The Edge of Reason

When I am forced to communicate with the urge to burst into tears and possibly my fists, that's how angry I can get sometimes. I haven't felt that way in a long time...until tonight. More than anyone, my parents are capable of making me feel that way. Thus we find an explanation for why I never ever, under any circumstances, live with them for more than two days. Not if I can help it, I am out of there after 12 hours of interaction. And 12 hours is pushing it my friends.

This entry is being written about two minutes after the event which has left me crazy and filled with hate. So excuse my harsh and unbelieveable language. I have an interview tomorrow in DE. Out of state, not really, but yes not in PA. The last time I had an interview out of state, in CT to be exact, my mom drove me. Yes...I being a 22 year old, old enough to live on my own, get a job, support myself, but still not old enough to make it to a job interview in CT. Go figure...where did my parents go wrong...why do they not posess an ounce of logic, reason, psychology, god knows what but they are lacking something. So I'm about to get online and go over the directions when my dad comes in. Every single fucking time I have to travel somewhere, he grabs the computer and starts looking up the driving directions for me. EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME. I do not pretend to notice sometimes that I lack the survival skills most 22 years olds like me have by now. Like owning a credit card (s), paying their own bills, expenses. Whereas all I have is one savings account, which is still under my mom's name conveniently. So every month I get a call from her telling me that I've withdrawn too much money. Every month I reply in the same manner: "Stop fucking checking my bank statements and remove yourself from my account." That is all true except I may have omitted the curse word. I have no credit cards, I pay no bills. They even paid off my college loans. Can't complain right? When my bank account is running low, my mom puts money in it. Even though I ask her not to. Why...most kids love hand outs from their parents. BECAUSE I WANT TO KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE MY OWN PERSON. I am goddamn 22 years old and they treat me like I am 12. I use to think when I was 21...that maybe they accidentally reversed the number "21" and got "12," in their decrepid states. But no, now that I'm 22, it's pretty clear that they have a severe problem with letting go. This is why I avoid them, why I cannot appreciate them, and ultimately why I blame them, partly for raising me in such an unrealistic fashion and partly for then setting me out into the real world. The gap is so large, sometimes I have to sit down and take a breath. Then I think...what kind of a parent will I be...what will I tell my kids. You want them to believe that life is happy but then you want them to see life for what it is. My parents somehow completely ran out of time or just decided not to let me see life for what it is. And now that they've found "God," well I'm afraid they've lost touch completely with the real world as well.

So I'm trying to get on the computers and understand where I'm going tomorrow and really for the first time, find my own directions, when my dad jumps in the seat first and starts his usual rant. For some reason I just got angrier and angrier...I watched the clock tick by...thirty minutes and he is still going. Telling me about roads that have nothing to do with where I'm going. Yelling at me for not planning ahead. Yelling at me for my slow computer. Finally he notices that I am pissy, when really I am at the verge of yelling at him or punching him, or running away. He walks off in a huff. Then my mom comes in and starts to tell me that maybe leaving from West Chester is closer...at which point I respond: well I really wouldn't FUCKING KNOW because I HAVENT GOTTEN A CHANCE TO LOOK AT THE FUCKING MAP. Of course I really didn't say this like I had turrets. She notices I am angry, nags for 15 minutes until I turn my back blatantly on her, and walks off in a huff. 5 minutes later my dad comes out and starts repeating the directions. I am at the verge of tears, my hands are shaking, I want to punch somebody. Truthfully, I want to blink and have them disappear. POOF.

I am ungrateful. I know it. But for a moment try to identify with me. Have you ever wished your parents just didn't exist? No? I know it's a horrific thought, one that will leave me forever guilty and forever wretched. But even as a child, I would repeat it sometimes when I did not know what else to say to them, how else to make them understand that if they didn't let me fall a little, I will never truthfully learn to walk. There have been countless moments when I have wished for their eternal absence, and for that I don't deserve to live. But sometimes...when you're at the edge of reason...

Rascal Flatts, I'm Moving On

Apologize ahead of time about the fact that my blog has slowly become a collection of song lyrics.

I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I'm at peace with myself
I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I'm movin' on

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
I'm movin' on

I'm movin' on
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone

I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I've loved like I should but lived like I shouldn't
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road
I'm movin' on

I'm movin' on
I'm movin' on

Jack, Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Now I was sitting waiting wishing
That you believed in superstitions
Then maybe you'd see the signs
But Lord knows that this world is cruel
And I ain't the Lord, no I'm just a fool
Learning loving somebody don't make them love you

Must I always be waiting waiting on you?
Must I always be playing playing your fool?

...
And maybe you been through this before
But its my first time
So please ignore
The next few lines cause they're directed at you

I cant always be waiting waiting on you
I cant always be playing playing your fool
I keep playing your part
But its not my scene
Wont this plot not twist?
I've had enough mystery.
Keep building me up, then shooting me down
Well im already down
Just wait a minute
Just sitting waiting
Just wait a minute
Just sitting waiting

Well if I was in your position
Id put down all my ammunition
I'd wondered why'd it taken me so long
But Lord knows that I'm not you
And If I was I wouldn't be so cruel
Cause waiting on love ain't so easy to do

Must I always be waiting waiting on you?
Must I always be playing playing your fool?
No I cant always be waiting waiting on you
I cant always be playing playing your fool, foool

Utada, Colors

The mirror reflects the illusion of a spirit.
Unnoticed, it picks up speed.
It is said that it's okay to go anywhere.
A broken wish makes everything all grey.

Tonight, a flame flickers and you draw your dream.
Isn't the tip of your brush thirsty?

If there's no blue sky unfold your blue umbrella.
Isn't that good? The canvas is all yours.
That time I that I gave up, I only held a white flag over my head.
Now it's a deep red, like it's inviting the matador

A fluorescent light in which all colors are faded.
On top of a black and white chessboard, I met you.
In such a short time we grew close.
Do you remember one month from then?

It was good to just watch the setting sun and the orange sky with you.
Even though, an opening is the origin of disaster.
The times that we pray for the dead, we wear black clothes.
A rouge footprint purposely leaves behined a deep red color.

If you say to yourself...
"You can draw only the pictures that don't have dreams."
Keep drawing on that canvas.
That time that I gave up, I only held a white flag over my head.
Now, you don't know my true colors.

This is the End of the Road

This weekend was nature's way of communicating to me that people come in pairs. Everywhere I go, people travel in twos. Holding hands, exchanging looks, making plans. I feel like a goddamn window shopper.

Normally I would say something encouraging, like who knows if they're really happy. I believe Dane Cook explains it best:
"When you don't have love, it's like there's a party going on, and everybody was invited, except for you. And you just happened to be walking by that house in the rain... (sigh) But then, once you're IN love, that's like being inside that party, going "Where's my jacket? I wanna get outta here. where's my jacket? I been to this party six years and I wanna see other parties! where's my jacket. someone shit on the coats. i think someone shit on the coats.'

But today. Today I am tired, exhausted. Not because I want a relationship, but because it is so difficult working out logistics with friends who are in relationships. I want to meet people. Like me. So we can make plans, NOT hold hands, but still be dependable in a singles kinda way. What happened to girls night out? When did parties mean for two people? And why are weekends for staying in (or is this more age related)? When did being in a couple become the opposite of being fun? Having been on both sides of the spectrum, I suddenly don't know which is worse.

Ghosts of Time...

EDIT

Anyway I was just googling for fun and I came across this. I'm sure there have been plenty of books/philosophy written on this topic...but Dr. Phil tops them all. (Please know that I am kidding)

ahhheeeeeehemmm: Self Matters

Are you living a life that is more in tune with your "authentic" self (who you were created to be) or your "fictional" self (who the world has told you to be)?

Authentic Self

When you're asked, "Who are you?" what is your answer? "I'm a mom." "I'm a doctor." "I live in Ohio." Often the answer is not who you are, but what you do, what your social station is, or how you see your function in life. You can't answer who you are, because you don't know.

There is another level of existence that is the real, true, genuine substance of who you are. It's what Dr. Phil defines as the authentic self.

The authentic self is the you that can be found at your absolute core. It is the part of you not defined by your job, function or role. It is the composite of all your skills, talents and wisdom. It is all of the things that are uniquely yours and need expression, rather than what you believe you are supposed to be and do.

Fictional Self

When you're not living faithfully to your authentic self, you find yourself feeling incomplete, as if there is a hole in your soul. You may have found that it's easier to fill the roles your family and friends expect of you, rather than becoming who you really want to be. Living this way drains you of the critical life energy you need to pursue the things you truly value.

When you live a life that has you ignoring your true gifts and talents while performing assigned or inherited roles instead, you are living as your fictional self.

The fictional self sends you false information about who you are and what you should be doing with your life. It blocks the information you need in order to maintain the connection with your authentic identity. Relying on information from the fictional self means you're putting your trust in a broken compass.
------------- ------------------- ----------------

What if my "authentic self" is an unemployed vagrant who considers "having fun" a full time job? Dr. Phil---or shall I say Dr. Pill, thinks he can get away with vague terms like "core self." Apparently this guy's book Don't Love Dumb, Love Smart is #1 on the New York Times Bestsellers, under what category? How to point out the obvious??? I'm in my early 20s and I can feel my midlife crisis coming on already. Most of the other 20 some year olds I know consider themselves to be "lost." It's only gonna get worse because as we get older, we get more complacent and exhausted. My compass is like Jack's in Pirates 2, it just keeps spinning without ever making a full stop. In a world where money makes the world go round, you do the best you can. AND logically speaking, you have to be lost in order to be found...Ain't that a beautiful fact?

If there is a God, he must hate me...

Have you ever noticed that when one part of your life doesn't run smoothly, it seems like everything else is falling apart too?

Well I refuse to do it. I refuse to pile it up and feel sorry for myself. I refuse to convince myself that there is some kind of a supernatural conspiracy theory out there against my happiness. Bad days, bad luck, disasters, call it what you will, but they are simply a series of unfortunate events...that may seem connected but in reality, are random at best. Who knows...maybe I see the importance of separating every occurrence as its own individual event...or maybe I just feel that if there were larger-than-life forces out there, they would have more important things to do than plot evil against someone as inconspicuous as me.

In life, when shit is being thrown at us...especially in an obnoxious and continuous way...I have to think that the laws of physics apply somehow. You know that popular saying: "what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger?" Well au contraire...whoever said that, I think it's ultimately true but completely difficult to relate to. Instead...I think of people as bouncing balls. When we hit the surface...that's like shit hitting the fan. But then we always bounce back up, that's recovery, good luck, happy times, whatever. Unless---we hit a really sharp object...which deflates us completely and we lose our function as a bouncy ball altogether...that's death. But it's sad and unpredictable so I'm not going to discuss it. Back to the bouncing ball, sure everytime we hit the ground we naturally bounce back up...but gravity has made it so that we will never quite reach the same height as we had before. So each time we bounce, we lose a little more air. Just like when we are continuously disappointed in life, it becomes harder and harder to be happy. As we become less and less bounceable, it becomes apparent that what we need is to be pumped up with air again. Like when a basketball is refilled with air, or even simpler when a plastic ball is blown up again. This refilling of air is analogous to when we are feeling so low that we need a pep talk, whether that'd be from a friend or from ourselves. We seek consolation, advice, R&R, a hug, whatever the devices, but the purpose is to get pumped up again. So now, full of air, we begin the bouncy journey again. Never quite bouncing up to the same height that we did when we were first created, but nevertheless still a good bounce or two left. Until we wear out completely, as every ball--person will. That is life to me, simplified by a toy and physics. The analogy works.

It gets a little more complicated though when we think about how we like to be filled with air. Taking comfort in friends, technology, food, other things, is always good but I like to be able to cheer myself up, pump my own air. The other complication is how well we are able to take all that air we get pumped with and really channel it into a respectable bounce. Some people seek out consolation but never really take it. Ultimately, you have to believe that you WANT, more than anything in this world, to be able to bounce back. Even if you know you can't bounce as high as you did before, you're still gonna aim for that height because who knows? It would be a terrible waste, even for a ball, to believe that you are born with only one good bounce, that is a lame ball.

Of course there is really no such thing as good balls or bad balls, which is why my analogy will never be perfect. But it's pretty damn close.

Mary Wanna Rant

No no...no poems. In fact I've got something better...and I'm gonna say IF fact. Something I use to do all the way up until sophomore year when a friend informed me it was actually "in fact." Well it's my blog, so it's IF fact.
Oh yes, something better. Than poems? Lists...lists kick poems' asses.

A penny for my thoughts? What's the price for a list of rants? Or a string of babble? Or a ladle of ramble? Or a bowl of obscenities? Pschhhh this is crazy talk. What about a cart of crazy talk?

Anyway, here are just some random words, phrases, sayings, whatever I feel like. And they're in no particular order.

- The trouble with threesomes is the change of heart. Three is a horrendously icky number. It should either be two or four.
- I either have a date with destiny or a date with pain. Unless it's pain dressed as destiny, in which case it could be tricky.
- I have a dying wish to hot glue gun my keys to my stomach. But then how would I ever use them?
- Let's see, would I prefer fudgesicles or butterscotch pudding? Neither of which items I have...
- This one is so crazy...typing trails off...
- "Get over it." No, "move on"
- The inadequacies that I often criticize my friends for may spring from the fact that I am simply unable to make myself happy. In which case then I'm gonna need to get some more friends.
- I think I'll start with molly. ;)
- The best part of waking up IS folgers in your cup. (actually it's Nestle...and all over your MOUTH, but that would ruin the jingle)
- Tomorrow never comes until it's too late
- What REALLY grinds my gears? Sometimes I can't tell if my tolerance is amazingly high or amazingly low.

And folks that's the random ramble of the day. Please tune in later for more Mary, Wanna Rant.

Yoga Makes Me Want To Cry

Yes that's right. You have found ONE person that dislikes yoga. GASP, how can anyone dislike yoga? Well I do. It's too hot, and too boring. But I have to keep going because I am a firm believer that doing icky healthy things will eventually help me become a better person. I'm icky like that.

When exercising, I like more impact, like dance and running. However I am strangely suspicious that I just like any kind of action accompanied by great music. Anyway, I don't know about this yoga business. I keep going back because I have this 10 class card and because everyone keeps talking about how great it is. I suppose I can see its obvious popularity...for people who like to be boring--I mean to meditate, focus, and get in touch with their inner self. It's about physical and mental health and who wouldn't want that?? Maybe this is why it's so difficult because it's exercising two things at once. WOH. Aw man, I just realized that just pretty much means icky times 2.

Anyway, the yoga instructors always like to read a little passage from some self help book at the end of each session. Today's was interesting because the book in discussion was "A Purpose Driven Life." Ahh, that brings back memories. When I was a junior in high school, my parents in collaboration with two other Chinese families, purchased this book in both the English and Chinese versions so we could meet every Friday night to discuss it. Every Friday it was like freakin clockwork. Three sets of Asian parents plus three Asian teenage girls, and about 10 copies of "The Purpose Driven Life" in TWO LANGUAGES. If I remember correctly, and I'm surprised I can because I thought I would've repressed something so traumatic as Friday night bible studies by now, I hated how long the book was. I don't suppose this made my yoga experience any better. However, the instructor did choose an interesting passage, and I have to admit that it's a shame I hated that book because it really wasn't the book's fault, it was more the parentals' weak ass attempts to reconnect with their children. Apparently family dinners just don't do it anymore. Anyway, without further ado, the passage he chose:

"It was pointed out that Henry David Thoreau spoke of the “quiet desperation” with which we live our lives but the more accurate rendering of that today might be aimless distraction. Aimless: because we don’t have a purpose, distraction: because it’s too uncomfortable to face that fact...you can’t focus very long on your ultimate destiny when you don’t have any answers for the big questions—questions like: “Where did we come from? Where are we going? What are we here for?” And the most natural thing to do, if you don’t want to face into these questions, is to avoid them by turning up the volume on what distracts you. One thing you can surely say about this culture: We have an overabundance of stuff with which to distract ourselves from the more important questions of life. Movies, entertainment, non-stop music, computer games, videos, television, and an endless stream of eye-candy keeps our current generation thoroughly engaged with anything but wondering about what we are here for."

The reference to Thoreau here is from Walden: "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation."

This is very true. I'm sure at one point or another we all feel like we're just going in circles, like damn lab rats. We don't know why and we can't seem to understand the grand design, we just do. But then it's scary (or maybe even impossible) to not do. So in the end, we just end up complaining but never doing anything about it. What can we do about it? Yoga? Arguably, isn't that just another form of distraction. I know when I'm doing those annoying downward dogs, crows, or damn bridges (for the 5th time), it's really hard to contemplate the meaning of life. I sure wish I knew my purpose in life---

I can't think with Conan on dammit!

Unchartered Territory

The one thing that's great about being on your own is the fact that you get to do whatever you want whenever you want. You never feel guilty about neglecting those that you truly care about, especially yourself. Then there's the excitement of not knowing where your life is gonna take you, who you're going to meet, what you're gonna do. Oh how I live most for the nights that are filled with crazy and wacky adventures. Late night conversations, crazy dancing, people watching, and maybe even starting a bar fight one day. I was kidding on that last one, but I really wasn't :)

The one thing that's scary and dreadful about being on your own is the knowledge that you have just entered into unchartered territory. Relationship lines are easily blurrable (not a word) and you have to constantly be alert. Setting boundaries can be an exhausting affair. Then there's just the awkwardness of meeting new people, trying new things.

Sometimes we need to have the blanket pulled out from under us, to have our lives violently rattled in such a way that leaves us with no choice but to figure it out. Only then do people learn and grow.

Then sometimes I wonder how long I can stay optimistic. Hopefully forevvverrrrr.

The Problem

with Negative Reinforcement is that overtime, it can be exhausting.

It is not only annoyingly repetitive because once people pick out your weak spots, it just grows bigger and bigger. Like the ghastly pimple you get on your forehead or your nose a day before some important event where you will be seen by hundreds, maybe even thousands. (And being Asian, trust me I would know, your nose is sizeable enough that if you get a ghastly pimple, that's ALL people might see) Speaking of Asian, Chinese parents are the worst with negative reinforcement. You may think that I'm just a stereotyping maniac, but growing up I have noticed the many different traits that come with being raised in a traditional Chinese versus a non Chinese household. I have noticed that many Chinese parents believe in bathing, sometimes drowning, their kids in a pool of negative reinforcement. I have mixed theories about this kind of discipline, there are definite upsides, but since I am one of these poor bastards, I also feel that there are definite downsides. Allow me to demonstrate with snippets from yet another lovely conversation between my dad and I:

EG. 1
Chinese Dad: What do you think you're gonna end up doing in life? Do you think you could end up doing something great? SIGH. I really don't know what you're capable of...
Hypothetical Non Chinese Dad (HNCD): Have you ever thought about what you want to do in life. Well sport whatever it is, make sure you like it and I'm sure you'll be good at it. *Maybe even a pat on the head or a ruffle of the hair*

EG. 2
Chinese Dad: You know what I noticed your problem is (as I roll my eyes into the back of my head further each time he starts a monologue this way, we could be here for days.) The problem with you is that you develop slower than most in life. You tend to catch on slowly, eventually you catch up, but you are definitely a bit slower than most people.
HNCD: You know sometimes you may not realize things as fast as others, but that's only because you lack experience. It's ok though, because eventually everyone gets there.
Me: (desperately trying to joke my way out of this one) Well maybe I'll get to live longer than most people because I tend to take longer to realize things.
Chinese Dad: Yes, you probably will. See there is one upside. Another one of your problems is that you have no interests in anything. I always noticed this about you, even when you were young. Like that time when we took you to the Baltimore Aquarium, do you remember that time?
Me: How could I not when that is your favorite memory of me.
Chinese Dad: apparently not really looking for a wise answer and ignores me while plowing right on ---Yes you ran right through the aquarium, you weren't even interested in seeing anything. You ran to the end and sat there waiting for us. I yelled at you but you know, I don't really think you got the point. Or like when you told me that story the other day (And he goes on to give me many examples. These examples are just pastime stories that I tell him everyday to ensure continuous conversation between father and daughter. Apparently he takes these daily anecdotes and uses them as support paragraphs for his thesis: why I suck at life. I feel betrayed, by the man who uses my own daily anecdotes against me. It should be illegal, I try to amuse him with tidbits from my life and this is the thanks I get. To have them thrown right back in my face. GRRRRR if you understand the frustration of what I am talking about, then we should form some sort of a support group.) Meanwhile he is still talking blahblahblah...you should take an interest in something. You should ask why...always ask questions.
Me: You have been giving me this lecture since I was 12...or however old I was when we went to that damn aquarium. Can I ask you something...if you know my faults so well, surely you must also notice what I'm good at. Do you know any of my advantages?
Chinese Dad: Shakes his head in disappointment. No I don't know. Sigh. But I'm trying to help you, and if you don't want to listen to my advice then I guess...blahblahblah
HNCD: ??? I don't think you could put a positive spin on that one.

So I think to myself: No wonder I obsess over why I suck. No wonder I am not confident in any actions that I take. How could I if my own dad doesn't even have the slightest inkling as to what I might be good at? I'm not using this as an excuse for my failures mind you. My dad did not FAIL ME, he was a wonderful teacher in every other aspect. More than a kid could hope for. But I sure wish, just once, that I could get some positive reinforcement from him. Even if it is a lie...sometimes you gotta lie a little...

Mi Familia

Five Minutes After Being Seated at Margaret Cho's (Rated top in the Zaggot Guide!!!)...

Dad: So how about the soft shelled crab? Hmmmm sushi? You (to me) can get sushi if you like sushi, I think they have some good sushi here. What about beef noodles?

Mom: ANGRY SILENCE. Already angry about something? That's how it always is. Dad always ends up ordering something because mom takes too long to decide. Actually she takes too long to decide because everything to her is too expensive on the menu. So to make up for the awkward silence and the pressing hunger, my dad and I will start ordering whatever. Right about then, she usually gets pissed because my dad, seemingly oblivious to his own wife after 30 years (or maybe just to purposely piss her off), will usually start picking out the most expensive dishes.I know better, I usually pick out the reasonably cheap entrees.

After ten minutes of my dad muttering about what he's getting...

Mom: Why do you have to get that. The stuff you ordered yesterday was disgusting. It wasn't even food. Soft shelled crabs? I bet that comes in tiny portions...blahblahblah...and so on.

Dad: Well I'm ordering because I'm hungry and you haven't said a word. If you're not going to order that's fine. If you're gonna sit there and look like you just ate some awful shit (in Chinese of course) then I'm going to order because we are hungry. You never say what you WANT, so please don't be so quick to shoot down other people's orders. If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it.

Mom: Slams down the menu. Proceeds to be bitter for the REST of dinner. Refuses to touch the food that comes.

This is what happens eight out of ten times when we go out to eat. Oh my family: can't live with them, can't live without them.

Pebbles Saved My Life

It's a hot sunny day, bout 90 degrees. I'm on my way back from China, with my backpack slung over one shoulder and no other pieces of carry on luggage. No one else is with me. In fact, I'm not sure I even exited the plane with other passengers. Maybe two, three? I'm walking through the ramp that would usually connect me from the plane to the airport but instead of the airport, I step off the ramp and onto solid ground. I am outside and it's so hot that everything in a small distance is blurred to me, like heat waves everywhere. I had exited onto some construction site...in the middle of the desert. Slowly, I let my eyes get adjusted to the sun directly above me. I look around, I am alone.

A thought pops into my head, REST. I see the nearest scaffolding of some sort, and decide to sit down and lean against it for support. My eyes close...open...close...open. I don't know how many times I blinked until I saw it, about a foot away from my left hand: A scorpion, yellow, almost camouflaged into the sandy ground. I retracted my hand violently and almost automatically. The sudden motion only made the hideous creature speed up its crawl towards me. I jump up, again almost automatically. My muscles have taken over and they seem to have chosen flight. Unfortunately for me, the scorpion seems to have chosen fight. I am backing away as he advances, I really don't know why I didn't just turn around and run. My muscles were performing, but too slowly, as if too tense from fear to actually react semi productively.

The scorpion and I were caught in some kind of a predatory dance, where I back up and he advances. Our performance was interrupted with a sudden hissing noise. I look down to my left, and Pebbles was crouched low, baring all her teeth. The hissing turns into a low growl, and then loud cat snarling as she pounces towards the scorpion, every muscle in attack mode. She picks at the scorpion with her paws, her teeth, retracting defensively every once in a while to avoid being stung. There was nothing domestic about her then. They both did the attack and retract dance for a couple of minutes until my cat finally went in for the kill. She tore into the enemy for what seemed like a couple of seconds. I couldn't even see...with her teeth? with her paws? All I know is that when the sand that flew up around them subsided, when Pebbles' loud howling died down, (and I'm sure if the scorpion could make noise it would be hissing or something), my cat stood victorious...still picking at a disgusting pile of...dead scorpion. Juices, instestines, and all...literally, the spoils. She looked up at me, licking her mouth, her paws, her tail, like she usually does after she eats or sleeps. I reach down to pet her and congratulate her, who needs a dog when you have Pebbles? Together we walk away, relieved, happy...

We had been walking for 5 minutes when I realized that Pebbles was no longer next to me. I had been crazily jabbering to myself, as opposed to crazily jabbering to my cat. I turn around and there she was, lying on the ground, writhing. A low moan escapes her throat, the kind that never sounds unless she is in some serious discomfort. I rush over to her and realize that instead of her usually orange and white fur, there is a massive patch of black running from her lower back down to her stomach. She starts to do tumbles, still writhing. Right then, I don't think I had ever seen anything alive, not a human, not an animal, in so much pain. Her left paw began to do this awful twitch and she couldn't even lift her head off the ground, the black patch was spreading...

My phone alarm went off, so promptly. I sat up in bed and was overcome with grief. It was one of those dreams that carried into reality. Well at least my tears did.

Day 1: Summer of Suspension

It started out as the kind of day you wanted to go to the beach on. Then it became the kind of day you wanted to stay inside and curl up in bed on. After the rain passed, it became the kind of day you wanted to go driving and driving and driving on...with your radio turned up high and the chilly breeze blowing on your face.

This summer is going to be interesting, challenging, and altogether the most memorable turning point of my life. I know nothing with any certainty, but only that I refuse to be stuck in the past. Time had stopped for a while and I lost track. After the rain, I stepped out of the car and instantaneously I felt time start to move again. It was like at the end of Vanilla Sky, when Tom Cruise jumps off the tallass building and a woman's voice whispers: "wake up."

I have come face to face with my estranged self and it's time to rebuild.