Deconstructing Isabella

It’s been brought to my attention and I have finally owned up and come to realize that I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to turn myself into this jaded, heartless, numb, son-of-a-bitch in order to make life’s stones easier to pass. When in fact it turns out that it still hurts like shit (no pun intended) no matter what vice I’ve tried to adopt to try to make things easier to swallow, internalize and poop out to flush down the toilet to be rid of once and for all. (I promise I do NOT have an obsession with bodily functions and will use sparingly as metaphors in future references.)

All being indifferent and nonchalant by way of vices really accomplishes is making the mornings unwelcome with heavy weight. And I really hate not being productive with my mornings. It’s an endless vicious cycle. I hate that I’ve slept in and wasted the day. So, then I lose the inspiration to write. Then I cave in and do something ridiculous to take my mind off being unproductive like go out and get drunk or go on a shopping spree. Then I come home and stay up late reevaluating what I did with my day and thinking that there must be more to life than just this and then attempting to find motivation to start. Before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep with laptop by my side in my bed late into the night and then the morning comes and I’ve gone and slept in again.

I’ve gone almost an entire week without writing anything at all. And it’s driving me crazy. Today at 11am in the morning, I found myself strangely craving a Vanilla Stoli and Coke. I swear I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t even know where that came from. I used to stay up late just to write down the thousand or so words floating in my head waiting to be captured into a paragraph. Used to in the relative sense, since it has really only been about 7 days. But, I believe every waking minute should be consumed with writing, thinking about writing or experiencing something inspiring that will invoke either picking up a pencil or opening up a laptop. What can I say? I’m enthusiastic.

So, I am shedding this tainted skin. (For dramatic and confidence-boosting effect, Liz Phair’s “Extraordinary” blasts in the living room as I crawl around on the floor on my hands and knees, jump up to dance and rock out on my air guitar and mic.)

I’m not jaded, heartless, numb or a son-of-a-bitch.

I feel. I am emotional, empathetic, compassionate, enthusiastic and LOVE being alive. I listen to music loudly and sing even louder. I dance like no one is watching. I have conversations with myself out loud and with someone listening from up above. I eat to titillate the taste buds. I love connecting with people. I like acquiring new knowledge. And I feel the sun tan my skin as I walk down the street listening to the constant hum of the city peppered by the faint sounds of nature and realize that I’m just a speckle in the great big world but know my contributing worth. I’m breathing and I am alive. But, I can be hurt. I close up when I feel threatened. I’m complicated by contradiction. I’m analytical as a hobby. And it’s okay to be all of this at once. We’re human.

I’m just here in the now experiencing what is in front of me and not worrying about tomorrow or trying to define everything that comes my way. Life doesn’t work that simply. I can compartmentalize all I want but it doesn’t make anything any easier to comprehend. Yes, things are in its rightful places but it doesn’t mean that it belongs there. I can’t control anyone else but myself. I can create action to get a reaction and I can react to an action. I think it’s good to have a balance of both. Some lessons are harder to learn, especially for thoroughly stubborn me. But, this doesn’t mean I can’t dissect what is presented to me in the now. I get at least that much.

I should have been a surgeon.

On a bright note, I’m dreaming again and I remember them. Well maybe not tonight since its nearing 2am as I finish this sentence.

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