Life in the Middle Lane

AKA: In which I come clean about something very important.

In January, I wrote a very vague post about something that I was doing but wasn’t ready to talk about. Later I tweeted about having really great news but not being able to talk about it until I told the GF and my mom.

At this point, I’ve told everyone (and I do mean everyone) IRL that truly needed to know. I mean, there are some things that some people just should not learn from reading this blog.

So now I’m ready to tell you.

In January (with 2 weeks to application deadline) I decided to apply to Divinity School. Yeah, I know I said I was done with school for a while, yeah I know I JUST finished MPA school. Yeah, I know I curse like a sailor and talk crap about the church. Yes, I know, I know, I know. And I’m sure in the lead up before I leave the cube and return to the academy, you’ll know all the answers to these questions and more.

But now, the beginning.

Completing the seminary application form was a life changing experience. I went through about 20 iterations of my application essay. I struggled over which aspects of my personality and experiences where most important for the Candler admissions committee. I contemplated telling them how I really felt about the church and how I hoped to change it. I added and deleted and added again, sections about blending the MPA and MDiv, my undergraduate experience, and my work experience. I even wrote a section about Gen Y. I had 4 friends (graduates and current divinity students) read my essay. The GF and I LIVED and BREATHED my Candler essay for weeks. I went back and forth over my purpose in attending Divinity School, and second guessed whether it was the right thing to do.

In the end, I decided to put my best foot forward, tell them as much about myself and my personal spirituality as possible (even linking to my blogs), push the submit button, and leave it in the hands of the Divine.  I decided that if I got in, it was meant to be. And if I didn’t get it, so be it.  Then I tried (unsuccessfully) not to obsess about it.

If you happen to read my bio on Brazen, you’ll see that years ago [it desperately needs to be updated], I said that I would study Religion if I didn’t have to work for a living. Well, I’ve been working for a living for almost a year now, and I hate every minute of it.  I decided to screw what I’m supposed to do, and concentrate of creating a life that would make me happy to live it.

I’ve been an amateur theologian and wisdom dispenser my entire life.  My childhood was spent memorizing bible verses, attending revivals and getting my PK friends into trouble. I was THE CHURCH GIRL.  And back then I hated it because I wanted to be like everyone else. 

By high school and college, I was the person people came to with their problems. I was still Church Girl but I was slowly learning to filter out all the church BS and help people in a practical way.

Today, my religious background is an undeniable part of who I am.  Biblical literature and religious trivia is one of the few things that I get truly geeky about. I could write a book (and I just might) on everything that I think is wrong with Christianity and all that I think the western world could learn from other world religions.  Sitting in a Systemic Theology class at Candler almost had me wet my pants in excitement. Reading Candler’s course catalog nearly had me in a dead faint.

I’ve spent the past 10 years trying to figure out who I am and how I want to spend my time. I found my purpose for helping people while working with citizens in local government, MPA school introduced me to urban problems like housing and community development and gave me the technical background to be effective in those areas, and seminary will nurture the caring and compassionate part of my personality that I will need to tackle the “people-side” some of those and other large social problems.  Each step I make gets me just a little bit closer, like I’m making increasingly smaller concentric circles. 

Each experience, even my current job, adds something to my professional toolbox and gives me the opportunity to learn something about myself, the world I live in, and my place in the mix.

I’m excited to say that Candler decided that my love of social justice and my decidedly untraditional brand of spirituality is a good fit for their program. Last week I sent them my deposit.

It’s official. I’ll be attending Emory University’s Candler School of Theology in the Fall.

AKA- I can be sexy, too OR  A word from your fat friend

This post is a rant and a confession and an invocation. I might curse. Forgive me.

Earlier this week I was watching Tough Love reruns on VH1 On Demand (don’t judge me). I actually love Tough Love. It teaches women to get over themselves, and be open to love. It also teaches them how to go after what they want, which is in this case, a man.

I was watching the episode where the ladies posed for a photos where they were supposed to be sexy. They were meant to be sexy, not slutty, not skanky, not tomboyish, not porn star, not business casual. Sexy.

Of course the ladies each had their own ideas about what sexy looks like.  Some wore t-shirts and boxers, there were a couple of short pleated skirts and baby doll dresses, one girl wore a large button down shirt, in past seasons, girls have worn next to nothing, or strawberries and whipped cream.  Most of them failed miserably at being sexy.

One girl, whose pictures came out horribly, kept saying that she didn’t know how to be sexy because she used to be fat.   Men never look at me, she said. Sexy isn’t something that I know anything about, she whined.

I call bullshit. How dare she use her weight as an excuse for not knowing how to be sexy!

I have always, ALWAYS been the fat friend. Even when I was 17 and a size 8, I was the fat friend with size 2 friends. In college, when I was a size 12, I was the fat friend surrounded by size 4’s and 6’s. Now, at my most rotund, my friends run marathons, and climb rocks, and do other ridiculously athletic shit like that.  I secretly hate those skinny bitches

As the fat friend, you might think I’d be relegated to the sidelines, watching all my skinny friends get hit on and danced with and talked to.

Nope.

In all my years of being the fat friend, I’ve never, NEVER not been sexy. Regardless of the thickness of my thighs, or the jiggle of my stomach, or the pudge in my cheeks, I am always among the sexiess people in the room.  I’ve never had a problem with getting attention from WHOMEVER I want.  Even in the gym (post workout!!) people try to get my phone number.  I get chatted up on the walking trail near my house.

So how dare this recently skinny chick talk about how she doesn’t know how to be sexy because she used to be fat? I wanna elbow her in the stomach for spouting that stupidity on TV and fuck VH1 for even allowing that to make it in the broadcast.

This poor woman’s problem has little to do with the number on the scale, and everything to do with her lack of self confidence. She doesn’t think she’s sexy. Not when she was fat, and not even now since she’s skinny. Somewhere along the way, she lost her mojo.

You can call it mojo, self-esteem, inner spark, personality, whatever. She lost hers. And that makes me sad for her.

But I’m pissed because somewhere some chunky girl heard her talk shit about her weight and might have thought, Oh I can’t be sexy because of my weight?

Dear Fat Girls of the World: You, too, can be sexy.

A few weeks ago I attended an awesome Food Seminar at Woo Cosmetics on carbohydrates with a buddy of mine.  Leaving the seminar my friend and I were talking about body size and body image, and I mentioned how being the fat friend has never stopped me from also being the sexy friend or the pretty friend or whatever.

She looked at me with a funny little frown. She said, I’ve never thought of you as my fat friend.  You have too much sass and spark to be the fat friend.

Notice that nothing she said had anything to do with how much I actually weigh. Being the fat friend is a state of mind, not the size of your skirt.

I have a friend who insults people by calling them fat. I look at the girls she calls fat and cringe. Because the girls she calls fat so aren’t. And if she thinks they’re fat, then what the fuck does she think of me?

I know for a fact that she thinks I’m gorgeous and athletic and too cool for my cube. She doesn’t even think about my weight when she cattily insults someone by calling them a fatty.

Even when you ARE the fat friend, it’s still what is inside that counts. Regardless of weight, age, height, whatever, we all can be sexy.

You might need to reach down inside yourself, find your mojo, set it up on your shoulder, and  smile but dammit your sexy is THERE. Bring it out and show it to us.

AKA: In which I tell the universe what kind of job to send me.

A few weeks ago a friend (let’s call her Carla) and I were discussing our bosses and the undying love (not) that each of us has for our jobs. I told Carla how I had no intention or desire to work in state government, yet here I am.  I went on to tell her how state government sucks and I hate every minute of it.

Later in the conversation, Carla asked me what exactly I’d like to do. So I told her about what I hope to accomplish one day with Cosmopolitan Urbanist, and I told her about my research in affordable housing, downtown redevelopment, and community development. I told her about the project that I’m working on with my gym. Not concretely saying what I want to do, just kind of listing the stuff that really interests me.

Then Carla told me about her ideal job. And I decided to steal it.

So in the Spirit of Carla’s career statement, here goes my own:

I want a job where I’m hired because I’m me. The organization(s) trusts in me enough to do my job, without interference, without daily reporting, without having to clock in or sit in a cube all day.  I want a wide variety of interesting, socially conscious, useful projects and the freedom to pick which ones I want. I want to work without always needing to work at “break neck” speed but always keeping my deadlines in sight. I want to work with a group of interesting, creative, and social individuals that like and respect me.  And I don’t want to wait until I’m 50 (or 30, for that matter) to get this job.

Thinking in “big picture” reminded me of what I used to tell people in graduate school when they’d ask me what I wanted to do after graduation:   I want to work for an organization that allows me to work on large social problems, helps me to grow professionally and personally, in an environment that’s friendly and inclusive, in a large metropolitan area.

People always looked at me strangely when I said that. I think they wanted me to say something simple like, I want to work in local government or non-profits, or consulting, or urban development. I learned early that my ideal work environment is way more important to me that the actual work that I’m assigned. More often than not, even digging ditches can be fun if you’re doing it with a great group of people.

Don’t get me wrong, I think I would hate flipping burgers even if my 6 favorite bloggers joined me every day [thought it would be fun for a while], but to me, a good work environment is just as important as doing important work. Having worked with great co-workers doing menial tasks and not-so-great co-workers doing relatively good work; I’d rather stuff envelopes and have someone fun to talk to any day of the week.

I’m hoping for the trifecta: a great team of co-workers, work that’s engaging- intellectually and socially, and mornings where I don’t wake up hating the fact that I have to work.

So, Universe, bring me my ideal job,  Mmmhkay?

I wouldn’t necessarily call myself an athlete, but I dabble in sports when I can.  A few years ago I decided to be a runner. I found a group to train with, and started running. We trained from February to June, starting with 30 second run/ 1minute walk, increasing to 1 min run/walk, 2 min run/ 1 minute walk, etc. At first it was relativity easy, and unexpectedly I even found myself running in the front of the pack. As I looked ahead at the training schedule, I tried to predict when I would give up. I figured that somewhere around the 7 minute long run I would die of a heart attack. Again, unexpectedly, I completed the 5 minute run- no problem, 6 minute run- no problem, 7 minute run –no problem, 8 minute- no problem. You get the point. I completed the WHOLE program. I ran a 5k. No sweat.

I mean, I sweated a lot, but I didn’t die like I thought I would.

When I was in college I found a cheap gym that taught ju jit su and muy tai kickboxing. I’ve always been fascinated by martial arts, so I decided to give them a shot. It was love from the beginning.  At the beginning of each lesson, we ran through a series of drills to practice basic moves. Then we would move into learning something new. The majority of each lesson was spent “sparring”.  The whole class would pair up and go at it. (I’ve fought hundred pound ladies, three hundred pound men, and ultimate fighting contestants). I learned quickly that the longer I trained the better I’d be. I’m sure you are thinking, duh, of course training improves skills, but what I mean is, training and improving in martial arts skills has a lot to do with muscle memory.  If I thought about what move to do next, I often would find myself pinned.  But if I let my body take over and do what it remembered from the lessons, I was much more likely to win a match.

I trained in ju jit su and kickboxing for a year, then I moved away and I couldn’t find another cheap gym to train in. I looked into other gyms and even went to a couple of “free” classes. A year or two later, my body still remembered how to protect itself.

And I don’t even have to remind you of my swimming adventure! At first, I thought I would die every time I got into the water.  Over the course of just a few months, I learned to swim on my back and my stomach. Now, in Atlanta, with no money and no pool, I miss the water.  I can’t wait till I get settled in, join a Y and get back to swimming.

Oh, and by the way, when I set a goal for my body, I ALWAYS lose weight. But I don’t even care because when I get into an activity it quickly stops being about losing weight and starts being about having fun and learning a new talent.

This has been a tremendously stressful year with writing the capstone, graduating from school, and looking for my next step.  Every time I’ve gotten bogged down or discouraged about finishing my thesis or this stupid job search the GF sends me a text message reminding me that I ran a 5k (I was training when we met), that I learned to swim (swimming is a goal of her’s too)… and reminds me I should tap into that that same tenacity and control and endurance and persistence to overcome whatever other obstacles (not having a job or having an insane thesis committee or starting a business).

It’s hard, but I’m starting to get the picture. She’s right. If I can control my body enough to do the athletic stuff I’ve done with it, and have the persistence and endurance to keep training even when it hurts or is inconvenient and meet my physical goals (with sweat, no blood or tears) then I should at least display the same persistence and endurance, and most of all, patience when “running after” my professional and personal goals.

I believe that humans are innately evil creatures. I believe that we do those things that are in our best interests.  When our behaviors are not aligned with our best interests, it is generally because social and cultural norms keep us all in line.  Social and cultural norms cause us to be polite to each other, tell the truth, share, and prevent us from robbing and killing each other at will. Everyone doesn’t conform to these norms.  Some people, for some reason, do not conform to those social and cultural norms because something STRONGER commands their actions.  The influence of other more strong-willed people, desperation and mental instability are three things that I’ve seen cause humans to behave in ways that would seem wrong or strange to most of us in our civilized society.

I was recently in the presence of someone who treated me very badly and falls, in my opinion, in the later catergory. In other words, she’s absolutely crazy.

A couple of weeks ago I traveled out to the Bay Area. Since I’m jobless and my bank account is limited, I arranged to spend the week with a friend of a friend.  I was excited that I wouldn’t have to worry about hotel expenses during the seven day trip.  My time with, let’s call her Gabbie, started out awesomely.  Gabbie welcomed me into her home, she allowed me to stay in her bedroom, and she even cleared a space for me on the vanity in the bathroom.   Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday passed without a hitch.  Gabbie took it upon herself to show me around; she introduced me to a great bar and a great restaurant.  She went beyond normal politeness. I thought we were on the way to being friends.

Weekends in a new city are hard, and it was on Sunday that Gabbie’s cracks began to surface.  She asked me to leave the apartment for a while because she was expecting her girlfriend to visit; I was attending an event in San Francisco so I wasn’t concerned.  However, a snag in my plans made me text Gabbie to see if I could come back earlier than we arranged.  Her textual response? Maybe I should look for different arrangements because I was making her feel rushed.  I thought she was completely overreacting and  I was confused and concerned.   I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and I didn’t have the money for a hotel stay for the remainder of my trip. Luckily, I was able to talk to Gabbie and convince her to continue to let me stay.

After that episode I was worried that she would snap. I tried to be quiet and stay out of her way, I knew I only have three days left, I thought I would make it.  I thought I was doing a good job, until Tuesday morning when I awoke to find a note on thebathroom door telling me to get out of the apartment.  The note included a series of threats and false accusations. Gabbie accused me of scamming my way into her house, staying too long, and keeping her away from her “responsibilities”. Really, Gabbie?  There was no promise of reward or compensation in exchange for my lodging. I told her verbally and in writing how long I planned to stay (and she agreed verbally and in writing) and I even shared my flight itinerary.  I also left the apartment every morning and I only returned in the afternoon when Gabbie called me to tell me she was home. (Bad Monica, you scammer, you!)

I was so embarrassed and hurt by the note. And really confused because she rambled on for a while spewing hatred and negativity. I don’t know what I did to cause her to say such hateful and unnecessary things to me.  It would have been enough to just tell me to get out. Or to communicate with me about what her problem really was.

I didn’t have time to panic or cry or feel sorry for myself.  I had to pack all my stuff, find the cheapest hotel possible, and decide the day’s logistics because I had a lunch informational interview planned for later that day AND I had a series of interviews planned for the following day.  It was incredibly weird to have lunch with someone while carrying ALL my worldly possessions with me? And I knew I had to quickly get myself together if I was to be successful in my Wednesday interviews.

I didn’t have time to evaluate or express my feelings at the time.  I’ve spend the past few day s thinking, Why would she treat me like that? I am still so hurt and confused and PISSED OFF by Gabbie’s behavior.

Which brings me back to the beginning.  How Gabbie treated me was completely outside of cultural and societal norms. It was horrible. And she knew it was a horrible thing to do because she didn’t have the guts to face me like a woman.  She left me a note on the bathroom door, and told me specifically not to contact her anymore.  Sounds like a guilty conscience to me…. (or a person with a split personality)  Was allowing me in her house in the first place where Gabbie went wrong or was it when she kicked me out?  Did she invite me to stay with her out of politeness?   And kick me out because it was no longer in her best interest to adhere to the cultural norm? Did her girlfriend tell her to kick me out?

Whenever I try to figure out why people act the way they do, especially in these situations, I ask myself, Is it a matter of personal weakness, desperation or craziness?  In the case of Gabbie, you be the judge.  But I don’t think that it was a coincidence that one of the last things my sister says to me before I got on the plane was:  I hope she’s not a psycho.

My life has been crazy lately. Moving hella fast and moving real slow at the same time.

May 10 – Graduation from MPA School

May 11- May 14- Packing, Packing, Packing

May 15- May 24- Vacation celebrating graduation from MPA School

May 25- June 1 – Packing, Packing, Move out of my apartment

June 1- Moved in with my mom (for the second time)

June 2- June 9 Scrambling for temporary work (unsuccessfully)

June 10 Leave for San Francisco- Interview on Friday (Yay Me!)

June 19^th Moving to be with the GF (unless I get offered the job in Hayward)

Argh!!! I’d really like to be settled. I’d really like to have a job. I’d really like to know what my schedule is going to be like on June 20^th.  Unfortunately, right now I’m not any of those things.  And I’m a little bit terrified.

The ironic thing about this post is that I meant to write today about being happy. Unfortunately, I’m in a tremendously humongous funk.

Yep. I was going to write about not getting bogged down with moodiness. But today I’m feeling pissy, disconnected, and aloof.  Not happy at all.

And it is mostly all my fault.  In addition to being an attention whore, my mood and my outlook are often completely affected by external forces.  If I’m feeling a certain way about the GF, or if I’m distracted by school, or if it is cold outside, or if someone snaps at me, my normal perky sunny disposition deteriorates. And it takes me DAYS to get back to normal.

This Friday and Saturday night I hung out with my friends. Picture taking ensued.  When I looked at the pictures, I noticed that the smile on my face was not reflected in my eyes.  Eventually, I stopped trying to fake it. I’m not happy right now.

It wasn’t until I got a return text from a long distance friend today asking me what was wrong with me because ‘I sounded distant’ that I started to get a clue.  WTF? She could tell I was distant through a text message when I couldn’t even identify what was wrong with me?!?!?!

That’s what friends are for, apparently.

Then I started to smile. Because the same way that my mood can be destroyed by external forces, the concern of my friend (and the exercise class I took, after) succeeded in helping me to feel just a little bit better.

You can’t always change your moods, sometimes you just gotta wade through them.

On December 13, 1981 a star was born.

That was real dramatic wasn’t it?  But it’s true. On that date, around 7 pm, according to my mama, a new (or fairly new) person entered this world.  I say fairly new because I’m not convinced that reincarnation isn’t real. I mean, how else to you explain deja vu or how some things (and some people) almost immediately feel like home? It’s because we’ve been here before and we’ve been sent back here to get things right this time (or just do a better job, at least).

What does it mean, to get things right? To me, it means fulfilling a purpose.  I’ve been thinking a lot about my purpose this week, partially because most days don’t go by without me thinking about what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. But it has been more heavily on my mind this week. And I’m blaming my mother for this too. (Most things are her fault, anyway, right?)

She says to me (on my birthday), “You are special. You have always been special. You have a calling on your life. I don’t know if you are supposed to preach (her wish for me) or if you are supposed to help people in some other way, but your life has a purpose, you have a mission.”

After I picked my damn mouth up off the floor, I stuttered my agreed. Yes, I said, I’m supposed to help people, and I went on to ask, “And since you are prophesying-why don’t you just tell me HOW I’m supposed to help people, I know the WHAT (sort of) but I’m stuck on the HOW.”

Of course, she didn’t have that answer. And yes, my mother is, like, crazy ya-ya spiritual. I just go with it; there is NO WAY to explain it. So when she starts telling me a dream that she had about me (that mirrored something that actually happened in my life) or when she says I’m “called” to do something, I take that sh*t seriously. She’s just that connected to whatever higher power is pulling the strings (or she’s crazy).

Either way, She’s right. I’m here on purpose. My birth was no accident. I have something to do that no one else could do. Now, if someone could just TELL MY WHAT MY PURPOSE IS!!!!!!!

Well, I’ve decided that 27 is a good enough age to figure that sh*t out. And it’s time for me to embrace whatever the hell I’m supposed to be.

I’m excited about being 27. Isn’t 27 the BEST age? It’s not like 24 where you are still too young, in most cases, to be taken seriously, or like 35 when you are too old to “drop it like it’s hot” or some other thing that 30+ people don’t do.

But at 27 I’m old enough to prove that I’ve been around the block and I know what the hell I’m talking about, but I’m still young enough to get a tattoo without having folks roll their eyes.

So I’m excited about 2009 and I’m looking forward to all that I will accomplish during my 27^th year!

I’m going to go ahead, letting the Universe know that I’m expecting this year to be moniceriffic (or monicalicious, or monicawesome (either will do).

Yesterday I got paid the most awesome compliment. Last night my girls and I went to an after-work social mixer and some guy told my friend (I paraphrase)

Monica has a super awesome personality and such a spectacular positive attitude

He also said some other stuff that I can’t remember, but he pretty much he recognized my complete awesomeness and we had only talked for a few minutes.

People often recognize my awesomeness right off the bat. They can’t help it, my awesomeness seeps from my pores.

Some people don’t have it so easy. For some, it is not the case that their coolness is on display for the world to see. Sometime cool is a little deeper below the surface.

Some people actually get better with time.

I met someone recently and I remember that during the initial conversation I remember thinking, “This blows. Just keep nodding and smiling and get this over with as soon as possible.” It was horrible. It made my head hurt. I even got a little dizzy.

Luckily, I was forced to interact with that person again, and in time I realized that that they weren’t the weird lame-o I thought they were.  They were funny and relatively cool. And I never would have known that had I not been forced to continue interacting with them.

Some people need time to warm up.

Everyone can’t be super f-ing awesome right from the beginning. (I mean, then everyone would be as cool as me.)

Maybe it’s shyness, maybe it’s nerves, maybe my beauty is intimidating, or maybe they just gotta get comfortable and find their rhythm. All I know is, I almost missed out on something really cool because I was ready to write this person off.

Usually I’m pretty good about distinguishing lame-oes from the shy, nervous ones. I’m usually a great judge of character, but this time, my impatience got the best of me.

Oh, well. I never said I was perfect. But most times I can tell. Sometimes I (and you) just know. Sometimes people are idiots.

And all the warming up, all the forced interaction, all the patience  in the world doesn’t change a thing.

Some people just suck.

I have been friends with someone for YEARS and 6 times out of 10 they make my head hurt. I believe s/he is a complete moron, they are negative and they sometimes just aren’t fun. I am totally convinced that suck-i-ness is just a part of her/his personality.

And still we remain friends. I get some enjoyment out of this person in spite of the suck-i-ness.

However, there are times when there is no enjoyment, no happiness, no light to be found. And that’s when I throw in the towel.

Some people are complete assholes

I know this guy who is the most horrible person. And he pulls women like rabbits out of a hat. Then when he gets these beautiful, professional, intelligent women where he wants them, he treats them like sh*t. He cheats, he manipulates, he uses.

And still he has so many hangers-on. Every time one women gets some sense and leaves, he’s got a revolving door of lovelies just waiting to fall in line.

I hate him (b/c he’s an @ss) and I’m jealous (‘cause these women are GOR-GEOUS).

My point?

Bottom line; there are a lot of people in this world. Some of us are more than means the eye. It’s important that we seek out (or at least watch out for) these oft overlooked gems.

But there are some unfortunate souls who look good on the surface and are rotten underneath.

Some people might like @ssholes. To some, the rotteness, idiocy or just plain boring-ness that I see might be just what the doctor ordered.

I don’t get it, but there it is.

Every day I learn something about the other homo sapiens who roam this planet.

This weekend, I was just reminded that you can’t judge a book by its cover. And like I told somebody (one of the times this weekend when I was running my mouth)  this world, it takes all kinds. Even the @ssholes.

So today has been a super awesome day.

A. I slept in.  Till 10!!!!

B. I had real food for breakfast lunch and dinner. (i’ve been living off of peanut butter lately– since I ran out of milk and can’t have cereal.) I haven’t had any peanut butter (or any nut or nut derivatives) all day.

My mother would be proud.

I tried to boil eggs this morning, but they weren’t feeling me.  Why is it that I can cook really complicated stuff, but simple *ish like eggs leaves me dumbfounded and hungry?

I had sausage and string beans instead.

C. I found a parking place at school (YAY)

D. I was able to dedicate some time to getting a paper done (mostly)

E. I exercised!!!! Zumba totally rocks.  I wish I could take it every day. And the teacher is so cute and perky!

F. I came home, turned up the Reggaeton and shook my @ss a little more

G. Came home, ate more veggies.

H. Had a great conversation with the GF. And boy, did I need some of that in my life.

The page in The Secret that I read today said something along the lines of: Your feelings are your feedback from the Universe concerning the positivity or negativity of your thoughts.  So if you feel bad, you are projecting negativity.

And  I don’t want to project negativity.  Negativity attracts negativity.  Negativity won’t get me graduated (or my dream job). And it won’t make me f*cking happy.

I’m working on keeping my feelings/thoughts positive.  Hence the extra sleep and the happy music  and the @ss shaking.

Positivity in, positivity out

And how does the Universe repay me?  With productivity and extra time to do my favorite pastimes (talk to the gf and shake my @ss)  Good Times.

The Universe loves me. And I love her too.  All is well in the world.