Did your car just say what I think it said?

Alright...I clearly need a lot to laugh about these days, but this is the fucking topper!

I was walking down the street with an innocent college student from my alma mater (Rock Chalk - I will give that part of myself away cuz...it Rocks! LOL) after coffee.  I'm mentoring her.  Yes, I think it's fucking hilarious too.  Anyhoo...she's a tall gal with long legs and a relatively short dress on with a jacket and killer shoes (color me JEALOUS!) and...no shit...we hear a whistle (aka you're sexy catcall that one usually hears from "men at work").

E: "What the fuck was that?"

Sweet student I'm mentoring to be know as my Baby Jay - as in JAYHAWK: "I am not really sure, hee, hee, hee, hee"

E: "No, seriously that wasn't real"  I look over and see a gross man in a fucking mini-van oogling my Baby Jay.  I'm like NO YOU FUCKING DON'T!  This is my Baby Jay, an innocent from Kansas not savvy to the crazy fucks in the city.  I'll scratch your fucking eyes out if you attempt to come near my Baby Jay.  FUCKER!
Baby Jay (I will not use BJ cuz she's simply too innocent): "hee, hee, hee I can't really tell"
("Hey baby!")
E: "What the fuck?  It's that dirty soon-to-be-a-criminal in that beat up piece of shit mini-van circa 1988.  I think it's a horn affect."
Baby Jay: "Really, that's kind of cool."
E: thinking "poor Baby Jay are you sure you want to move to the big city.  There are some seriously crazy and weird fucks around here"
Baby Jay: "Wow, I think you're right.  Okay that's weird."
E: thinking "Of COURSE it's weird, right next to his creepy glasses like the ones Stanley Tucci wore in 'The Lovely Bones', that dudes scary. And I WILL smack that creepy, potential molester smile right off your face.  Right after I scratch your eyes out! " Outloud: "Don't look at him Baby Jay. Just keep walking forward."
Baby Jay: "I kinda love weird shit like that.  I can't wait to move to the BIG city."
E: "Oh, Baby Jay, just promise to keep your wits about you, trust no one, and never, ever go home with a stranger (i.e. learn from E what NOT to do, even if nothing bad ever happened, I have had my stupid moments)"
Baby Jay:  hee, hee, hee, hee

SWEET, innocent girl.  I do worry about her moving here, but even more disconcerting is the fact that some jackass actually thought it was COOL to install some jacked up horn alternative that would allow him to, in his mind, woo the girls, when in fact he comes off as one creepy MoFo whose alter ego comes out when the sun sets.

Seriously?  Who sells this SHIT and thinks it's acceptable?  SERIOUSLY?  You're either as stupid or a big freak who lives in his mother's basement with her 10 cats or BOTH to have a. created this product and b. decided to sell it, most likely online.  And what brilliant mechanic would actually put this in someones car to replace their horn.  You know those guys are laughing out back at the stupid douche bag who thought it was so cool to have this horn sound installed.

It kills me.  Think about this.  In a city where honking is standard procedure to scare the buh-gezus out of anyone clearly a foreigner to the Big City, or really bad drivers (and there are a lot of them), what kind of effect is your measly little horn going to have to get someone asshole driver's attention?  I can see it now, driving in the city and some jackass pulls in front of you so you swerve to try and miss him, but he stops suddenly and you honk your horn only to hear "HEY BABY" and you slam into the backend of a gangsters car.

Oh, well, maybe it's for the best.  Let the gangsters take care of all the fucking freaks!

The Killing Field(s)

I've lived in my apartment for a long time - almost a decade - and I have never ever before experienced the amount of disgusting bugs that have found their way into my place.  It has been a hot summer here in Chicago and apparently even they are trying to escape the heat.

Yesterday I went to take the trash out.  The door was open for a few seconds both out and back in.  Before I knew it there was a massive swarm of flies in my apartment.  Sure, I was nice and gave the few smart ones a chance to exit, and they did.  Then it was smack down time for the rest of them.  I mean it was WAR!

I folded up a magazine and started swatting the shit out these fuckers.  They were in my blinds - bad move, kids.  You trapped yourselves.  Swat, swat.  Their blood was on my hands now and I was hungry for more.  Swat, swat. They were in my curtains - my curtains are white.  I'm not about to stain them with fucking fly guts.  I swatted for what seemed like eternity and counted only about 10 dead on the battlefield, also known as my living room.  Much to my surprise, it seems they multiplied during the battle.  What the...?  I could feel the anger boiling and my cheeks flush from the heat.  World War III was about to break out in my apartment!!

I left and went to the store for a big ass bottle of wine  some conditioner and stopped in the insecticide aisle.  Yep, flying bug spray killer.  PERFECT!  You fuckers are out of luck.  I came home and sprayed my curtains - what a lovely scent this stuff has.  It didn't smell like death at all!  Next thing I know those little shits are dropping like, cough, flies.  They either dropped immediately or fell to the floor where they spun around in the throws of death.  Yes!  Satisfaction!

In the midst of the battle, Meow Mix decided to walk over and sit right in a place I had just sprayed several fly fuckers to death.  Great!  My determination diverted for a moment, I picked kitty up and washed her paws.  That shit's killing those fuckers for a reason.  Don't need Meow Mix to meet that same fate.  I'd be heartbroken.  With that said, she's usually a very good fly huntress.  In fact, I think she rather enjoyed their invasion.  As she laid on the couch, every now and again her paw would slip out and bat at a fly or three.  Clearly, Meow Mix has proven that she isn't willing to work for her kibble anymore, but rather prefers to be waited on hand and paw my yours truly.  (She's so cute though, you'd do it too!)

When I finished with kitty I looked at the battlefield and started sweeping up the remains.  I counted 30.  Yes, I said THIRTY flies tried to invade the peaceful land of Epiphany.  Gross!  That deserved a LARGE glass of wine.

Four survived the attack.  Two decided to escape this morning as soon as I opened the door.  Can't blame them. I wouldn't want to stay in my place either with the scent of death, aka Raid "now with a fresh scent" lingering in the air.  The remaining two I've given immunity.....for now.  We'll see how long they last, buzzing around and pissing me off. 

I've washed every sprayed surface and, now, burning incense to remove the stink of death that is on my hands and continues to linger in my cute apartment.  Just hoping God, the universe and/or karma don't punish me for the death and destruction I've imparted.  I have fears of "Tales from the Crypt", especially the guy who was so obsessed with being clean and then was attacked and eaten by roaches.  Sssshhhivveerrssss.

I've also learned that this spray, while specifically branded for flying bugs, also works on the big nasty ass spiders on my back deck.  I hate spiders.  I mean I really, really hate those ugly, creepy, nasty looking fuckers.  DIE!

The sign on my door now reads:  Bugs beware.  Enter at your own peril.  This is not a safe haven but death row.

Road Rash..I'm on the IR

Damn it!  I was so excited to finish work early and got on a two-hour rollerblade work out, with a 30-minute stop lakeside.  I mean I was really ready to put in 10 miles.  And now, I'm on the IR.

Everything was going great.  I felt great.  Had my cute workout outfit on, it's cloudy and about 75 degrees.  Perfect!  I was taking my regular route (note to the City of Chicago: exactly how long does it take you to fucking tear up a street and repave it?  Apparently more than three weeks) and I inched myself carefully across a half torn up street and cruised downhill towards the lakefront.  Now, I don't normally take the South side of the street all the way down but the North side, near Lake Shore Drive, gets a little dicey - Hey Chicago!  Fix the fucking sidewalks! Nothing ever gets done around here!  Where exactly is my tax money going?  Oh, that's right, apparently every city worker is skimming off the top cuz they think they deserve it.  Foolish me.  Of course you  DON'T.  Fuckers!

Anyhoo...I took the South side and there's a small part of the sidewalk that intersects with a gravel running path. Apparently, they can't fucking clean up the sidewalk.  I saw it; I knew it and knowing I've been through it before foolishly thought "no problem".   Let's just say that gravel and rollerblades don't mix.  It's like rollerblading and grass.  You stop.  Almost immediately.

So, with rush hour traffic piling up off Lake Shore Drive, I fearlessly approach the gravel and suddenly realize it's worse than usual.  It's everywhere, and...it's deep.  Too late...I plow into the gravel, stop within inches and take a dive forward as if I'm on a Slip 'n Slide, except there was no water and I....just....stopped. Next thing I know, water bottle flies out of my mini backpack, mp3 goes for a dive in the gravel and I'm spread eagle in shitload of gravel.  I looked like fucking Superman trying to fly across a gravel pit that Lex Luther set out as a trap.  Fucker! 

The nicest older couple EVER were approaching and saw the entire thing.  Can you believe, that as many people were on that sidewalk, and so-called-running-path, that they were clearly the only decent human beings to stop and ask me if I was okay?  I'm beginning to think that Chicagoans aren't nearly as friendly as we like to believe- not to mention the fact I have neighbors who are dicks and never say "Hi" in return.  We've truly become a city of non-Midwestern imports who don't give a fuck about anyone else.

Anyhoo...lovely couple conversation:

Woman: Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?
Me: Yeah, I know gravel and rollerblading don't mix but I've made it through before.  I should have known better and taken it slow.
Man: Look, what a shame that you ruined a good pair of pants (referring to the destroyed left-knee of my pants)
Me: Oh, it's okay, I've had them forever, but they are my favorite.
Man: Well, at least you can replace them.  Can I help you up? 
Me: Thank you so much, you know most people wouldn't do anything
Man: That's because this city has lost its Midwestern-ness.  All these people come in from all over the world and don't know how to be, well, human like we do
Me: I agree.  I was born and raised in the plains and that's why I chose to move here.  I'm constantly surprised on how little anyone ever thinks of anyone here.
Man: It's a shame.  Wasn't like this since recently and we've been here for 45 years.
Me: Yeah
Woman: Are you okay to get home?  Do you have a car nearby or live nearby?
Me: Thank you but no.  I'm a little over a mile away.
Woman: Well, are you okay to get home?
Me: I bet this will feel like nothing until I get home.
Man: Well, pop a pill and few shots of something warm and you'll be set.
Me:  LOL  You're brilliant!
Man: Well, it looks like nothing is injured but your pride.
Me: Eh, pride, schmide!
Man/Woman:  LOL
Me:  Thanks again, have a great weekend.

It's true, you know.  I've never been one of those people who falls down, takes a nose dive, or whatever and gets embarrassed about it.  Really, I don't.  Seriously?  All those people in your cars sitting at the light watching the scene unfold wish you could rollerblade because it's such a good work out.  And by the way, no one's perfect!  Besides, the athlete in me kind of likes the big ass strawberry on my knee.  Call it a war wound.  There's pride in it.  I'm trying to do something others see as extreme, even though it really isn't.  I love it.  Ouch!  Maybe not at the moment, but yeah....it's pretty cool.  Damn, no skirts or dresses for weeks!

After checking to make sure all the body parts worked and the wounds were mostly superficial (I may have to pick gravel out of my hands later), I turned around and headed back home.  The knee hurt at first and then felt great.  I almost thought, for a moment, that I should turn around and take my battle-wounded ass up the lakefront to complete the mission I'd started.  Eh, go home.

Now, I am sitting with wounds washed and bandaged, having a glass, or five, or wine hoping the drugs will kick in soon.  It's really like road rash, but worse.  Gravel actually gets under your skin! Just as planned I will spend my Friday night catching up with Mad Men On Demand (don't judge! Everyone likes to stay in on weekend nights sometimes.  Shutup!).  What I really need is a boy toy, a nurse's aid to cook me dinner, make sure my wine glass is always full, kisses my boo-boos and helps me relax. 

Unfortunately, now, I'm on the injured reserve with no prospect of getting back in the game for the next five days.  Man, I was going to kick some major calories rollerblading this week.  As everyone else does in this town, I blame it all on the City of Chicago.  Hey, you think I gotta case?

A Flirt: The Neighbor

About a year ago, my neighbor and I made out. He's younger (uhm, FINE! 25. He's 25! At least I'm not going to jail for it) and adorable. He was a terrible kisser but a little instruction and we were good. Again, he's sssoooo cute and adorable.

What I love about guys in their 20's is what I love about guys in their late 30's-early 40's. In their 20's-30's you can imagine what that baby face is going to look like at 40. It may take men longer to grow into themselves, but it's highly worth it and let me tell you, The Neighbor is going to be a super hottie! For right now, he is a load of fun to flirt with and....

So, last night I was trying to be good, getting perfect and ready for a crazy day of events, and I heard all of my neighbors out front. I say,"Sure I can go hang with them for a bit and be asleep by 10:30p." HA! I went down to hang out and let my nails dry without thinking I have a big, HUGE nasty red pimple on my face that is not fit or public consumption - I had washed my face earlier to treat the little fucker with the hope that it might disappear before this morning. That, of course, wasn't the case. Once you remember something like that you start to rest your chin in your hand until you just say "Fuck it!" and keep having fun. My neighbors and I have, for the most part, seen each other at our unshowered-messy-bedhead-unshaven-worst, and while I like to try and look presentable at all times, sometimes you just forget. Oddly enough, it must have been the alcohol or the pot he was smoking, but apparently I was lookin' good to him (doesn't hurt that the sun was setting. I always look better by candle and moonlight)!

I love to watch boys flirt - with me, of course. Some make it SO obvious that it's fun to sit back and receive. The Neighbor is one of those. Sooner or later there was a "come up and check out what they did to my apartment" (make out session - MUCH improved!); "would you like some wine? come up I'll get you a glass" (make out session); and finally the "can you show me where your bathroom is" which led to full on make out session and...more fun. However, me being a stickler that I am, not too much fun was had cuz I had to get up super early. (HEY! At my age, we need our beauty sleep!) Plus, why not save something for a rainy day - in the forecast soon.

It's been some time, I will admit, since I've had this kind of attention and...fun. It's not that I haven't been looking, it's just that The Neighbor is really only fun, whereas I'm looking for a relationship. A lasting one. Someone to have fun with all the time. I'm tired of this transient-lover BS. I want one to stay. Nonetheless, it was MUCH needed fun to remind me of the simple pleasure that is a man. Stay tuned for that rainy day.

The List: My Own Take 1

Dear Diane*,

I love and miss you and know that you and hubby are working on very important things like making babies, however, would really like to talk and discuss the list. Don't leave me hangin' babe! LOL Until you and hubby have completely exhausted one another, I will move forward with my own synopsis of the list one by one.

Love,
E


The first item on the list of things that make me happy is music. I love music. It's what makes the blood flow through my veins. I love to sing and used to a great deal of performing. I equally love to dance, and appreciate all kinds of music....even some rap, but not for the lyrics as much as the beats, rhythms and...sounds. It just makes me so....happy.

This week I've been working on a CD mix (remember Mix Tapes? I was the Master!) for friend's party. I looovveeedd working on it. Picking the music then selecting the order - there really are rules to this in order to make it sound just right. Every song flows easily into the next as if they were made to be played alongside one another. And, of course, you have to set the tone for the occasion. The best part, is handing the CD over, wrapped and tied with a bow (the most inexpensive, thoughtful gift, I think, you can give anyone) and waiting for the moment they slide it into the CD player. The moments of anticipation just tick away until the first song is played. Then "I love this song" gooshes from the recipient as the CD continues. Music brings such happiness and people love my CDs because they know I made it just for them.

I miss it. I miss singing. I miss writing music and lyrics. I miss performing. I was given a gift and have done relatively nothing with it. Sure, I've been given other gifts and talents, but this one....it makes me feel so alive.

During the day there are often times when I just have to sit down and zero in on getting a project done. It's during these times when I tune into my Jango.com account or rock out to my own play list. It gives me energy and I love everything about it from singing Gregorian chants and classical to rock and country. There's nothing like it. Nothing can feed my soul the way music does. And maybe, I sing on my own time and find a group, and maybe the rest of my life is spent appreciating the nuances in music that others don't catch and teach them about it - hopefully without looking like the big nerdy musical geek that I am.

It's the tops on the list so I know one thing - I've got to find away to sing and release that desire to do so pent up inside of me. I don't really care much about being a famous musician, rather I've always thought of my gift as an instrument to share incredible works of music for others to enjoy. Maybe that's being too modest (another thing I'm trying to give up - love my fam but not so grateful to have been raised SO MODEST! A little "I'm really great" never hurt anyone), but it is something I do believe as a musician. Others, just do it to feed their ego. I was pretty comfortable with myself to begin with and compliments...well, I'm still learning to be appreciative.

I'm hoping that this list doesn't now lead to creating another list for each item on the list. What did I just say? Yeah. While lists are my sanity in day-to-day life, I think more lists will just overwhelm and shut me down! Until my next post in a few days, I am going to try and sing more, even if it's just in my shower, which has great acoustics!

Quote of the Day

Thanks to the BFF for this one:

"Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky." ~Rabindranath Tagore

The Pursuit of Perfection

Perfection. It's an interesting word. What is perfection? Is it about being the best or just perceived as being and having the best? Is it about being the best you can be in every moment?

My good friend Webster defines it as : 1. the quality or condition of being perfect (defined as lacking nothing essential); 2.the act or process of being perfect; 3. one considered perfect. The thesaurus adds in the word virtue.

So, if you lack a lot of essentials in your life yet live with virtue, can you still be perfect?

I know it's crazy to think about perfection. No one is perfect. In fact, everyone has a different definition of perfection. You may have a perceived perfect and blessed life like my best friend Dawn*, but at the same time she is open and aware of her own imperfections. Is perfection achieving what is fed to us by the media (i.e. look like Angelina Jolie or having certain things), or how we define it individually and the pressure we put on ourselves to achieve it? Either way, the pursuit of it can make you a little crazy. I know.

In this life there are few things one can actually control like:

• presence - style, makeup and hair (although mine's been a bit out of control)
• what you eat/weight - need to work on
• clean home
• your actions/reactions towards others - who you want to be v. who you are
  
• your performance - work, etc.
• how you use your time
• how many glasses of wine I will have today (3, thanks!)
• how many times will I blog today
  
• what you do with the blessings you receive
• going out and trying/doing what you love
• who I will call on the phone
  
• and a few others
  

I like to think that I can control other certain things, but I really believe it's just that "the stars align" with the right moment and you're openness to receive. Like when I show up to the bus stop and the bus appears within just moments of my arrival. That is perfect to me. In reality, most things, you can't control and it's really frustrating. It's frustrating when you know what you can be if given more opportunities...but one can't determine or just wish them to come along. Not in this economy.

The pursuit of perfection is something I think about a lot, actually. It's easy, really. When things happen that are out of my own control, I become Mr(s). Clean and my apartment is perfection! Floors washed, everything in its place, totally organized (and let me just say I'm not very messy), no dishes in the sink and toilet....sparkling! It feels good to have order and a sense of perfection in my home, my work and even in working out. I'm not really sure where this strong desire for and absolute sense of perfection was born, but there's safety in it. Oddly enough.

My best friend Dawn* seeks perfection and order, albeit at a much, much higher level than mine! Everything has its place. Her home is beautiful and always clean. She is always dressed well and looking stunning. Everything is done....perfectly. Coasters are always used, and, as much as I love her, I'm often worried I will put something in the wrong place, or mess something up. It is, ironically, one of the many reasons I adore her. Even though I may feel this way at times, I completely appreciate where she's coming from. Perfection is order.

Dawn* and I often discuss our varying need for order, or control, and the pursuit of perfection and I've come to believe it's not because we're crazy or neurotic, but that its tough to let go. It's hard to just walk in blind faith everyday. We have to feel as if we control some things in our lives whether it's keeping dishes out of the sink, making your bed everyday, staying organized in work, writing an error-free report, or keeping a clean car. And, while we actually do have control over many things and choices we make, there are the bigger things that we just don't have any control over. Some philosophers would say these are the things that keep life interesting.

The pursuit for perceived perfection could, in some ways, be blamed for why so many Americans are in debt, living beyond their means, in homes they can't afford, buying cars and toys for their kids. They want others to believe their lives are perfect in the perfect neighborhood. This perception of perfection is wealth.

You could say that this pursuit of perfection has even led me to start and live through this blog. In some respects, I'm seeking perfection in my own life and its future. I feel as if I should have this, that and the other; that I should be this kind of person to have and be loved; that I should have a more lucrative career; sometimes, that I should be someone else. That I should be perceived as one who pursues perfection and virtue in all things. And, moreover, that I deserve it.

It's a tricky thing living life, but throw in the unknown variables and it becomes that much more. The truth is that the pursuit of perfection leads us not just to controlling certain aspects of our life, but to having and being what we feel others define as perfection. We want to be seen as having it all, being it all and living it all. It's not enough just to feel perfect in our own imperfect and fabulous lives.

So, with dishes in the sink, my bed unmade and mail spread across the dining table, today, I begin the path of defining my own perfection. It's more than a clean house, it's being me. Living fully as the unique and imperfect person in which I was created. And I promise, to never judge anyone else's perfect life.

Sisters!

Shwew!!! I survived the weekend with sister1 and husband. It was a true whirlwind, but fun and I do love them. I can say that I am thoroughly exhausted! I can also say that I had a vodka martini slip and told my brother-in-law that I was really hurt by sister1's comment to me....he couldn't believe she said it.

Sister1 and I spent more than half our lifetime as practical strangers. She is seven years older than me and hated life so much that she didn't want to participate in mine for fear of remembering her hell. As a little girl, Sister1 was the only babysitter I would allow near me. I fondly remember a time when the babysitter couldn't get my pj's on, so Sister1 came in and told me to jump up and down on the bed to get my pants on. She was also the only one who could feed and hold me. Throughout the years we became more distant. I followed my path and she wanted to get away from all of us as fast as possible.

She did have her great moments like when Sister2 was supposed to take me to a movie and then stood me up to hang out with her friends. Sister1 called and asked if I wanted to go to the horse show. I was thrilled. She was, despite it all, always there. Sister2 never really supported me in all the things I was involved in, but Sister1 was always there. In my early 20's, Sister1 and hubby moved closer to my college town and I began going to their house for dinner. It's like having a new friend and discovering who they are. It took a few years, but since then we've been very close. We've helped each other become better people. We make time to visit one another....but something has changed.

The hardest part for me with my sister is that she is so closed minded. This weekend was Pride fest and I knew there was no way I would take them or even consider introducing them to "the girls" (read: boys). Both of them are so anti-gay and I think it's more because they have never met one or opened their heart to one to understand rather than simple disdain. It's easy to be afraid of the unknown. Sadly, "the girls" are great people and good friends to me, and disheartening that they will probably never meet these friends. It's ironic, too, because sister1/hubby both say that they are Christians and yet they are so judgmental. I believe it's our job to love everyone, open our hearts to as many people as possible - to spread the love of Christ - and He will do the judging. In turn, we'll be judged on our ability to walk the path.

My sister even chooses to judge me. Somehow she makes me feel like I am an irresponsible kid who knows nothing, and, of course, I understand that only you can allow someone else to make you feel this way. Without a doubt, I'm positive that if my life were on a track with some kind with financial stability, a house, husband and child that she would not do this - or make me feel this way. Yet, I have to learn to get to this place without these stabilities. Much like my father, there is a sense of disappointing her. I really need to let it go. Let go of how I think people think of me, how I think they will feel about my choices and start living for me - without abandonment.

I have daddy issues. My sisters and I all do. It's interesting and sad that sister1 has so much disdain for my father, yet she is the most like him, and becoming more so everyday. He is a challenging man, always has been, and even more challenging as he becomes a grumpy old man who doesn't feel well. She is starting to mimic some of this behavior....at the ripe old age of 43. He was a dictator of some sorts growing up but a great problem solver who, despite not listening any other time, could, if need be, really listen and help you mull over important decisions and problems. His heart, while often selfish, was mostly in the right place - but more on him later.

I worry most that sister1, after years of avoidance, will never fully rectify with herself these issues of hatred, dislike, fear and annoyance for my father. Instead she continues to carry them around, becoming (unaware) more and more the exact mold of him. That's a long lifetime and a heavy burden. She is so clearly angry and unhappy, almost the "victim" - like my dad - in life. I don't know how she can carry it around with her day in and day out, moment by moment.

Sister1 is lucky to have her hubby. He is the best. They balance one another. He is always loving, fun and upbeat, even when she's a kill joy. The one thing she and I have in common - we're really good at beating ourselves up.

I've chosen to deal with my "daddy issues" and find a way to interact with him that makes our time together far more enjoyable. I wish she could do the same, but she gets pissed every time I give her suggestions. If she chooses to carry this hatred in her heart for a lifetime, there is nothing I can do. I simply pray that she will find peace. If she is unable to do so I fear that it will forever alter our relationship. With that said, I have become very adept at one-sided relationships, especially with family. I always cater to them and they never want to hear the truth of what I have to say, so I keep it all inside...festering away until one day I explode. It's not worth it, and so God, instead, gave me the idea for Finding Epiphany.

I won't often "beat the bible" here (it's not really my approach), but it is important to understand this side of me in the hunt for my Epiphany, and even yours. I am a person of faith - and you can determine whatever that higher power is for you - for me it's God. I also believe in the power of energy, aka the universe or karma - that there is a balance. It's easy to have faith in one aspect of your life, but when all of it seems out of whack, you want to try and take control rather than just live in the moment and have faith, or allow the universe to work in your favor. The one thing I know is that God has a plan for me, for each of us, that is greater than we even think we're capable of achieving. You have to keep your eyes, ears and heart open to be lead and then act.

Faith is not easy, nor for the faint of heart, but it works when you can let go. There in lies the trick...stop trying to control and let go. For me this blog is a release of thoughts and emotions clogging up my flow of faith and the positive energy around me. Allowing those thoughts to swirl around in your head can make you crazy. It reminds me of when I was a little girl and had a bad dream. My parents always said that if you say what the dream was out loud that you'd never have it again, and they were right. I want peace of mind and personal fulfillment in this short life. Unfortunately, we have to carry the baggage with us, but we don't have to unpack it.