I love unpacking and putting things away, but I hate moving.  I am still moving.  It’s been almost a week - I got the key last Friday, moved a few things Saturday, spent parts of Sunday & Monday at what was my house sorting through the minimal number of items I could actually take with me, and since then it’s been a slow process of taking a few things over, checking that the landlord has fixed something, then going back to my friend’s house to stay the night.  The place is still not ready, and it’s loaded with boxes, and there’s NO STORAGE SPACE.  I’m having to Ikea-up, just to have a place for food and clothing.  Whatever.  It’ll be good to be done.  Maybe it’ll be this weekend.  Won’t have screens on the windows or a handle on the oven until early next week, though.

 I look forward to having this unsettled homeless stress-filled phase behind me.  Though more stress is to come.

So I’ve been experiencing depression.  Not surprising, really.  My life is upside down & surreal & god knows what else.  I was a complete basketcase for about a month - up one day, down the next, back and forth every day.  More recently, I’ve experienced one bad day for every 2 or 3, which I certainly recognize as an improvement.

This past week was particularly bad, after an incident Wednesday (a ‘friend’ hitting on me in a situation I couldn’t really get out of) - I found myself questioning, again, how safe the world really is and just how naive I am about men and what am I going to do about navigating the world alone and am I alone in a godless universe with nothing but despair and loneliness to look forward to until I die friendless & forgotten?  Yes, at that point I really have to take a breath, don’t I?  And, yes, I know how ridiculous it all is.  But from Thursday AM to about lunchtime today I was deep in the pit.  I’m better now.  I know I will always be better eventually, but I’m exhausted from those (often) sudden relapses into despair & loneliness.  They come upon me so suddenly sometimes I’m almost dizzy. 

I’m better now.  I really am.  I can laugh at myself again.

I am, at this moment, drunk.  Sometimes, alcohol is the best option.

I am supposed to have a place at the beginning of August.  I am still waiting for the landlord in question to come back from vacation.  Nothing is real until a lease is signed.  Until then, I am homeless & anxiety prone.

In the past four months, I have gone from a size 8 (13o lbs) to a size 0 or 1 (105 lbs).  I’m 5′3″.  Think maybe I’m stressed?  Um, yeah.  People are beginning to tell me I’m too thin.  Mostly women, though.  And women are not always supportive of other women, where weight & appearance are involved.  Yeah, thanks.  It’s not like I have any control over it.

 At the same time, men I have had platonic friendships with for ages are beginning to make passes at me.  Which, honestly, pisses me off.  What is with fucking men?

I’ve been silent here for a while.  There is a reason.  My life has been in upheaval.  And at some point my family and others in my real life discovered this blog, so I’m not sure how comfortable I am revealing actual real feelings here now.

The facts:  I left my husband almost 6 weeks ago, I am currently homeless (staying with friends), and wondering when the spouse and I can come to enough agreement on certain financial questions to allow me to have enough money left to rent a place of my own.  He told me a few weeks ago that he discovered my blog (although I’m not entirely sure if it’s THIS one or one of the older ones), so revealing a lot of detail about my feelings right now seems squicky, because I don’t know if I want him reading about my day to day struggles with how to move forward.

Anyway, I’m still alive, still breathing (most of the time).

As many of you know, I work at a non-profit agency serving the homeless (and those at-risk of homelessness - basically, anyone with a low income ’round these parts). Today we had more fun than is usual for a Monday morning.

I have a little rule of thumb: if you’re in the restroom for more than ten minutes, you’re up to no good.

Around 10 AM, one of my interns, let’s call her ‘N’, came to me and said, “Um, there’s a guy who’s been in the bathroom for a long time. Me: “How long?” ‘N’: “Um, like 20 minutes? Anyway, I made ‘C’ (also an intern, male) go to the door and check on him, and he came back and said ‘the word on the street is, he’s naked’.”

Apparently, the guy in the men’s room had opened the door a little, and one of the clients saw him. The restrooms are right off the client waiting room, and luckily (at that point) there weren’t very many people in there (and they were all adults).

Well.

I immediately went to the men’s room door, knocked on it, and said in a loud, firm voice, “Sir! You’ve been in there long enough! You have to come out now!” He grunted something.

I stepped back to the front desk (about 10 feet away) and waited. After about a minute, the door slowly opened. And there he was. At first, my view was obscured by the water cooler, but sure enough … he was nekkid.

He was HOLDING his pants in one hand, though. So that’s a start. I grabbed the phone to call 9-1-1.

“Sir! Put your pants on! (to my coworkers) I’m calling 9-1-1. PUT. YOUR. PANTS. ON!”

I waited a few seconds to see if he would comply. No dice. Just stared glassy eyed.

As I was on the phone with 9-1-1: “Sir! Put your fricken pants on!”

A moment later: “Sir! Get back in the bathroom! Just get back in there!”

This time, he complied.

I had ‘C’ guard the door so he wouldn’t be able to get out, while we waited for the cops. Unfortunately, it took them about 45 minutes to come, which was particularly unfortunate for ‘C’, as we ended up with more people waiting - including kids - so he *literally* had to hold the door handle so the guy couldn’t open the door at all. Yes, Nekkid Guy was in jail in our men’s room. You see, he periodically would open the door just a little bit … then close it again. If he had locked himelf in there, it would’ve been much easier. 

When he came in, he seemed ‘normal’ enough. My guess was, he got high in our restroom and things went downhill from there. And since we didn’t know what he was on or how he might behave, we wanted to leave him alone until the cops came.

Finally, the cops DID arrive, and talked to him through the door for a minute until he let them in (by then, he had figured out how to use the door lock). Then all three officers went in to ‘help’ Nekkid Guy figure out how to put his clothes back on - took about 5 minutes, then out they all came. Nekkid Guy no longer nekkid, hands cuffed behind him, and three uniformed officers - and off he went to jail.

Turned out, he HAD smoked up in our restroom (the Sergeant said it was crank, and since I don’t know the smell of crank, I will have to trust him), and it was likely the ’skin crawlies’ that compelled him to remove his garments. Ah, the fun of recreational drugs.

I am officially addicted to Bikram Yoga.  It’s crazy.  I am seriously considering hitting a 6 AM class during the week, so my practice will be more consistent.  I miss it during the week.  This is unheard of.  My sleep pattern has changed - I’ve never been a morning person & now suddenly I’m AWAKE at 5 AM.  Doesn’t mean I’m well-rested, because part of the purging I’m experiencing is emotional purging, where old long-buried anxieties are popping up to the surface and keeping me awake late into the night.  Alas.

But by god I’ve dropped a size.  I was tenuously at the edge of that for the past two months - since dropping the baddies (caffeine, dairy, sugar) - but it took the yoga to close the gap.

 I’ve always started yoga & then quit because it just wasn’t doing for me what I thought it should.  ‘Relaxing’ yoga didn’t relax me.  ‘Strenuous’ yoga hurt, but didn’t offer enough of an immediate benefit to keep me interested in returning.  I guess Bikram is just what I needed.  I have never experienced such a rapid shift in perspective & physical health in my life. 

Of course, purging is the deal.  Physical purging (skin, in my case), emotional purging, etc.  I’ve finally reached the other side with some of that, Amen. 

Two years ago, an acquaintance told me she was taking Bikram Yoga (”You know, the hot yoga,” she said) - and once she explained, I though she was mad as a hatter.  But now I get it.

Comments are on moderation.  Apologies for taking a while to approve them (the handful that were waiting) - WordPress didn’t notify me!  So so sorry.  I love you all!  Mwah!  Mwah!

 Anyhoo, guys - yes, the blog moved & changed.  I did have a notice up at the old blog for approx. a month, but I didn’t email anyone, so it’s on me.  Kisses!

Last weekend (Sunday) I started taking Bikram Yoga.  I loved it - and, at the same time, hated it so much I wanted to die just out of spite.  My goal the first time was just to complete the class & do all the postures.  I managed it, and felt so so proud of myself.  I was sore for a couple of days after, but was raring to go by this weekend.  I kicked it up a notch - TWO classes, one each Saturday & Sunday (today) morning.  I was NOT sore this morning.  I AM sore now.  That second class kicked my ass so hard it’s rebelling.  My ass, that is, not the class.  I mean, my ass is rebelling.  Aw hell.  Never mind.  There was a metaphor somewhere in there but it’s been lost among the roses.  I’m sore, okay?  Ass, thighs, calves, shoulders … sore. 

My mantra:  “What do we love?  PAIN!”*

 No, not really.  I don’t love pain.  But I do love the feeling that I actually accomplished something, however minor. 

 Bikram Yoga is a series of (the same) 26 asanas in a heated (105 degrees) room.  It’s like doing yoga in hell.

I’ve done yoga off and on for years, but never kept with it (for various reasons - sometimes money, sometimes boredom, sometimes I just couldn’t tell if I was getting stronger since it was totally different every week because the teacher wanted to run the gamut of asanas from A - Z - which shows, I suppose, a lack of patience on my part). Anyway, I’m a beginner, even after so many years. I was afraid to try this style of yoga because I was put off by the idea of the heat. “105 degrees?? Are you serious? That’s INSANE,” I would say. But it’s not insane. Well, it’s a little insane. I suspect 90 degrees would work just as well as 105, but I’m not running the show, so I’ll just try to clear my mind of any protests on that account.

Whatever. I already am experiencing positive changes from this. First the pain, of course, then the positive changes. So, right now, while my thighs & butt are sore as hell, I will hold tight to the vision of tight, lean thighs and a butt you can bounce a quarter on. Because I’m shallow like that. Inner peace is all well and good - but what’s important is, can I wear a miniskirt in public again?

*‘Say Anything’, people.

I don’t know if there are any Flora & Airto fans reading here, but I wanted to mention them briefly.  For those unfamiliar, they are world famous Brazilian Jazz/Jazz Fusion artists (Flora is known as the Queen of Brazilian Jazz) and Airto is one of the world’s greatest percussionists (he’s worked with everyone from Miles Davis to Mickey Hart’s Planet Drum, and everyone in between).  Flora’s style is more Samba, Airto’s style more Spirit Drum (to be very very brief), so the two of them together offer a fascinating melting pot of styles - traditional tribal percussion to samba to fusion and back.  Well, I have to admit was completely unfamiliar with them until recently (I’m familiar with some Brazilian music, but I’m honestly not that big a fan of Jazz Fusion, so they were outside the realm of my very limited knowledge).  

I am now a huge fan of them as human beings.  :)  Last night, Flora and Airto (and their daughter Diana Booker, and her husband Krishna Booker, who perform in their own jazz-influenced trip-hop band Eyedentity) headlined a benefit concert for my agency.  These are warm, generous, gracious people.  They have fully embraced what we do at my agency and plan to spread the word to their friends in the business, opening doors for future concerts - people like Mickey Hart & Carlos Santana.  This is huge for us, huge for our clients, and represents an honest generosity of spirit.

If you’ve pondered giving a listen to Brazilian Jazz, please do start with Flora and Airto.  And Eyedentity (whose CD I snatched up as soon as I heard them perform last night) is a rhythmic blend of hip-hop & latin jazz.  Diana has an extraordinary voice - she brings to mind Nina Simone.  They are virtually self-managed, and deserving of wider attention - if what I’ve described holds even the slightest interest, please seek out their music & give it a listen.

Sac Bee coverage:  http://www.sacbee.com/172/story/116671.html

Airto’s website:  http://www.airto.com/

Eyedentity’s website:  http://www.eyedentitymusic.com/main.html

So here’s what’s up with moi. 

(1) I did give up coffee, as alluded to at the old blog. 

Despite that, I continued to feel like utter crap (upset stomach, exhausted, nearly impossible to get up in the morning, etc.).  Which led to

(2) I gave sugar (after a fashion). 

I had exchanged coffee (to keep me awake) for sugar (mainly chocolate).  I feel better now, but my body is still adjusting.  I’ve been on a two week observational tour of my blood sugar.  The first day without chocolate or sugar was like watching a crackhead without a score - wild mood swings, pacing back and forth, alternately exhausted and wired, friendly and ready to kill the next person to open his mouth.  Ick.  Pa.the.tic.  After that, things got steadily better.  It was interesting to me to experience my blood sugar dropping 45 minutes after eating lunch every single day - the first couple days I spent snacking every hour on the hour just to maintain some level of alertness.  I think my body had forgotten how to regulate itself. 

So I say I gave it up ‘after a fashion’, because I still eat fruit and drink fruit juice.  But I’m staying away from candy, sugary snacks, baked goods, and the like.  Any ’sugar’ is fruit sugar, in a natural a form as I can get it. 

The other thing is

(3) I started eating breakfast. 

That was the final step to regulate my blood sugar.  It never occurred to me over these long years of coffee addiction that the reason I’m SO EXHAUSTED in the morning and I NEED COFFEE to wake me up was because I was experiencing extremely low blood sugar first thing in the AM.  Um, duh?  Yeah, it just wasn’t remotely an explanation for me - if I’m not hungry, how can I be experiencing low blood sugar?  I’m TIRED, I need a JOLT.  Well, no.  The ‘jolt’ I was getting from my cuppa joe every morning was the jolt of sugar moreso than caffeine.  Funny that.  They work in tandem, but my cup of ‘coffee’ was more like a cup of sugary sweet cream plus coffee.  So, you do the math.

Anyway, be proud of me.  Getting away from sugar is the closest I’ve ever been to the experience of drug withdrawal and it SUCKED.