Post 2! Thanks for reading and commenting. Again, if you’d like to comment but you’d rather not do so in public, please feel free to email me at curvyjones[at]diaryofcurvyjones or mocahgirl[at]gmail.

At the top of this post on the right hand side you’ll see  a directory of sorts. All posts in this series will be tied together. You can view other posts in this series by clicking on the link in the directory.

This is a long entry, I apologize. I was going to cut it but decided to let it be. It’ll be here if you get tired of reading and want to come back later! ;)

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The Easy Stuff:

This is post 1 of a series of posts, simply so that people don’t have to read a thesis on my life– and neither do I, when I read back. There’s a bit of “about me” stuff floating around the Diary already but I have provided some background for better understanding. If I don’t know where I’ve come from, I won’t be able to guage where I am or where I am going.

Edit: My mom sent me an email tonight to tell me that my dad is in town. Until the 10th. >insert blank stare here< I decided to go ahead and post this so that I can appropriately freak out tomorrow and people will have more of an idea of why I am freaking out.

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Well, I jinxed myself last week. That’s that thing where you say something hardly ever happens and the second you get it out of your mouth, it starts happening.

Saturday, I woke up with a headache. How does one wake up with a headache? I don’t know.  Typically,  a headache means that

• I’ve been wearing a pony tail too long (tension);
• I need to change my glasses prescription;
• I haven’t eaten (or I’ve eaten the wrong thing, i.e. sugar);
• I haven’t slept enough.

Dissecting my Friday, I remember that I had  sugar (puts a hex on IT guy who brings Dunkin every Friday), and dinner was really light,  and I may have skipped breakfast and lunch, so that was probably the culprit. I know, I’m bad. I’m flogging, I’m flogging. I woke up at 6am with a light drum beating against my temple. My stomach was already twisting and I hadn’t even sat up yet. Unfortunately, I had recently finished the bottle of pain reliever I had a few weeks ago and never bought another bottle because I don’t get headaches, right?

Wrong. Poundy. Poundy. Poundy.

I had to get up and toss on some clothes and drive down to the convenience store on the corner and get some drugs. I looked for candy coated Advil, Sarah, but I didn’t see them. I don’t know if they’re different from regular coated Advil, which is what I got.  Candy coated would have put a smile on my face, I’m just saying. They probably have them at Kroger but either Kroger I could choose from are ghetto enough without going there before the sun is even up. I bought a little bottle so when I next grocery shop (in the daylight) I’ll look for those. In a BIG ASS BOTTLE. As far as pills go, Advil aren’t that bad. They go down smoothly and for future reference, don’t stink.

I have a point, I promise.

So, as I stumbled out of the store into the pre-dawn glow of morning with my plastic bag containing a single serving bowl of Cheerios (heeee!) and my meds in one hand and a piping hot cup of gas station coffee in the other, I recognized a sound that sent my spirits soaring.  In the trees behind the store, there were birds. A LOT of birds. And they were loud, all Chirpy McChirpersons at 6:30 in the morning. I didn’t think anything of it at first, until I went to get into my car and my head was POUNDY and the birds were CHIRPY and then I thought……. wait… birds! Chirping! That means… that means… wait don’t tell me….that must mean spring is on the way!

HUZZAH!

YOU GUYZ. I can’t wait! Spring and summer are my fave seasons ever, but spring in Atlanta (you know, before the pollen hits) is just about the most gorgeous time of year, except for fall, when the leaves start to turn. It’s when I am most in love with this city and feel so blessed and lucky to be here. It’s been such a long, hard, cold winter. I can’t wait for it to be gone!

I am ready for brunch on restaurant patios and a Caramel High Rise from Caribou Coffee on Peachtree while I sit outside and tally the number of Mercedes Benz that drive by. I want to sit out by the pool (which I never do but I can, if I want) and read.  I want leisurely walks through Piedmont while I watch people run their their dogs, and push their babies in strollers, and watch shirtless roller bladers pretend they’re really out there for exercise and not just showing off that they’re shirtless, and get all ‘haughty’ that they have to skate around me.  And I want to feed the ducks!

I’m ready to be social and get out and about. I’m ready to shake off winter and enjoy the sunshine. Bring. It. ON.

*claps* So excited!

In other news, I spent the weekend dissecting our health plan. We just switched providers  Feb 1, and I just knew my company was going to go uber cheap and not pay for anything worth covering. To my surprise, mental health benefits are covered. When I last researched therapy, the cost  was $119/hr and I did not have mental health benefits. Uhm. I will stay slightly mad for that price, really. So I’ve been waiting, and it’s been a couple of years since I seriously looked at it and I am pleased with my findings. I did some research on doctors near me and cross referenced ratings and backgrounds at healthgrades.com. Quite helpful. I feel a little more informed and I now have a short list to choose from.

All that’s left is to make the appointment.

*Procrastinates*

So, this guy walks into a bar…

Ha, no seriously. I have a list. It is handy. When I am ready, I will call. I feel like I want to focus on a couple of things first and figure out where I am and where I want to go.  If I don’t, I will feel lost and that’s frustrating to me. I’m very much a preparer and an organizer. Things have to be ‘just so’ or I can’t deal. Things aren’t quite ‘just so’ yet.

I may be writing a series of posts that seem really self involved, because they’re for me. I need to say some things to myself. Remind myself of things. Figure some stuff out.  As I’ve mentioned a few times, a few things have been swirling around in my mind and I need to find a way to put them into words.

And as long as I’m paying for the webspace, may as well get good use out of it.  Welcome to the Freakshow. Try the veal, it’s delicious!

I normally try to end the week on a high note– it’s Friday, after all!  I will most definitely be looking forward to 4:59:59 and getting the heck outta dodge until 8 am Monday morning, but something that came through the grapevine has made me stop and think about a few things. I felt a need to try to organize my thoughts and since that’s what this here blog is for, I’m gonna go for it !!

I don’t know if it’s the new spring season that seems to be taking its own sweet time coming (at least in Atlanta, where it’s nearly unheard of to still be in the 30’s in February), but it seems like much of the Blogosphere is talking about doing some Spring Cleaning of the Mind. Tex posted yesterday about Better Living Through Chemistry. Green Eyes and I have been chatting about changes we want to make to better ourselves. I had an enlightening conversation last night with a twiend, Wildchild, about the recurring theme of self discovery and how that leads to choosing a mate and being the right one for someone else, as well as realizing that the thrill is gone and it’s time to move on, not desperately hanging on to what we have because we don’t want to be alone.

Last evening, while avoiding doing things I said I’d do,  S sent up a link to the Chicago Sun Times and Roger Ebert’s blog. He shared his behind-the-scenes thoughts on a recent article in Esquire Magazine. Both pieces were great, and tear inducing but not in a sad way. He spoke about Gene Siskel (whom I still miss- Ebert and Roper just never caught on for me), his illness, his life, his dedicated and cherished wife.

My first reaction was shock at the photo covering one entire page, because I was unaware that Ebert was ill. As the writer from Esquire, Chris Jones, so eloquently put it, “Ebert is dying in increments, and he is aware of it.” Four years after losing his lower jaw and the ability to speak to cancer, Ebert is still at work. He continues to write. He still watches movies, still reviews them. Still tells us the good parts without spoiling the film. He’s still detailed and precise, splicing a film almost scene by scene, seeking a deeper meaning, analyzing technique, drawing out the story. His notepad and pen, keyboard and mouse have become that authoritative voice I think of when I picture film critics. Well, that and Jon Lovitz but that’s a whole another post.

I think what always amazes me about survivors is their spirit. If I get a hangnail, I am sure to whine about it for as long as I can milk it. I sprained my ankle — badly– last year and I will still complain about it, if you give me space and opportunity. Ebert doesn’t seem to be at the place I would be, after losing my jaw. It seemed like he just went back to work. There were movies to watch and critiques to write, and Ebert went back to work.

Something really struck me, in Ebert’s blog and was the brainchild of today’s post. He writes, “Resentment is allowing someone to live rent-free in a room in your head… If we think we have physical imperfections, obsessing about them is only destructive. Low self-esteem involves imagining the worst that other people can think about you. That means they’re living upstairs in the rent-free room.”

Can I just say that that sentence brings tears to my eyes? What a statement. Low self esteem involves imagining the worst that other people can think about you. He just put into words my entire thought process on a daily basis. I call it ‘being realistic’. It makes me wonder how many times a day I look at myself and do just that. Imagine the worst. And then say it first because if I say it, it doesn’t hurt as bad when/if others do.

My head is full of squatters. People living rent free in rooms, taking up all the space and using up all the hot water and making a mess and running out of paper towels and not replacing them and leaving like, a swallow of milk in the jug and putting it back in the refrigerator. They’re rude and inconsiderate and dirty. They need to get the eff out.

I didn’t used to be that way. There was a time when I thought I was hot stuff.  I met the Ex when I was feeling really good about myself. I was happy and whole and a complete person before I met him. He was the icing on the cake that was my life. I had a good time with him, and as we got to know each other and I let myself dream of being able to say ‘we’ and ‘us’ and ‘our’, my self esteem soared because I thought someone else thought I was awesome, too. I saw what others saw in me. I thought what others thought about me — the best, not the worst.

I had a whole post here about him and being with him and how I was devastated when I figured out that he didn’t think I was awesome, and it was just as I thought, men don’t want me,   and my self esteem hit the can and hasn’t been seen since, and how I’m not the woman I used to be, and it’s all his fault, dammit. But this isn’t about being attractive to a man, really. This isn’t about wanting to meet someone who’s ready to meet someone and skipping off into the sunset.

This is about all aspects of life. Who my friends are. Who I surround myself with. The people I know. The people that I let know me. The people I let love me and the people I love back. I’ve been thinking a lot about these things the last few days and the posts from the Blogosphere have my mind absolutely reeling with new viewpoints and thoughts to consider, to a point that I’ve been trying to articulate them all week and my words are failing me. I am trying to make sense of what I need to do and want to do and things I have to decide in order to move forward and my mind is in such a jumble that I can’t figure it out.

Is t normal to want to be happy and not know how the hell to get there?

The discussion I had last night is weighing heavily on me. I am going to have to do something I hate doing, be something I hate being– vulnerable. It’s a dirty word, in my book. My walls are high and thick and go six feet underground and six feet over my head.  I don’t let myself get hurt. I shy away from anything that makes me think real thoughts and feel real feelings. I don’t know how I can be a real person, though without doing that work, knowing myself, liking myself. Which leads to happiness. Happiness (not just pleasure, which is fleeting) leads to being able to choose the person that is right for me, figuring out what I need and asking for it, being ready to accept someone in my life and accept that someone could think I’m awesome.

It also means  that I could achieve other goals I’ve set for myself. I could let myself believe that I have talent and skill and I could be published somewhere, someday. I could stop looking at other people and what they’re doing and comparing myself to them and trying to gauge if I am successful or not. I call this Keeping My Eyes On My Own Paper, something I am struggling with , lately.  I can’t be jealous when people get what I want. People work at what they want. They go for it. They don’t imagine the worst that other people can think about them and then accept it as truth and act on it, instead of a completely different reality.

Do not get me wrong. I am living a great life.  I’m living the best life I’ve ever lived and having a ball, truly. I just know that I can do better. I can think better and live better and do better and feel better.

Maybe it’s time for some Spring Cleaning in my mind. Push the squatters out and make the place all shiny and spruced up. Gotta make room for happiness and joy and a positive thought life. And good self esteem.

I hope all of my readers, even the  378 people searching for blackberries who found my weird post on all the blackberries I’ve owned, have a fantastically wonderful weekend. I’m going to try not to blog this weekend. Instead I am going to work on a piece I am trying to submit to a short story archive and maybe spend some time in the Self Help section at Barnes & Noble.

I know, I know. I want to cut myself for even thinking about it. I promise not to buy a book by Dr. Phil.

Maybe.

A quickie, because I want to blog but I actually spent the last few hours writing (*tosses confetti*) so I don’t really want to look at the computer much longer.

I don’t know what the block was and I don’t know that it has fully moved it’s ass out of the way of my mojo, but I was able to get a little over 4,000 good, keepable words in, today. Yay. I normally don’t go into too much detail about writing here since I have a writing blog for that but I think it may have had something to do with a big decision that I made this week. It will require some drastic changes in part of my life but I am ready for them. I feel light and at peace with the decision that I made– and apparently that was really good for my creativity.

Woot!