And then do that sexy baby-making dance you do when nobody else is around. Or that you do for money, if you're a stripper.


Mirar (Watch)- Parenthood on NBC. An hour of watching a smart, love-filled, but complex, and at times struggling family that you can definitely find glimpses of your own in. I relate to real. And the Braverman's are.


Leer (Read)- "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost.


Pensar (Think)- "The woods are lovely, dark and deep/ but I have promises to keep/ And miles to go before I sleep/ And miles to go before I sleep." --the last stanza of the aforementioned poem.


Have a wonderful Thursday all.

Mirror, mirror...

Passengers aboard flight 042010, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I took my own liberties with the tried and true inquiry of pure-hearted Snow White, as I stared earlier into my bathroom mirror, readying myself for public evaluation. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who am I fooling, if any, at all?" She replied, "Why dear, only yourself of course. All who love you see truth regardless of what your appearance seeks to reinforce." "Fuck you," said I.

The nerve of that mirror, honestly. To tell me that I can't hide behind calculated maneuvers and loaded to-do lists, behind developed, habitual behaviors and mannerisms that show forth happiness, behind perfected brushstrokes that accentuate and yet conceal the realities of my face. "Watch and learn," I sarcastically flung at her, setting out all the tools of my arsenal haphazardly around the sink. I ran a brush through the strands of my hair, over and over, until it shined and showed no evidence of a night not slept through. A night in which I tossed and turned and tangled my mane with thoughts of complications and "What the hell do I do now's." I swirled my foundation brush in powder and buffed it into my tan skin, combating its sallowed, lackluster quality. Drip, drip went the Visine drops, two in each eye, erasing the traces of red that ebbed across them like lightning bolts. Dot, dot went concealer, under my ojos, to ease the dark circles that tears and insomnia create. And dot, dot, more yet, sporadically across my visage, in the sports where pimples told stories of increased stress levels, falling asleep before properly scrubbing the day's accumulated grime off of its surface, out of its pores. I lined, and contoured, and curled, and accessorized, and brushed and Listerine'd the taste of yesterday's failures right out of my mouth. I engaged in a staring contest with the mirror after all this effort. "Yes, fuck you," I reiterated, "I am not fooled by the image I see, I know who I am." "Oh," she calmly stated, "You do, do you?" "Yes," I shot back. "Then a bigger question exists my dear," she countered. "Do you like who you see?" I was the first to blink. And slowly avert my gaze and walk away.

On paper, and even somewhat psychologically/emotionally/physically I am doing better, feeling better. But I am far from right, still prone to pulling the pin on certain ticking timebombs that I have yet to completely disarm and/or rid of in my daily routines, and not throw them far enough away or even get them out of my fucking hand before they detonate. I am running, have two weeks left of this semester of school, am drinking much, much less. Check, check, double check. And yet, I still wonder every day if he is ever going to tell me "I love you" again, hate that I even wonder about that. I am still not prioritizing obligations over desires as I should be, and I have creditors and situations that are crippling me with uncertainty, and fear because of it. I am still fighting God.

And so, I'm off to complete the rest of this day. Work. Sweat session. Homework. All the while still asking myself and not knowing the answer to, "Do I like who I see, do I like who I am?" And then pondering the follow-up question, "What more am I to do?" I don't have a clue.

Spontaneous Combustion...

Passengers aboard flight 041410, this is your Captain MsHap speaking. I apologize on some level for the two days I took off from writing (I know some of you hang on my every palabra, as you have told me) and for this slight discomfort and any increased levels of anticipation I may have caused you, lo siento. Starting this week and seeing it successfully through, has been so far like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, knowing that maneuvering the obstacles and obligations and simple desires of these seven days in April requires a steady, unfailing commitment to not taking my eyes off the weapon held between my eyes. I fall asleep each night, and wake each subsequent morning with the understanding of what my captor requires and expects of me over each 24 hour period, and comprehend as well, that if demands are not met, there will be hell to pay, be it lower grades at school, lack of responsibility and productivity at my jobs, diminished athletic stamina in regards to the mini marathon I am signed up to run in May, disappointment on the face of my sister (my world in no uncertain terms) if I were to miss her AAU basketball tourney this weekend in Chicago, calls from bill collectors if I do not get things paid on time.

My life has always been one that could potentially be this high strung, a series of check marks on an unending to-do list, and this is not the first week that I have ever had to tackle this amount of musts/shoulds/wants. However, it is the most that has befallen me in the better part of forever, days starting early (I am not a high-functioning member of society before 2 P.M.) and ending with a full powering down of my system, whether I want it or not, and not simply me falling into sleep/hibernation mode as before. More frightening to me yet, is the pinching feeling that has started to besiege me, at the spot of flesh where the bottom of my skull meets the upper region of my neck. The pinch, which is the result of being soaked by tidal waves of sheer realization as if I was to walk in on a cheating significant other, signals to me that if I am truly to be ME, the driven, achieving, contented, MsHap, than I will have these days, these weeks, this sort of frantic schedule until I am to be all burned out, used up, under. And it's not that I am capable of this lifestyle, don't find myself secretly wishing for it. It is just that I haven't strung more than a handful of good days together in so long, that to do so, is going to require an entire upgrade on my part, and not just in that "pop in a disc and tweak the bugs in my software, upgrade my anti-virus scanners, and gain the ability to have all the things I'm working on simultaneously exist on my screen." No. I am going to have to re-learn how to operate, have to delete more than cookies and temporary files out of my being, digging deep into my memory to rid (although only physically, because for some things there is no forgetting) of the detrimental, lazy, masochistic routines and mentalities that I have given myself over to since I was 18.

That was 8 years ago. 8 years of self-medication, degradation, lack of respect for myself. 8 years of disappointments, wrinkles on the brow lines of my parents, lies. 8 years of yo-yo weight loss and gain, unnecessary stress, and more heartbreak than one should ever have to endure. 8 years of wondering if I will ever live up to my potential, the talent and skill set that I have to hear I possess from people around me, be it my sister and brother, a close friend, or random individuals that I serve California rolls to at work every day. 8 long years of waking each day, even on those in which I wished I wouldn't have, knowing this potential exists within, and not the type of potential that scouts buzz about at the NFL combine, or the potential that exists because some fluke occurrence has created hype. No. Knowing instead that I have IT, laying so close to my surface, wanting to explode, energy forced still under the weight of my bad choices, my bad attitudes, my ingratitude towards God and his grace. Potential just marinating there, itching to be transformed from stagnant to kinetic.

Enough is enough already. It is time to plug in and re-boot. Re-release myself. And unfortunately for some, if you're a bug who only serves to build me up, only to watch me crash later, you won't be making the cut. And it doesn't mean you weren't fun. I've had a million great times, and have a million more to come on my plate. I just need to remember the majority of the great times. To not feel guilt when I think on them the next day. To not need your help to piece together an event that I should be able to easily recall. I am intelligent. I am in control of my destiny and self. I am much, more stronger than I have ever given myself credit for, stronger than I even believe myself to be now. Alt. Control. Delete.

Watch me burn.

The art of masochism

Definition of "masochism"- A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.
Definition of "masochist"- Me.

Passengers aboard flight 041110, this is your captain MsHap speaking. From the title of today's address, you might be under the impression that I am experiencing some level of pain, but that would be just as far removed from the truth as any promises that any politician has ever made in efforts to be elected to some office. I am feeling better currently than I have over the past 11 days, and I am honestly a little startled to have just now realized that I have only been away from he and our normal routine for about a week and a half. It has felt like, and this is uber cliche, an eternity. The last time we broke up in January, we had literally ZERO contact over the course of the exact same amount of time, and if he had not unexpectedly texted me during one of the Colts playoff games, I don't know how long we would have gone without speaking. But this time has been so much different. I've had random contact with him since around 5 days ago, mostly via text, and seeing him for about an hour at a time out in public on two different occasions, and yet, I have remained a card-carrying, certified, yellow taped disaster area despite this contact, inwardly at least. Until last night.

I knew (or at least wished, hoped, prayed) that if I kept myself in his mind's eye and literal eye on a somewhat regular basis, that I would slowly break him down. Despite the fact that since the beginning of this month, I have managed to throw myself down off the pedestal I once posed on before him, giving him insta-flu symptoms when someone mentioned my name or he caught a glimpse of my face, I have endured this break-up with the feeling, although so very slight at times these past days, that what we have, what we are together, far transcends a simple sexual chemistry, lives far and above lust. It is the stuff that dreams are made of, if by dream I mean a nightmare. One in which, at least in this life, you have to wake up every morning to realize that you are in love with another, and they with you, but as the deck has been stacked previous to your developing into an "us," the only way to a happily ever after is to re-shuffle the deck and dole out a new hand to everyone involved. Seems simple enough right? Bad hands are folded and thrown back into the stack on a daily basis, even when at face value they seem fine, can be put into contention and with enough bullshitting yourself and others, actually bring about some level of success. In life, it is a known fact, that not everybody feels the need to chase pocket aces by folding whatever else they get in hopes that at some point, on some night, they will get them. Two same suit, or a pair of sevens is all some will ever need to keep playing, keep smiling, keep living. For he and I, we are that coveted pair of aces, but with one major hitch. If we lay ourselves out on the table, play our cards and dare anyone around us to have a better hand, there will be no rejoicing, no Jersey Shore fist-pumps when we win, trump everyone else. There will be pain, innocent suffering, public scrutiny, and regret. Yes, we will have each other, and that would be necessary. Because I am not certain there would be any one else around when we cause the house of cards to tumble down.

So, as of last night, I was right to feel that he could not possibly keep stiff-arming me when we know that we love and exist in this realm, this scope of feeling, as long as I made it clear to him, and believe me when I say this for once, that I am finished playing the stupid games that I had before. We were not together for long last night, and nothing was "fixed" in that meaning of the word, no return to our former selves consummated. But the atmosphere between us was different, passion choking us to the point of him on some level, finally tapping out to me, offering me the understanding, even if unsaid, that it isn't over. We are not done. And with this realization, is where I drew the inspiration for my title tonight, "The Art of Masochism," because with every victory, whether small or great, is understanding. I understood then, just as I do now, as I honestly have from the start with he, that this would be a story told in equal parts ecstasy and pain. And although I do not hurt now, as I stated early on, I am not jaded, I understand that in this portion of my life, in this particular relationship, that I am a cutter, and he is my razor blade. But no one gets to see these marks but me. Because they are tucked away inside. Some will see the outward, external manifestations that accompany these strategic slices I inflict, in tears, grimaces, food not eaten. I have to be absolutely stuffed with scar tissue by now. And although his razor blade becomes a little more dull with each light switch symphony we conduct, that only means that to feel the same eventual joy I have before, that I have to drag him across me harder and deeper. I wonder at what point I will eventually bleed out.

However, no promises have been made, or plans created. I just know that I felt like home last night. And that, having felt like I had been marooned on a deserted island these past weeks, is something I will welcome despite the knowledge that home in this sense, is temporary, unstable, and a nut house. Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back. And now, the 60/40.

1. Good- I am in increasingly better shape than I was when this all went down, and have 6 runs planned this week, one being a 10 miler. Last week's 8 was like a free visit to the shrink.
2. Bad- I have a ridiculous amount of school work on my plate this week and a schedule of obligations (most I have been putting off like the plague) to rival it.
3. Bad- Mickelson won the Masters today. I was secretly pulling for Tiger. Not that I'm all bandwagon and live in the hype. But just because I understand, from the pit of my stomach, what it is like to mess up, BAD, and have to try again, make yourself better, and struggle to balance failures with current progress.
4. Good- I had a wonderful dinner with my best friend from work and his family for his wife's birthday this evening. It included mussels, a little Cabernet, veal in cream sauce, and desserts galore.
5. Good- I am thinking about getting another tattoo. A Spanish sentiment, on my side (rib area).
6. Bad- I heard that area hurts the worst, and I am not excited about having to hide another tatt from the parentals. I can still remember my Asian mom screeching and blowing a head gasket when she saw my sports tramp stamp a few Easters ago when I was showering.
7. Bad- I am walking back into no-man's land. I am a creature of habit.
8. Good- The Yankees beat the Rays today and now are 4-1. As for you Cubs fans...ouch.
9. Good- Kid sister has her first out of state AaU tourney this weekend (fri/sat/sun) in Chi-town and I haven't been there since the summer. Can not wait. Ballerific.
10. I feel 5 lbs lighter physically and 25 lbs lighter emotionally.

Escuchar (Listen)-She Bangs- Ricky Martin. He just came out people. I know, I know, we have known this from day one. If you listen to the song closely enough, you can almost swear now he's actually singing "He Bangs."

Mirar (Watch)-She's Outta my League, in theaters now. Genuinely cute story plot, great chemistry between the main couple, and really funny dialogue. Gratuitous use of the word "fuck." My kind of movie.

Pensar (Think)- Blessed are those who drink, for they shall inherit a buzz. --Unknown.

Leer (Read)- A Separate Peace, by John Knowles. Classic.

Is it in Me?

Passengers on board flight 040810, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I am currently sitting around waiting on the return on my kid sis with my vehicle so I can drive into town and attempt this 8 mile run that I have been so proficiently putting off for about a week. It's crucial that I get these longer runs in, slow or not, because I'm sitting about 30 days outside of the race, and competitive to a fault (not that I think I'm going to be chasing the leaders), but would nonetheless not like too many people from this area or that I know personally to be faster than me. Call it vanity, I care not. It's a bit windy outside, but thus equals the forecast of my inward state of MsHap, so it is nothing I can't deal with. I netted plenty of sleep last night, ate some food, although still not because I actually desired it, and have enough inner demons to expel to run an ultra marathon in the Sahara Desert right now. OK, that's a lie. I have neither the strength, stamina, stupidity, or penchant to endure that level of heat to even begin to fathom, let alone complete something of that caliber.

I'm not certain what I will do after I get this run in. One of the hottest guys I've ever seen around these parts has been asking me to hang out the past couple nights (last night, I held him at arms length) and he just texted me again. Certain ones of my friends are calling me stupid, blasphemous almost for shunning a "gift" like him. I just don't know if I have it in me right now to even be entertained, or distracted by anyone outside of Gordon Hayward or Cristiano Ronaldo (look them up if you aren't sure who they are), or if I'm honestly ready to just go through the post-break up song and dance just yet. Is it really fair to either of us, regardless of his intentions? Or am I just being an idiot? I have used these "filler" type of guys to get over everything from my first love at 18 to my divorce. Why the fuck would this be any different, would I mourn and move on from him any differently? Oh, that's right. Because even though we all use this new car smell mentality to get us at least mentally detached from people in our past, we all know there is a common theme to what usually happens at some point following our encounter with a "mind eraser." We either A.) try and start up some relationship with this alternate person, usually failing later because we weren't emotionally ready to get into anything with someone else at the time we chose to, or B.) just feeling worse or more empty than when we started, than if we had just stayed at home and decided instead to try and cultivate a new relationship with a workout DVD, a new sitcom, and a bottle of wine. I'm about 50/50 as to whether I am gonna go chill with him later tonight or just blow him off yet again and snuggle in with Jane Eyre and other school reading and hope the slide show of the past 8 months isn't on prime time in my mind for the 10th night straight. I wish I had some replacement batteries in my remote.

Post-run dissection, 60/40 and other stuff coming later when I get home. I've only been awake a few hours. I don't really have 10 things in my mind to even discuss with you based on my day yet.

And yet found...

Passengers aboard flight 040810, this is your captain MsHap on the loudspeaker. I'm not certain how long this particular post will pan out to be, as I am running on 4 horas of sleep, and had the kind of day in which a nap would have been not only nice, but was almost a necessity. I literally almost parked my car along a road I was driving along early evening because I thought at any time I ran the possibility of succumbing to narcolepsy and proceeding to careen into a local establishment or local elderly couple. I am obviously still alive. Great success. Oh, what a difference a day made. And not that anything extraordinary came of the events of my day, or that I cranked out a mega to-do list like I was tweaking on something, or that he decided we could try this all over again. Instead, I simply made it to all of my classes, saw and spoke minimally to him, saw my co-worker/close friend's new addition (adorable she, by the way), had a catch-up dinner with another good friend, and then cranked out some interval runs and abs/arms domination. And no, none of these things are anything that you would find me not doing again at some point, or that I don't already do with some regularity (increasingly so day by day in the time that I am devoting to workouts again), and yet, it was all enough.

Enough of what, you might muse. Enough to get me to eat again after a day and a half of not. Enough to keep me occupied enough that I had little down time to ponder potential texts to him, potential schemes. Enough to allow me some genuine belly laughs around friends. Enough to hold a tiny two and a half week old life in my arms, and have her sleep peacefully, while her rambunctious, steadily approaching 2 year old sister tumbled and giggled and made me wish, if just for a fleeting second, that I might have already mothered one of my own. Enough to keep me from further spinning out following yesterday's performance of Girl, Interrupted. Enough to have him sit across from me a little over a week later, finally look at me in the beginnings of his soft way, and tell me maybe about our possibilities instead of the resounding no's I had been getting then and since. Enough to start to feel that with time, it could be possible to just be his friend, have him in my life in that capacity and that be ENOUGH. Enough that I feel comfortable enough with the check mark's of today that I can sleep without as much weight on my chest for the first time in a while.

I'll post again, including the 60/40 and the check, check, check now check it outs in the afternoon, after some sleep. Good night.

Lost...

Passengers aboard flight 040710, this is your delirious captain MsHap speaking. My crazy, disoriented state is not the result of little sleep, I got plenty, well into this afternoon. It is not the result of lack of intellect, I would best any of your Jeopardy scores. I am just going nuts. Little by little, day by day. My heart, beating just enough to keep me alive to dwell on things, has decided to not be the only one of my vital organs to stand before the firing squad. It is said, that misery loves company, and although no other part of me wanted to hang out with my ravaged heart, it didn't matter. No one else RSVP'ed to the "great unraveling" and my heart, although dejected, was not to be denied. No. no. It decided to use its powers that do battle each day with things such as Reason, and Logic, and Values, and Lessons already Learned, and use these to get my brain, stomach, and tear ducts to open their doors, just enough, for it to hit them over the heads and kamikaze its way inside. So now, with this newly formed conglomerate of fuck, I am like a puppet on a string, subject to the desires of this terrorist group. My little Al Qaeda decided last night, enabled by the disheartening Butler loss, and a random Patron shot to go ahead and contact him. He answered. I hung up. Early this evening, while still at work, I got a few text messages. I read them. My insides pow-wow'ed and decided to unleash the flood gates I have kept tightly sealed the past week. I didn't even make it outside before my face looked like a little water park. I am valued at work, counted on, for keeping calm during everything that hell could possibly unleash on an establishment. I am an obviously emotional individual, not afraid to cry, but I don't do it at my job, or at school. I thought I had perfected, long ago, doing the robot. Weary eyes, labored mannerisms are typically never able to be expertly hidden. But all else, can be, and I, was no stranger to this dance. Until today. The terrorists hit me with their best shot, and, as is standard issue, didn't shoot to kill. But they hit their mark, inflicted subsequent pain, and let me cry like a little bitch in spite of the fact that I was still on the clock, not tucked away in my car, couldn't just chalk up my little outburst to my period. I am not even on my period. Astounding. I was outside for quite some time. Wind whipping my hair into a frenzy, moving my tears down my cheeks like they were practicing for the slalom in the winter olympics. I was hugged. Left alone. Probed. Kissed. I was spoken to in English. In Spanish. In silence. I even had a moment with a co-worker I'm convinced hates us all and could be secretly plotting our demise. I realized tonight he isn't going to ever do anything like that.

All I could think was that I really don't have time to feel like this, have this sort of feeling existing within me, ready in times both public and secret, opportune or embarrassing, triggered by anything and everything, to set off little bombs, cripple me with sniper fire. I have responsibilities, all of which I have been attending to since then, school and work and friends and family. I can see the light at the end of the graduation tunnel. I am aware I possess disturbing amounts of promise. But this is threatening it all, reducing me to going through the motions, doing what is expected, required. Smiling and laughing though inwardly pained. Moving on, although traveling a path that is dangerous and with any misstep could have me tumbling into the thorny ravine below. Learning to unlove him while yet still loving him. Learning to love myself. Eyes open, not seeing.

I have to stay busy. Must occupy my days with things that get me somewhere else in time, even if I feel like I am standing still. I haven't got that 8 mile run in yet. I would like to later today. Only problem is I have had 3 bites of a veggieburger to eat the past 24+ hours. I am not a vegitarian. I am also not hungry, still. I'm not trying to be a fucking martyr for this cause, like some heartbroken Gandhi. I am just not hungry. I am stuffed full of bile, and regret, and a desire to wake up later and hurt a little less. I am told, and know from experience, dulled pain comes with keeping on, doing right, endurance. So I know I'm going to do that run later whether or not food is consumed or not. So if you see a half-Asian running along the streets of Terre Haute tomorrow and she passes out, just pick her up and re-hydrate her. Actually, I've been drinking silly amounts of water. Shove a cheeseburger down my throat and call someone on the Iphone I've got tucked into my sports bra (I can't find my arm band). Anyone on my favorites list will work, although if you call my brother, he's in Cali and it could take a minute to get him here.

I am certain I will soon have to send in special forces to try and find my sequestered, scheming organs if this keeps up. But special forces only operate when I am trying to be better, not washing away all the work that they aim to do with alcohol. I owe it to those of you who love me to fight back, to re-establish my heart, mind, soul, spirit, and body as my own. I owe it to myself. I am going to need to make peace with God. And as I am not only not hungry right now, but also not tired because of plenty of sleep, I am thankful for the 60/40.

1. Good- The Yankees beat the BoSox this evening 6-4 at Fenway. Our line-up looks good, and I'm not talking superficially. Go ahead and launch into your "of course they are good they spend unGodly amounts of money on their roster and no other team in baseball even comes close." I know you're thinking it. Indulge yourself already.
2. Bad- We lost on opening night Sunday to the BoSox, after having them down 5-2 going into the 7th. I was feeling ultra-cocky and shot out a text and wrote on the facebook walls of a couple hardcore Boston fans I know. I was in the midst of doing some pilates at home after leaving Bw3's contented with the way the game was going when I got a text from one of my cardinals loving close friends, which read, "Ouch Yankees." Fuck.
3. Bad- I have had two of the people most dear to my heart tell me at some point over the past couple days how worried they are about me and disappointed and how desperately I need to get my shit together. Completely. Cue more bullets.
4. Good- Today is a new day and with it brings the potential for change and righting my wrongs.
5. Good- I realized last night that I want to be Gordon Hayward of Butler's baby mama. And I don't want even really want kids. It is just something about his baby face, sick basketball knowledge, and his little busted lip. Go ahead and launch into your "You just love him because he'll probably be an NBA lottery pick" spiel. I know, once again, you're thinking it.
6. Bad- I have a brit lit quiz at 9 am. It's 3:01 am. I have more Jane Eyre to read before it.
7. Good- I am good at educated guesses. Oh, and a proficient reader of Sparknotes as well.
8. Good- I was reading through my newsfeed on facebook last night during the game and a reader had given me a shout-out (full name) on her status as to whenever she see's one of my blogs is up that she drops everything to read it immediately. It gave me goosebumps.
9. Good- I am losing, but I am not lost.
10. Push- I saw and talked to him this evening. That is it on that.

Escuchar (Listen)- "Me Duele Amarte" by Reik. I don't care if you understand Spanish at all. The lead's silky vocals and the sentiment behind it will be all you need to get it. Translated however, "It hurts me to Love you."

Mirar (Watch)- Aziz Answari's stand-up clips from his Comedy Central special "Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening" on youtube. His impressions=sick. His material=hilariously on-point and current. He could have made me laugh tonight when nothing in the world was funny to me.

Leer (Read)- The Bible. Religious or not, there is some sound advice to be heeded amongst the stories of David and Goliath and prospect of hellfire.

Pensar (Think)- "Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life." - Proverbs 4:23 in aforementioned Bible. I should have done more with this one than simply be able to quote it off the top of my head.

Have a wonderful Wednesday all...I will certainly try.

Risen...

Passengers aboard flight 040410, this is your captain MsHap wishing you and yours a very peaceful and contented Easter. Whether or not you are religious and celebrating this as the day that Jesus Christ rose from the dead, saving us all from eternal damnation (as I am), or you simply are enjoying the day with loved ones and stuffing yourself full of Cadbury Eggs (which, I by the way, loathe) and Peeps (which, I by the way, love, especially microwaved to the point of near explosion), today is truly one to just think back on where you've been, value the people who enable you to understand the full scope of love, and put all the things in your life in perspective for once, really count your blessings. That is what I am doing today, despite the dull ache I have felt slowly begin to lay siege in my inner recesses. I'm not certain why, in the fifth day following our death spiral, that I am feeling this loss in this way, as Sunday's were typically our "minimal to no-contact" day. Perhaps it's because today is a holiday and one in which I have been surrounded by family and texted by the majority of my close friends that I am realizing his absence in my life in a greater magnitude than over the past few days. It must be this, paired with my lack of obligations today (no school, no work) that has allowed my mind to wander to him, to us. Had the events of Tuesday evening not shaken out as they did, the following is an almost exact replication of what would have certainly taken place between us today, via text of course.

Me: (because I always texted first, until I noted this to him and started waiting on some days for him to text me) "Happy Easter baby, have a great day"
Him: "Igual mente" (translation: Equal mindset- or right back at ya)
Me: "I love you."
Him: "Te amo tambien." (translation: I love you too)

And I would have left it at this, left him to his other life, but been at peace with the minimal exchange. I am amazed, now in retrospect, how peaceful I was with such little interactions and conversations such as these. Definitely the definition of short-changing myself in the love department. I have got to keep reminding myself of all the glaring negatives and detrimental aspects that were results of he and I. It isn't a short list. I just realized I created a fake "what if" text dialogue between my ex and I. I don't even know what that means. I wonder how long it will be before I'm not mentioning him in my posts at all.

However, my life menos him, has been progressive, positive. I have ran each of the past 5 days (weekly mile count- 12), something I have not done more than 2 days in a row since August, literally. It is as if I am trying to move miles away from him with every stride, every interval, every side cramp, every time I lace up my Asics even when I would rather just wallow in my self-pity kiddie pool. So far, I feel like it has been working. The road has been my therapist and bitch both. It absorbs my pain, and aggression, my physical and emotional struggle. It stays steady under my feet as I clear out my head, breath him in and out. I am learning more each day that the road is a great listener. I like that unlike any one else I speak to, pour out my secrets and guts to, it stays quiet. It very rarely has anything at all to say, except for encouragement and the prospect of a longer run the next time out. From the moment I hit mid-arch step one it greets me with a "Hey, you again," to its whisper when I fold over frontward, sucking air, "Yep, good stuff. You should try for 8 tomorrow," none of it goes unnoticed by me. And I'm taking the road up on this latest challenge on Monday afternoon. 8 miles. 42, 240 feet of soul-searching, grief-purging, head on the burning in my legs and regulating my breath and not on anything else love and hate and sweat.

This break-up has a name boys and girls. It's called motivation. And with that said, I am wrapping this up to spend some time in workout mode with kid sister and then doing the church thing again and watching a movie and opening night of the mlb. Drumroll please...the 60-40...

1. Good- Opening day of major league baseball is tonight and my Yankees (defending and 27 World Series title champions) are going to beat the BoSux circa 8 P.M. Pinstripes!!!
2. Good- I am going to see Clash of the Titans in 3d with sister. I haven't seen a 3d movie since Avatar and I am hyped. In preparation and anticipation of this cinematic adventure I wrote this entire post with my 3d glasses on. I'm honestly not sure why I even still have this pair and in such close proximity to my computer. Weird.
3. Bad- I have a redic amount of reading to do for school tomorrow and mounting absences I'm gonna have to have documentation for by semester's end. I skipped last Friday. But it was Good Friday and I'm a pastor's daughter. No brainer. I wonder if my prof's will accept a note from my dad on a church letterhead. I just laughed out loud.
4. Bad- The stress of dwelling on he and I's demise and the untimely but always relieving arrival of my time of the month has me slightly broken out and majorly annoyed.
5. Good- Butler, and I'm not even going to use the word 'upset' anymore, beat MSU last night and is playing Monday evening in Indianapolis for the NCAA National Championship against Duke.
6. Good- I don't have tickets, but I'm going downtown Indy with some friends tomorrow night to watch the game and I guarantee you no matter the result, the city is going to be absolutely LIVE (as in, watch out, live wire) after. I want to be a part of that atmosphere. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it.
7. Bad- I might have to work at Hollister Tuesday morning and I can imagine how I might be feeling during that shift. I pray I'm a call-in. And then I pray they don't need me.
8. Bad- I missed my Grandma that passed a bit over a year ago more than usual today, and was struck with this feeling by the presence of one of my Easter basket items from dad (those little gum balls shaped like eggs in a small carton).
9. Good- I had a friend approach me out last night to let me know he has a couple book ideas swirling around in his head that he really thinks are gonna be great and he wants me to write them.
10. Good- I'm introducing a new little section to the my blog today. See below.

Escuchar (Listen): Vanilla Twilight- Owl City

Mirar (Watch): Opening night baseball (Yanks/BoSox 8 PM) or the Life series on Discovery.

Leer (Read): The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (life altering. seriously. if you know me personally, ask me to lend it to you. and I might. and if you don't, buy it, kindle it, steal it for all I care, it's called The Book Thief for goodness sake).

Pensar (Think): "There will be a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning." --Louis L'Amour

Happy Easter all.

the afternoon after...

Passengers on board flight 040210, this is your captain MsHap speaking. Today was one of which I started halfway finished, waking at 3:30 P.M. (go ahead and sigh all of you, but I didn't have school or work until 5 and I desperately needed it. Each and every minuto.) I awoke to no call or message from him, despite a novel-esque text that I sent before I crashed in the wee hours of the morning, putting out my last "I'm sorry's" and reiterating that I under no circumstances want us to go out in this manner, that I'm willing to make some concessions, and that I know myself to be of fault. Truth be told, I knew I wouldn't wake up to a text back. Regardless of whether or not we ever progress to anything even resembling a friendship in the future or go on to give this another shot, yet another certainty exists. He is going to make me grovel. Ignore me whether he can't sleep at night or not. Make me prove, over emotionally grueling seconds, minutes, hours, and days, that I meant what I said last night. That I am indeed capable of personal progress, change. I know this is a chance for me, a win-win situation to embrace and proceed towards what I know is missing in my life, reinvent myself as MsHap 2.0. If I work toward this societal re-release, fine tuning my already strong, core traits, honing new skills, and shedding old skin, people, and routines, then weeks, months, or a year from now, I will be better for all this labor, clean-up. And whether or not he works himself back into my equation, I know in the pit of my gut, that it's high time for me to step up to the plate, embrace the destiny and opportunities that have awaited me for so long. It's time for me to not only understand that my intelligence and God-given abilities do not entitle me to any success and happiness, but that none of those things will come without working my ass off, waking up when no one else is, saying no to drinking through the week and absolute debauchery on the weekends, and re-configuring every detrimental habit that I have developed over the past 8 years. If nothing more, I hope that one day he thinks of me and is proud to have known me, loved me. Because as it stood last night, I saw nothing but utter disdain and weariness toward me in his ojos, a far cry from the usually soft quality they take on when I am in view.

With all that said, despite my tardy start into Thursday, I managed to accomplish a handful of positives, namely working, running for the third day in a row, and doing an abs/arms circuit that involved upwards of 500 total reps. Work was interesting, as I am uber close to a handful of my co-workers, and bullshitting them about anything, especially my state of mind, is nearly impossible. Guests are easily fooled by robotic smiles and gestures, and honestly, unless they know me personally, don't really give a shit about whether their server has "sad eyes" anyway as long as the service is efficient and accurate, and the food great. And as for my place of employment, check all of the above. But as I said, a few of those around me were like sharks on blood, probing me with "Hey, you ok's," and "No, seriously, what's wrong with you, talk to me's" the moment we locked eyes. And I, like the open book that I am, did divulge everything to those that I trust and was met with a smorgasbord of responses. They ranged from absolute disbelief on the parts of some, to knowing, pained looks from others, as we all have known for so long, both spoken and not, that it was not a matter of it all falls down, but simply when. *To each of you, and you know who you are, I love you guys. The hugs, and condolences, and the fundamental concern that you exuded and showered me with earlier is indescribably appreciated.* A couple of them insisted that although it is all seemingly for the best, that it is far from over. A good guy friend whispered in my ear, "He'll call." And honestly, even if he doesn't, just hearing that from him spoke volumes to my heart.

It is 4:07 am and I am still awake, laundry washing and drying, me pondering on whether or not to go ahead and stay up the remaining 5 hours until my first class like a crack head, or give into the slow, soft serenade of slumber I am starting to hear traces of in my ears. I should probably sleep, if only for an hour or three, as my Friday is, on paper, loaded. I suppose my blog in the next day or so will fill you in on if I actually did so. Or well, my lack thereof if I thus so crash and burn. So on to the 60/40...

1. Good- I am always amazed that the cliche "when one door closes another door opens" is indeed true the majority of the time. In my case, it came in the form of a couple phone calls from two individuals that I had not spoken to in quite some time, both close to my heart in varying degrees. One was the father of one of my exes just letting me know he was thinking of me and hoped me well, and the other The Texan, a boy who came into my life 6 years ago in California, and has managed, despite the fact that we've never actually dated or even lived in the same, or neighboring states, to remain a fixture of sorts in my romantic sphere, a what-if that I have always wanted to pursue. Both calls caught me off guard.
2. Good- A friend of mine I have not seen in months is coming into town this afternoon to spend the entire remainder of the evening with me and I could not have asked for better timing on her part. At this point, any distraction is a welcome one, and when it involves someone who gets me, even better.
3. Bad- My sleep schedule has been absolutely fucked up this week so far. It's 4:18 for goodness sake.
4. Good- I have adderall. Enough said.
5. Good- I heard the song "Vanilla Twilight" by Owl City today (download it) and got through it without crying, despite its hard-hitting relevance to my current situation. Favorite line, "As many times as I blink, I'll think of you tonight."
6. Bad- Owl City's biggest and first hit, "Fireflies," is a song that I hate with a passion, change every time I hear it on the radio, and am now subjected to, my revulsion be damned, by the new Hollister playlist. Yes, I work there too. I am eerily good at folding things and creating visually appealing walls and displays.
7. Good- We are one day away from the Final 4 games in Indy, including home-state Butler playing Michigan State. (I'm prophesying a Butler victory here folks, remember me doing so later). And, on this same note, I'm going West Virginia over Duke as well.
8. Bad- Indianapolis is going to be absolutely raging on Saturday evening and I have to close at work and need the money. So no party for MsHap. There at least.
9. Bad- Every time I hear my little iphone text alert I secretly wish it was him and am honestly saddened a little more when it isn't.
10. Good- I am going to better me, and in turn, get better. I feel it. Don't look for this to happen over night though. I am the queen of sabotage remember?

Good night all. Sueno conmigo.

ain't no sunshine when he's gone...

Passengers aboard flight 040110, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I'm a disturbing mix of equal parts absolute heartbreak and absolute self-hate at the moment, following the dissolution of a relationship of sorts that I had with someone, right about 2 hours ago. I feel like an eerie prophet right now, as I called this break-up out in my welcome back blog two noches ago, and lo and behold, was finally dealt my K.O. punch. We had been sparring in love's ring since around independence day , on again, off again, taking little jabs at one another, landing some, but always able to recover from our various body blows with a little coaching from those in our corners, or a little vaseline and stitching. But not tonight. He floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee, and I, previously weakened from a little damage of my own I inflicted this past weekend, a bit of self-sabotage, went down without even time to shield my face from the punch he delivered. Oh, did I say face, I meant my heart.

We have been absolutely each other's everything and nothing all at the same time. Only a handful of people even knew of us, necessity really, and this level of seclusion was both emotionally and mentally crippling at times, and thoroughly exhilarating at others. It was the most pure love I have ever felt for a member of the opposite sex (family and friends excluded), and yet caused me more anguish than any alternate relationship I have ever been involved in, including my divorce. I have cried myself dry for this evening, running the tear gamut since this afternoon, ranging from the solo drop that creeps out of the very outside of your eye, and slowly snakes down your face, almost tickling you if not for the heart implosions that are transpiring simultaneously, the kind that you can almost pull off as a result of looking directly into the sun or your contact lens getting fucked up to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, that of me speeding down the interstate home a bit ago, crying so hard it looked like my windshield was A) devoid of Rain-X & B) had no working wipers during an inland hurricane, me making that "I'm freaking the hell out" rapid sucking in of air "hic-hic-hic" breathing pattern, like a break-up's version of the pant-blow baby birthing breathing technique, except for pant-blow brings about new life, and "hic-hic-hic" usually only brings about more crying later when triggered by deciding it a good idea to get over the all falls down by watching Titanic again, or putting yourself to sleep with the help of top shelf liquor or ambien. And even there, in slumber, you're never that safe, that free, as lost loves are known to inhabit dreams as well. Well, at least all mine make sporadic cameos in mine, otherwise pleasantly unrealistic dreams until terrorized by these people who have crossed the ravines of my inner beat box, and struck a claim in some aorta, never deep enough to actually kill me, but always just enough to ensure that even years later, hearing "Already Gone" by Kelly Clarkson, the scent of Curve, or the sight of the back of their head can cause me to tense up, feel a legitimate tweak in my chest cavity, or acknowledge them, at least mentally for unGodly amounts of time. I know this one, he, will be no exception. In fact, I look for him to be far worse than any sort of post-break-up holocaust that I am subjected to, for the simple fact that although we were never publicly hung out to dry, that that is the point exactly, that our actual punishment starts now. That with each day that passes we will never be able to be together in the way that we want, isn't that what hell really is? Taking your key and placing it in another's lock, to discover that not only does it fit, but that the door swings wide open just as if welcoming you home, and then having the house's other owner come and take back your key or your stupid ass losing the only one ever made. Some people search their entire lives for that connection, and never find it. But others do, and because of their audacity to pursue it despite extenuating circumstances, will find that they are able to cultivate it in some backhanded manner, long enough for it to validate itself as real and bigger than themselves, and then have it removed, with or without warning somewhere down the road. This is God's way of letting us know, no matter what he allows, and what we think we get away with, we actually don't. And as far as punishments are concerned, he isn't worried about doling out anything above and beyond the end of this love. Because he knows, life from this point on, will be hell enough. Death would be easy, enduring without him, is a great deal harder.

Worse yet, was that tonight was the result of a string of actions that I have had going on intermittently since our start. I knew them wrong all along, or at least adverse to what he wanted, knew them potential minefields, and yet continued to strew them about and think that just because I knew where I had laid them, that I could lead him around them as well, or get them to keep their damn mouths shut under the ground. But, as is standard, I was only fooling myself, and in the moments this evening when my infamous mouth had not a damn thing to say, where tears replaced nouns, and verbs, and adjectives, where I couldn't put everything I had pre-planned for this occasion into coherent talking points, I have never felt like more of an idiot. Everything was going away and I was the cause. Although this is a concept I'm more than familiar with over my life, as dropping out of college will piss off your Asian mom, and keep you from getting a big girl job a little longer, doing things behind some one's back to the point that they hurt so bad that all the love they have for you is slowly bloodlet out of them, knowing all along but refusing to accept that this, that you, would be that razor blade that slit up their wrist, this is the feeling of self-loathing. To hurt those that love you unabashedly, to the point of no return, no reviving, no paddles or hugs or apologies or tears or your face on their face to bring them back to love, this is why I cried tonight. Oh, and because he could never quite look at me straight on, like his keys were way more important than I had ever been, like there was something on his immaculate dash that needed re-arranging. I literally slipped out his passenger side door after the silence in the vehicle began to choke what little air was left in my lungs from my previous obnoxious sobbing, and am surprised I didn't crumple outside the car onto the pavement like every bone had been extracted from my body and I didn't get the memo. I walked to my car, never turning around, as if on the way to the guillotine, about to lose my head, a modern day MsHap Antoinette, for my sins. But I would have welcomed that. Take my fucking cabeza. Just leave my heart. Anything, but my heart.

My heart peeled out faster than I could get my shaking hand to get my car keys in the lock. I wonder now when we'll speak again. I wonder now if we ever should. I've known us wrong for so long, and yet nothing feels this right. Resisting the urge to text him right now is like trying to keep your nose from wrinkling when you smell vomit or to keep from shouting "fuck" when you drop something on your foot. I would almost give away my ability to write if I could sink into a deep, lengthy sleep right now. But no, says God, I am only just beginning. Otherwise, how will you ever learn?

I miss you already. I'm so sorry. Te amo.

No 60/40 because everything in my mind is negative. I hope to feel a sliver of peace and progress in the morning. Good night. And to all you broken hearts out there...say hello and a little prayer for your new neighbor.

on the brink...

welcome passengers to flight 033010, this is your captain msHap speaking. I have had one of those days, in which you find yourself thinking it was a push overall, the positives and the negatives battling one another so effectively, mirroring each other's every move like some sort of fucked up animal mating ritual, that you do nothing more than sigh yourself to sleep at some point and drift off thinking of what you can improve on when you wake up and what simply needs to be maintained. For me, on the bright side, I made it to all of my classes, ate well, worked out, and am sitting here currently waiting on my kid sis to return home from soCal. On the flip side, and there is always, as sure as life goes on despite your certainty that it will not at times, a flip side. But don't let me fool you, I'm not the "life isn't fair" type. Perhaps in certain situations, it is far from logical, excessively painful, erratic really, creating gale force winds for unsuspecting, undeserving, ill-equipped people. But I am not that person, one of those people. I exist with the understanding that 90+ percent of the pain that others feel in viewing my life, the pain that strangles my very heart, the stressful situations that I find myself subjected to on a near daily basis are of my creation, of my own laziness, or vanity, or inability to say no, prioritize, will myself to change and extract myself from situations that are morally unsound and absolutely reckless. People may have a million things to say about me, and when the truth is shaken out from the bullshit, you can take it to your grave that there are a handful of certainties that exist for me. Things that you can whisper behind my back or fling at me face-to-face that I will have little to no reply for...I am habitually tardy, love someone that I shouldn't, am prone to excess, and sleep too much. Oh, and that I'm loud. Get over it. Once you adjust to the volume of my voz, you'll realize there is much you can either wet yourself laughing over coming out of my mouth, or some really, really solid, non-judgemental advice. And not because I'm a know-it-all, but because I know a lot. It's different. I've fucked up enough to be able to steer you clear of nearly anything that will one day level you and blow up in your face or to be able to let you know that you will survive when you don't heed me in the first place. But perhaps one last thing that I'll guarantee you that you will never be able to deny me, regardless of whether I am an absolute waste of God-given talent, regardless of whether you hate my legs, hate my swag, hate the blunt but articulate things I have to say, is that I am genuine, never deny that I love with all of me, and receive it in copious amounts in return. And honestly, at the end of the day, at the end of all of this, what else do we really want? People talk, money talks, titles talk, and yet talking will eventually fall on deaf ears. You know what doesn't? The way you make people feel, the way that you love. I am in no shortage of this. This is what propels me on.

But at the same token, I spent nearly half an hour crying while back and forth texting someone because of them calling me out on my love, my naivety, my blind trust. He told me I love too much at times, or that I at least put forth this most tender, yet powerful of emotions on individuals who want nothing more than to have me around and then talk ridiculous amounts of shit behind my back. "Do what you want, be around who you want," he texted, "but know that despite this skewed vision you have of yourself at times, about how you are above all this, able to chill, and screw, and drink like an idiot, around certain people, with no repercussions, that you aren't. You want to be famous one day," he shot my way. "Oh, you are, but in no way the way you think or actually want." And these notions, although realized by my own self at times, were not welcome guests into my day's emotional guest house, and went on to eat all the food in my fridge, leave the toilet seat up, and not make the bed. Fuck. And worst of all, is this all came raining down on me from a person that I value more than most, and despite the peculiarities of our particular interactions, is someone that I know who never has, nor would try and verbally wound me without me pushing him to the very limits of his amor for me, having wounded him first, over and over with my blatant disregard for his feelings at times, only to always expect him to warm back up to me immediately after, coddle me when I demand it, force his own feelings and words down under a calm and smiling facade when someone around him degrades me in some way, with some words. He would later apologize, but needn't have. He was right, he is always right. And for the many reasons he moves me, this is one quality I have come to despise. Oh, what tangled webs we weave. And this one, has me like a mummified fly, bound up in the silken, but sticky threads, only able to buzz, devoid of movement. But don't blame him, I trapped myself in the first place. Each day I wait now for the fatal bite. It's coming.

I, however, feel hopeful at the prospect of the remainder of this week. I dropped about $50 at wal-mart, which, if I utilize/consume the items in my cart, could potentially create some good energy, take steps in the right direction for once, at least in physical matters that is. I have many things to do over the course of the next few days that I have been putting off and if I do so, could clear up some major mental space for me. And God knows, when your heart is already full, you need all the extra room elsewhere that you can get. Stay tuned.

And now, for the 60/40. A random run-down of 6 things/observations in my life that bring a smile to my face and 4 that I could do without having done or seen or heard. Be careful my friends, acquaintances, random members of society and tv stars. This is where you could end up one night if you're not careful, or immortalized if you floor me.

1. Good- Kid Sib should be home any minute now. With her return I get my best friend back, and some new clothes and a black sephora eyeliner (and females, it is seriously the most no budge, worth it $5 you could ever spend on something). Yeah, I'm passionate about make-up.
2. Good- I caught up on the episodes of Life (Discovery Channel) that I missed from Sunday and am absolutely floored by the camera work, mesmerized by the beauty and splendor that is God's creation, and amazed at the work some of those little fish I watched put in to get food, breed, and stay alive. I can't even get myself to do crunches. Check it out if you haven't seen it. One of the best hours on tv right now.
3. Bad- Although I worked out, I didn't get a run in today like I wanted. Which, plus for the workout, but I am "training" for a race, so ummm, yeah, about that.
4. Good- You guys are reading my posts again. and you have no idea how stoked this makes me, how much this fuels my fire to write, to share. I adore feedback so hit me with it.
5. Good- I got a somewhat random text from someone this afternoon who is relatively new to my radar about wanting to hang out this weekend.
6. Bad- He said this last weekend. We didn't hang. Thank God I'm not the reading too much into things type.
7. Good. Dad & I reminisced for 20 min. this evening where we discussed ESPN's 30 for 30 series and especially the documentary about reggie Miller and the rivalry he and the Pacers had with the Knicks Mid-late 90's. I recounted exactly where I was when Reg scored 8 pts in 8.9 sec. in '95. 12 years old. back passenger side of my parent's sweet gray 'nova at the time. Listening to slick leonard & mark on the radio. My heart almost bursting.
8. Bad- Realizing over the course of this mini-convo with pops although I do have the pacers logo tatted on my back (yanks & colts too), that I have not felt that much passion for the nba for such a very long time (thank you Artest, ignorant Detroit fans, etc.). I honestly kinda miss the hard fouls, vulgar gestures, days when Market Square Arena was so loud I thought my ears were going to bleed. But I'll be patient.
9. Bad- I'll be up another 2 hours with some stuff, it's 2 am right now, Sister is still not home (and is going to want to talk to me), and I work at 10 a.M. The humanity.
10. Good- I've got a feeling...

Good night y'all.

Don't call it a comeback...

Passengers aboard flight 032910, it has been a little over ocho months since I, Captain MsHap has addressed you with a mensaje over the cabin's loudspeaker, and honestly, I wouldn't be surprised to find that none of you are interested in not only what I have to say anymore, but even still in your seats. Most of you certainly must have already enlisted the help of those sitting in the exit row to inflate those safety slides and get the hell off of Han-Air, and I can't say I blame you. The flight time you've missed over the past near year has been nothing idealistic. It has been turbulent (violently so at times) and to say that there weren't a couple instances at least that my aircraft almost crashed and burned, would definitely be a lie. And one of those times at least, was simply because I was resigned to letting it hit the ground and go up in flames, having turned on auto-pilot to handle my life's dealings, no longer willing to put up a fight against the erratic nature of the world around me, aching so much so consistently that stepping out of the cockpit and sitting in a first class seat instead, sipping on those little single-serving, complimentary bottles of alc, eyes closed, headphones pumping Schubert's Clair de Lune into my ears, patiently awaiting my demise was a welcome thought. And don't get me wrong passengers, I (aside from those faint, over dramatized moments we all encounter over the course of our lives, and usually due to a douchebag human being we just happened to fall for), did not want to die, to breathe my last. I just did not want to live. It is not the same thing.

From the outside looking in, my journey seems to be on course, riddled with time delays to and from certain departure and arrival spots, but enduring, passing inspection to maintain daily flights--school-check, work-check, health-check, friends-check, intelligence-check, family-check, humor-check, productivity-check, love-check. The passenger list aboard my plane is an enviable one. Wonderful parents, two siblings that I adore, friends and co-workers that I can count on, make me squeal with laughter, support me in success, pick me up off the ground when I fail, help me unravel the knots that I expertly tie that I am certain each time I will not be able to undo. I am blessed beyond recognition, beyond gratitude, this I have and will always know. But counting one's blessings aren't always enough, at least for me at times, to keep perspective on just how wonderful this vida I am in truly is, and this is my Bermuda Triangle, the ability to maintain my bearings, sense of up and down, right and wrong, east and west when my heart causes my mind to completely fog up, and my instrument panel goes suddenly haywire, needles spinning, plane losing altitude. Despite this, I possess an eerie quality of calm that those around me feel, are drawn to when they feel out of control, such as when a co-worker simply got oversat by a couple tables and wants to walk out, or I take a crying child out of someone's arm and instantly placate he/she. This is ironic because based on this description of one of my personality traits, one would think I would be a little better under the stresses, disappointments, and heartbreaks of my own life. But perhaps it isn't actually calm, collectedness that draws you all to me like moths to a flame, but a different mannerism that I've developed over the years of fuckups, that of resignation. When you become somewhat numb to stumbling, falling on your face, or at least banging your shin off something left and right, knowing that only your death could really shock and devastate those around you, that you've done enough disappointing over the years to ease those close to you into a lull of acceptance that you're succeeding by simply breathing, then this is more what I put off than tranquility. Or at least it is the melody of the song that I fall asleep to each night.

but fear not passengers, my plane is generally a good time, chock full of vibrant characters, memorable conversations, drunken shenanigans, and a story line that is something that would make the shit on most reality shows (e.g. The Bad Girls Club) seem really, really juvenile and tame. My life, for myself and those in contact with me is cued up to a play list that suits every type, and is interspersed with more laughter than The Hangover could have ever thought about creating. Despite all the aforementioned gloom and doom that I battle each day, I am still a thoughtful, love oozing, bend over backward, funny as fuck, whip smart individual that values my friends and family and has big plans for my forever after. It is just of utmost importance that I get my self-loathing, debilitating side time to be recognized, released from its imprisonment in my head and heart so that not only can you realize that it is not only okay, but normal to think that you're falling apart and not even believe yourself capable of righting your wrongs, but also so that I can know that I'm okay, for me to see my misgivings in black and white, right in front of my face, to vent and release and give myself a springboard as well in which I can see where the hell I need to turn off at and try this all again. And so, as I realize which each word that is springing forth from the very depths of me, that I need to get this blog back up to daily activity. However, I can in no way, shape, or form even begin to fill you in on what has been que paso'ing with me since I've been AWOL. So here's what you missed in a nutshell.

I am back in school, attendance still sketchy, but 25 credits or less from graduation. My credit score still sucks and I have a few bills that are stressing me the flip out and I'm not sure what I'm going to do about. I am single (facebook officially) but my heart is currently, and has been in this state since around last summer's 4th of July in the hands of a person who I realize will never be with me the way I desire him to be, who has made me both better and comprehending of what I am capable of, but also morally worse and oddly enough, aware of what I am capable of (as far as destruction of sorts is concerned). My ex-esposo and I, on the other hand, are closer friends now and more respectful of each other than when we were married. My brother lives in SoCal and I miss him enough to cut this sentence short as not to dwell on it. My sister is here, increasingly my best friend and confidant, and continues to be one of my greatest sources of annoyance and also my greatest motivation for success. She and her high school b-ball team won the first girls basketball sectional in their school history. I cried like a baby. I am still drinking way too much and not running and eating right like I know I should be. Regardless, I'm signed up to run a mini marathon in the next 6 weeks. Some of my friends and I lost a good friend to a drunk driving accident in the past few months. This should have been more of a wake-up call to most of us. I miss you at the oddest times Jer, but you'd be proud of me, I'm not hand dancing so much anymore. I actually stopped caring about what I might actually look like on the dance floor and cut loose. No one's complained. My espanol is getting better by the day and I got the only A on my midterm in my class. I am about to start piano lessons and sing with a friend of mine in hopes we can get into a contest and win it. I am still using too much profanity. I am writing a novel that is loosely based on my own life (or perhaps a memoir although I'll never let all of you know what is true and what is not). I honestly think it's a little too profane for my parents to ever want to read. I made peace with my brother's girlfriend. I am still dealing with some legal stress in my life. I watched the movie Up in the Air and can relate to it. I am still growing up.

I have lost a handful of my close friends to moves, most out of state. And by lost, I mean I just don't see them as much as I'd like. I have made a few new friends, including three, and since I don't name names on here, I'll refer to you each with insider info. H, I appreciate you more than you'll ever know, even in this short time of our friendship. For letting me crash on your couch. For how funny we think Avatar is. For not judging the state of my love for someone even though it is a situation that you could never, would never let yourself get involved in. For enrique. J, from the deepest part of me, gracias. For reading the first part of my novel and not only enjoying it, but finding resonance within yourself in a part that wasn't even my central focus. For zumba. For being a strong, beautiful, wonderful woman and mother. For filming my epic consumption of Real Ha margaritas. And K, not only am I grateful for your friendship, but also for indulging my attention whorish side with tv spots for work. Congrats on your engagement. You are more than deserving of this. And for those of you who have been with me over the long haul and remain, you not only get thank-you's, but my unfaltering love and affection. Some of you have seen me in times, states, and heard me out on things that even I was squeamish to admit (and for those of you who know me, I haven't really ever been afraid to say anything).

So on this note, I end my first blog back in the longest time. I have missed you all, and hope in time you'll come back to me, to whatever drew you here in the first place. For some of you I allow you to escape the doldrums of your daily life, for some of you I kill time when you're stuck at work. Some of you enjoy my grit, others just want to talk shit about me later and know you'll strike gold here. Go ahead and talk it up, it's part of the reason I write. For some, I let you know that you're not alone in your darkest thoughts, morally unsound decisions. For some, you just like my sentence structure and vocabulary. For some, you may never read anything I write again. But for all of you, thank you. And good night.