Category Archives: Travel

60 Times Around

The last time I walked the Camino, I cried on my first day.  That’s how hard it was.  The first day especially.

The 10th day was the hardest.  On the 10th day, I hit the wall from not getting enough protein.  I had to rest on the 10th day.  I literally couldn’t move.

I have to walk 25 kilometers on that first day.  Break that down into America’s language, that’s 15 miles.  One mile is 4 times around a track.  4 times 15 is 60.

It’s like walking 60 times around a standard track.  Yesterday I walked 12 times around so, 3 miles.  And my feet started to ache and my left knee cramped up.  On a technologically advance cushioned track with no ups or downs.

I did wear my ankle weights.  Only a pound and a half on each foot.

The thing about walking the track is the boredom.  I forgot how boring walking can be.  And since I already walked the Camino once already – I’ve seen all that stuff, it’s nothing new.  Which only compounds to the boredom I’ll have to face.  I’ll be in pain and I’ll be bored.  At the end of the day I can look forward to a bland simple dinner, not enough to satiate my hunger and on top of that, I’ll be bunking with 300 strangers in a dank gothic style church.  On that first day, there’s no shopping plaza’s or restaurants around for miles.

I have to pack more food.  Extra food for dinner and a little something for the following mornings breakfast – stuff I wish I knew the first time I walked.

15 miles equates to walking from my house to the middle of New Haven, possibly a little further than its middle. It’ll take me at least 8 hours.  It would take me 6 hours without breaks and if the path was completely flat.

I can’t believe I’m walking this shit again just to lose weight.  I hated it the first time.  I loathed it.

I’ve been keeping up with walking every single day.  My stomach looks like it’s slimming down, but I still weigh the same.  And my slim stomach may just be an optical illusion.  My pants don’t feel any looser.

Today I will attempt to hike up my big little mountain with my ankle weights on.  It’s going to be torture.

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Just Another Gut Wrenching Normal Day in the Life of Mel

I hardly work, but I still find myself busy every stinking hot sticky day of the week.  I woke up a few days ago and decided I needed to start a food truck business as soon as possible.  I spent hours pouring over any information I could find online.  None of it was in one place.  I wrote down every possible license I’d need, every possible permit and searched for used food trucks on eBay and Craigs list.

I had an insane urge to open a food truck business – an INSANE urge.  A scathing, stressful, eye-popping urge.  Why did I have this toe curling, life or death asphyxiation towards starting a food truck business?  Because I’m broke as shit.  I can’t even cook!

I hired a financial planner, so now I can finally get a sense of how much money I have in the bank.  None.  Zero.  Zilch.  I’m one broke ass bitch.

Last month was quarterly taxes, property taxes, and I bought a plane ticket to Spain.  When I realized the impending financial doom I was facing, I nearly clawed my eyes out.  My answer was to open a food truck.

For at least the last 3 days I was obsessed with this food truck idea.  Every moment was spent on my laptop in my hot musty room frantically pouring over my options.  Did I mention I was stressed?  Oh yes, there was stress.

When I wasn’t stressing about my newest venture, I went hiking up my little big mountain.  I went 3 days in a row and each time I completed it, while I was walking back to my car, I didn’t have that fresh feeling of relief or accomplishment, no, I had the most rueful scowl on my face.

Me – “This is such bullshit.  Fucking bullshit.”

Again, the trail has kicked my ass.  I go almost everyday to hike up that god awful place, risking my precious ankles from rolling or cracking my skull open on a sharp rock (they are everywhere pointing out of the dirt like daggers!)

But it doesn’t matter how many times I attempt it, it’s not getting any easier.  Granted, if it was cooler out it may be a different story.  I don’t know.  I just don’t fucking know.  I can feel those 30 extra pounds every time I walk up that hill and have to take those large steps up the rocks – the same rocks I used to fly up 5 years ago.

Me – “I can never let myself get like this again.  Never again.  I have to diet God dammit.”

And when I’m not doing any of the above activities, I’ve been keeping social and hanging out with friends.  Seriously, who has time to work?  I’m freaking exhausted!

Tomorrow I’m stopping in at work to check the phones since my office manager isn’t there on the weekend, then hike up my big little mountain, stop at the grocery store for a snack to bring to my friends cabaret play later that day.  It would be wise to not shower in the morning and to wait until after my hike.  I hate showing twice in one day.  I never needed to before, when I was 30 pounds lighter.  I never sweat like I do now.

I keep fantasizing about how awesome I’ll look after walking across Spain.  Not just look, I don’t care how I look.  But I feel like a lazy fat shit is what it is.  I want to feel better.

I’m trying to amp myself up for the Camino by listening to audiobooks about trekking.  Right now I’m listening to Wild by Cheryl Strayed and it’s depressing the shit out of me.  Much of it is about her having to deal with the loss of her mother – something I never want to think about or deal with ever in my life.  The book is too wishy-washy and makes me miserable.  I cried while listening to it during my hike today.  That’s not invigorating.

Can you imagine seeing a 170 pound woman with a beat red face, sweating her balls off while crying into her water bottle and meandering through the woods alone?  That was me today.  Go on, try to picture it, I’ll wait.  It’s a sad sight, see what I mean?  Now picture me trying to hoist myself up over the rocks with my fat ass.  Go on, picture it.

But the book did end up amping me up for the Camino.  So much so that I want to go on another pilgrimage in March to Shikoku island in Japan.  That one is much more expensive than the Camino but only if I stay at Minshuku’s, paid accommodations, everyday.  They have free places for Henro’s (pilgrims), but you should call in advance for them and if you don’t know Japanese, you’re SOL.  The biggest shit stick about trekking Shikoku is having to call accommodations in advance.  At most, Shikoku will cost me $100 a day for 60 days, so $6000.  The Camino costs $2000 for 40 days.

Damn, it’s already midnight.  I’m going to watch the season finale of Fear the Walking Dead and go to sleep.  Damn damn, I forgot I need to buy lotion for the business – there goes another $100 freaking dollars.

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Laying Around and Buying Shit on Amazon

That’s what makes America great!

It was too hot to hike, so I laid in bed listening to Awaken Online: Catharsis, an audiobook that got really good reviews on Audible.  I Love it.

And I bought shit online.

One such thing that I bought is my plane ticket to Spain.  I decided to buy it now because I was worried the price would go up.  It cost $566 which ain’t bad I guess.

I bought a round-trip ticket to Santiago, that’s where my walk ends.  I can bus it to the airport in less than an hour for my flight home.  No fuss, no muss.

On the way there, however, I have a layover in Madrid which works out perfectly since I can hop out at Madrid and take a domestic flight to St Jean Pied de Port for $66.  I found a small airport next to St Jean Pied de Port, I swear that airport wasn’t there last time I hiked the Camino.

I’m already dreading it…..the hike.  I leave October 10th and come home November 19th which leaves me with plenty of time to complete it.  It just sucks, having to do it again.

Okay, we all know how lazy I am, right?  I’m fucking lazy.  I worked today for a total of 20 minutes and for the rest of the day?  Nada.  I woke up at 12 noon and listened to my audiobook for about 8 hours.  After the 8 hours, I bought a plane ticket to Spain so I don’t have to exercise or diet on a regular basis.  I can lose the weight all at once in one month.

I’m too lazy to exercise so I’m hiking 500 miles across Spain.  That makes about as much sense as me starting my own business because I don’t want to work anymore.

I’m accomplishing more as a lazy person than I’d ever hope to accomplish as a productive one, that is, aside from having babies and getting married.  You either do or you don’t with those things, there’s no in-between.  You can’t push a baby back into your uterus and I believe in only getting married once, otherwise, what’s the point?  It’ll be like dating with a shared bank account.  No thank you.

My Aunt Marie died Monday morning.  If they did an autopsy, it would conclude she died from a drug overdose that the hospice kept pumping in her.  She would’ve had a few more weeks, if not months – years even, if not for all those meds.  But she couldn’t live with the pain.

These next two days are going to be hard.  Wake and the funeral split up in two days.

She’s why I’m hiking the Camino again, really.  Life’s too short.

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I’m back from Italy!!

I got back Saturday morning at 5AM and didn’t fully recover from jet lag until today (Tuesday).

I was so tired yesterday that I opted for a nap at 5:30 in the evening, and didn’t wake up until 7:30AM this morning.  That’s 14 hours of dead sleep.  I needed it.  And I dreamt of a scarab beetle which is a good sign.  I didn’t even know what a scarab beetle was until my dream clearly stated that it was indeed a scarab and none other.

I returned to my normal shlog of worries when I got home.  I think I’ll be okay in the money department (I think, but not 100% sure), I’m mostly worried about that Goddamned lawsuit.  I haven’t heard anything from anyone!

I prayed when I was in Florence.  I found a huge church that didn’t require an entrance fee or a line to get in and knelt down to pray.

Me praying – “I’m sorry I never go to church to pray but just in case this works, can you drop the lawsuit against me?  No wait, that sounds really selfish.  I also pray for my family, my mom, dad, brother, niece, her baby…..I pray for health and happiness to all of them.  Okay, now can you drop the lawsuit against me?  Oh shit…..this isn’t working, is it.  The more I pray, the more I sound like an asshole.  How long have I been praying?  Where’s Jill?  I bet she thinks I’m a religious zealot for praying.  Especially for praying this long.  Okay I think that’s enough for now.  When I get to the Vatican I’ll do better.”

When I got to the Vatican, there’s no place to kneel or pray.  It’s shoulder to shoulder with everyone looking up at Michelangelo’s masterpiece.  That’s in the Sistine Chapel.  The actual church of the Vatican is yet another long line, shoulder to shoulder inside St. Peter’s Basilica.  We all agreed to skip that one.

The Vatican is not what I expected.  I thought it was a large open space like an amusement park.  Only instead of rides, they have churches, chapels, steeple’s, fountains, a predominant gift shop in the center.  You’d be able to get pictures with smiling nuns and archbishops wearing their pointy hats.  Hop in one of the many confessional booths and for a small stipend, be absolved of all your sins.  Check out the modest dwellings of God’s most humblest servants…you know, that sort of thing.

But it’s not open at all and I didn’t see any smiling nuns.  They don’t let you leave the museum once you’re in it.  You’re hustled inside after standing in line (first you have to find the correct line) and then you keep walking.  And walk some more.  Shoulder to shoulder with other people who are walking behind you, and in front of you.  You curse at those stopping to take pictures – those who hold up the line.

You can’t read the inscriptions on anything or you’ll get trampled.

I’m not a person who enjoys crowds.  I tend to keep this tidbit to myself, and I do a pretty good job of it, but friends take notice when they see me standing by the exit of a crowded place.

I did see a lot of Egyptian art and a few mummy’s which surprised me because, well, what the hell do they have to do with the Catholic church?!

I saw a homeless man sitting outside on the hot pavement leaning his back against the Vatican wall – makes you wonder just how “holy” the place really is.

I sound awful.  Truly and dreadfully awful.  But I also seen a few old women looking haggard and dehydrated trying to get a few coins from the tourists standing in line.  They held out their shabby little cups and shakily pleaded, “Help” or “Please”.  Until they got shooed away by military men with their finger on the trigger of a semi-automatic (their finger was always on the trigger, not just to scare away old lady’s).

But I mean, the Vatican HAS to have some refuge for these people, right?  Hold on, let me look it up….yeah, they do.  Thanks to Pope Francis, the newest Pope!  He’s cracking down on all the scoundrels who use the Vatican’s bank for the sole purpose of tax evasion too.  He closed 4,000 accounts already.  He’s the real deal.  Best Pope yet.

Totally off subject.  Where was I?  Ah yes, my trip to Italy.

The best part was strolling around Rome in my pajama’s and drinking beer that I hid in a brown paper bag.  I’m a simple person.  Some say I’m too simple.

On one of these outings, where I was strolling a nearby park, my travel mate, my office manager, asked me why I haven’t blogged about the trip yet.

Me – “You know about my blog?”

I haven’t told anyone about my blog in the longest time.  I made a promise not to.  I was so careful…I didn’t believe her until she gave me proof.

Apparently it happened during one of my beer binging nights (so it could’ve been any night really).  When I was telling her that I shoot video’s of my trips.  I must have used her phone to pull up one of my blog video’s.  I’m actually narcissistic when it comes to those videos.  I love when people watch them.

The scary thing is, I have no recollection of this happening.  But showing a video of a former trip is something I would totally do.

The thing with having your friends read your blog is, they think everything is about them.  All that I write about is inspired by them.  It can be something so completely innocent, but just seeing their name, or assuming their name, can bring an unwanted feeling of….”oh shit, is she about to write something horrible about me?”

It’s a HORRIBLE feeling!  And having that fear in the back of your mind while reading my blog will cause anyone to assume the worst.  And in turn, hate me for it.

People who either trust me or have a healthy dose of self-esteem can stomach reading my blog.  The rest don’t leave it to chance.  They opt out.

Would I opt out too if I were them?  No.  I’d want to hang out with them more to see what they write about me and if they don’t mention me I’d be like, WTF man?  I’m not important enough?  That probably means I have the self-esteem to stomach it, but not the trust.  Ultimately I would stop reading it entirely because it doesn’t involve me.

I can write a lot about my trip to Italy.  How we were nearly thrown out of both hotels (my fault entirely both times), how Jill’s mother thought she lost me inside the Sistine Chapel (I could be found near the exit), snapping an ass pic of the statue of David, the best spaghetti I ever eaten, stealing rocks at the colosseum, almost getting myself killed inside the Casablanca airport by two large Moroccan women (I’ll save that for a different post).

We were searched at least 3 times before being allowed on a plane to the United States from Morocco.  Since it’s mostly a Muslim country, security was extra tight but only when flying to the states.  I’ve never seen it like that anywhere else.  Absolutely no water bottles on the plane.  All laptops and iPads must be checked.  All passengers patted down as they boarded the flight.  I kept it light and simple with Jill’s mom.  “This is great!  I feel so much safer now that they’re being so thorough.  It’s one thing we can thank Trump for.”

I was responsible for Jill’s mom in getting her to Italy and back home again safely.  I tried my best to keep her calm but by the end of our last flight when we were safe and sound at the JFK baggage claim, her exhaustion got the better of her and freaked out a bit when I had to run back to the bathroom to fetch my phone where I forgot it.  It was the first time I had to leave her side and she nearly buckled in my absence.

We walked a lot in Italy.  I didn’t mind it since I’m working on getting in shape again.  It was a physically demanding trip and traveling is emotionally taxing especially when you’re not used to it.  We had some crazy long layovers and this little lady kept up just fine up until that point.

It was funny when we came up to the Capital building in Rome.  It’s an ancient building, huge.  With sculptures and fountains and pillars.  I thought of our little White House back home and compared it to their Capital building and thought..”The USA never looked so small.”

Rome’s streets are clean and safe.  So clean in fact, that I need to look up where they put their trash bags.  New York has their trash bags in the street to be picked up by the garbage men.  But not in Rome.  Rome has no garbage outside their establishments.  It’s really puzzling.

It was a good trip, I’m glad I got to see all those things now while I’m young.  I tell you, people always say to travel while you’re young – this is the first trip I took where that makes perfect sense.  It’s a lot easier when you’re young to do these things.

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Anyway, today I had a student from CCMT (Connecticut center of massage therapy) come in to interview me.  It’s part of the program, to interview an owner of a massage business.

You want to hear something crazy?  Ten years ago, I was interviewing the woman who owned In Touch, the massage business that was here before my business moved in.  I interviewed the owner and decided I didn’t like her much.  Didn’t like her at all actually.  But there was something about that location that felt familiar.  Like I was going to end up working there.  It didn’t make any sense to me at the time because I told myself I would never work for that woman, ever.

And there I was interviewing a student today at the old In Touch, where I conducted my own interview ten years prior to some bitch.

It’s funny how things turn out.

I’m still entering the beginning phases of my retirement.  For the past couple days, I actually got to hang out with friends which never happens.  One of them even fixed my moped and got it working.

Today, Tuesday afternoon, I was zipping up and down my street on a moped.  Being one of those annoying people who got a new toy that makes a lot of noise but are too scared to take it out on the main strip.

I’m a 37 year old woman living at home with her parents, semi-retired with no real job, who has the time to zip up and down her street on a Tuesday afternoon on a moped.  I can’t explain why, but this reminds me of the feeling I had in Rome when I was strolling the streets in my PJ’s nursing a beer.

Something about it is so freeing, so carefree.  It’s a feeling I long for over and over again but it’s so rarely obtainable.

That is until now…..May 1st was the first day of my retirement but it really didn’t happen until the 7th.  Then a week later, my office manager went away to start her trip and I had to go to work to take her place.  Then it was my turn to meet her in Florence and I stressed about my financial situation until beer soothed it away.  And now here I am, I’m back home.

This retirement thing hasn’t really sunk in yet.  It’s May 30th, 30 days after the start of my retirement but really I only had about a week of it.  It’s hard to enjoy anyway when I’m worried about money.  Even harder to enjoy knowing I’m being sued.

I have no clue what’s going on with that.  My newest fantasy as of late is for those 3 women to drop the lawsuit.  My insurance companies won’t cover it and I’ve got no assets, so they get nothing.  If they hired a class action lawyer, she’s not going to waste her time.

Maybe it’s already been dropped?

I HAVE to not think about it.  You don’t understand.  If I think about it, I’ll drive myself into the mean Blue’s.  The meanest blue’s imaginable.  On par with heartbreak.

Today, after I gave that interview to the CCMT student, I found myself with nothing to do.  I didn’t want to watch TV, I didn’t want to nap because I already slept for 14 hours, I beat my video game, I didn’t feel like blogging or calling anyone.  I had nothing to do but instead of resting and enjoying my free time, my mind automatically jumped to the nearest thing to worry about.

The worry I felt, it acted like a rope connecting myself to the mainland – to salvation.  If I let it go, I would find myself drifting away uncontrollably.  I had to keep myself steady by worrying about my business, about money, about getting sued.  It was the only thing that made me feel safe.  Like I was in control.

When I have free time on my hands, my mind shifts into a dark place.  It’s the first time I’m cognizant to witness it happen.  It’s so hard to explain and I doubt anyone will have any idea what I’m talking about, but that old saying just popped into my head…..”Idle hands are the devils playthings” or something like that.

I always need to be doing something to distract myself from my worry.  But even when I distract myself, the worry is still there, it doesn’t vanish, but it doesn’t hit me as hard.  It’s tolerable.

If I have a problem, I have to fix it.  I can’t sit around doing nothing, I have to fix it.  My unconscious won’t let me relax.  Something is wrong.  And the more free time I have, the more likely the mean Blue’s will appear.  Because I can’t stop.  This won’t stop.

When will it stop?

As I look ahead at the future of my business, I’m sure that after the lawsuit (months after), there will be a recovery period and then the worry will ebb.

This is only the beginning of my retirement too.  I’m not acclimated to having free time.  It almost feels like I’m sinking, I don’t trust it.  And can you blame me?  I hate giving massages and yet at the same time, I need to give massages.  To feel like I’m in control.

I’ve worked so hard for this day to happen and it’s here!  And I paid $43,000 of debt off in one year!  And I just got back from Italy!  How many good things have to happen until I can eliminate this gruesome affliction?

Video games act like a medicine.  Hiking too and blogging.  Not to mention beer.  The more I think about it, every activity that I find enjoyable, is enjoyable because they distract me.  The more power something has over my attention, the more of it I want because without it, I’m sinking.  I sink until I find the rope attached to the mainland.  I’m slowly reeling myself in towards salvation, towards madness.

Okay, so I know this about myself.  That’s the first step.  Ayahuasca told me that I have to let go, over and over she told me I have to trust.  She said we’re only in control when we learn how to trust.

I also know that people who turn to spirituality, turn to it because they had their hearts crushed and 9 times out of 10 hippies are broken egomaniacs.  But I swear to Gawd that my time with ayahuasca was the real deal.  Just like Pope Francis is to the homeless.

I have to believe in the power of my awesomeness.

I gotta sleep.  I’m about to crash hard.  I hope it’s not going to be another 14 hours of sleep kind of night.  I’m hiking up my big little mountain tomorrow.

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I’m in Seattle Washington!

The last flight was hell!  HELL!  I had a baby in one ear screaming and this other guy behind me trying to pick up the chick sitting next to him.  I wanted to turn into a velociraptor and bite into his thick juicy skull.  And eventually remove his head entirely.

He was dropping celebrity names, saying he goes to all the Hollywood parties and can take her next time she visits.  I swear to god, I’m not an evil person.  I’m not, I’m almost sure of it.  But I want to see this mans spleen.  Why his spleen?  I don’t know, I’m a dinosaur.

I’m sitting at the N gates in SEA.  Unlike LAX, this place is cake to navigate.  There’s signage everywhere, maps and even real-life people to direct you (even though you don’t need them because it’s a well laid out airport).  I actually needed direction since I forgot to print out my last and final boarding pass.

I want a coffee so bad.  There’s a fancy coffee shop straight ahead from where I’m siting and the dude working the register looks exactly like Josh from My Crazy Ex Girlfriend.

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I chose to plop my fat ass at this location specifically because it was out of everyone’s way (I’m sitting on the floor again), and there was an outlet!  An outlet!  But the god damned thing doesn’t work!  I’m on 45%, I need a fuel up.  My flight doesn’t board until 8:05 and it’s only 6:34.  I’m hungry again but I already spent $17 on a bottle of water, a bottle of vitamin H2O, and a roast beef wrap. No, no, I spent $18 dollars!

Have I mentioned that I’m broke?  I pee dust.  I poop dust bunnies.

Speaking of pee, I wasn’t moist this time around.  A two hour flight doesn’t have the same magic as a 6-hour flight.  I still don’t know what happened down there.

I gained like 40 or 50 pounds over these last few years and maybe big people just sweat more down there?  But why is it so HOT?!

Some lady just tried to fuel up her cell with this jokester outlet next to me.  It’s a cruel cruel joke.

Fuck I can’t do this.  I can’t spend $6 on an iced vanilla latte, I’m broke!  Fuuuuuuck.  If I do spend money, it needs to be on food.

44% is left on my mac.

Do I have to poop?  I keep thinking like I have to go but then I don’t.  I’d like to get it over with before I’m on a plane again.  And besides, the bathroom is the only place where I can vape.

I think my blog makes me want to shit.  I know this for sure because it also happens when I think really hard, not just when I blog but when I think about stuff.  I guess that’s why I have to shut off my brain when I’m around others.

I literally have nothing to write about besides having to poop, wanting an iced latte, and my battery slowly dying on my laptop.

I hope I have fun in Alaska.  It’s just that I love my bedroom so freaking much, plus with my new video game that is waiting for me when I come back, and my dog, I never want to be anywhere else.

Problems, we all know I have problems.

It’s not that I won’t have fun in Alaska, it’s that I’d have more fun staying home playing my game.

I think I really have to go to the bathroom, not a false alarm.  I’m going to brown streak it off to the poo palace and walk around some more, maybe eat.

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You can’t tell from this pic, but I’m vaping behind that newspaper.

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I didn’t make it to the bathroom.  I saw a sign for a bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese and made my way over.  I swear I’m Jewish.

Anyway, it sucks.  It’s a sucky shitty bagel.  $15 for an ice tea from the tap and a shitty bagel.  I’m getting a damn refill.

This is a dead airport.  It’s dead because it has no working outlets.  LAX was loaded head to toe with free outlets.  They promoted them like penicillin.

But not here, not this place.  This place is dead.

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It’s 7:20PM, my flight is soon, thank god.  8:05 I leave.

Let me just tell you that I’m miserable without my blog!  I’m freaking dull eyed, hateful, misery in a handbag without writing.

How can I keep forgetting that?

I’m down to 34%

I feel lonely without my blog, that’s what it is.  It’s like if I stop writing now, I’ll feel like I serve no purpose.  I forget who I am when I don’t write exactly what I’m experiencing at every fateful moment.  Like right now, I just got the hiccups and I finished my bagel.  I didn’t grab napkins so I probably have gobs of cream cheese around my mouth and I’m hunched over my laptop tap tap tapping away – literally not stopping.  Shoulders are starting to ache.

I gained weight, but I like the way it looks on me.  Is that weird?  I’m not saying that out of denial, or that other thing people do, you know, when they say:  “I don’t care what people think!”

People who don’t care what people think NEVER say they DON’T CARE WHAT PEOPLE THINK!

I like the way my boobs look in t-shirts.  Is that weird?  Be honest.

I’m wearing my white ably t-shirt, hiking pants, and a blue hoodie.  My hair looks like a rats nest, I haven’t slept in 33 hours but I got to say damn, I still look good.  But do I look good because I don’t care what I look like?

Like when my mom makes me dinner when I’m famished and I always say that her food is delicious.  What if I’m only saying that because I don’t care if it’s delicious or not?  My mom made it and I’m hungry and that’s all that really matters.

I mean, it’s a scary thought, no?

I do care about how I look but I put it away so quick that I barely glance at myself.  I rarely take selfie’s, never go clothes shopping, I wear the same jeans and sweatshirt over and over again.

But I like how soft my boobs look in t-shirts these days.  They make me feel feminine and fragile and it’s such a contrast to my actual mannerisms and attire.  I’m both yin and yang.

I’m getting the shakes.  Is that a symptom of sleep deprivation?  I never had the coffee.

It’s 7:50.  I’m going to try my luck at the bathroom and swing by my gate to see if my flight is still there.  I got about 15 minutes.

I’m publishing this crap.

 

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Filed under All about me, humor, journal, Travel

I’m in Los Angeles California!

I’m writing to you from LAX.  I can’t remember if I ever been to this airport.  I’m always asleep for layovers.

My trip began at 3:30AM and now the time is 3:38PM.  At around 11AM my employee texted me telling me the power was out and she cancelled her clients for the day.

I still have two more flights ahead of me.  TWO Mother fucking flights bitches TWO!

I’m starting to doze off.  I didn’t sleep last night because, well, I can never sleep before a trip when I have to wake up early.  Today is Thursday at 3:40PM and the last time I slept was yesterday when I woke up at 11AM.

I’m so freaking tired.  I look like death.  I just reapplied my deodorant and I did it while sitting here on the floor by my gate.  LAX is one of the most confusing airports I had to navigate.  There’s no map anywhere!  You’re forced out of the plane into  unfamiliar territory and you have no idea where your next gate is.

Gate 52 for instance, isn’t just gate 52.  It’s gate 52-A!  And then there is gate 52B and then C and D and so on and so forth.  There weren’t any signs for the shuttle busses to take you to these gates.  It was just a dude standing outside next to a bus waving people in, he looked like Stevie Wonder – my first famous person I saw in LA!

I thought of so many blog idea’s today.  I kept saying to myself, “If only I can pull out my laptop right now, I’d go to town!”  But now here I am in LAX with free wifi and no excuses not to blog.

I forgot all but one blog idea and that is……Crotch moisture.

HOLE-LEE-SHIT

Crotch moisture?  Seriously?

What the hell is happening down there?

I went on a bunch of long flights before, so long that it makes this day look like patty-cake.  And I NEVER experienced this before.  I mean WTF man…

It felt like swamp thing invaded my pants and made a puddle.  But when I went to the bathroom, there was no wet spot at all, only moisture.  Like, A LOT of moisture.

Does this have anything to do with gaining 40 or 50 lbs?

Oh God I want my e-cig so bad.

After I got off the shuttle, I went back inside the airport and they wouldn’t let me back out.

Guy guarding the door – “Where you going Miss?”

Me – “Outside to vape my ecig.”

Guy – “I’m so sorry, that’s not allowed.”

I longingly look over his shoulder.  The day beautiful and bright.  So close.  Why?

Why?

My brain gets super wacky when sleep deprived.  This morning I was leering at some young guy eating a bag of chex mix.

Me thinking – “Why Chex Mix?  What can I learn about this man by knowing he likes Chex Mix?”

After a few seconds I concluded that he was a player, the opposite of a serial monogamist.  The guy likes variety and doesn’t like to be tied down to just one thing.

As for me, I’d rather go with Doritos.  I know exactly what I’m getting, there’s no favoritism at stake, each bite is as uniform as the last.

Chex Mix seems complicated.  Too much drama.

Wow, LAX is disorganized.  They changed my gate 3 times now.  It was 52G, then 52A, and now it’s 52H.  Nobody told us either, we all just meandered away from the gate like a slack-jawed grazing herd of humanoids.

My eyes are like glass orbs of swirling pink mist.

CONVERSATIONS WITH MELANIE

The following is real-life thoughts I had today while at the airport.

“Wow, that woman has a huge bag of almonds.  I sure wish I can eat almonds like her.  But they make me feel like I might shit and not shit at the same time, just hover over the toilet waiting…..waiting…..”

” Hello hottie asian man.  I bet you’re Japanese with your angular face and muscular lithe build.  Hair done up in a top-knot.  Oh yeah, gotta be Japanese.  He looks like a Samurai!  Why do I like asians so much?  ‘Because you have a thing for Bruce Lee and appreciate their culture’.  Right….right….”

I can’t think of anymore.  These conversations aren’t as entertaining as I thought.  I had a bunch of them earlier, but turns out they’re not blog worthy.

Oh God I’m tired.  Do I have to poop?  Sun of a bitch when is this plane getting here?

Anyhow, I’m definitely going to Italy in May.  I got suckered into it and I’m sorta freaking out a little.

My friend texted me – “Should I book the hotel for Italy?  It’s $390 for 5 nights.”

Me – “Yeah book it!”

Every time I booked a hotel online, I never had to pay at the time of booking.  I paid once I got at the hotel, not before.  They hold the room with a credit card and if you end up canceling, they charge you a small cancellation fee.

My friend – “Okay it’s paid for.  You can pay us after Alaska.”

Me – “You bought it now?  Usually you just hold the room with a credit card.”

My friend – “We paid in full through Orbitz.”

Me – “Oh.”

Suckered.

I am one ratty looking mother fucker.  It’s now 5PM Cheshire time.  2:00 LA time.  20 minutes late to boarding time.

What else can I tell you?

I guess I can circle back and talk about the crotch moisture again.  Where does it come from?  Yes I was holding my pee in a little, I supposed a few drops could’ve escaped me.  But what’s weird is that there were no discernible drops of dew, just an all-around feeling of dampness.  And the type of pants I’m wearing are the kind that don’t hide wetness.  I’m wearing tan hiking pants, you know the kind.  They’re really thin and breathable.  I’m going to wear my thermal long-underwear once I’m there.

I’m waiting to go to Seattle, Washington.  That’s my next stop.  Then onto Anchorage.

I bought that video game, Horizon Zero Dawn.  I stayed up all friggin night playing it.  It’s everything I expected it would be.

Yesterday my electric fireplace decided to break down at work and my therapist with the skin problem went to the hospital and won’t be back in for at least a week.

My receptionist is starting to realize what it is I go through.  Everyday is some new nightmare.

“What new hell will today bring?”

Have you ever felt clear and light?  Like, put together really well, neat, not a hot mess?

I felt it the other day.  A simplicity of thought that I haven’t experienced since I was 2.  I felt it as I was navigating the mall for my video game and two meats one side at Panda Express.

For one day, I felt intact, unencumbered, clear.  Clear and clean is the best description.  Until that is, yesterday happened.  It all fell apart a day before I leave for Alaska.

I”m horrible.  I’m looking at an obese lady and wishing in my head she’s not my seat-mate.

You don’t understand….airplanes are getting smaller and people are getting bigger.  I just had an American Airlines flight on one of their new planes and discovered it’s noticeably smaller than it’s ancestors.  They only have one woman’s room and one men’s room.  The middle isle is for mosquito-sized humanoids.  You have to leap-frog over each other in order to pass.

1243 words in this post.  It’s 2:25 LA time and I have no clue what’s going on.  Did I miss my plane?

What else can I write about?

I don’t feel like writing anymore.  I want to find a secluded corner so I can vape.  But it’s not going to happen.  Too many people and we’re finally boarding!  Thank God!

This is a quick flight, one movie kind of flight.  Small plane, filling fast.  got to go.

 

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Filed under journal, random thoughts, Travel

I’ve been wearing the same shirt everyday for the last two weeks!

Without washing it!  Without washing it!!

I’ve been  enthusiastically telling everyone about this shirt and instead of them being impressed or amazed, they laugh and look at me like I’m crazy.  And then I look at them like they’re crazy.  How can they not be amazed?  My shirt is a call for celebration!  It’s a goddamned tribute to human accomplishment!

Mom – “It’s going to walk off without you in it.”

Me – “But it’s amazing!”

It’s not just a regular shirt.  It’s a state of the art, technologically advanced, secret organic fillion-made super shirt and I’m apparently the only person in the word in awe of it.

Me and Mollie were giving a four-handed massage to one of our old faithful member clients.

Me – “You want to hear something cool?”

Client – “What?”

Me – “I’ve been wearing this shirt everyday for the last two weeks!”

They both crack up in hysterics.

Mollie – “Why would you bring that up now?”  She said in-between gasps of laughter.  “Oh my god Melanie.”  It looked like she was crossing her legs trying not to pee.

***************************

It’s now November 26th.  A week or two after starting this post.  I’ve been wearing this t-shirt for at least 21 days now.  I ordered another just like it and a long-sleeve shirt too.  Knowing me, I’d make these shirts my official wardrobe.  Three lonely shirts hanging in my closet next to an array of hoodies that amazingly enough, also never get dirty.

Okay, enough about my shirts.  Let’s focus on me for a change.  The girl inside the shirt.

I’m exhausted and cranky (what else is new?).  I fired one of my new hires because she was beginning to piss me off.  It’s not worth the effort writing about it, I’m just glad she’s gone.  She was a flippin’ loony toon.

My new male therapist is great, clients love him, my co-workers love him, but he’s a close talker.  Whenever I ask him a simple question, he mounts his face right up to my own and proceeds to answer my question with his awful breath.  I swear I’m not embellishing any of this – it’s so absurd that it’s comical, but not comical while it’s happening.  Just the way he walks over to me, to get so close to me – shoulder to shoulder.  It’s like his breath is his way of saying “fuck you” to me.

He was talking to me one day while I was busy and/or just wanted quiet thinking time and I got up and hid in a massage room where I carried out playing on my iPhone.  I felt guilty as fuck, but I’m at my wit’s end.  The more therapists I have, the more I have to over-see, and I’m still massaging a great deal of people.  If I stop to talk to someone, I forget what I was doing or what I have to do.  There’s always something I forgot to do.  So I get short with my therapists and even with my clients sometime.

( I just remembered I have to email a client!)

I’m so tired and it’s only 5:30 at night.  My co-workers client didn’t show up today so I passed my client on to her.  This is my first night of relaxation in a long time.  Thanksgiving wasn’t relaxing so that doesn’t count.  I was supposed to go over to my friends house after dinner but that didn’t happen, I’m supposed to go to a friends house tonight but that’s not happening either.  I’m too miserable.  Too bitchy.  Nobody should ever see me like this.  I can’t move anyway.

This is why I can’t massage anymore – I’m incapable of fake smiling, always have been.  I’m incapable of anything fake.  That’s why I come off as a cranky bitch.  Either I’m a cranzy (accidentally mixed crazy with cranky) bitch or a non-personality, blank empty eyed person.  Completely hollow.  Wilted and beaten.  It’s literally bad for my business to continue like this.  It’s bad for life.

I miss myself.

My bank account on the 19th of this month was around $9,921 if my memory serves correctly, but it doesn’t matter what it was.  This month I spent a gargantuan amount of money on furnishing the new massage room.  $600 alone just on the carpet, $300 at home depot, $150 at Pier One, $300 at Ikea, $175 for the security deposit.  Then I bought the Playstation VR for $530, renewed my massage insurance for $250, paid $700 in quarterly taxes, $800 on a marketing stunt (which I’ll make back), several more hundred on random Amazon buys.  And I’m finishing the month with paying off my Sears bill of $1600.

But here’s the thing….the new massage room is completed.  I have therapists on the schedule, ready to take clients.  These two things mean that I can really let loose with selling those Signature couple’s massages on Groupon.  We’ll be able to keep up even with a massive flood of them.  My debt is seeing it’s last and final days.  I’m roughly $31,000 in the hole.

This is it.  The only thing I have to be careful of is that my therapists get paid 3 times instead of 2 next month.  Normally I’d be shitting bricks due to this fact, but since those couple’s massages are selling like hot cakes, and it being December (the most lucrative time of year), I can actually get away with paying my therapists 3 times and paying a little extra towards my debt.

If I can pay it all off by April 1st, good, that’s great.  That would make it exactly one year of my life I spent paying off $50,000 of debt.  But it’s more likely to happen in June.  If I pay it all off by June, that makes my cross-country trip difficult and highly improbable.  I’d be cutting my trip really close to fall.  And I’ll be traveling on a mo-ped, carrying the least amount of warm clothing as possible.

But I have to do this.  I HAVE to take this stupid trip.  I can’t wait for another year to revolve.

If my debt is paid off by June, I quit massaging and hire a receptionist.  This might be an impecunious, tumultuous time if I don’t play my cards right.  To leave the business for nearly a month after such an abrupt change in finances to literally go “joy riding” might be a bad idea.

But knowing me, I’d take that risk.  I’d live on spam and sleep outside on park benches.  Anything to make it happen.  It’s really, the only thing I have to look forward to.  It’s either eat spam and sleep on a park bench, or give up and just die already.

That’s a glimpse of just how sick and tired I am.  Eating spam on a park bench sounds amazing.

I can’t write anymore.  Writing, I think, is still the only thing I really strive for.

If only you were in my shoe’s, you’d know I don’t have the capacity for anything right now.

I sincerely hate massaging people, hate waking up early to have to massage a string of people.  Keeping up with phones, laundry, emails, messes, schedules, annoying therapists, paperwork, payroll, angrily hanging up on telemarketers.  Then having the general malaise of worry.  Thinking that I forgot to do something.  Take out the trash, clean the bathrooms….

Annoying therapists who invade my personal space to ask me how my thanksgiving was while I can vividly smell his dinner from last night being broken down by stomach acids.

My other therapist telling me her son is sick and she doesn’t know if she can work tomorrow.

I forgot to do something….what was it?

I have to email a client.

I can’t do this anymore.  I really can’t do this anymore.

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Filed under journal, rant, Travel, work

Dreams

I keep having dreams about prison almost every single night for the last two weeks.  Before two weeks ago, I never had a prison dream, let alone any dream that appears almost every night.

I’m dreaming again because my current bedtime audiobook is the Tao Te Ching.  It’s only an hour and 43 minutes so it doesn’t last all night and into morning like my last audiobook did.  When the book ends, the dreams begin.

Usually the prison dreams are harmless.  All the characters from Orange is The New Black are there.  Red acts as my Mother and cares for me while all the prisoners are happy and don’t want to leave.  Almost like they forgot they’re in prison.  They only care about hooking up with each other and little else.  I was the only one that wanted to escape, which I did by the end of each dream.

The prison was actually a happy place but only because every one was preoccupied with hooking up.  There were rumors about prisoners wanting to hook up with me, but I ignored them and focused instead on breaking out.

All the prison dreams are like this.  All except last night when things turned dark.

The prison started out at as being a school.  I was in class trying to pay attention to the teacher when this one boy kept inching his desk closer and closer to me until he was right next to me shoulder to shoulder.

He had a crush on me and instead of me being flattered, I despised it.  I told myself to be nice to him so I don’t accidentally hurt his feelings.  “Just be nice Mel, keep you’re cool.”

But when he got to be shoulder to shoulder with me, I flew into a rage.  I pushed him and said “get the fuck off me!”.  Even though I specifically told myself not to do that, I couldn’t help myself.

That’s when the school turned into a prison but instead of it being a regular prison, it was more like a school.  The cells were classrooms.  I left the classroom to get away from that boy and plotted my escape once again but this time I wasn’t alone.

I had two friends with me.  A comical big fat black woman and a regular dude about my age, maybe a little younger.

We were caught trying to escape and sent to the disciplinary department which doubled as a shoe department.  The sadistic shoe maker gave us new shoes and as punishment for trying to flee, he nailed the shoes to my friends feet.  I was next in line to get the nails, but the shoe maker over looked me, saying that I wasn’t as much of an idiot as the other two I was with.

My friends could no longer run, but I could.  And so I did.

I ran through the school/prison and had to pee really bad.  I found the bathroom where all the stalls were, and the custodians were there working on a new toilet system involving tubes everywhere and the toilet I was to sit on was too high of a reach.  I was trying to climb up on the toilet when the dude I was with previously, the one who got the nails in his feet, busted in and said “Melanie!  What are you doing?!”  He was upset I wanted to leave the place.

“I’m trying to pee but the seat is too high.  I keep falling off.  Why are you in the women’s room?”

“I wanted to know how you like your hamburger.”

“My hamburger?  What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I’ll just put ketchup on it.”

And he left to go fetch me a hamburger.  He was starting to like me and wanted to impress me with a hamburger, and because of that, he lost all coherence of being in a prison and instead focused on impressing me.

That’s when I woke up and really had to pee.

In real life, there’s a guy I hung out with about a month ago.  He’s an old friend who I haven’t hung out with in 18 years and he contacted me on Facebook.  I kept putting him off for maybe a month or two when finally I said screw it and met him for a drink at a bar/restaurant in walking distance from my house.

Since then, he’s called and texted me non-stop.  He called at 2:30AM last night when I had to wake up at 7AM.  I was pissed.  So pissed that I almost flew into a rage like in my dream.  But instead, I calmed myself and put him under the Do Not Disturb option on my phone.

I’m pretty sure the dreams started because of him.  I told him how I feel relationships are like a prison.  People focus on relationships instead of trying to break out of their bleak working lives.  And since then, the prison dreams are relentless.

But they make sense to me.  The perfect analogy.  But I’m not sitting around all day thinking about it, the only time I remember thinking about it was with that guy I hung out with.  So it’s perplexing that I’m dreaming of prison this often when I never think about it in waking life.

Maybe they’ll stop now.  Now that I’ve written about it.

I was also scared about getting sued because the window of opportunity of that happening was inching down.  The prison dreams may have also stemmed from that as well.

**********************************

On May 20th I wrote a detailed plan for my business.

img_3839

Okay, so not very detailed, but the plan is still a go.

July and August I found myself with having one or two clients a day.  I lounged around watching bad sci-fi movies on Netflix and worried about my productivity.

“What if I’m like this when I don’t have to work at all anymore?  Just laying around doing nothing?”

But then from the grace of god, I found myself with 5 days off in a row in late August.  Not a single client.  During these five days, I practiced the piano, went to Rhode Island and stayed over night (the first time this year), devised a new member client system, went hiking twice (the first time this year), hung out with valued friends.

I can’t remember the last time I had 5 days off in a row (besides taking trips).  And during these 5 days I realized that I’m not as lazy as I think.  Everything I wanted to do, everything that I put off, I did in those 5 days.  All the while, worrying about my business.  If the phone is being answered and if clients are happy – I was tethered to the business and couldn’t fully relax.  Same thing happened when I went to Alaska.  Impending doom circled my head like a halo.

But then my employee cut her hours and I’m back at it again.  Massaging 3 or 4 clients a day.  I feel relieved that I’m there overseeing everything, but miserable that I have to massage again.  I’m relieved too that I can squirrel away even more cash to pay off my debt, but miserable that this tirade of struggle seems to go on and on.

I feel really close this time though.  Just a few more months until freedom.  But I’m struggling with the first leg of my plan, paying off at least one of my bills to free up money needed to afford the extra massage room.  I can afford it now, but that’s going against the plan.  It’s jumping the gun.  Bad things happen when I do that.

I have no choice but to wait until one bill is paid off.  The suspense of how my plan will turn out is killing me.

*****************************

My newest fantasy while massaging people is that of my cross-country adventure.  I decided not to go with a motorcycle, but a moped instead.  You can ride a moped anywhere and if the engine breaks down or I run out of gas, I can peddle the damn thing.  I can freely ride the cross-country bicycle trails.  That’s the main reason for wanting a moped.  I even picked out the bike I want.

Going cross-country on a highway, in my opinion, would be a shit time and the point of this expedition will turn into a destination trip and not a site seeing journey taken through winding roads through quaint towns.  Sticking with the bicycle trail is imperative.  Plus I don’t need to rely on navigating while following the path, it’s like walking the Camino.

motoped

It’s called the Survival Motoped and it’s meant to withstand the zombie apocalypse.  I can order it and put it together myself, or buy it already put together.  A very big part of me wants to buy it right now and put it together so I’ll have it ready by the time of my trip.  But that goes way against my plan.

If I put it together myself, learn how to put the engine together, the frame, the spokes, it reminds me of the book Zen and the art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  I can repair it myself if it starts acting up and I learn appreciation and self-efficiency.

One night, not too long ago, while watching Netflix and eating some delicious take-out, I picked out the attire that will accompany me on my trip.

A pair of protective motorcycle blue jeans, a leather motorcycle jacket with zippered vents for the summer, protective motorcycle boots and a half helmet.  They say to wear a full helmet with this bike along with full motorcycle protective gear, but wearing full armor on a moped looks ridiculous.  Plus I’m scared a full helmet will obscure my peripherals.

jacket

boots

And for the undershirt, I’m going with Ably.  Supposedly I can wear it everyday without having to wash it.  I pre-ordered one and it’s supposed to come sometime this month.

shirt

The Survival Motoped costs more than a Honda Grom, the original bike I wanted to go with.  But you can literally drive it anywhere and it has the same amount of CC’s as the grom, goes just as fast.  Has more storage space.  And I love the idea that I can peddle it if anything were to happen to the motor.

And it’s a zombie apocalypse inspired bike!

I’m worried about two obstacles in my way of the trip.

ONE:  Not paying off my debt in time and TWO, not being able to afford a receptionist.

I NEED a receptionist.  Without a receptionist, I’ll carry with me an impeding halo of doom.

Without a receptionist, I’ll have to wait yet another year to take my trip.  Let the seasons circle around again.  We only have 80 or so cycles of these seasons and I’m already going on number 37!

*********************************

Today is Monday, my day off.  I don’t feel like doing shit.  In fact, I want to go back to sleep.  I started writing this post as soon as I woke up from my dream so not to forget it a few hours later.

And the thing with relationships being a prison, I’m not that bad when it comes to them.  Knowing that someone is out there waiting for me is comforting, but I know exactly what I want in life.  I know exactly who I am because I know what I want in life.  And I know for certain I’m prone to distraction and letting years slip by while toiling in the slog of life’s interruptions.

Not knowing or finding a paid profession that I’m in love with, makes it hard for people like me.  People who get bored after a while, who hate being told what to do.  I’m curious about everything, but not enough to spend thousands of dollars and years of my life going to school learning about something that I might get bored with and feel trapped in like a hen in Animal Farm.  The drama, the hierarchy, the scandals.

If I go back to school, it won’t be for the purpose of finding a job when I’m done.  It’ll be to continue where the professor left off.  For further research and discovery and not because I’m being paid for it.

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Did you know there’s a rare disease (only 100 known cases) where your brain is unable to sleep?  It’s not regular insomnia, it’s an actual brain malfunction where it loses the ability entirely.  It’s called Fatal Famillial insomnia.  It’s mostly genetic, but the protein can also be passed on via body fluids or eating something tainted with it.  Like Mad Cow meat.  You can get it at any age even if you were born with it, you won’t know you have it until decades later.

Once it starts, you have 18 months to live.  You live with anxiety, paranoia, hallucinations and then finally dementia.  Basically it takes approximately 18 months of no sleep to kill you.

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It may be my day off, but it’s also my parents anniversary (45 years) so we’re going out to eat.  I bought them an Acer laptop for their gift.  They both love it.  My Dad cruises Amazon looking at crossbows and my Mom plays her free online slot games and forwards chain emails to all her cousins.  Last night I introduced her to YouTube, my personal favorite.

It’s almost payday so I have to go to work and pick up everyone’s pay sheets to send in.

 

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Filed under All about me, journal, Travel, work

When You Don’t Belong

When you’re the new guy at work, or new in town, you’re thrust into an environment where you must learn in order to survive.  I use the term “survive” loosely.  You must learn in order to make life easier and why is that important?  Because all anybody really wants is to be happy.

When we’re happy, we stop learning.  Your brain gets numb and dumb.  At least, that’s what happens to me.  All I want to do is eat and spend money when I’m happy.  To reach for my next fix.

Curiosity is different from learning in this sense, in that with curiosity, you’re not curious to help you “survive”, you’re curious because you have survived, or are surviving.  It’s more along the lines of not living to survive, but surviving so you can live.

Surviving is not living, and neither is the happiness that comes with it.  That kind of happiness makes you stupid, entitled, arrogant.  Hiring people to think for you.  Becoming a critic on your own likes and dislikes.

I want to establish the difference between learning to survive and learning to live and I strongly believe it’s through curiosity.

So when you’re the new guy, you don’t merely adapt out of fear you won’t make it.

Boss – “This is how we do it here.”

Surviver – “You got it boss.”

Liver – “But why do it that way?”

By learning why things are done a certain way, you’re less likely to repeat the mistakes of the past.  It also puts you in a position of higher innovated thinking.  The freedom to think different because you’re not scared of the consequences.

Unless you don’t care.  When you don’t care, you do what you’re told.  Indifference may be another indicator of a surviver.  You care only for your next paycheck.  Your reward, your entitlement.  The cycle repeats.

Perhaps that’s why money has a bad rep?  It’s the superficial fruits of labor, something we all want no matter what it takes to get it.  Our virtues become bent and broken.

Is the curious person a more virtuous person?

Blind loyalty to a person of power is another blatant quality of a surviver.

To me, anybody who exhibits blind loyalty to ANYONE is a dumb ass.

I’m curious as hell but when it came to working for someone else, I didn’t care.  I did what I was told.  My integrity was in constant upheaval, and the types of menial jobs I acquired were operated under common-sense rules and not some fancy formula for success.  I didn’t need to question any of it.

I did however, question why I was there.  And it’s a good thing too or I never would have opened my own practice.

I’m in Alaska at my friends house.  I’m so glad I brought my laptop!  We’re not going to the forest fest until later, when everyone gets out of work.  We’re going to set up camp, literally.

Until then, I’ll just have to lay around.  I don’t get bored but I wish I had a car…..Jay said I can use his car but it sounds like it’ll die at any second.  I’m in his bedroom laying on his futon and he’s on the floor in a sleeping bag taking a nap.  I’d bide my time drinking beer and watching YouTube documentary’s but I’m afraid of getting a headache if I did that.  It happened yesterday and it was a doozie.

So pretty much I’m only here for the Forest Fair it seems.  See myself some arts and crafts and shit like that.

I think I should shower and pack up my things.

But that thing I wrote about virtue being related to curiosity makes sense.  I want to meditate on it.  Indulge me for a spell…..

If virtue = caring, why care?  Why do we care about certain things and not others?  Because it effects me personally?  Or because of compassion? Or that I have such an awesome ulterior idea that surpasses the idea’s already in place and I need to voice them?

why do we care

We wouldn’t be curious about anything if we didn’t care.  I mean, it’s common sense if you think about it.

But being the cynic that I am, people care only for themselves.

And since I care only for myself, I’m curious mainly to enhance who I already am?  And if I enhance others in the process, strength in numbers, right?

So a curious, “virtuous” person is the biggest snake in the grass?  As opposed to a surviver who’s just going about their day minding their own business, trying to make a place for themselves, they are less likely to be meddlesome and manipulative?

Guilt…..

I feel no guilt what-so-ever.  I have felt it, but reconstructed my life so to never feel it again.  I voice my opinions and reject anything that will have the repercussions of guilt, even if felt long after the fog clears.

A caring person is a person who does things in a certain way to refrain from feelings of guilt and regret.

My cynical outlook can never be refuted or unproven.  When any question like this arises (why do we care?), it always has to do with what we can gain or refrain from it.

I DO feel people’s pain, but I don’t enjoy it.  So I make them feel better for my own good.  Because if I were to be in their shoe’s, I’d want help too.  It makes me feel better to help.

I’m a snake in the grass that feeds the hungry.

Okay, I’m going to shower.  I have to pee.

Oh and one more thing…..It’s better to not belong than it is to belong.  The best stories are from people who were thrown into a mess of a situation – outsiders who weren’t trained to be “yes men” because they have no fear of not being one.  The best stories are of people who live, and not survive.  There’s choices in living but none in survival.

Unless of course it’s a real survival story, those are cool.

Okay, I’m done.

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Filed under journal, philosophy, random thoughts, Self help, Travel

Fort Worth

I’m as efficient as a Japanese business man at the airport.  I try to be as streamlined as possible, slipping in and out of crowds like a wise grasshopper.  I purposely wore sandals for easy slip on/off at security.  I checked in at home and printed out my tickets, made sure not to have to check my bag.  I avoided every line imaginable at the airport today and the place was PACKED.  Dumb asses….

I hate crowds.  I’m not a fan of them.  Once a crowd turns into a mob, no one has individual faces anymore.  It’s all just a bunch of arms and legs moving in a cluster fuck.  They’d step over a dead person in the street without realizing.

I’m at the Fort Worth airport in Texas and I hope it’s not huge.  I can’t really tell from where I’m at how big this place is.  I have no idea where my gate is, let alone my gate number.  I’m just sitting here at the first place I saw that serves breakfast.

I kept nodding off on the plane.  I didn’t sleep last night.  My flight was too early in the morning so I couldn’t sleep.

I just ordered a bloody mary.  What the hell Mel?  I only have $300 to spend this week.  I’m not even there in Alaska yet and I’m pretty sure this breakfast will cost me at least $25 – $30.  For breakfast!!  I have no self control.  No dignity.

And I keep eying places to hide so I can vape my ecig.  Usually on the floor in front of a deserted gate I find a pole to hide behind.

OMG this bloody mary is friggin awesome!

Shit I’m tired.  It’s 11:38am in texas.  Back home it’s 12:38pm, in Anchorage it’s 8:39 in the morning.  My plane will be landing in Anchorage at 7PM Alaskan time after a 7 hour flight tonight.  How long will that mean I’m awake for?

I’ve been up since 10:30am yesterday, it’s been 26 hours I think I been awake for.  If I get to bed at 10pm tonight (Alaska time), it’ll mean I’ll be awake for 32 hours?  No no wait, hold on…..damn math.  Right now at home it’s 12:38pm so if I go to bed at 2am tonight (Connecticut time), that’s 14 hours from now, add that to the 26 I’ve already been awake for and that equals out to be 40.  I don’t know, I could be wrong.  I’ll figure out the math when I’m not so shitty.

I’m about to pay my bill and find my gate.  Hopefully I can start writing again once I get there.  My plane doesn’t take off until 315pm and it’s only 11:46am.

$34.97 was my total bill for breakfast.

And yeah, this place is huge.  The shuttle taken a good 3-4 minutes to get to my gate.

I literally feel pregnant right now.  My stomach is full of beef tenderloin breakfast burrito, toast, home fries, apple juice and bloody mary.  Perfect combo for a 7 hour plane journey I’d say.

I have this really weird habit of rubbing my stomach whenever I feel really full, gassy, or I’m drinking alcohol.  I’m just sitting here at my gate vaping my ecig in secret and rubbing my gigantic stomach like a freak.

I’m wearing a t-shirt I bought at Stop & Shop.  It’s a t-shirt that gives patronage to my hometown.  I don’t think I should be mentioning my hometown anymore on accounts of some guy searching for “massagebymelanie @ email”.  He landed on My blog with that search, but what are the chances it’s actually a client who know’s me?  Out of all the freaking people in the world?

Shit, I should DEFINITELY not mention Massage by Melanie, and even just the word “massage” should be off-limits from now on.

And I’m wearing super comfortable pants that feel like pajama’s.

This is quite nice having my blog here.

Okay, I’m going to publish this shit post and listen to my new audiobook, I’m starting to zone with my mouth agape.

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Filed under journal, Travel