breakfast will be in a literal sense this morning; 36 hours since i’ve have a full meal. yesterday i fasted, only water, juice and broth. give or take an apple and a handful of babycarrots, to be honest, but the point was to begin a detox process that feels pretty damn overdue. today, saturday, begins a two week cleanse, during which i can absolutely eat, but yesterday’s decision has left me feeling pretty interesting in a few different ways. first off, i am starving. like, wicked effing hungry. secondly, i feel terrific. yesterday was the first day all week i wasn’t plagued with a headache or mild nausea or feeling sluggish or vaguely pissed off, and in coincidence it’s the only day i didn’t eat dairy, wheat, fats, or any other nutritional equivalent to DDT. i woke up this morning just before 8, with no weirder dreams than usual, and had no problem jumping out of bed to start a pot of coffee. granted, the images of great steaming bowls of oatmeal didn’t hinder this process, but all week long i’ve been dragging ass trying to wake up.

this brings me to a few conclusions i’m putting together out of this. a) i eat to damn much. my love of food is no secret; bring on the green curries and powdered sugar funnel cakes and pancakes and seared fishes and overflowing salads and spaghetti anything and ice cream ice cream ice cream. and, i love to cook. we have a tradition of sorts here on floor 2 of the palms, where the cost of groceries is split among the diners, and i cook dinner for our friends. love it! this being said, i still eat too much. smaller portions, more times a day. b) i eat, most likely, the wrong foods for my body. dairy makes me feel awful, and i just don’t have the constitution for whole milk yogurt (although few thing in life are as joyful as peeling a thick layer of cream off the top of a brand new carton of whole milk French vanilla yogurt. wow. i digress.) and even though it doesn’t comprise even the tiniest bit of my diet, there’s still too much processes food. a once-monthly mackers trip will inevitably lead me down a French fries and coca-cola route, and often to the McGag O’Fish deep fried nastiness. c) god, television sucks. i need to get out a do more. get a hobby. quit reading books about genocide and fretting all the time about which government is doing which human rights atrocity this week. it’s important to be informed, which i’m not using tv for, and it’s important to care, which isn’t the media’s m.o, but watching how do i look, clean house and style her famous does not a productive afternoon make. are you listening, Kelsey?? d) gossip websites will give you pancreatic cancer. i’m talking to you, idontlikeyouinthatway.com.

the good news: i’m veggie, i don’t smokedrinkdodrugs, and i’m pretty active. i surround myself with good people who make me laugh, i have a moderate amount of stress in my life, but i’m good decent alright at managing it.

one day of tummy grumbling is worth a new perspective on some things. it’s spring, it’s time to clean out the old gunk and replace it with newer, better gunk, all the while honoring all the gunk in the first place. and now, on to that oatmeal!

these coffee and email filled mornings lend me a sense of connectedness that otherwise i'd miss throughout the day. from my vantage point, egg chair on orange yoga mat on 2nd story balcony, i know my neighbor down and tothe right takes her garbage out every morning, i see the mixture of children, dog-walkers and fast-walkers grace the tuttle walkway. at this moment, the palms are swaying, birds are skawking, and the asshole with the loud pipes is revving his bike. this scrawny cunt owns a bike with the loudest pipes i have ever encountered, and he lives in an apartment complex for god's sake. given my druthers, one day i'd like to go give his ugly purple machine a swift kick over on its side, simply for being a goddamned waste of a good bike frame.
there goes my sense of calm and well-being, shattered over an old harley-wanna be. and here come the landscapers, 8:30 in the morning.
the moment i look up from my reverie to drink the day in deeply, is the moment it springs to noisy, petrol-fueled life, and i would really only expect it to. the days are noisy, fast, bustling, smelly, combustible, and there are seldom quiet moments given; those are the easy ones. in the midst of the hectic, the real task is to find these moments in between, in the spaces and breaths, to recreate without going against the flow.

mornings are the best time of day.
wait, did i just write that?
let's review this statement. or rather, explain this statement.
mornings give time for quiet, cool breezes, privacy in one's own home. the sun fills in slowly, bright, welcoming at a parallel to the windows, seeping in under swaying vertical blinds.
hot coffee topped with soy milk fills a mug, the only time of day for this, and what pleasure from this one cup. two cups. these cups of coffee.
the only sounds are keyboards clicking, birds chirping, cars rolling by, and the silence of great possibility for the day. this is, i believe, what i find most incredible about the morning: it's the beginning of the new day, it's the clean slate, ready to be filled with anything and everything one could want or imagine. prayer is so much louder in the morning, there is so much hope for the moments that lay ahead.
i miss these leisurely mornings on days i have to be out early, i will miss them even more in the weeks to come. the quiet, potent memories will remain.

what is it about the all american fair that excites me so much? the lights are a part of it, driving toward the fairgrounds and seeing towers of blinking lights, illuminating rides that will only cause certain nausea and panic attacks, screams and hysterical laughter. the rush of people, en masse, to the ticket booths, and the solidarity that comes with your fellows when you are ripped off for an $8 entrance fee that offers no fringe benefits. stands and stands, as far as the eye can see, bark elephant ears, turkey legs the size of infants, beef on a stick, chicken on a stick, corn dogs (on a stick, of course) lemon shake ups, kegs of soda, cotton candy and caramel apples, funnel cakes and italian roast beef. carnies taunt and tease passers-by, completely ambivalent to the outcome, only interested in turning your head to their shiny lights and stuffed nonsense. our first stop was a pink monstrosity named "extreme," which looked like any other twister ride, only it didn't stop at a 90 degree spin, it took us completely upside down and faster faster faster. in a moment of sheer uncontrolled velocity, there is nothing to do but pray the harnesses don't bust all at once, and scream.

my heart breaks when i write that i received no hooch, no stuffed scooby the size of a ten-year old, no matted teddy bear holding a ratty heart inscribed with "i love you" in peeling metallic letters, but i did enjoy the mother of all fair treats: a powdered sugar-coated funnel cake. spiral after spiral of thick dough poured int a vat of hot oil, fished out and plunked, dripping grease, onto a paper plate, then liberally dusted with confectioner's sugar, thrust out of a window at our awaiting fingers, followed by two ineffective paper towels. our eyes lit up like beacons at the sights, our mouths water like the big bad wolf's at the smells, out fingers tingled with delight to rip great chunks of dough away from its mothership. pure, unadulterated heaven.

two hours and $100 later, the four of us walked back into the real world, an emptying parking lot, past a drunk in a tie-dye, sitting on the grass helplessly while his car was searched by some unfriendly officer friendlies, and each one of us silently reminisced about times when the fair meant so much more than nostalgia, a broken diet and heartburn, about when it signified all that was good and right with the world: fried dough and tweeked out carnies.

last sunday, the four of us drove to ft myers to watch the orioles at the red sox, a spring training game. the great american past time, that baseball, is nothing more than an excuse to sit with your friends, eat hot dogs and cracker jacks and drink beer and roll your eyes at the asshole who takes it upon himself to enumerate every opposing team member's faults, loudly and often, inaccurately. it's also a great way to spend a beautiful florida spring sunday afternoon, parked on the lawn, dashing to the concession stand and back, arms full of nitrite-laden goodness and overpriced sweaty bottles of water.
if you can understand the game of baseball, namely, throw the ball, hit the ball, catch the ball, and the inevitabilities of life it teaches: sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains, then you're halfway to having yourself a good ol' time at the ballpark.
so wear some sunscreen, bring a load of cash, come early to get a good seat on the lawn, and remember on thing: love those red sox as you might, you're not really there to see the game. you're there for the experience, the true american experience. and don't forget to stand at the beginning of the seventh inning.

additionally, my owl tote, memo pad and magnet came in the mail yesterday from boygirlparty.com, and i'm so excited! the tote is perfect for the library, the magnet will hold my latest nyc parking ticket beautifully, and the memo pad is getting outfitted with a magnet of its own and is going on the fridge for grocery lists. i did the happy dance in lauren's apartment when i opened them up.

every morning is the same this week. wake up sleepy, catching the last threads of dreams swirling around, check the time, disappointed that i can’t sleepp any later than i do, roll out of bed, pee, peel off the breathe right as painlessly as possible, shuffle into the kitchen, bracing for the temperature let in by the open patio door, 6 cups, 3 scoops, push the on button, turn on the computer, check email and myspace, bank account, eventually find my way into the shower, followed by lotion, hair gunk, blowdry, makeup, clothes, out the door. some things are variable, like if i drink my coffee black or with soy milk, is tim awake before i am, do i write morning pages or no, but most of the time it’s routine. now, i am rarely comforted by routine. in fact, most routine brings up great contempt. but at the same time, when i have loads of unused time on my hands, i find myself at a loss for new inventive ways to fill it.

lots of things in my life are seeming routine lately. mornings, work, midmorning snack followed by bad stomach, protein shake for lunch, home, lounge by the pool, run, weights, dinner, movie. this is easy and comfortable, i know. this is also the routine my friends live in as well, so i go with it. i find no reason not to.

i’ve lived with the tenant familiarity breeds contempt as my unofficial mantra, and now in truly familiar territory every day, i find a breath of refreshment in it. in a moment with tim yesterday, the comfort and joy i felt knowing there was no compulsory end to all of this was overwhelming. i’ve spent a significant amount of time holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it’s obvious to me that by doing that, there will always be another shoe, poised for plummet. by not doing it, there’s joy in the routine, dinner at the Mexican joint, the tussles over movies at the rental store, coffee black or soy.

tired. end of the day, and it's only 9:30. do you remember staying out until dawn, lungs heavy and wheezy from packs of camel lights, head filled with pots of black coffee, eyes blood shot and squinty under gas station flourescents? remember driving home to try to sleep, laughing and envying the suits just headed out for work? i remember these drives, in the ice cold frosty indy mornings, winters ago. no energy to do anything but turn left, roll the window down more so the blast of ice wind jolts just enough to make it home safe. ish. turn the radio up, louder, then down again on neighborhood streets, not to wake the predawn neighbors. i remember these mornings well. these are the times i felt alive, loved, living life to it's insomniatic fullest. now, a different fulfillment comes in knowing shortly i'll be closing the day, nestled under warm bedclothes next to my boyfriend, another dreamfilled, possibly restless night ahead of me until the alarm goes at 7:10.

it's been a decade and a half since i've devoted any energy to this blog, and i'm sorry. been sorting out the homefront, the travelfront, the workfront, and now things are finally settled down. winter, also, is never, ever good for me. even though i live in florida. it's just my bad time of the year. so. march, spring, the office windows are open and i'm listening to pet shop boys, falling in love with http://www.boygirlparty.com/, the owl tote is mine, also pondering how to get money to ireland to film what's going on in burma.

the website's kicking, thanks mike! www.burmesegoodwill.org. check it out, donate a fivespot or two, help save the world.

drop by my myspace, www.myspace.com/khitch, say hi, or www.myspace.com/burmesegoodwill, say i'll help.

have a good morning!