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I just have a lot of feelings

I have recently realized that I am relatively uptight and therefore have initiated a crusade to become a more sentient, present being. I have been going to yoga classes to try and balance my mind and soul and also become a more peaceful person. But as you are all aware I have trouble turning off the time bomb that is my brain, thus the yoga has failed to make me balanced or peaceful at all, but rather sore and sleepy. That’s when I realized that I just have a lot feelings. I am not really that uptight, but extremely emotional. The way you might feel when you experience the loss of a pet is how I may feel due to the loss of an earring. This is a mild exaggeration, but I use it as an attempt to put my hypersensitivity into perspective.

After assessing my internal imbalance I have been diligently working to make amends. I have now embarked upon a journey to desensitize myself. For years I have avoided sad movies, books, poems, and situations in general since I become too emotionally involved. To again help you empathize with this hardship consider the following; while a sad film may effect your night, it will ravage my thoughts from anywhere from a week to a month. For years I have tried to avoid these feelings, but as a result have allowed myself susceptible to more potent feelings of pain when emotional situations are unavoidable.

Therefore, “Mission: Desensitization” is in full force. I have been logging in hours of “Law and Order” “Criminal Intent” and “Special Victims Unit”, and my new personal favorite “Intervention” in an effort to mute my currently hyperactive feelings. If you haven’t had a chance to watch the latter, each week includes a unique account of a new person facing extreme addiction. The footage is raw and deeply disturbing and the final scene includes an emotional interaction with the addicted individual’s family offering an ultimatum unless the person seeks recovery. I have watched several episodes including those focused on an alcoholic so severe her children aren’t allowed to see her, a bulimic so excessive she has to strip to pay for her ice cream that she only throws up, an opiate addicted son who steals from his mother to buy Oxycontin, and everyone’s favorite crack addicted uncle. It is my dream that I will one day become so accustomed to addiction, death, and deception that when I lose that earring I don’t wallow in self pity for hours, but will be able to handle my emotions in a rational and calculated manner.

So far I have openly wept for at least 75 percent of each episode of “Intervention” and I change the channel when things get too heavy to handle on L+O, but I think my progress will soon become apparent and I will be enjoying even and stoic emotions in no time.

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Get out the crackers, I’m done!

This morning I woke up to a sky filled with the majestic glitter of sunshine nary a cumulus nor cirrus in sight. I could hear the distant angelic bellows of the neighborhood feathered friends and could feel the moist warmth of the sea air. I shot out of bed, slid into my suit, and in moments I was ready for a day at the beach. After selecting a couple of glossy reads and filling my travel mug with some sweet caffeinated nectar I was on the road.

To say the least, it was a breathtaking day. The water was clear and warm, the beach selectively sprinkled with sunbathers, and the sun full exposed to bronze my skin. Unfortunately, today, much like every other day, I failed to remember that the sun has not once bronzed my skin. It does not kiss my cheeks, nor cause me to glow. Mr. Golden has not once given me a brownish hew, but more varying shades of fuchsia. But once again today I lay on my pink towel and basked in its glory waiting for the result I desired.

I could smell the banana boat oil drifting amongst the salt particles in the air. It brought me back to my youth when friends would use said oil to tan their skin laughing and flirting with hunky beach goers, while I miserably applied SPF 45 and huddled underneath my parent-required umbrella. Today as I was free from all judgment and apparently not enough SPF, I could hear the skin sizzling underneath the ebb and flow of the tide. I could feel the heat on my back, but I wrote it off, as merely the warmth of the sun’s rays, not the charring of my flesh. The warmth sent me into a blissful afternoon’s nap calmed by a blanket of ultra-violet rays. I left the beach warm and happy, hair tousled, and skin taut with sea salt. It wasn’t until I was home that I realized the sun hadn’t merely warmed me at the beach and allowed me rest, but had also scorched my nearly porcelain skin.

Once again I left the beach, not with the sun kissed glow I desired, but more of a lobster type look that I prefer more in my dinner than on my dermis. Someone clarify some butter, because I’m done, dinner is served!

Am I concious right now?

I remember having a conversation with a friend once and though the subject matter and participants are forgotten, I do remember the tagline. A friend said to me, “Marissa I just feel like you can’t stop thinking. You just can’t let go”. At the time I was okay with that. I mean thinking is a good thing right? If you can’t think well, then you can’t do a whole lot I would say. I believe that the memory of this conversation resurfaced due to the fact that I have recently realized that I am uptight. Sure I like to enjoy life, being with people, laughing, and having a good time. But it still remains true that I have a hard time turning off the thoughts that ransack my mind. I really can’t let go and I have a hard time living in the present moment. Each night I fall asleep reliving moments past or filled with anticipation of upcoming events. I am sure this is true for many, but I never simply savor each moment for what it is and in Buddha like fashion achieve harmony with the present. This makes it rather hard to get things done because during each task I am thinking of the next or daydreaming about the fun things in my life I have to look forward to, spiraling me into hours of procrastination. Fortunately I also I enjoy making to-do lists, which allow me to get back on track. This affinity for list making does sometimes cause me to include menial tasks on there that I know I have to accomplish just so that I can cross them off. For example a typical to-do list make go as such:
1. Wake Up
2. Make Coffee
3. Get Dressed
4. Call Bob
5. Finish project

Before two shakes of a lamb’s tail I can cross off items one through four and I feel I accomplished enough to let my mind begin to wander. So anyway, I have been thinking a lot about how life is too short and how I should enjoy every moment of every day and flow with the wind and all that jazz, but my mind will just not comply. I have been successful in somewhat numbing my brain via excessive television watching, however once the tube is off I am on my own compulsively making lists and getting lost in my thoughts.

So since I have pretty much turned into a lunatic, I decided that today would be the day I get my life in order and I start living in the moment. Instead I spent the day perusing match.com looking for love in all the wrong places. After editing my profile, winking at two strangers, adding an additional picture that the founder Jim claims will increase my chances of finding true love, and then determining that I hate match.com, I was spent. There was no way I could start living in the moment until after 5 pm. I decided that I would give yoga another chance to help me become more present. So I gathered up my mat, put on some spandex and my giant Cornell Tee and headed to the gym. I felt weird and out of place without my sneaks and my intense spinning face, but I figured to be worth it to feel calm.

My instructor whisked into the room like a ball of serenity. Even her hair was free, curly and uncultivated, her karma oozing like molasses. She told me to focus on my third eye. So I did that. I could really get into this I thought. The sitar was crooning in the background, the lights dimmed. But then suddenly I also had to tuck in my abs and straighten my back as if I were going to shoot through the roof. Within moments this was just as bad as a day in the life of me. I had to twist, while remembering to keep exhaling, while simultaneously curling my foot around my ear! Lady you lost me at the twist. After 45 minutes of twisting and tightening, and exhaling I was told to flip my legs over my head and exhale. Finally, my head was clear. Everything was fading away. Who cares about the work? Who cares about anythingggggg…. As I drifted away to where the birds were chirping and waves were crashing, I realized that I was not breathing. As I flipped upright the instructor was informing us that we were to do this two times a day for six minutes each, but she did not have to deal with the issue of stomach fat smothering her nose and mouth. I decided I would rather lie on my back for 12 hours a day than smother myself for 12 minutes. So that’s it, I still can’t relax. I guess I am forever uptight. But at least I’m conscious and at least I know I have a brain. And I think I will return to yoga, I feel I am growing some arm muscles from all that twisting, and who knows I am pretty sure my third eye sensed some heterosexual males in the room, which may nullify my need for my recent move to match!

Feel my beat

As a Freshman in college I formed a series of friendships and by the end of my first two semesters these friendships melded into one group with whom I spent enormous amounts of time together between class and socialization. It became somewhat humorous to me to pretend we were a gang. Slow moments in class would be filled with doodles of the “Hotelie Ballas” wearing the popular ghetto runway boots “Timbs”, picking fights in bars with Grill (rapper fabulous diamond studded teeth caps) bedazzled smiles, and scuffed up features. To relieve stress during study breaks we would often host free style battles during which we would huddle outside laying down beats and coming up with humorous rhymes and insults. I found these sessions especially humorous when wearing pink sundresses with ribbon decorated hair to clearly illustrate the disparity. To this day the “Ballas” are enormously close, but our free styling sessions have dwindled due to the fact that we have spread ourselves thinly across this fine country. Since I am feeling particularly inspired and I like to find new and interesting mediums to poke some good-natured fun at my surroundings, I feel quite strongly it is time for my “Hotelie Blogger Free Style Debut.”

“Deep fry me something now before I wrestle you like I did that there gator”
-by Marissa
Yo Yo Yo I got the ill flow,
I live down South, I don’t like Techno.
I miss my ballas throwing down beats
To find good hip-hop, gotta search the streets
These Ladeeda peeps got the sun in their head
Listen to Reggaetone to up their street cred.
Despite my distaste for their musical style,
There are some things that make me smile
The beach is hot, the gators wild
I ate em deep-fried, got my buds all riled
Up so much I had to take a deep breath
And cool em down with a chilled bev
All this good food to my ribs they stick
I spend most of my time at the Publix .
The age is 71 but so is the temp
There are no hippies, the look is unkempt
But there are mullets, bullets, and silicone
I’m on vacay, this aint home
I voted blue, made the rednecks shout
When I’m gone y’all will miss me, but please don’t pout
You can visit me wherever I go
Where the age not temp is 30 or below.