Kripalu

I'm restless tonight. No matter what I do, I can't relax. It has a lot to do with my mental states, a reflection of this inner turmoil which gives me zero rest. The only thing I can do to shut up the negative murmurings in my brain is to never stop. I fill my days with activity and tasks. I overload my schedule with doctor's appointments, training sessions, pilates classes, lunch with friends, work, cleaning. It never ends. But standing still would result in a breakdown. Or maybe not. I just don't want to take any chances. At least I'm working out again and doing so like a fiend. Pushing myself physically is one thing that could always stave off bouts of sadness and anxiety. So that is a positive side effect of this insanity, I suppose.

In July I spent a weekend at Kripalu, which is a yoga facility in the Berkshires. I remember feeling apprehensive on the way there, not knowing what to expect or whether or not I had committed myself to a weekend in some hippie commune hell. But my experience was profoundly soul revising, if that makes any sense at all. Its like I learned how to breathe again. The bare bones accomodations coupled with the exquisite natural surroundings really made an impact and reminded me of what was most important to me: becoming a simple woman living a simple life. Being a grown up in this modern world is so complicated. I hate it all the time. Sometimes I despise the things I own. Its not that I don't appreciate what I have. I just know deep inside that I don't need it all. And it makes me feel ashamed to think of the excess of materials that I've come to believe I need. Anyway, what I value most are those intangible elements of my life: moments playing "noseys" with Liv, making love at the spur of the moment with my husband, seeing a rainbow after a warm rain. It sounds so corny and cliche but its just true. And being at Kripalu taught me how to recognize what I truly need. I want to go there again...to hone that skill, that ability to stop and tune in to what's really important and to recapture the feeling that stopping and being still is not going to destroy me. I think it may be the key to saving my life.

Patrick Dempsey Can't Buy Me Love

It pains me to say it, but I have developed a rich and vicious hatred for Patrick Dempsey. This isn't easy for me. It's a difficult job, this hating of an actor who started out so likable and promising. I still remember him, way back in 1987, when he played an awkward but adorable teenager who said "Nerds, jocks. My side, your side. It's all bullshit. Its hard enough just trying to be yourself" in that timeless classic Can't Buy Me Love. I especially loved him as Lily Manning's schizophrenic brother Aaron on Once and Again. I thought he did well on Will and Grace as Will's sports-fanatic boyfriend. And he still had my heart in Sweet Home Alabama as Reese Witherspoon's spurned fiance. I even yelled at the screen, "I'll marry you Andrew even if your mother is rat faced Candice Bergen!!"

So what happened? What caused this ignominious fall from grace? Four words: God damned Grey's Anatomy. Fucking show. The only thing I hate more than Patrick Dempsey is Grey's Anatomy and all its repugnant, STD ridden cast members. I saw it one time. I was very innocently switching around the channels, as is my wont. And then...all of a sudden I saw a lady wearing scrubs "hilariously" tacking a pair of underwear to a bulletin board. Um...that is beyond gross.

One of the "doctors" on the show was also in a horrible movie from the nineties called "My Father, The Hero". If you watch this show, ask yourself this question: Do I want to be associated in any way, shape, or form with someone who acted in a movie with Gerard Depardieu? If that isn't bad enough, her character in the movie pretended he was her boyfriend when he was actually her FATHER. Even pretending such a thing is awful beyond reason. How do you recover from something like that? You NEVER do. You could take a million showers and you would never feel clean. You could bathe in rubbing alcohol for the rest of your life and the Depardieu dirt would still infest your pores.

So there's Katherine Heigl and then all the rest of them and if you ever see a picture of these people, look at their faces. Seriously. If you watch this show, and I pray to sweet Jesus and all the saints that you do not, look at their faces for about 2 minutes really hard. And then you will see what I'm talking about: creepy, cold, dead eyes. But don't look directly into their eyes. There is obviously a danger in doing that. You might turn into a fuckwit and start saying shit like "Did you let me scrub in for this operation because I slept with you? ".

I know plenty of people watch this show. Good, hard-working, decent people. If you're one of them, don't feel bad. You're the victim in this situation. Advertising has misled you down a dark path, making you believe that this show is risque but harmless fun. I can almost forgive you. But please don't email me saying "But Gwen, it's a really good show!1!! Give it a chance, cuz u will luv it!!1!! McDreamy Rulz 4 eva. Patrick Dempsey is hot". Patrick Dempsey has greasy hair that's coiffed in the same style as the guy on the 20 dollar bill. Other reasons I hate him: His first wife's name was Rocky and he named his sons Darby and Sullivan, he juggles, and most disturbing of all he won a golden globe for best actor in a drama series when Kyle Chandler's hair wasn't even nominated. Kyle Chandler's hair can act circles around Patrick Dempsey. I am not making this up. And one last thought before I go, if I ever hear or see the psuedo words "McDreamy" or "McSteamy" again, I may try to McKill myself.

"S" & "Z" are not interchangable letters

I saw something the other day that made me wish I were blind. It was the sign out front of a new tanning salon. It read: Caribbean Tanz. What happened in our culture that made it suddenly cool and edgy to murder the English language? What did the English language ever do to you people? If the American public were on trial for their crimes against grammar, here is the evidence:

Exhibit A: gurlz, tanz
Exhibit B: My baby daddy, Now Open Monday's
Exhibit C: Chillin, Trippin, etc.

The motive here is an apparent hatred for the letters "S" and "G", and an inappropriate relationship with the letter "Z". There also seems to be a confusion on the part of the perpetrator about the use of possessives.

It's one thing for stupid teenagers to abuse perfectly innocent words. They're young enough that rehabilitation is still possible. But when adults who have the wherewithal to open a legitimate business name said business "Caribbean Tanz", God help us all. That is why I hate Toys "R" Us and its hell spawn Babies R Us. It's bad enough that they use "R" instead of "are", but they have to make the despicable "R" backwards too. If I had the resources I would set every one of those stores on fire and have fireworks light the sky with the words "Out of Business "R" You".

Am I perfect? No. Have I ever made a grammatical error? Of course. The difference is I don't do it on purpose. And if I do, I have the decency to be ashamed of myself.

P.S. If you are scratching your head and thinking, "What's wrong with 'Now Open Monday's'" then I don't want to be your friend anymore.

Whine and Cheese

I was thinking today about the time Amy and I went to Chester County to visit the wineries. It was right after Liv was born and I needed a day out and away from all the demands of having a newborn. It was about this time of year because the leaves were really starting to change and it was a bit crisp outside (Like a normal October should be). I know its sounds cheesy, but it was really a magical day. We felt alive and happy and just so comfortable being together, as we always have been. The wine helped. It was Amy in classic form: chatting it up with the winesellers and co-tasters, asking for more cheese samples, even though you're only supposed to get one. We ended up at this really great place called Va La Vineyards. We sat in an enclosed porch with all this artwork overlooking the vineyard drinking wine and being sisters. I'll never get that back. I'll never know what that feels like to be there, with her, and completely okay with the world. And it makes me sick to my stomach. And sometimes I can't breathe. Its so unfair how happy memories can become so horrifying. How thinking of her and her wonderful life can make me cry. I don't even know why I wrote this because nobody cares about it but me.

Possible Situation

I don't know what is wrong with me lately. I am usually so hateful and cynical. I always find things to get on my nerves, people to complain about, situations to analyze and bitch about to anyone who will listen. But lately, I've been numb and its bleeding into every aspect of me. I feel as though I can't get passionate about anything, and I need that to get good and angry and ....I don't know, comical?

I always find my anger and hatred turn into something I can laugh at. Something amusing. I experience, I analyze, I get fucking pissed, and then I discuss. And I get it out of me. Like a life bulimic or something...I purge all these nasty thoughts and feelings with a diatribe of hyperbolic nonsense (i.e. I want to light old people on fire, etc ). But now, there is just a big vat of nothing...I'm even being nice to people. Don't worry, its nothing crazy. Just letting a car get in front of me, picking up shit that someone dropped in line, telling a woman her ugly baby is cute. I mean its not CPR or returning lost money or anything. But even so, its disturbing. I even said "hello" to a stranger today. What is WRONG with me? Guys, I'm scared. If I go visit my grandmother, it's game over and you know it.

Out, Out Brief Candle

"The body is a damn hard thing to kill" - Anne Sexton

I hope, for my sake, that this sentiment is true. I had another biopsy today and it was every bit as annoying as the one I had 3 months ago. And now comes the fun part: the wait. There really is nothing like waiting to hear whether or not you have cancer. I keep having these dreams, nightmares really, that I am dying the same death as Amy. It is the first time in my life that I'm having dreams that make any sense at all, dreams that are clear and obvious. If I do die a similar death, at least I know what to expect. Maybe that's what dreams do - they prepare us. Watching Amy die gave me a perspective on what it looks like. But dreaming about dying helps me know what it will feel like. It's creepy, I know. I just can't help but thinking that I'm not long for this world. Some candles are met to be blown out early.

"Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing" - William Shakespeare