We want our cake, chocolate, candy, coffee, clothes, closet space...need I say more?

I went looking for apartments with a friend all day yesterday. We had a good time seeing the inside of many buildings I walk past daily. My friend drives a hard bargain. She knew what she wanted and she knew what she wasn’t willing to pay. Apartment after apartment we searched for a DISHWASHER....and not one did we find one.

As we searched for the perfect place I soon began to say; “I don’t know if that is realistic  for NYC”. She would sigh and agree. 

I feel very much that life is good. I have it good. I am still clinging to the hope too that I may get a dishwasher...which is symbolic to my dreams that are boiling.

I am beginning to wonder if that is realistic. 

this says enough

You could blame the vodka in my class, the seltzer in my water or the garlic on my breath for this entry. I have been alive 25 years and I am getting impatient. I often feel guilty for feeling this way. Feeling ungrateful for the roof over my head, the loving family, loving husband, the pacemaker that keeps me alive. I look back on my life thinking how much worse it has been, how sick I have been and the struggles of learning disabilities and financial difficulty. I look back and wonder how I could feel the way I do now. I have a wonderful life, God has been faithful, yet I feel stuck.

My dancing has always been a torment to say the least. I have struggled with having the ability but lacking a strong heart and being dyslexic. Those two things are a recipe of great frustration, discouragement and pure endurance. It is amazing I have made it this far, established a competitive technical level and have had incredible opportunities to meet and work with some of the most renowned artists of my time. Yet, I feel the ticking of time. It has been since January that I have given myself “another chance: at this dancing thing!?!”. And I have been working very hard. I have been coached privately by one of the best of her time, and I have been teaching and trying to establish myself here in NYC. At the end of the day, I am wondering if it is worth it all.

Yesterday I was called into the office of one of the studios I teach. They wanted me to possibly pick up another class. I said, sure. My response is just another class, could use some more change after the gigantuous monthly rent we pay. This is another class I am teaching, another class I am not taking or rehearsal not attending. 

The ballet world is so competitive. It is amazing that even when you have it...sometimes that is not enough. All your ducks have to line up so that you attend the right schools, meet the right people and bloom at the right age. 

I dream of having a contract job over the free lance. I dream of having steady pay. In this society dance isn’t very popular. Maybe that is too much to ask. At the end of the day sometimes I wonder if it really matters. We all sleep, eat and die. My life has been full and wonderful but maybe if I don’t make it to my dream, it won’t be that big of a deal.  That I will be happier than I could have imagined. I have fought so long and so hard that I am afraid of what it may look like for me to realize that it may not be worth it.

It has been a week. I was attacked by a mouse in my sleep and killed it with my hands. Made it to call backs in my first company audition here in NYC and was not picked for 1 job out of 7 girls (after narrowed from 70+) because I couldn’t pick up choreography fast enough. I am tired and ready to go home. I cried and cried and begged for home. Yet at the end of the day, what is home anymore? Something changes when we grow up. We get married, we move on, thirsting for a home that doesn’t exist. (on this earth anyways)

I gave myself a year to try this dancing thing again, gotta hang on for one year...

This is a good thing:

I am beginning to believe it is not about the dream but the dreamer, who we become while we are trying to fulfill those dreams; perhaps those dreams are just the means for us to become who we were really suppose to be in character and spirit and that is a greater gift than we know.

Sylvie Guillem is my hero.

bum foot

During ballet on saturday I fell and hurt my foot. I am bedridden for a while, hopefully a couple of days, meanwhile it is me and my bed: once again.

Red Pepper and Leek Soup

I made the best soup the other night:
Red pepper and Leek Soup
about 1/2 c red wine
olive oil
3 leeks chopped
1 onion
mushrooms chopped
tamari sauce (just a bit)
1 red pepper chopped
2/3 garlic cloves minced
hit of cayenne
pepper
majoram
fresh parsley
Saute above ingredients till soft, add chicken stock for more liquid
cool and blend in food processor till puree
put in crock pot with remaining chicken stock, frozen corn and cannelloni beans (1 can). Cook till ready to eat.

How time passes and will pass you by. Today I woke up at 3am or to clarify I was woken up by a gang in the parking-lot behind our building. The noise was incredible as they blared their music to a vibration, which after several hours will give you a head ache. Thankfully by 6am we were almost silent, aside from the common morning horns, car alarms and the active kid who resides upstairs we were good to enjoy the peace of sleep.

Adrian, my husband is writing a book about women and men in the church. I have favored to listen and give my full support but have left my reading to the favored novel for common person,"War and Peace". The spinning of gender issues give my head a twist. At this moment in time, I would rather do the work for me and of coarse enjoy the benefits. :) I know my time is short.

I start teaching again tomorrow. I think it should be nice. I enjoy the first day of a new year. It is fresh and the students are excited. I am excited, I hope that stays. More soul searching when it comes to my profession. I am indeed at a lost. I just sit and do art, read and teach. Maybe that is all that is left in me. I am burned out pretty young, tired of trying to become more than I am at this moment in time.

That is it for now.

Twist around and look around. I am shameful not the least to admit this isn’t what I signed up for. Charlie wanted candy he got a pineapple.I wanted a pineapple and got a gluten-free candy bar. It is never what we wanted.

Yet it is good. It as in, what is, the very presence of present time, of adherent knowledge. Comprehend how you wish, but it is the loveliness and the horrible terror of no more please. It, in the end, is bitter and sweet. So the sweetness is ahh so wonderful and the bitter clings at the edges of my skin as I anticipate and hold the sweet dear to my broken heart.

I have been thinking, as usual. My mind is often thinking. I am often thinking. I am unsure as to why I think more than I think I do and why I feel the need to separate myself from my mind, because it is after all me. Well residing in my at least, telling me what to do when to breathe. It perhaps enjoys the disconnect from itself and me because it is a form of self protection.

Alas, I am waiting for my prince to come home from work. A half glass of wine later, I am feeling a little relaxed and suddenly spurred to write. It has been some time since I have been putting words to my thoughts. I have been avoiding the issue all together.

So here I am.

Do you want to know more?

After having my heart broken over my career not made of becoming the best dancer in the world. At age 24 I am devastated and lost, mourning over the getting my wisdom teeth pulled and the very pacemaker that keeps me alive. I sometimes wish it wasn’t so. That somehow I would wake up and it was some funky, long lasting nightmare. On the other hand, I am so blessed. I live in one of the best cities in NY and my husband loves me dearly. I have health insurance, which believe me, is very good and I like my mom. What more could I ask?

Besides the dream of becoming a dancer, I have it good.

So what’s the problem.

The problem is....

I am bored. I am a housewife, bored out of my mind. I  have a degree in art but to tell you the truth I haven’t found much fascination with the paintbrush since my last undergraduate course. I have not job. Most days I am too sick to work full time, thus I sit here, cook, clean and do laundry about every two weeks. That is when Adrian starts mentioning his lack of boxers. I take the hint, make a trip to the local laundry mat and stand till my clothes are finished. I still don’t understand why there is no place to sit or no candy machine at least. I chug all the wet clothes to the fifth floor of our brooklyn apartment. 

It is a good life.

It is also lonely.

My great adventure today was getting my teeth clean.

I haven’t did that since high school, it was about time.

Despite my negative ramble, I must devote much of my thoughts to the very existence of life. Why we are here. I often feel God is indifferent. (my toliet now sounds as if it is going to explode. We have had no water all afternoon, these old pipes are well, very old) Oh yes indifferent. My husband and I were watching madmen a while back and the character Don Draper mentioned that the world was indifferent. It seemed such a cynical perspective, cynical, sad but also true. I often feel that things are indifferent, people are indifferent and when the current of years wears on you a while you become indifferent.

The sadness of my hardened heart is much more of a surprise and distaste tha

amuse me

For a while now, I have been avoiding writing about my “feelings”. I have been wanting to create something beautiful outside of myself, away from the painful events. I have been wanting to escape, however, I have given in. I am unfocused and lost without the words that describe the part of me I don’t like to reveal.

I have been dealing with shaking episodes for a couple months now. The intensity vary but they are consistent. One night I woke up and my brain was shaking, my teeth were chattering and I had no control. It wasn’t a seizure but it was scary. My husband held me in his arms but all I could think was; “my god, my god, I am going crazy”. Since then it hasn’t been as bad but I still have shakiness. I read on pacemaker club about a women with a similar situation as me, she spoke of shaking. She is unable to work also. It’s bizarre but it made me feel better, knowing someone else had those same symptoms...proof I guess, I am not inventing these symptoms after all. When I told my doctor, she replied “are you nervous?”.

Consider this:

The world is full of opportunities, exciting adventures, wonderful tastes, unique smells. I sit on my couch and watch them pass me by. In the past, I would run so fast, I would forget to live. And now, I watch everyone live it.

We are capable of Choice, although our choices do not always change our current situation.

I can choose to be healthy.

Yet my body has a different idea.

So, I am left here.

Watching everyone live life.

Trying to remember what it feels like to feel alive.

Trying to remember how to be alive, without, thinking about IT. The IT, the ticking clock, that changed my life. 

One Saturday 

Judy was a child.

She would wake up early because the sun would come to her room.

She was a child.

She would wake up because of the sun.

She would go to the kitchen and would cook eggs and toast.

She would watch cartoons.

She would watch until noon.

Judy was a child.

Moma was a woman.

She would wake up because of the alarm would sound in her room.

She was a woman.

She would wake up because of the alarm.

She would go to the kitchen and make coffee.

She would shower.

She would wash dishes.

She would put the clothes in piles.

She would go to the laundry mat until noon.

Moma was a woman.

Sidney was a college student.

She would sleep until noon.

Sidney was a college student.

my new philosophy

Pleasure ME: with coffee and tea

I was able to see a good friend today. It was nice. We were roommates when I was pursuing dancing in Chicago. I like seeing old, good friends. It is a little piece of home; reminding me of where I have been. She is doing well, beautiful and vibrant. Few and far between do we find companion in the philosophy of coffee and tea. It's the simplest kind of pleasure, lending ear and tongue, mentioning beauties and tears passing. 

 This makes me happy.

PS. We really went here, Cafe Lalo, NYC

It is Easter, Happy Easter. Sometimes I would rather color fruit than eggs. Although I am unsure if these are edible.

This is how I feel about my life:

entice me

Trees are magical. Bois, France.

Home sweet home, New Mexico's sunrise.

Brooklyn, NY

my heart box

banana me

So I really want a banana right now...
I am stuck in my apartment for a while
till my heart is able to handle the "real
world" once again and we are all out of bananas.
(Because I ate them all)

womanize me

minimize me