Monday, August 27, 2007

The Grind...

This is who I am?

Taken from
With an acute attention to detail, the Virgo is the sign in the zodiac most dedicated to serving. Their deep sense of the humane leads them to care-giving like no other, while their methodical approach to life ensures that nothing is missed. The Virgo is often gentle and delicate, preferring to step back and analyze before moving ahead.
Friends and Family: A Virgo is a helpful friend to have indeed. They are excellent at giving advice, and they really know how to problem solve. You'll find that a Virgo will remind you to take good care of yourself, as health is a focal point for them. And when the meal is done, they'll be the first to jump up and start the dishes. Loving and dedicated to family, the Virgo is also first on the scene when care is needed. When someone reaches old age or is ill, the Virgo will be there doing all that is needed. The Virgo is not known for showing their feelings. They prefer to show through deed than by word.
Career and Money: "I analyze" is the key phrase for the Virgo personality, while "practicality" is the keyword. Industrious, discriminating, and scientific by nature, the Virgo really knows how to get to the heart of the matter. They are exceptionally methodical and do well in jobs that require organization. If there's anything out of order, set a Virgo to the task! When focused on a task, the Virgo will push themselves to perfection, leaving no stone unturned. They are exacting and take great pride in a job done to the absolute best of their ability. When they feel their talent falls short, they'll turn to the books to learn whatever they need to improve. Careers suited to this sign include being a doctor, nurse, psychologist, teacher, writer, and critic.
Virgos are excellent with their money. They generally keep a strict grasp on what they spend, and strive to put away as much money as they can. They plan well in advance for expenditures, and when it comes to shopping, they aren't apt to overspend. Every now and then the Virgo can be seen buying themselves something of beauty, though. They love the arts and enjoy decorating their homes with taste.

Love and Sex: It's important for the Virgo lover to feel needed by their mates. Outside of the bedroom is where the majority of foreplay is going to happen for this sign. Tactile, methodical and willing to take as long as is needed, they make excellent lovers. Even though the Virgo won't express many words of love, they will show their affections in the bedroom. Virgos prefer to have a few strong connections rather than many partners. Life partners are chosen based on how important and needed the Virgo feels they are in their lives. They are dedicated spouses that love to live on the wild side once and a while.

VIRGO TIDBITS Virgo Birthdays: August 22 - September 22

Health: Each sign has a part of the anatomy attached to it, making this the area of the body most sensitive to stimulation. The anatomical areas for Virgo are the intestines, liver, pancreas, gall bladder, lower plexus, and the upper bowel.
Ruling Planet: The ruling planet for Virgo is Mercury. Representing intellectual urge and the avenue of expression, this planet rules reason, rationalization, words, awareness and communication. Its action is quick and it also deals with travel, speaking, writing, trade, and emotional capacity and technique.
Colors: The colors of choice for Virgo are green and dark brown.
Gemstone: Virgo's star stone is the sardonyx - the reddish brown variety.
Lucky Numbers: Virgo's lucky numbers are 2, 5, and 7.
Compatibility: Virgos are most compatible with Capricorn and Taurus.
Opposite Sign: The opposite sign for Virgo is Pisces.
The Perfect Gift: The best gifts for a Virgo are health-related items.
Likes: Animals, beauty, eating healthy, orderliness.Dislikes: Sloppiness, squalor, being wrong, chaos.
House: Natural sign of the Sixth House. This house focuses on health, habits, unconscious mind, service given, work, pets.
Famous Virgos: Stephen King, Charlie Sheen, Mother Teresa, Sophia Loren, and Mickey Mouse


I have as of late been questioning my sanity.

What are you supposed to tell yourself when you wake up to an out of body experience? Not so much surreal as an out of body perception of stark, cold reality. How am I supposed to deal when it happens on a fairly regular basis? It’s the feeling that you’ve really not been present in your mind for some time, and that you are as much a stranger to yourself as possible.

I look down at my hands and muse over them… especially as I will them to twiddle. They do as I say! I’m evidently in total command of my body… so now what? What do I do with this responsibility? What did I do with it yesterday? The day before? Nothing notable… So, is each new day a continuation of an unremarkable existence? How have I managed to live one day at a time for 22 years? What have I got to show for it? These days, I wake up with a stranger, beside myself. Hit with that awkward feeling “where am I? How did I get here?” so what do I do? I pretend to know. I act like everything is hunky-dory. Let’s face it, if I admit that I have no idea who I am, I’d probably breakdown and cry… and then what a mess I would have on my hands. Instead of getting ready for work I’m dealing with hysterical sobbing fits, caught trying to be reassuring “of course you have something to live for! No, you’re not a (purposeless) tool… you’re really special…” no no, much better to smile and nod.

I’m not a TOTAL stranger to myself. Sure, I know where I bank, and usually have an idea of how much is in my account. But does any of that matter?
When I realize that I don’t have the faintest idea what I want out of my day, or how I feel about someone, or where I want to be tomorrow. I feel more like a robot. I’m searching for some input --some outside source of information-- on which to base my existence. But when its not there, I feel like I have no purpose.

So, I guess I thrive on dysfunction. I’m alive when there’s always something to be done, that’s my purpose. Kind of like a millhouse mule, Blinders on. “Just trudge over the ground in front of you.” I don’t have to contemplate on the meaning of life. There’s rent to be paid, library books to return, get the mail, fill car with gas, go11 through pockets 010011 before 01101 washing my laundry10110. Hell, when I’m done with that I might go swim1010ming or walk mindl10011essly around wal-mart for a couple1110001011 of10110110110110001100 hours.

Saturday, August 18, 2007


I wont paint a pretty picture of the scene. Colorful? yes. The people are very much so... Its an on-site treatment center for eating disorders and addictions. I find myself here for a week, listening to people read, in their own words, their life stories --sob stories, war stories-- some meticulously sculpted over the years into self-gratifying accounts. Some still in the developmental stages, someday to be ostentatious recollections of hardship and misery. Still yet, there are a few whose stories were simply facts and feelings. Earnest narratives, humble introspection.
One man treats it as a confessional, baring his soul for the rest of us. He is a slave to narcotics. He tells of his struggle... periods of self-control, falling hard into relapse. He tells us not only the pain he has suffered,but the burden he has been to his family and loved ones. His need for a fix outweighed his conscience when he opted to buy drugs rather than clothe and care for his family. He shakes with remorse, chokes on apologies, then lulls into stiffled sobs and takes his seat.

Next a girl shaking with anxiety. She begins by recalling her earliest memory of body image, how she wanted to be "perfect". How she started by denying herself exorbitance. Then weeded out any nonessential nurishment, and gradually began totally depriving herself of necessity. Hyperphagia. She is disgusted with herself. Ashamed now, having achieved her goal. Tired of abusing her body, now longing to be the normal girl she once was. Feeling as far from perfect as she could possibly get. She just wants to rid herself of her behavior, but doesn't know how. Another story of drug addiction and manic depression. Soulless numbness. the fault, she says, is her mothers, for urging her to lose weight, buying her the diet pills that got her hooked. Her mother is sitting in silence, hands limply resting in her lap, tears flowing in silence. She nods in agreement. She makes no verbal response, just internalizing this experience.

Now here is a girl, she is strikingly beautiful. She is here for a few reasons, the first of which, I learn, is addiction. "recreational" drugs and binge drinking. She recounts her adventures with complete impenitence. She is far from ready to forsake the lifestyle. I'm offended to have to sit in audience of her boasting. She cites a few escapades, debacheries. She is redirected by her councilor after a few of these accounts. Several others give her feedback about how they felt to hear her unapologetic account.The session ends after readings from a few others, and we are dismissed for the evening.

In the morning it is more Story Hour. Each of the "patients" will be adressing a different addiction or dysfuctional behavior today. The humble, middle-aged drug addict today confesses sex addiction, as well.
Now, the footloose girl from yesterday. She stands and is betrayed instantly by her emotions. She is here to confront her eating disorder. She is bolemic. She starts into a vivid account of her experiences, and at first I hear the same old bid for attention that I'm beginning to callous against. but her composure is a stark contrast to yesterday. She is crying out for help. She painfully tells how she hates herself. She doesn't want to retire this lifestyle, either. the girl is beautiful, yet her eyes are fixed on the floor. she quivers and cringes to be before us now, after being in treatment for long enough to restore her from emaciated, to bearing a trace of babyfat. I am blown away by the idea that she cannot see her own innate beauty. My throat lumps up and I feel total bewilderment on her behalf. Her mind treats her self image like a carnival fun-house mirror, bending, stretching, distorting. Yet, thats all she can see.
I spent the rest of the morning dealing with the realization of that, and the feeling it instills in me. I do my homework, assigned by one of the councilors. And a few hours later we met back in that semi-circle to give our feedback to those who had spoken. Me, with my collage of magazine cut-outs. Words taken out of context to reflect my impressions from the past two days.
when it becomes my turn to get up and explain my peice of art. I told everyone, trembling (I don't do public speaking I could think of little more than searching out the words beauty, beautiful, gorgeous...) that I scattered these words around on the peice of posterboard to represent the people in the room, theres alot of beauty in this room that I thought needed to be pointed out.
the therapist interjects with her words of reassurance "theres alot of power in those words, I would encourage you to expound on them...."
For a moment I'm ready to just walk back to my seat in silence, but I can't. I decide to continue, but I can't. I don't remember what I ment to say. At long last I was able to relay them, in fragmented circumlocution, that they were some of the most beautiful people I had met. Then I choked up and sat down....

later I wrote this.

look into the mirror
I wish you could see
yourself a little clearer
the allure catching me

I think it's the sparkle in your eyes
that blinds their own perception
and though it's dear, it makes me cry
to see the shame in your expression

something I always ment to say
in my silence, I made you this way
you've blessed the rest of this world
you're such a beautiful, beautiful girl

I think its the sparkle in your eye
that burns your self perception
and though its hard to hear, you live a lie
when you see your own reflection