the white flag.

before beginning:

this is a continuation.

of a story. about ned.

ned being my nasty, little eating disorder.

he's the worst.

for more information,

check my sidebar

(under the photo of me in

the winter mittens).

i've been seeing dr. tom for going on two years now.

two years of ned being bearable. manageable.

partial recovery, this is called.

and so at the start of the new year, i decided it was time. time to recover just a little bit more. to push the partial more towards... full.

and so i agreed. to give in to all forms of treatment and thus learn to stand in front of a mirror and describe my body in neutral terms. when told of this treatment two years ago, i thought what fresh hell is this? occasionally over our time together Tom would bring it up--this mirror exposure thing as he called it--but one withering glance and he knew to let it rest for a while. when i am ready i thought. not before. not after.

but this new year brought new and unexpected courage. and i remembered a director in school who would say do things long before or long after you are ready. never at the moment.

and so, okay, i thought, before, before.

five times i stood in front of the mirror. five times i described the gentle slopes, long curves, geometric shapes of which i am made. and it was on the fifth time that i began to cry. and realization slowly unfurled itself.

for so long i have thought this was a battle between me and an eating disorder. and that was it (after all, wasn't that enough?). but now i know. now i know that the other battle is one between the part of myself that wants (needs) to believe in the power of thin and the part of me that recognizes what a small and laughable idea that is!

and so it was there, in front of the mirror, half-naked and tear-stained that i thought: give up. surrender. capitulate. offer this one up to the gods and say this is no longer my battle to fight.

i was toying with this idea. knowing it was in fact the answer, but fighting the last bastions of an eating disorder that claimed diets and counting calories and restricting foods could in fact-would in fact--work, when i picked up everything is illuminated, which has lied dormant on my nightstand (windowsill) for months. and there on the dog-eared page on which i left off,

for how long could we fail until we surrendered?

and there it was. the universe-God-whatever you choose to call it--the Holy Spirit's calming balm to my flailing spirit.

surrender, it is.

and so i surrender. i throw up the white flag. i give in and choose that wiser part of myself. and say what will be, will be. if this is it, then so be it. for love of myself and love of a life that is so much more than this thing (this nasty, nasty weaselly little thing), i. give. up.

but let me be very clear. surrender is in fact a verb. it is an active thing. a daily practice. a daily decision. daily? i lie. a near-constant decision.

because how can i make this clear? it is like... finding a new god to pray to--a new religion, a new set of beliefs. new stars by which to chart my course.

it's not easy. but it's so much better. already. the raising of the white flag. the process of stripping, standing naked and going ok, this is it. this is my body.

tubs

tonight i dreamt of a house.

an old victorian home.

with a four-footed tub on the top floor.

a large white four-footed tub filled with warm, clean water.

in which to dive. to soak. to clean. to cry.

to cry, really.

yes, tonight i dreamt of a large victorian home with a four-footed tub in which to cry.

because i need to cry. but cannot.

i tried.

on the walk home from the subway.

in the cold, wet city air. i tried.

with each return to new york the question of what am i returning to becomes harder to answer.

(certainly not any kind of tub i'd choose to fall apart in).

and the thing is, the silence on the other end of that question is a certain kind of death.

one should always be drunk.

that's the one thing that matters.

in order not to feel the terrible

burden of Time, which breaks

your shoulders and crushes you

to the ground, one should be drunk

without ceasing. but on what?

on wine, on poetry, or on virtue,

as suits you.

but get drunk...

baudelaire

a perfect arizona weekend.

the arizona landscape.

a spring training game between the angels and giants (see #55 there? that's matsui, last year's yankee and world series mvp).

in-n-out's oh-so-crispy french fries.

the loveliest little wedding i've ever seen.

and more family than a girl (dare i say, anyone) knows what to do with.

monday morning "one day" dream...

many, many nights and mornings spent here. wherever here might be.

arrived late last night (2:30 am)

from arizona. will post

later with the lovely

details of my weekend.

happy monday!

ps: not a clue where i got the above

photo from. have you a clue? then

please, oh please, let me know!

in scottsdale for wedding.

will post when i return.

happy weekend!

understanding.

yesterday i was having a day.

and maybe zoobie was too. because she did not want to wear her shoes. or socks.

and we were outside.

so once we collected all of the said items and finally got home and up the elevator and into the hall, i looked right at the little one.

"oh zoobie," i said.

and she looked right at me

and let out an exaggerated sigh.

she understands me so well,

this seventeen-month-old friend of mine.

zoobie and i during the great snowstorm of 2010.

(zoobie is the little girl i visit and take care of each week,

it is because of her that i get to call myself a sometimes-nanny).

dear husband-to-be,

so i guess you should know.

that.

i fell in love with a guy a very long time ago. and he did not fall in love with me.

and around this time i fell out of love with myself.

and all this love and lack of love became very confusing.

i have a girlfriend who recently came out of a relationship and decided to take a weekend trip to meet up with a guy. she was in need of a sorbet, she said. something to cleanse the pallet. i said, if you're in need of a sorbet, i'm in need of some smelling salts. something to bring me back to life.

so i've decide to go in search of them. smelling salts, that is. lots of them. in all different flavors. so that i'll be wide awake. all refreshed and lived in and back-to-life when i meet you.

because i can't wait to meet you.

love, love,

the girl in search of sal volatile

saturday night.

the weather saturday night was perfect.

a cool breeze. an invitation to play.

so i decided to do something i never do.

go to a party. at a hotel. downtown.

i had on black shorts, a denim shirt, ratty boots, and not a stitch of makeup on my face, but for my bright pink lipstick. i was not really dressed to go out, but i didn't mind.

i got off the one train and headed in the direction of my friends. and it was there, walking west somewhere on 18th street, that i had this revolutionary thought: i am young. i am single. god, there's nowhere better in the world than new york city for a night like this. i should do this more often. i should be young and sow my oats and do ludicrous things that will make for a great late-in-life memoir.

i thought back to my first year of college. i had a group of girlfriends that went out every weekend and did things that i cringe thinking about now. we danced on the banquettes of high-falutin downtown clubs. allowed investment bankers to buy us exorbitantly priced bottles of vodka. ran through the streets barefoot. stayed out until 5 am. it was a time when smiles far outweighed the need for ids to get into bars.

perhaps that is a time i should return to. perhaps with a little age and slightly bigger breasts i'd have even more fun.

so i got to the hotel. met a few friends. and inquired as to how to get into the private party. i was promptly shown the line. the very long line, stretched around the corner. the line comprised almost entirely of girls wearing the customary saturday night uniform of black heels, black tights and very short black skirts. and lots of makeup. did i mention that i wasn't really wearing any makeup?

and pop went the bubble.

i don't want to go back to my first year of college. wiser or not.

god i'm thankful to be young and single, but i sure as hell have to find a better way to spend my saturday nights.

don't get me wrong, i'm still gonna sow some oats, but in a slightly different setting.

monday morning "one day" dream...

a breakfast nook that looks like this. just like this.

not sure where i got this image from?

this is glamorous perhaps?

once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl,

and her laughter was a question

he wanted to spend his whole life answering.

a history of love

nicole krauss

when i grow up.

the most darling camilla has been doing a wonderful series entitled "when i grow up" on her blog, champagne bubbles. and it has got me thinking. a lot. about what i want. and i figure that if men can't help looking at a gorgeous woman (and science will defend that for them), then i can't help dreaming about the future or googling photos of brooklyn brownstones.

so here is my list, as inspired by camilla and all the gorgeous woman who have submitted to her series:

i want a neighborhood cafe. around the corner. with strong lattes and fresh bread. i want to know the names of the faces behind the counter and i want them to know the names of my children.

i want early evening walks in the neighborhood and after-dinner story-time.

i want hard wood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. banisters on the staircase and hallways of family photos. built in bookshelves and sprawling desks.

trees in the neighborhood.

i want season tickets to the closest baseball team.

i want to travel the world. to live in different countries. to speak spanish fluently. and dabble in a little french.

i want sharp knives, a kitchen aide mixer, and a large cuisinart.

i want saturday morning pancake breakfasts. and sunday nights spent in the kitchen as i listen to the hustle and bustle of everyone preparing for the week.

i want the love of my best friend and the promise of a whole life together.

i want things to get clearer. {a little, at least.}

i want the idea that will write the book.

i want to do what i love.

i want to love.

these photos are via google's image search.

i might just die for that kitchen.

i mean really?

look at it.

look at all the green out the window.

it may be small, but it might also be perfect.

he's just not that into you? or he is, but he just happens to be a guy?

i have a girlfriend who makes me laugh all the time.

when in our first year of college we both fell in love with boys who were anything other than meant-to-be, her friends gave her the book He's Just Not that Into You and she was an immediate convert who then went on to proselytize the importance of recognizing when...

well, when... he's just not that into you.

but lately. said friend's he's just not that into you advice has stood in direct opposition to my mother's advice--my mother who tells me to be patient and to relax. that men think differently--see things differently.

and while neither has completely illuminated the male mind for me, they've both shed a little light on how a female's age and experience influences their opinion of said mind.

experience. i guess that's the point. i just have to have the experience.

ps: there was a great article in the ny times magazine (i think?) on the new book by neuropsychiatrist louann brizendine, The Male Brain detailing just exactly how different the male brain is from our own--why it is they can't not look at the big tits in the tight t-shirt. i can't find the article online (i'll keep working on it) but i did find a great interview she did with elle. i particularly love what she says at the very end:

The thing that is awesome to me—which I see in my office with couples who come to me—I’ll ask her, “How do you know he loves you?” and she’ll say, “Because he wants to talk to me.” But when I ask him, he’ll say, “Because she wants to have sex with me.” Women don’t understand that men feel loved when you want to have sex with them—and if you reject them, it means you don’t love them. And if a man can’t verbally empathize with a woman when she feels unloved—they’re like ships passing in the night. That, to me, speaks volumes. Remember Beauty and the Beast? It’s from the song—first she gives a little bit, then he gives a little bit. That’s how you can start to see things from the other person’s point of view. That captures what’s been going on in my office for 25 years.

just a little something to think about.

the irish in me.

in preparation for the scottsdale wedding just a week and a half away, my cousin (and brother of the groom) has taken to tanning each and every day. readying himself for the arizona sun.

i, on the other hand, have taken to covering myself in copious amounts of foul-smelling self-tanner, in recognition that my fair irish skin does not like to be burned. ever. but a little glow would be nice.

happy st. patty's day!

open gates.

the amusement park whistled around them. evening closing in.

they were on the outer edge. a pavilion overlooking the parking lot.

the gate unlocked, the soda machines flowing. someone else's mistake, their good fortune.

the end of a long day.

roller coasters and laffy taffy. the carolina sun. rolling hills.

her fifteen year old legs hung over the picnic table as she sat sipping stolen coke.

she wondered if love would always be like this: an unlimited supply of free coke and a young boy's hand just inches away from her own.

a vision quest.

when i first arrived at school (juilliard), all those years ago, my father would say, i went to school right here. right across the street. and never did i dream i'd have a daughter who would end up here.

from my first year dorm room the words Fordham Law School sat in perfect view. situated right there on the stone-white building. and my father would look out at them and say, all those years ago, i didn't know. things come full circle, don't they?

again and again he would say this.

and then again.

so often did he speak these words, i stopped listening.

now, though.

well,

sometimes we'll speak on the phone and i'll say, oh i'm downtown trying to find such and such and Dad will say, oh my first job was just around the corner.

and something is illuminated. and i feel connected.

because i stopped listening, i never actually heard what my dad was saying. it never occurred to me that i was crossing paths with his younger-self. navigating the same terrain. standing on the same corners. experiencing the same late-afternoon sunlight.

yesterday i headed up to the bronx near riverdale (which is where my father was born and raised) to run some errands, and there on the platform i thought, perhaps my father once stood right here. perhaps he waited for the same train. perhaps, perhaps...

these thoughts come to me now. not too often. but just often enough.

people ask me why i don't just leave new york. there's no reason to stay and clearly i'm not in love with the city. and i think the answer--more than anything else--is that i'm not ready to. there is a reason to stay, even if the reason is unclear at best.

in some ways new york is my version of the vision quest. i am looking for an answer. trying to figure out where i come from. to piece together a history.

i'm looking for an answer, i'm just not completely sure of the question.

in overcoming the sunday blues...

...i suggest flowers.

above all else, flowers.

but if that alone does not do it, i offer the following:

essie nail polish in raspberry

this beirut video (god bless zach's curly hair)

pinning your hair in feux-bob and allowing yourself a few minutes to seriously contemplate chopping it all off.

an old-school tara jarmon spring trench.

trip to the grocery store for cheese and cuties (clementines).

and of course, a last minute trip to the corner store for raspberry seltzer.

what do you suggest? please, oh please, do tell.

et tu, bridget?

sometimes i think all i want--all i really want--at the end of the day:

the complete box set of frasier.

but then i flash on the scene in bridget jones' where our heroine, spending new year's alone, realizes she needs to make some changes in her life, and i see the telly in the background playing none other than my most beloved tv sitcom.

and i think,

okay, enough.

friday morning prayer.

in three words i can sum up

everything i've learned about life:

it goes on.

robert frost

it is early. just after shower. and i'm dancing around my room.

in the birthday suit? perhaps.

and thanking the-powers that-be for wood floors, adventure, and the fact that the sun always comes and spring returns.

let’s go said he

not too far said she

what’s too far said he

where you are said she

e. e. cummings

in defense of self.

learning is a funny thing.

information builds on itself.

snowballs.

this year

(all two months that have hurtled by in one gigantic whoosh)

has been a time of exponential growth.

understanding what i want.

priorities and their placement.

what i believe and what i can live with.

and

the importance of praising one's self.

of saying to hell with arrogance,

this much i know...

it is important to be able to look at ourselves,

to turn the camera and look through the lens

and to focus on the good as well as the bad.

i'll be the first to say i'm not the kind of girl who...

wears matching socks

knows how to cook

has her life figured out

(the list goes on and on)

and that i like these things about myself.

and so i praise myself through what i am not.

but what about through what i actually am?

i wake up each and every morning and face my demons.

i look them in the eyes,

say their names aloud,

welcome them at my breakfast table.

i give thanks for the many blessings they have bestowed on me:

self-awareness,

empathy,

humility.

i take the time to examine where i am and what i want

and adjust to the teetering plate that is my life.

i am awake.

it was not easy to choose to step away from acting.

i thought of all the people i was disappointing,

of the four years of school dedicated to that one thing,

and all the money that went into it.

but i recognized that my health and happiness had to be

the first priority.

that if i were to every truly pursue acting,

the time away would be the most important and influential decision--a gift to myself

and my future.

and that it was a gift only i could give.

i recognize that it is not for me to judge anything harshly.

it is not for me to judge at all.

the path is long.

it wends and winds

and we cannot know where it will lead.

a friend recently asked what it is i want,

what is my goal?

i want to wake up every morning and feel like i've chosen my life.

i am not at a place where i know what the future holds,

but i am okay. with that.

i will live my way into it.

with eyes open.

the point is:

i am divinity.

"i am the miracle, i am the hand reaching out of the wreck."

we all are.

so let us praise that. defend that. live that.

quote from Day 4305

found in Jeffrey McDaniel's

latest publication

The Endarkenment.

bubbly.

last night after a long day i came home to find a lovely thank you note from my soon to be cousin-in-law (though it feels more like sister-in-law and i love that feeling).

melissa wrote:

thank you so much for the champagne flutes. it was very fitting as you may not know, but brian and i hope to one day drink champagne like the fee's. and i don't mean quantity, but rather any occasion is a good occasion!

and i thought, gosh, do we drink champagne that often? (ironic, in that a friend and i had just had dinner in the west village and champagne was the drink of choice).

but then i smiled.

goodness, i sure am glad to come from stock that considers any occasion a reason to celebrate.

life is sweet and champagne is good.

the pile. by my bedside.

here's a question:

if i'm partway into all of these books, am i actually reading any of them?

maybe it's time to just choose one and go from there. find some focus, perhaps?

fresh air.

this morning found me in central park with little zoobie (my very dearest sixteen-month-old friend).

we pointed out all the ruff-ruffs (dogs) and made fish-faces upon coming to the pond. the carriage horses elicited long neighs which led to a detailed discussion of all other animals sounds. both of us noshing on our bianca (pizza bread) all the while.

and when my phone rang little zoobie looked up and asked, mamma?

i laughed, looked at the screen and said, yes, but my mamma.

i spoke briefly to my mother, aware of the little girl in front of me.

we spoke of oscar dresses. and who we thought looked best. and work. and guys. and how tricky that can be. and somewhere in our oh-so-brief-but-all-encompassing conversation my mother gave me the best advice of my life.

let me preface:

you see i've been a bit batty of late. working extra hours. and trying desperately to survive the last throws of winter and the inefficiency of the mta (ny's mass transit system). and feeling the need for a change but not knowing what that change need be. and if i haven't said it before, let me say it now, i do not. deal well. with uncertainty. and i suppose that's what i've been feeling: uncertainty. winter becoming spring. paying jobs taking back seats to pipe dreams. new adventures and necessary good-byes.

so my mother in her infinite wisdom said... (are you ready for this?)....(wait)...okay:

relax.

she chuckled and told me to relax.

and with that one word i felt my entire chest open up.

the tight coil sprang loose and my shoulders fell into place and i could breathe. and laugh.

and not take myself too seriously.

and space arose where before there was none.

perhaps it was the weather. and the little girl in front of me. and the trees overhead. perhaps it was all those things. because this morning that one word was like fresh-air in some damn tired lungs.

shared silence.

they walked side by side, her arm slipped awkwardly through his, the quiet transporting them to separate worlds.

overhead streetlights pulsed quickly--continuously, illuminating each of the thousand unanswered questions.

and it was there, amidst the questions and the silence and the faint glow of uncertainty, that she first wondered whether to silently un-slip her arm--to stop moving--to stand still and watch as the slow world's current quietly carried him away.

but she continued on. in an effort to match the unnatural cadence--to find a silence they could share.

{ps: regularly scheduled programing begins again. tomorrow.}

the question.

he was too far gone to be taken seriously--the question mark at the end of the bar.

but she felt alone and out of place and he made her giggle.

and he asked her what no one before had,

did she want to be beautiful?

bottom of the cup.

she stared into the bottom of her coffee cup, looking for renegade pieces of bean--bits gone unnoticed by the grinder. she noted the formation of new bubbles against the hard, white clay.

feeling his eyes upon her she wondered if this was the end. or just the next step.

her elbow pushed into the dark wood of the counter.

whose move was next? whose answer would come first?

and in the silence, her dark hair cutting a half-mask across her face, she thought: this is when i ask him to fall in love with me.

instead she pushed back the stool and went to refill her cup.