I woke with a headache at 3:00 am and am absolutely in love with my friends. But today? Ladies and gentlemen,

Sometimes I just feel confused, desperate, out of control. Some days it’s because I shopped too much and have a spending hangover. Some days it’s because I spent several hours panicking about too much to do and showing it by sitting perfectly still. Most of the time it’s because I’m daydreaming.

If you ask me about the things I’ve been through in my life, my memory is notoriously selective. I’ve spent so much time trying to feel something worth feeling, have love worth having, make life deeper and more meaningful in all the little moments than it really is, that on some level, all my personal moments just run together into one confusing mess of pre-adolescent selfish instinct. I am swept away by propaganda and soaring melodies, indulging my vanity, my imagination, letting myself fly away into a world where everything is as I want it. I’ve always fantasized, and all my fantasies have always centered on me. There I am, perfect, beautiful, maybe we can make that waist just a little smaller, there, there it is. I want perfection. I want me to be perfect

The terms have changed, but the attitude hasn’t. It doesn’t matter whether it’s that I want to be the smartest, the happiest, the coolest, the most cynical, the most beautiful, the most stylish, the bravest, the most successful, it’s always the same: I want to be the best.

But the terms are never quite acceptable, and I’ve spent much of my life trying to figure out what was wrong with the fantasy and not what was wrong with me. It’s a way of thinking about the world as if it quite literally revolves around you, a way of thinking that traps you in a swirling mess of uncertainty and strained relationships and credit card debt, books read and analyzed but not understood, melodies followed but not felt, words penned but not objectively, work created without any depth, prayers spoken in imitation of sincerity, views soaked in through the filter of how I feel and what I want, not what they are and where I belong.

I’m still not sure what’s quite so painful about understanding that I’m not the most important thing in the world, but there is something about stepping down that is just so hard for me. Maybe it’s because of the perceived injustice in a world where people like Carrot Top and Jessica Simpson are idolized for their stupidity. They never have to worry about stepping down because they can buy her way out of reality and photo shoot their way out of failure. Even as I’m writing this, it feels as if I don’t really know what I’m saying. I sure as hell still don’t know why.

But I will tell you what I do know, what has hit me in the recent moments where real tears nearly choked me in the recent insights. Where reality has broken through the perpetuated daydream to show me that I am not the monster in disguise I was years ago. I no longer seek your approval or anyone elses. It’s my eyes I see staring back in the mirror. To hell with photo shoots and gossip columns. It’s not a matter of whether or not you’re as bad a person as someone else, it’s a matter of whether or not you are living your own life as you should. I’m taking that with me. For me.

And I’m not, and on some level, all of this - all of this endless self-glorification, self-obsessed googling, even the half-well-written papers and smoothly articulated opinions - is nothing but vanity, pure and simple. Nothing but selfishness and harm. Nothing but validation of things that shouldn’t be validated, like my desire to be everything to everyone. Can’t I? I want to be that gal you can turn to for advice, for information, for analysis, the one you can take to the party and not have to worry about, to the bedroom, girl with all the answers, all the makeup and the shoes, all the books, all the subscriptions, all the smiles, all the smarts, all the stuff.

I’m slapping myself in the face and telling you, it is in me somewhere. But you’re not going to find it here. That’s all I needed to say.

I’m glad we had this talk. Much mo’ better now.

Those guys that work here are at it again.

When discussing a trivial matter this morning I said,

“Yeah yeah, I know. I took anatomy and physiology in college.”

Pause

“We bet you did.”

The conversation tumbled down hill from there.

Finding the humor in being out numbered? Uh?

Posted July 6, 2005

I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. Walking down the sidewalk I’ll see someone with the same color hair as hers. Chestnut brown with red under tones. For a millisecond I think it’s her. Then rationale takes over and I feel. There’s an aching inside similar to the way Coldplay songs make me want to slit my wrists.

When we were little we kicked and screamed at one another. Yelled at the top of our lungs and pulled one another’s long hair. Mother would say, “Go ahead kill each other.” There were days I am sure she meant it. And days she’d regret allowing those words to escape her lips. We tried to push one another away and now I long to will her close to me. A decade has passed since our last fight. Today distance interferes with being close to her.

I miss her.

If I call and she doesn’t answer, I hold on the phone until it beeps listening for the voice that sounds similar to mine, “Hi this is C. Please leave a message.” I love the way she says please. She sings it as though it was a one word contagious song demanding politeness. I’m sad and happy at the same time. Temporarily soothed by her voice like a teething baby alleviated by rum on the gums. Her emails are easier to take than a phone that doesn’t get picked up. They are dauntingly familiar as though I am right there with her as she writes it. I wonder if she’ll feel the same way when she reads this. Will she understand how miles between us and words left unspoken can’t separate or break the bond we have?

Yes, she will.

Nearly six months have passed since I’ve seen my older sister. Just writing that makes my eyes swell and my love for her ache. It’s been to long. Neither of us are phone people. We have brief five minute phone encounters and share our compassion for one another in mixed up text messages or random gestures of packages in the mail. Never acknowledging there is so much in one another’s lives we have missed in the last several years. Our connections are brief and concise filled with jovial laughter.

“J-bird you doing alright?”
“Yes Sis, I am fine. You?”
“We’re doing well.”

We’ll believe one another of course, after all we are sisters.

“Your going to get kidnapped”
“My cousin is connected in the Mexican Mafia. Do you want me to call him?”
“I know some good lawyers in Mexico.”
“High dollar for a red head.”
“I know a few loan sharks if you get in trouble down there.”

After reviewing 30 pages of items Americans should be cautious of while traveling in Mexico we shut the car door and arrived at the airport. I still couldn’t believe we were doing something that was to be dangerous. We had been warned by friends. As Americans, we stood a good chance of being kidnapped and held for ransom. To prove his worth Manfred tried to out snob me on the plane.

We arrived at the W Hotel mesmorized at the enormity of it’s amenities.

A hammock in the bathroom, flat screen t.v., wi-fi, and room service.

That’s how we roll

We armed ourselves with weapons and headed down to the Whisky.

The doctor put on her tough face.

The people in the bar were very friendly. We soon learned they had ulterior motives.

Brazillian Babe: Quererlo todo?
Manfred: Si, quiero todo.
Bralilian Babe: Es hombre rico?
Manfred finally reaizing what the B.B. meant by wanting it all.
Priceless.

We kept our guard up and went to a club called LOVE. And danced till the early early morn.

Upon waking Saturday morning and making it through one day of not being kidnapped, robbed, or stabbed. We toasted to life.

Cautiously we wandered the dangerous streets.

Later that night we prepared ourselves and put our game faces on.

We started to relax at dinner and let down our guard.

Hind sight is 20/20 or so the saying goes. There was danger out there in the big bad city. The restaurant called our weekend cab driver, Armondo. He drove us to Shine and took us into danger. Look!

Predators in the club had their eyes on us.

We were no match for them. After all, they were professionals.

Nothing is what it seems.

Approaching 5:00 a.m. our capturers returned us to the hotel. Tired and ready for a good nights sleep.