the dance of the ink riddled fingers

fracturing me

Posted in 52 pickup, epiphany tiffany, how was your day? by enisea on 20/05/2014

There wasn’t the time to even comprehend regret. It started as a thought and the second I’d agreed with the idea, I was flying through midair summersault crying out in surprise and with no time to anticipate how to brace myself from the catapult. Drawn with great magnetism to the edge of the asphalt track, I connecting with the unrefined concrete. My face grazed shallowly against the path, thanks to the chunky helmet that I had reluctantly begun the journey with. Still the head banging (twice that I recalled) ricocheted confusion.  Almost simultaneously, there entered with heavy intrusion, the means of all this pain, the silver frame of my father’s bicycle. Instinctively, I tried to lift myself from this position of pain, but after an exhausted attempt to free myself from the collapsed metal atop of me, I gave up and my body groaned with overall displeasure. Alas, I waited a torturous ten seconds or so while my husband ran over to me to collect my damaged body and defend my legs from merciless mosquitoes.

Since then, it’s been three long days between roundabout appointments, waiting and wishing for morning because this is the least I’ve enjoyed sleep.  This said, I do feel a little stronger each day, regarding pain threshold and resolve wise.  It was diagnosed as a hairline fracture along the left arm radial head and neck – amongst grazes and impressive bruises. I felt relief for being a sook over a fracture (though I never cried about the pain); if it were only a sprain, I might be accused of being rather weak. Weakness.  Ahh, that nemesis of mine whom I both love and loath.  I’ve been perpetually confronted with most manners of weakness these last few days: physical pain, uncertainty, self-pity, feelings of inadequacy, requiring help for menial tasks, tiredness, the thought of being burdensome upon the love of my life, having a shorter fuse, and being very slow, etc…

Yet, how much my spirit has heaved relief at the very obvious reminder that I am not invincible, nor was I ever independent of anyone.  It also forced patience to begin that painful work of accepting with grace those unable to meet “normal” expectations – namely myself this time.  It also gave a noticeable leap to that challenge within me to make the most of every scenario.  It seemed that when I had finally begun to enjoy and rest in the slowing down, it was almost immediately that Hectic revved up and I found myself dreading my usual schedule – exhausted.  My emotions have been achingly unpredictable.  However, I think now I have embraced this fracture to my norm.  After all, apparently, bones will never break in the same place twice, because once recovered, are stronger than before – I take it this applies to life also.

My latest cerebral celebration is the growing determination to need to overcome.  Thoughts about learning every way to be single-handed for the next few weeks/months.  I’m still rather proud of being able to satisfactorily and quite quickly tie my shoelaces with my right hand, alone.

My imagination falls short of what I know this experience is going to teach me.  But I am incredibly humbled and anticipating epiphanies of how blessed I am to have, well, everything and everyone in my life.  At this early stage of recovery, I am already amazed at my exceptional husband, friends and my students who excited tell me they’ve been praying for me.  I mean, it really isn’t that bad a deal to have a hairline fracture that doesn’t require plastering, in my unpreferred arm.  Perhaps because I’m not one who usually gets sick or stays injured, that this sudden “surprise” really had me evaluating myself and why I was taking it the way I was.

A quote I’ve retained from one high school was “with weakness comes understanding”.  I think my definition of weakness is being recalibrated.  It isn’t weakness having a part of your body not work effectively, it’s a strength learning how to be resourceful and creative enough to compensate for it without complaining.  I’m learning that to endure lack without complaint is never weakness, it is the quiet and solid strength that I admire in others.

I can say this now after pouring my unfamiliarity with pain all out to God who replied with overwhelming peace, assurance and smiles.  I’m not going to be naive in thinking the hardest part is over in this session of fracture, though I’d like to think the hardest part is over.  I’m just grateful that the learning never stops, the loving never stops and I am safe wherever I am, however I am.



Posted in 52 pickup, how was your day? by enisea on 16/02/2013

Sometimes there is just too much to be discontent with.  The world is incomplete and you find yourself critiquing the imperfect parts of yourself.  Nothing seems perfect… because you won’t let yourself believe it.  Too long have you been naive about how wonderful and promising life was meant to be for you, but one is inclined to reconsider thoughts of ridiculous anti-gravity when you think you’re the only one with them. But you’re not.

In those slumps, there is nothing useful to think but “Hallelujah”.  And nothing more beneficial to do than thank God for every time before that your dreams escaped your overprotective suppression – because we feared disappointment.

Thank you God that there are so many more dreamers in the world – not disillusioned by hope deferred.  Thank you that children everywhere in the world laugh uncontrollably.  That trees worldwide still supply sufficient oxygen for over 7 billion people and even more animals.  Thank you that there are incredible people in my life who remain in my life, especially when I take most of them for granted. Thank you that you think that I’m beautiful. Thank you that the opportunities to love, hope and smile never cease.  Thank you for every flavour of icecream that exists.  Thank you for every creatively clean comedian.  Thank you for sunshine, thunder and applauses.  Thank you that I am twenty three, healthy and highly favoured.  Thank you that these dreams will never sleep, never stop growing and never stop challenging me to think bigger. Thank you that when the sorrows last for a night, that joy comes in the morning.



Posted in 52 pickup, heroes of mine, how was your day? by enisea on 26/11/2012

Currently, life is a corridor.  I’ve never felt this sure about being unsure in my life.  There exists a strange contentment about smiling mildly and not exactly knowing what comes next. Because I seemed to have known what I supposedly wanted to do before I knew what I really wanted.  Now I’m learning about what I want, and what’s worth wanting… and I’m wondering what to do about it.

The last three hours have seemed to evade me, ever since I told time that it wouldn’t rule me. So, as though to provoke me to panic, it flew past and still I am here, defying it… I think.  What if I told you time was brittle?  That if you wanted, you could make sure you always had enough of it by defying the conventions of understanding it.  Sort of like always having enough money because you work, get paid, and spend your money well, but never looking at your bank balance and therefore never wondering if you could have more – because you don’t need more, you’ve just heard that if you had more you could do more with it – which is true and not true at the same time. Because if you had more money, you mightn’t do more with it than living a good life, because a good life is more than having as much money as you want.  There are many, aren’t there, who live poorer lives because they’ve overvalued the quantity and undervalued their quality.

Haha, yes – really simple thoughts today. I feel like a 1990 computer operating system – as though my thoughts really couldn’t process any faster than primitive and very young understandings.  I think today I’ve been repulsed by complexity and I desire simplicity.  Why isn’t life as simple as having enough and loving abundantly? Haha, what if it is that simple and we’ve all been too stupid to realise that?  What if my life isn’t about setting me up and having what I want?

I know a woman who’s life is not hers.  She has no life other than her four recent foster children.  She struggles and she struggles, but boy does she love! She is not perfect, and she probably feels rather lonely and/or overwhelmed frequently.  She has no particular talents to build her pride up against, and you wouldn’t find her interested in anything regarding exterior beauty and she is bald.  But she loves. She is tired and still, she loves.  Oh, when she talks about her children – there is a little frustration, there is the pain that she feels for them, but there is so much love.  I don’t know another, to be very honest with you, who has loved at such a capacity as her – that I know of, personally.  Her life has translated into making the lives of four children whom she did not birth, into beautiful lives.   And somehow, that humility of hers scares me – because it seems hard, really hard.  I sort of care about myself- probably more than I should.

To pray for others more than myself.  To care about others more than myself.  To cheer for their successes rather than promote my own.  To protect others as much as I protect myself.  To love as love is defined.

Haha, I wonder, when our lives here are finishing, if the only question we will be asked is “So, in your 87 years of life, did you love properly?”

What if the greatest success of life was ensuring that you helped as many as you could ‘love properly’. Not: build your dream home, having 2.4 children, own 2 cars, pay off your mortgage, own every apple product, and have enough to pay for your children’s education.

Haha, I know, mid-midlife crisis. I won’t lie, the idea of severing myself from electronic technology and trekking through a foreign wilderness sounds rather appealing right now.

This whole: I DON’T UNDERSTAND MY LIFE and WHAT’S LOVE GOT TO DO (got to do with it?) has hazed my morning.

Yes, I feel very much like the only way to justify life today would be to be crazy: shout, sing, smile like a maniac, kiss my family, celebrate life and help an old lady to cross the road… I really shouldn’t let myself blog on these sorts of mornings – it makes my insanity rather public, though it’s strangely pleasurable not being cool, calm and well written.

the steeper the fall, the higher the bounce

To a certain love of mine who always bounces back and impresses me every single time.  I saw this video and imagined this is what redemption looked like – slow motion joy, unadulterated glee, and an unreasonable and overwhelming amount of it.

We’ve got this.

the scenic route

writer’s brick.

Posted in 52 pickup, how was your day? by enisea on 15/08/2012

There.  If there has ever been a time I have felt my writing to be so lack lustre, it is now.  I rather clean my room than write (and that says a lot).  It’s just a little disappointing when you have to conjure up a decent article to fulfill the monthly commitment that you made to write in a very local paper (that you question gets much audience). I’ve sat here for the last three hours chewing this block that writer’s supposedly digest from time to time, re-reading the same 78 words and wanting instead to be a seamstress than an amateur writer.  Here’s hoping that my article doesn’t echo with the fake smiles and awkward pen of a writer who doesn’t feel like writing, who writes anyway of hope. Friends, she’s as dull as a brick today.

procrast…(will finish the word later)

Posted in 52 pickup, epiphany tiffany by enisea on 13/07/2012

Anyone else would think I had time and enjoyed doing other things, painting or fixing broken toys – but this habit of avoidance is ruining me.  Oh God, break this circuit, get me out of this perpetual trap.  I lose my senses, things blur, I forget almost everything and still I take the bait every stupid time. Every. Stupid. Time.

Procrastination: the iron sceptor of Inadequacy.  Every procrastinator knows their inadequacy and is too good at avoiding facing them.  I’m well advanced in these practices and I have never felt confident at everything (and have felt robbed of my satisfaction where I have felt a little more confident).  What’s more, it continues to deteriorate the little confidence that remains, and makes one wonder what good they are in anything but escaping. And even then, procrastinators have not perfected escapism because our responsibilities find it, bite us hard and remind us again how inadequate we are, even if we make it, just… because it’s been so long since we did well.

I will tell you more about it… later.

to the lonely

Posted in 52 pickup, pin the tail on the love, thought spills by enisea on 19/06/2012

I hate(d) being lonely when I was/am lonely.  It was the enemy that had chained me up and locked me away periodically through the second half of my life and made me swear to rescue others. So I chose many of my friends on the basis that they were lonely and I could help them, because lonely people only need company when they’re lonely, don’t they?  Stupid thought.  I knew what I was doing was unsustainable, but my ambition to eradicate loneliness bit off more than I could chew…  I accumulated too many lonely friends.  I know they were too many because I would not be able to fight loneliness from all of them most of the time.  Loneliness needs company and understanding – but not just in the dire moments – in all moments (so I thought), so I was a short-term friend.  I would ferociously defend them for week, sometimes months, the lucky ones got me for a year.  And then I would find more lonely people to befriend and feel compelled to love. It’s as though friends needed to qualify for my active friendship by being in a terrible place.  It’s horrible isn’t it?  Turns out fighting loneliness was a losing battle and I watched some friends slip further because I had unfortunately reinforced the stupid lie that they were not worth remaining with.  I’d think of most friends and usually let loose a guilty sigh over them, hoping they were better, many times – knowing they were not.  Loneliness was a greedy, relentless beast – grinning cruelly at me – because it could not have me so it would have those I loved, and knew it could torture me through them.

I have diagnosed myself with an addiction to the lonely.  I cannot help myself, I wish to love the lonely people for at least a little while.  Perhaps I wasn’t aware how selfish I was being, wanting to rescue one lonely person at a time, to be someone else’s hero, to be held in high regard!  And then slowly taper away in frequency, because everyone who knew me even a little, knew me as being perpetually busy.  I over-committed and under-delivered with most things and then felt guilty 55% of the time because everything I did and everyone I knew deserved better.

The kind ones say they understand, they forgive me for forgetting them.  Others see me as a popularity chaser (since many of my popular friends were rather lonely).

Looking back at my own battle with loneliness, sure there were a few golden friends who hoisted me up from hard, sad and depressing places, but they weren’t my salvation from my fear of being unwanted… it wasn’t them – they didn’t save me… so why I thought I could be another’s salvation is beyond me!  I conquered my loneliness by the revelation that I really wasn’t alone, I wasn’t unloved, I wasn’t unvalued and I was worth somebody else’s all.  And I know you’ll probably roll your eyes at this: but my cure for loneliness, helplessness, hopelessness was realising that Jesus Christ had conquered it all before me.  That because He was with me, would never leave nor forsake me – would love me more than I knew was possible and wasn’t confined to the selfish instinct of every other human being in my life – well, I had the capacity to hope, and therefore the capacity to help.  It was He who consistently beat at my defensive walls, rebutted my perception that I wasn’t beautiful, calmed my paranoia, gently dealt with my insecurities and built me into a slightly more resilient person.  It wasn’t every other person with a lovely smile, a kind word or beautiful company.  It was love at it’s best. Because His love endured the harshest loneliness to ensure I wouldn’t be lonely – so to insist on being lonely sort of spits right at Him.

I suppose I just wanted to apologise to all of my friends for neglecting them – and they know who they are (well, all of you).  And yes, I tried to be there when you needed but I wasn’t there enough and I’m sorry, I’m genuinely sorry.  My disclaimer is that as much as I could be there for you, it would never be enough and I could never defend you effectively enough from loneliness – though I tried (though pathetically).  Honest to goodness, I say this with as much of my heart as I can.  There’s only one love that will ever complete you.  Unfortunately, without Him  you will never escape loneliness.  Everyone knows love should be perfect, and there is only one perfect love.  Fortunately, perfect love drives out all fear (of being alone, of being rejected, of not being missed); and even more fortunately – Love is incredibly delighted about you.

Take it from me, I love you (though not enough) and He loves you (enough not to give up, ever).

To the lonely, you are loved.

i wasn’t ready for today

Posted in 52 pickup, thought spills by enisea on 18/06/2012

so I tried to delay facing it, then tried to hide myself behind another, finally realising (while it was still morning) that the day would not leave me alone…

So I armed myself, gave a brave cry (much braver than I felt) and ran into what I will later tell you I was glad to conquer.

It’s June. The months of 2012 have transpired too quickly.  I wasn’t careful with my days, and I didn’t fight hard for all of them.  Before I knew it, it was a month later, and now we’re a breath away from the halfway mark in a year.  Where did it go and how did I get here?  I don’t want to be facing these same giants and mountains by 2013, I have bigger fish to fry.  Suck it up, buttercup, you know how it goes:

Life ain’t gonna get any better. You are. (I am)

The great and admirable people in the world didn’t become great and admirable by sooking over an insecure morning.  Why should I?  Strengthen self in a stronger God, Nicole.  Pull yourself together, woman!

“she ain’t pretty, soldier.”

Posted in 52 pickup, thought spills by enisea on 05/06/2012

That’s what they said when we signed up.  Not that I signed up, I don’t remember signing up. From my earliest memory, I grew up in it. They told us to brace ourselves.  Sure, the words didn’t gel because almost all of the time, their uniform was clean.  They said “we’re not perfect” but washed their stuff before pep-talking us.  In the name of giving us their best, they forgot we needed to hear that times would be worse.  They dressed and covered their injuries so it wouldn’t frighten us and their tragedies hardly marked their faces. We didn’t know them other than their sheen smiles and sparkling eyes – they told us how worthwhile it would all be, but they didn’t tell us how much it cost them to realise it.

Until I realised they weren’t unfamiliar with failure, my own devastated me.

I hardly saw them hurt.  I’d never seen them despair, so I’d never seen the process of recovering from it healthily.  Their resolves were always admirable and brave, so I couldn’t recall witnessing the weighty decision of persevering through really weak times.  Their countenance was beautiful, all the time (as far as I could tell).

So when I was hurt, when I despaired, and when I was in an ugly place – I had little idea what to do.

But now, trying to polish myself before a disorderly gathering of the few people who look up to me, I want desperately not to disappoint them.  I want them to be heartened, I want them to hope, to be strong, vigilant and admirable.  But I’m finding it hard to be enough of an example being the disorganised, emotional, imperfect person that I am. The conflict within me to be the best I can and hide my worst (because the worst in me really is pathetic – but you wouldn’t know because I’ve never told you), is ongoing. I grew up with the understanding that weakness is something to strengthen, not share (though now, I’d like to advocate both).  I want those around me to know I came from a very ordinary place, and unless the eye of the beholder perceived otherwise, I am still ordinary.

It’s hard.

Warfare in hard, and the real parts of life’s battle are fierce.  Protecting innocence against guilt and corruption, ferociously guarding loved ones, and watching cautiously not to become disoriented with the spin of arguable poisons, is not something I’m used to.  Remembering to care is a victory in itself! I have to unlearn my gullibility.  I have to think twice about carelessly throwing myself into dangerous games of “negligible importance”.  I have to fight against the current of indulgent culture and resist the bombardment of disgusting insecurity.  The stupid things we used to sing, I don’t want to sing along with anymore – the idle words, the shallow lies, self-promoting boasts, cynical spats, the occasional crudeness, the stupid smirks.  It’s like carbon monoxide poisoning – it creeps up on you and poisons you slowly, lulling you into sleepy justification until genuine, understanding and beautiful words are increasingly replaced and one’s own belief in honest, faithful humanity is suffocated.  I’ve been pretty poisoned. Shoot.

I sound horribly boring, don’t I.  As though laughter was a ceremony to participate in every year.

I just want you to know you have to be so much more aware of what you’re filling your lungs with, the influences in your life and the aspirations you chase – fashion and popularity being the most dangerous in what I’m witnessing in my friends.

It’s a catch twenty two. We all want to be beautiful, we all want to be admired! Yet it isn’t in trying to be beautiful or admired that our desire to be loved and valued is satisfied.  As it turns out, those we find beautiful and admirable are those whoknow they are loved and valued and don’t give a rip what anyone else might otherwise persuade.  I hate that when anybody mentions “beauty”, the first thing I associate it with is external and physical.

Flip. I wanted to write something cool and I began with an army theme and it just went… not as cool as I imagined.

Honestly, I’m disappointed with my writing because it’s not pretty enough and I wanted to write what I initially intended because I wanted you to think I was cool. But I’m posting this word vomit anyway because after that spat of not presenting just perfection, I’m trying to be OK not caring whether you think I’m cool or not.  I started somewhere and ended somewhere else.

Romans 7:15. My life’s dichotomy.

little care, vision impaired.

Posted in 52 pickup, thought spills by enisea on 22/05/2012

Aghast at her more recent frequency to short-sighted impaired vision, she caught herself rolling her eyes more.  Looking further than the immediate had blurred considerably, so that the balance she knew was important had somewhat been forgotten.  The bigger picture was not a vision she could appreciate with shallow sight… and she wondered how soon she would wear tired of hearing descriptions of what she seemed less able to view (what she cared less to view).  But she knew her depth perception was skewed and the last few falls had been the result of tripping over potentially dangerous obstacles which were not successfully navigated around.

Throwing her vision further required practice… and it tired her.  Not to mention it warranting confusion – it is one thing to know what it is one expects to see and another entirely different to begin to make out outlines and have absolutely no idea how it assembles into any sort of sensible picture.

The last few days have been tiring.  I’ve flirted too often with stupid thoughts of mild consequence.  I’ve entertained how to indulge in yet escape my sin – and I know it’s impossible, I just humour myself.  I think the main road block in my indulgent stupidity is not my own wellbeing (that seems negligible, currently), but whoever elses I might effect – because as apathetic and short-sighted as I can reduce myself to, I think even the thought of ruining another’s vision has same effect as smelling salts on the sleepy.

Oh, and how’s this for wonderful – I thought that every little victory would have me see every star twinkle with a little more sparkle, or at least provoke me to skip a couple of metres – but it has yet to.  I get to sigh or roll my eyes as some rhetoric persona in my mind congratulates me with Pharisaic mock for my small refrain.  But I suppose I can’t complain, I’m sure there are others who resist worse temptations than mine, with less support and who feel more dull than I (and how disturbing is it that this thought is mildly satisfying).

I’ll tell you all about it when again my vision is restored (to better than before).
The procedures are less than pleasurable, that’s for sure.

confessions credited

Posted in 52 pickup, heroes of mine, thought spills by enisea on 01/11/2011

There’s a particular bravery that comes with confession, it is the liberation of imperfection.  It’s my favourite part of reading my favourite blogs; confessions of loneliness, of struggle, of multiple eating disorders, of feelings of inadequacy, of laziness and failure – as though to relieve my isolated thoughts of imperfection and trying to console to my heart that which isn’t perfect.  I, for one, love chocolate frogs/pumpkin juice, milk tea, paper moons, parapluies, and frank notes for their spills of honesty – I do visit you, you’re all tabbed onto my favourites bar!  Just wanted to shout out and credit you all for inspiring me with your bravery and honesty!

The below post is one I wrote about 6 months ago, but didn’t post, because emotional eating is something that everyone else rolls their eyes about saying “whatever, that’s not a real eating disorder, you’re a faker. It’s normal, and obviously eating disorders aren’t a norm”. I read another friend’s post  a couple of days ago and suddenly felt that heck, let’s get it all out. I’m aware that emotional eating affects a lot of women people, and although we joke about it all the time, it really has a detrimental effect on everything, it was something I felt completely out of control regarding, for at least 10 years.  So because I felt so out of control I decided to boast about my eating capacity rather than hide it, because that would mean that I knew what I was doing and so I tried to deceive myself into thinking it was my choice to eat and eat and eat (which of course it was!) instead of it being something I felt I was unable to restrain in myself.  I would joke about it a lot and will probably continue to, it’s something we like to hide behind because jokes mean laughter and laughter equates to a smiley face which means I’m happy.  Whoaaa, that’s a little revealing! But hey, it’s learning that my body is just my body and although it represents me, so do a lot of other demeanours.  Since writing this, I’ve been much more keen on exercise – I quite like “running”/jogging/walking and am planning to do the 35km eastlink cycle (yayy!), I’ve been eating one portion each meal (as opposed to 2 or 3) and have tried to avoid snacking and excessive junk food, which I’m not altogether rigid about.  Although this past week, I’ve been a little more indulgent in because I like getting very involved with special occasions! Haha, well here’s to progress! And shameless blogging!

my choice of eating disorder (written 6 months ago)

Posted in 52 pickup by enisea on 01/11/2011

You know I’ve wondered before whether I could become anorexic or bulimic.  I liked the idea of it in a couple of moments when I thought I was inflating horizontally more than I liked.  I’d try to sensibly reason, “beauty is not found in thin figures”, which was fast countered by “and it’s probably not found in large ones either”.  I’d look at my stomach and feel very ashamed, very embarassed and totally insecure.  I remember walking around all the time trying to make sure I was sucking my stomach in enough.  Back in the days, my other teenybopper friends were thin and beautiful and I was on the outskirts of flirtatious efforts merely because I looked like the beginning stages of a teenage pregnancy.  Haha, nowadays, I’m much less embarassed with my body, but then again, I know my shape well and know exactly how to dress to disguise the more undesirable parts of me.  Haha, if you’ve only known me recently, well there are photos where I look like at least 5 different people. I tried to entertain the thought a little but found that my struggle was that I was just too attached to food, which was how the problem started in the first place!  “Calories” meant nothing to me, carbs meant everything.  My chief satisfaction in regards to meals were not that they were delectible and tasty, but that it filled me.  I wanted to feel full, and the more food on the plate for the least money’s worth, the more I felt like a rich little pig.  It was not until after high school where that giant penny finally dropped, ringing a direct correlation between eating and how the body then developed.  I always thought that it was paranoia and anxiety that made people take care in what they ate… I was wrong, they were the smart ones.

Let’s be frank, I’m not sure I’m completely apart from the those characteristics of disorderly eating practices.  And I’m being completely serious too.  Oh, you don’t have to worry about me becoming skeletal, my issues are in binge eating – which, according to Eating Disorders Victoria, is one branch of the unhealthy dietary practices.  But hey, I’m trying to swim once or twice a week and so lately I’ve been feeling justified in my excessive eating habits… that’s probably not a good thing.  You know, when anyone mentions ‘self-control’ or ‘lack of self-control’, my first immediate thought is ‘food’. 

Being a teacher makes me want to be healthy.  Because seeing children begin unhealthy diets from the age of three is quite heartbreaking and so I must model that practice I wish for them to practice.  Little by little.


Posted in 52 pickup, thought spills by enisea on 01/11/2011

I walked into the local supermarket to buy a couple of things, and stopped at an isle of books. I never buy books from supermarkets, but this time, I found myself looking at a book, and without thinking much about it, walked to the counter with it.  I was a little embarrassed, I wonder what the check-out-chic’s going to think when they scan this book through… they’re going to think I’m pathetic.  But I walked up to the counter anyway and lay the book on the counter, under a couple of groceries, hoping the lady serving me would be merciful in not commenting on my choice of reading.  She did.

“Hah! A toned tummy in fourteen days!?”
“Oh, did it say fourteen days? I didn’t even see that” (true)
“You know these supermodels and everyone on these covers aren’t real? You know they’re not like us, it’s not possible for people like us…”
Eyes flit instantly downcast, I smile politely.
“Well let me know how you go, come back and show me how you go with that.”
“Haha, umm… thanks”

Reading the first few pages I’ve wanted to scraw all across some parts of it in permanent marker.  The guy who wrote it has obviously made a living from the insecurity of many woman, and you can tell he’s having a field day.  I haven’t made it passed the second chapter. Haha, but I am now aware of alkaline foods versus acidic foods?  I bought it to save myself having to research or pay for personal trainers to draft up a strategy for me. I’ll just read some $19.95 book and hope that it, like the few other books I read can give me a few ideas in addressing the parts of me I think could be improved.

Why I’m telling you this? Not because I want to advocate insecurity, but because I don’t want to be ashamed of imperfection anymore, acting like I’ve got it together, when (although I’m getting there slowly) I really don’t yet.  I believe in healthy and gradual solutions, I don’t expect a flat tummy in 14 days, I want to be healthier and this is the most measureable part of my physique needing addressing (in my opinion).  I’ve been getting into practices to balance my spiritual, emotion and organisational parts of me that have needed an even weight.

This page, extracted from a wonderful little affirmations book titled It's not always black and white by Kate Knapp

clutter me habitually.

Posted in 52 pickup, frozen frames, how was your day? by enisea on 18/10/2011

Lying on the bedroom floor, resting my head on unwashed clothes. 12″ vinyls (untouched for months) under my bed to the left, books (unread) under my table to the right.  Turning the volume on my cheap half muffled cd player three quarters loud.  Staring at the energy saver lightbulb directly above me for as long as possible, so that the luminous white circle embellishes itself on my every blink.  Being more conscious than usual of my breathing as Shawn Mullins sings that everything’s gonna be alright.

Dear God.