I’m in “I hate” mode. Sheesh, it is bad.

I hate my hair. I recently got it cut and it still looks shapeless.

I hate my body. I’ve been cutting back, shaping up, getting my “I’m too exhausted” butt up the stairs instead of the elevator and yet I wobble. My arms wobble. My legs wobble. I’m embarrassed and feel fat. It’s important to note, though, that I am not fatter according to the scales but I quite possibly am definitely less toned.

And I hate my tendency to go so far into my work that I lose perspective on things like my butt size and bagel calories.

I also hate that I can’t just live as a brain without a body so that I could just work without ending up with all the little bits that jiggle.

I hate that I worry about the jiggle. Who cares? I have a husband that loves me. I’m about to have a master’s degree, a novel, and a screenplay being considered by a major movie studio. Shouldn’t people be able to look at me and think, Her achievements far outweigh the fact that she couldn’t resist Free Bagel Fridays at her office.

I hate that I care what people think. Who are these “people” anyway? The people who love me are called friends and family and they don’t care if I overindulge. They don’t really care if I never sell a book. They love me and want me to have happiness and balance, whatever that means to me.

I hate that I don’t know what happiness means to me. I hate that I just wrote that because I hate that I actually know what happiness means to me but I’m not able to grab it.

I hate that I’m not able to reach for my true happiness because I’m afraid.

There. I said it. I’m afraid to be happy.

I hate that.

I love getting home from work before my husband. I think it should be my new mission in life to get a job that lets me out of work before him. Our vision board should have some sort of symbol that means that I get home from work first in our future life because let me tell you, it is bliss.

I notice the daffodils on the table, how they bloomed while I was away, and I actually bend down to smell them. I see how the light comes in through the windows and remember that it’s spring. I say a little prayer to the gods that it’s still light outside when I get home from work. I wash my hands and think about what to have for dinner.

Secret Fifty-Four, Revealed. I breathe. And I don’t talk. I change into my pajamas and I don’t rush. I chop vegetables. I pour myself a glass of iced blueberry green tea. I put the dinner on and write a blog post, email, light a candle or two. Just an hour. That’s all I need, but oh man do I love it.

And I love my husband, too. Don’t get me wrong, I love that man. But man, oh, man can that man chat my face off when I come through the door. I like my face chatted off by him, I really do. But not right after work. Not in the last few minutes before sunset. Not when it’s my time, which feels like it almost never is. I really need to see about this new master plan. I want a little more time all to myself.

You see that golden sparkling bubble bar? I just had that in my bath. Yep, $6.15 melted into water and made the surface shimmer like a yellow brick road.

I’ve decided to buy myself a little gift every time I go to see my therapist. It isn’t that it makes me feel bad. In fact, this week, I was really happy when I left, like the burden of anxiety had been taken from me. Still, it’s hard stuff. It brings up issues that, in the moment, give me a damaged vibe. I can tend to feel tarnished and gray.

But after a little trip to Lush, I stepped onto the Sunny Side. It is expensive for a bath but it made me feel good as gold. Now my skin sparkles and, amazingly, my spirit feels a little more dazzling, too.

This Week’s Joys:

Sunny Side bath

Making better choices when eating out — it’s incredible how something as small as that can start to make me feel more in control of life again. Who knew that choosing tuna fish instead of fried chicken could make such a difference?

Going for a walk when I get frustrated — again, it’s about little choices to take more control back.

Stopping to admire a perfectly formed rose sticking out through the bars of a gate

Water—drinking water seems to always help almost anything that ails me

Waking up to the sound of rain

Aluminum-free deodorant from Lush—I’ve been looking for a deodorant that won’t contribute to my impending Alzeihemer’s so hopefully this is the one!

Driving all the way across town with my husband, randomly, to have lunch at one of his favorite hole in the walls.

Running into a friend when I least expected it, at a time of day that I had no where to be, and sitting down for a long chat.

Buying a new phone. I didn’t like the buying of it. Who could have ever dreamed that these phones of the future would cost so much? But it was really time for an upgrade.

Moving my savings over to a high interest savings account, re-evaluating my 401k, and finally looking into a Roth. My husband read a money book that he loved (called I Will Teach You to Be Rich) and we’re beginning to take all of the steps suggested in the book. I’ll let you know how it goes!

Postcard reblogged from Vintage Fangirl.

I can’t describe it other than to say it feels like I’m waking up from a very long sleep. I suppose that’s what spring is about, isn’t it? But this is different. I see where I want to go next in life, even if I’m unclear on how to get there.

I think I’d like to travel from Bangkok to Bombay, maybe circle the Bay of Bengal. I want to publish my novel, for sure, but I’d like time and space to write the next one. I’m glad that I found a way to work a full-time job, get my master’s, and write a book but I hope the next one is easier and includes waking up in a farmhouse and writing during a baby’s naps maybe.

The Fisherman’s wife says that now her little one is over a year old, they are both beginning to be well fed and well rested. He’s happy. She’s bored and itching for an intellectual project to tackle in her newly found quiet time. I like the idea of raising a child and then being ready to write a second book.

But I also want to help people, women, in need. And by “in need” I don’t mean hungry or sick or poor, even though certainly many women need help with those things. I want to end situations in this world where women feel like prostitution is  the only answer for feeding her children, keeping them well, and escaping poverty. I’d like to give silent women a voice and skills and hope. I’d like to do that globally.

I write these things and the air goes right out of my lungs. Excitement. It’s every bit of what is missing in my daily life. I feel like I was meant for more than sitting at my 9-7 job everyday getting fat on bagels and spreadsheets. Weren’t we all meant for more than that?

A change is building for me. It’s coming. I’m trying to remember to tack more things to the vision board but, suddenly, finally, I’m finding that my brain is working faster than my corkboard.

This Week’s (and a bit more’s) Joys:

THE HUNGER GAMES, THE MOVIE! Saw it in IMAX and it did not disappoint.

Peet’s Coffee at home - why do I ever buy anything else?

Mad Men and Game of Thrones coming back this week - love the anticipation

Wrapping myself in a blanket straight from the dryer and then crawling beneath my regular bed covers with it right before bedtime. Massive heat on cold nights makes for the nicest sleeps.

A painted postcard that I got from Costa Rica catching the sunlight in the morning

The sweet smell of a peppermint candle

Shrimp and scallop burritos - Delicious. It’s my new obsession, even though I’ve only had half of one so far. Once I’ve gone back to the gym, I will have more!

My grandpa - He sent my husband his model train in the mail just as a surprise. He got it when he was a little boy and has now passed it down to my husband. It feels really good when I can see that my family considers my husband their family, too. It’s a special feeling.

Boiled eggs - Okay, admittedly a weird one, but I’ve found that if I eat a boiled egg and a piece of fruit for breakfast, I stay full all the way to lunch with no trouble. It’s been really good for balancing out things like shrimp and scallop burritos.

The Fisherman’s Wife - She was visiting last weekend with her son, which is why I didn’t get a chance to blog. Just love her. Love her. My mind has felt more at ease this week and when I stop to think about it, I feel that it’s the effect of having seen my best friend.

Elvis records - my husband has been playing them in the mornings recently

Haircuts - I’m getting one today after an ungodly amount of time of having not had one. You know when you start to become embarrassed of your hair? I’ve had that for like a month and I finally get to see my hairdresser today. It’s always nice to see her, too. She secretly thinks I’m old but I don’t care because she makes me feel wise.

Anticipation - Maybe it’s spring, like I said before, but I’m really feeling the blossoms of possibility and how planning and looking forward to things can shape my life. Something relatively small, like shelling out $20 to see The Hunger Games in IMAX on opening weekend, to bigger things, like starting a savings fund for a trip from Bangkok to Bombay. These are things I can do, right now, that make my heart jump in its cage and why not bring some of that into my life? Why not?

I love roasted carrots.

I love cognac.

I love sitting by a fire pit at sunset.

I love LOST, even though it ended badly.

I love The Time Traveler’s Wife.

I love smooth, swingy hair that only my hairdresser can give me.

I love a man in a 3-piece suit.

I love thick, soft socks that stay in place within my shoes.

I love the green light of the sky before sunrise.

I love waking up in my husband’s arms.

I love when simply drinking an extra glass of water makes my skin look better.

I love purple in all shades.

I love pictures, new and old.

I love Skinny Cow ice cream. Mmm.

I love being inspired, Battlestar Galactica, peppermints, and icicles.

I love being healthy.

I love feeling needed.

I love being kind.

I love walnuts and apples in oatmeal.

I love seeing my best friends and I love snuggling their babies.

I love reading and being excited by stories.

I love a day where my heart feels at peace.

I love writing a list that makes me feel good.

I love writing my joys of each week, and here they are:

homemade beef stew with purple carrots

drinking brandy by my fire pit at the close of a Sunday night

washing my hair three times because I like the smell of my shampoo

flipping through magazines just to look at the pictures

candles, they’re really nice, always

having friends at work

falling asleep at 8:30, total guilty pleasure

warm blankets on cold nights

getting back to my To Do lists

Slowly, steadily feeling in a little bit more control of my life and decisions

Delicious kale salad with quinoa, tangerines, and almonds

Falling asleep in my husband’s arms

Waking up in my husband’s arms

My husband has been telling me I’m wrong a lot lately. Sometimes he’s not very nice about it either. But here’s the thing, he’s mostly right about the ways in which I’m wrong. Maybe that’s what sucks about it the most.

Yesterday he told me that he thinks the self-esteem problems I’m having are stemming from the fact that I’ve stopped going to the gym. He said that I should complain less and workout more. I think he’s right …

In the interest of a happy compromise, here are this week’s focusing-on-the-positive-without-working-out JOYS:

The smell of fresh garlic

My new subscription to Poets and Writers’ Magazine

Having an amazing dinner with an old friend and her new husband

Feeling fat, weighing myself and confirming the fatness, but not looking fat. I’m still looking good but my husband is right, so I will workout if only for my self-confidence.

Kale salad, one of my new favorite things

Getting excited about my novel

My colleague telling me that I’m the best boss she’s ever had

Getting older— it’s so underrated.

Finding my center, even when it’s not other people’s

Ordering an Oscar Wilde cocktail during a Sunday brunch with another old friend in Chicago

Discovering what my vision board is saying to me — more on that another time

Still having up white Christmas lights in the house just because we like them

Making food for my husband, which I’m going to finish doing right now (spaghetti squash with kale salad—a dinner packed with self-esteem for those currently skipping the gym)

I had to learn a tough lesson this week and that is that just because I’m ready for therapy, doesn’t mean that everyone else is, too. I’ll admit it. I’ve been a little bit like a drive-by Dr. Phil, telling it like it is wherever I go. Secret Fifty-Three, Revealed. Honest insights are not always welcome.

First, here’s an example of how it’s going well for me. My husband said that he realized on the phone with his parents that sometimes he’s grumpy with them even when he’s not in a bad mood. I said that’s because he doesn’t feel like he can be his true self with his parents without being judged, so he puts on an act to talk to them. Being grumpy is the most protective act he can take on since it puts his parents on the defensive. He actually thanked me for that insight but my husband is in a place where he’s ready to face the hard stuff head-on. Lucky for me—and him—because I’m all up in the grill of that mode right now.

Here’s where that brand of honesty goes sour. A friend of mine recently told her husband that she’d been cheating on him. His former two spouses had also cheated on him. As my friend is telling me about how she didn’t even enjoy the cheating, that it was more of a compulsion, I tell her that while cheating is absolutely wrong, a marriage is based on the habits of two people whose patterns play into each other. If his first two wives were also cheaters then this pattern is as much his as it is hers, and that when they both recognize the pattern, and can each work toward feeling that they are truly worthy of love, then they’ll be able to break the cycle that is damaging their marriage. So, she kindly thanked me but said she would process that information some other time when she was less raw. That was my first sort of warning shot as to maybe, even when people are seeking my advice, giving the brutally honest account is maybe not the best way forward.

But I desperately want it for myself. That’s why I’m doling it out. I crave being told exactly what’s going on, the stuff I can’t see. After having my first therapy session down, I see I’m going to get that from professional help. I liked her. She seemed to gel with me. It’ll be good. In the meantime, though, I’m finding it really hard not to talk about what’s going on with me to my close friends, and not all of those friends are willing to help me cope right now. It’s making me panic. I see people looking at me like I’m growing two heads or addressing me as if I’m a bomb that might explode.

Here’s what I’m learning. Friendship is not a straight give and take. I’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of my friends’ spin-off therapy thoughts. I assumed that when I was ready for mine, that they would all bravely walk with me through it. Not so. Because I guess you can’t go through all of those deep psychological thoughts with someone without also examining yourself, and we’re not always ready to look at ourselves even when our friends are. Sometimes we just want to sit back and enjoy life instead. I get it but it also kind of hurts. But I get it. Friends have to put on their own oxygen masks before they can help with mine, so I’ve got to stick to the people who are currently wearing theirs.

I’ve found the three people that are willing to take me through this, and they’re not the people who I helped through similar times. One newer friend, one older friend, and my husband. I’m really lucky to have three! They are, too, since it spreads out my crazy into more manageable amounts, I think.

They’re my people that are looking right at the ugly, the crazy, the puddle that I am right now and saying, “Bring it on” and “I love you no matter what” and “I’m really glad you’re doing this now.” I’m reminding myself that it doesn’t mean that the other people in my life don’t also feel that way about me, but not everyone is ready to walk the deep self-reflection road right now. Not everybody wants to hear it like it is and certainly don’t want to come out of their comfort zone to tell me how it is. I’m glad that I have a few friends who are and really glad that one of them is my husband.

Photo reblogged via The Society Pages.

Hello, friends. I’ve been M.I.A. lately. Between Valentine’s Day and my birthday, I’ve just been chilling out more than usual I suppose. But my husband is out for the evening and I’ve got some potatoes boiling, so let’s chat…

I’m going back to therapy. Hooray! No, seriously. I’m going back to therapy.

My mother told me, over the phone on Christmas Day after she’d refused to pick my husband and me up from the airport on Christmas Eve, that my personal essay about my childhood had made her try to blow her brains out and that if I ever wrote anything again, we would not be having the conversation because she would be gone. The most condemning thing I wrote, in her mind, was not that she’d neglected me in my tween years while she fell in love with my second step-father. I found that to be the most hurtful thing I’d written about her, though still the truth. No, she was livid that I’d said she had three husbands. She never tells anyone that, she said, and I needed to think more carefully about how my words could hurt other people.

I think a lot about the way my words effect people. I almost do nothing else with my life. I know how to use words. I know what they mean and I know what they do, yet I did not know that a fact, like saying my mother has had three husbands, would make her want to blow her brains out. Well, because I know that it doesn’t. It makes her want to tell me she’s suicidal so I’ll be too scared to ever say anything about her again. But I’m not a child any more. I know what words mean, even when they mean something else.

She told me this after she’d called me in California to say that I should come home for Christmas, that she’d overreacted to my essay. Come home, she said. We’ll make candy together, she’d said. Then this. She would not relent until I admitted that her throwing us out had caused me to cry all night and had rattled me to my core. Then she told me it was time to come home. I didn’t want to go. The Accountant’s Wife was coming, to save me, my savior, my friend. But my mother commanded us home. We went home, to two people that acted as though we’d just flown in for Christmas. My mom. My step-dad. Presents and food and the feeling that I may never be okay again.

Friends, close friends, have been using the term “mentally ill” a lot more in our conversations. Words like “borderline” and “narcissism” come up too often for me to shrug off. I’m not one of those women who think that it won’t happen to her, though. If my mother thinks that my grandmother is mentally ill and I think that my mother might be mentally ill, it’s time to get my head checked. I want to be well, but I also want someone to help me if I’m not.

I have moments of excitement. Woot! Someone is going to help me handle these things the healthy way. Then rather swiftly my mood can swing to panic. I’m going to have to do things I don’t want to do, like telling my mother that threatening suicide is not the way to get me to stop writing about my childhood, that if she feels suicidal then she should seek professional help, that I am not responsible for her emotional well-being and she’s no longer in charge of mine.

So. I’ve been thinking quite a lot lately about this blog and how it’s existence is both my freedom and would be my mother’s hell if she knew about it. I’m now 33-years-old and I wonder if that’s old enough to know better than to write such personal things on the internet.

Secret Fifty-Two, Revealed. I might actually just be old enough to speak my mind without fearing what others will do to me or say about me. Since my current heroes include people like Marc Maron, Caveh Zahedi, and Ayelet Waldman, I think my heart has decided even if my head is slow to catch up.

My head also tells me not to say hello to Marc Maron when I see him around my neighborhood—it’s very un-L.A. to acknowledge the famous. But when I listen to him talk about what a jackass he’s been and having to apologize to people, I feel a little more human. I’m a little less afraid of people. I think I’m a braver person because he’s saying it, a lot more publicly than I am. Maybe next time he’s in line for coffee ahead of me, I’ll just say hello or introduce myself as someone who also feels compelled to share her shit publicly. We’re of the same tribe. I think it’s a good tribe. I think we’re saner for wondering if we’re slightly insane.

I guess my new therapist will be the judge of that.

Joys of the Past Two Weeks:

My mentor called me “kid.” It’s been a while since someone has and I was beginning think those days were over.

I had the best sushi in San Diego. San Diego! It’s a new place for me and I think I liked it. A dash Portland. A dash San Francisco. A sprinkle of Los Angeles but without the traffic.

I went into Claire’s on my birthday just to make myself giggle. I hadn’t been in one since I was twelve. Found an amazing necklace and am no longer laughing. Three people have asked me what boutique I bought it in! I don’t see mine online but it’s similar to this.

Man, do I love a quiet evenings at home blogging.

I started reading Norwegian Wood and am really liking it. Library Thing used to recommend it to me all of the time but this is the first time I’ve read anything by Murakami.

I’ve discovered the greatest fish taco recipe ever. It tastes remarkably like the tacos from the food trucks in my neighborhood. I’ve substituted tuna, chicken, and beef in the recipe and it’s still great for all choices.

I also found the world’s most comfy flats. I’ve now bought them in brown and black. No blisters and they mold to your foot-shape.

My husband’s parents gave me money for Hanukkah and an Amazon gift card for my birthday. Put a little in for myself and got the greatest birthday gift—the Fossil Modern Cargo Tote. It’s like a new addition to my family. Love it so much.

I’ve been turning my radio up really loud in my car when a song comes on that I like and Jerry Maguire-style rocking out. It feels really good.

I read that Selema Hayek uses Bach Rescue Pastilles for stress relief. I’m now a big fan, too.

One of my co-workers made me angel food cake for my birthday. So sweet. So wonderful.

I saw my new favorite film of last year—A Separation. Totally worth the subtitles!

I had another birthday and it was pretty great. My husband, me, and San Diego. It was a good one filled with Turkish coffees and city adventures.

I had a revelation. Always I ask myself what I could have with what I can do. Now I’ve started asking what I can do with what I have.

It’s a little shift but powerful. Like I like the idea of living in Southeast Asia for awhile. I’d been thinking that we could sublet our house and I have a resume that could get me an entry-level ESL teaching position. But that never feels exciting or freeing to me because it’s essentially throwing out the career that I spent my twenties working to achieve. It’s negating one dream to have another. Instead, this week, I’ve started looking at the facts like I can write. I can teach writing, I think. I can set goals and achieve them.

It’s led me to think things like: I can publish my book. I can get writing grants. I can sell my screenplay. I can get freelance work. I can write from anywhere in the world. I can build upon my career and travel the world. With my hubby, of course, who is putting similar types of things on our vision board.

“I can” is more empowering than “I could.” I feel inspired.

This Week’s Joys:

An old, olive green scarf from the back of my closet has re-emerged and become the fashion statement piece of my winter!

My husband put all of the groceries away because I have the sniffles. So nice.

I spent all of Saturday working on my novel. That, also, feels empowering.

I’ve started a new habit of finishing things that I’d previously left undone—mostly crafts that have been sitting for years half finished. Feels good.

I’ve decided to buy another sweatshirt like one I got for Christmas because I love it so much even though it’s not on sale and I doubt that I can wear it to work.

The Actor’s Wife’s baby has gotten old enough to hold his own head up. It makes snuggling with him a lot more fun now that I don’t feel so much like I could break him. Is that weird? I’m an almost 33-year-old woman that’s scared of breaking infants just by holding them…

The Accountant and his Wife are about to celebrate their 10-year anniversary. If you were reading this blog last year around this time, you know how incredible it is that they’re together, happy, healthy, and celebrating a decade. Makes me really happy.

Why are so many of Hollywood’s beloved wonder couples on the blink? Hard economic times affect us all. It sinks into our lives and absorbs our culture whether rich or poor, celebrity or not. When times are tough, souls are rocked off the foundations. In the land of happily ever after, can our favorites make it?

Photo reblogged from Style Now.

Vanessa Paradis and Johnny Depp

Two children, Lily Rose and Jack

Together for 14 years, never married.

Rumored that he will not attend the Oscars so as not to fuel further rumors of whether they will split or if they won’t. I think they won’t. Something tells me that married or not, Johnny and Vanessa are soulmates. I know, I’m crushing the hearts of single women everywhere.

Photo reblogged from the New York Post.

Heidi Klum and Seal

Four children, Henry, Johan, Lou and Leni (Heidi’s child from a previous relationship)

Married for seven years

A week after the announcement of their separation, both Heidi and Seal are still wearing their wedding rings. There might be hope. I’m hoping. They’re one of my celebrity marriage crushes.

Photo reblogged from Business Insider.

Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith

Two children, Willow, Jaden, and Trey (Will’s child by a previous relationship)

Married for thirteen years

Their children’s budding Hollywood careers are rumored to be at the heart of the couple’s marriage problems. Jada has sought legal counsel but they’re still together. I have faith that the Fresh Prince and Princess can come up with a fresh compromise to save their marriage. Fingers crossed.