"At the Moulin Rouge" by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

NOTE: CLICK ON THE PICTURE TO SEE THE FULL VIEW. I'm having some formatting issues. So, to see the whole painting, you have to click on it I think.

I have to start with this painting just because it's one I'm partial to. I like Toulouse-Lautrec in general, but especially this painting. He painted it a few years after the Moulin Rouge opened in Paris. (Painted between 1892-1895, and Moulin opened in 1889).

Just some interesting facts:

-The Moulin Rouge was called that because of the red windmill on its rooftop.

-Toulouse was crippled. He portrayed himself in this painting. If you start with the blue-faced woman and count to the third man behind her in that sort of diagonal line (a technique often used to create a feeling of chaos) that is him. He was probably not sitting down. That's how short he was. He spent a lot of time in brothels with prostitutes because he didn't have much luck with the ladies. His paintings of these brothels are some of very favorites. It's so cool to see portrayals of prostitutes that were done with a loving hand by a person who saw himself as being on their same level, for once.

-The artistic style of this painting is Post-Impressionist and Expressionist.

-The redhead fixing her hair in the background is La Goulue (the glutton), the star of the Moulin Rouge. She is such an interesting person to me because she was this incredibly talented, enigmatic dancer in her prime who ended up becoming an alcoholic selling cigarettes outside the Moulin Rouge until her death--unrecognizable by the general public.

That's all I'll say about this, being that I don't want these little summaries to go too long. I hope anyone who reads this finds it interesting and is hopefully inspired in some way. That is the whole point. :)

rain. damn.

i knew i shouldn't be texting him, but i said i couldn't believe i was spending my first rainy night in my new place without him. (i am learning that i say too much) (right now even, as i type).

that first night we spent together, it was raining and we sat on a blanket by the open sliding glass door, the screen was shut, and we listened to it rain and watched. it was so simple. i asked him before i joined him on the floor. there is a reason cliches are cliches.

and we laid down together. and i rubbed his back until he fell asleep. like a little boy. me, a mother. the one he didn't have.

he was so sad.

and then i went to my bed and slept alone like i always had.

and a few nights later, i would begin to forget what that was like altogether.

and on june 25, 2010, very late at night. i'm eating crackers to soak up the wine in my stomach and i want to cry. wait i just did. i cried. again. i'm so very very sick of crying. the prozac, what does it even do already? it doesn't even work anymore... already. i'm sick of crying in my car, in the bathroom at work, on my couch when king of the hill comes on, at the gym listening to that music. our music. "let me in, can i get a? i know you gonna let me shine and get mine, i'm the king, how you gonna act like that? etc etc etc" but what really gets to me, we all know the words, "i don't believe that anybody feels the way i do about you now. and all the roads we have to walk are winding. and all the lights that lead us there are blinding. there are many things that i would like to say to you, but i don't know how. because maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me. and after all, you're my wonderwall."

our song. a million songs are ours, but this is really our song. two pisces. i'll never do it again.

and i'll cry and go to sleep.

and he will never call.

and one day i'm supposed to be happy that i told him not to last night.

idea

i was thinking of turning this blog into a sort of art appreciation blog. since i'm taking modern art this summer for the rest of this month, maybe i could post interesting things i learn. would anyone like to read about that kind of thing? instead of my vague relationship drama or clothing trends?

that moon.

the first times i crossed the grass into the road, past the road and onto the sidewalk leading to his place, i couldn't help but notice the moon.

it was shining. it was watching me.

i crossed the grass in front of the steps that led to the door and went in quickly, quietly. that moon was watching and it disapproved--its cheese face pale and watery like egg whites. the moon, one big eye, staring at me. but once i was inside the moon couldn't see. it couldn't hear us.

i've loved the moon, but lately i'm not so sure. sometimes one doesn't want to be looked at.

that moon. the name cynthia means moon goddess. i am a moon goddess when... how does that song go... when i'm on my knees. what does the name holly mean anyway? it's just a tree. i'm the entire moon. if it wasn't for me reflecting sunlight, he wouldn't even see her in the dark.

last night, as i crossed the grass, the sidewalks and road, i looked at the moon. "i didn't do anything," i told it. for a moment i thought i saw it flicker.

when i got to my room, i slept like the dead.

the things i kept:

a pair of his socks. i wear them sometimes, though i don't know why.

four of his white undershirts. i wear these, too. it makes me feel like i've won something.

one gray shirt i gave him. it made me feel better to take it back.

the diamonds and amethyst necklace he gave me, though i don't wear it anymore. i was crying when i took it off for the first time and he asked why. i told him it didn't work because he had told me it would protect my heart. i plan to wear it again someday, regardless. just not yet.

pictures of him. since i live alone, i have them up. everywhere. i like the ghosts, they keep me company.

the boxing glove keychains.

his old boxing gloves. i haven't had the nerve to try them on yet. i'll keep them for his children.

his engagement ring. i'll keep it for his wife.

koda's hair on my purple chair. i could clean it off, but choose not to.

his family contacts. i wrote to his grams yesterday.

a piece of lingerie i never had the nerve to wear.

open space.

time that stops.

sleepless nights.

a reoccurring dream where there's always water, so much water, a cat, and tiny cakes. i eat them all and she has none.

The beginning and end of a story I worked on this semester called "Pecos River"

The beginning:

By February, Cindy had lost her sense of humor. She was twenty-five and having her first break-up with her only love. She was on the highway back to her hometown, Carlsbad--a slow and brightly-lighted town full of Mexicans and cowboys and Mexican cowboys, a town that smelled of creosote in the morning, whose lament was made of mourning doves and creaking pecan branches. A modest river, the Pecos, crept through this place.

She grew up in a blue house next to the river which brought her many offerings. Her first vision of death was a rotting carp that baked in the grass. Her second vision was a bloated goose. When she was nine, she did not see it, but the Pecos offered a dead human body near the Bataan Bridge, according to her parents’ morning conversation one day. This river offered coins and rusted cans, a tire, a shopping cart, mosquitos, slimy bottles, and once when she rode her bike into the water, it offered back a young girl and her bicycle. This was her first and only attempt at suicide. It was the first of three waves of depression Cindy would have in her life. She was eleven.

The end:

The Pecos River really put on a show this time of day. At Lower Tansill Dam, the sun was setting as she parked her car and got out. The sky was cotton candy. It was fire. It was water and the river was the sky. They reflected onto each other in a great display of rainbow sherbet colors. Cindy began to jog along the bank of the river. She was almost to the Bataan Bridge when she spotted it. Her spirit was gliding in and out of the water. It had turned almost completely into water itself and wore a necklace of old bottles, rusted coins and fishbones around its neck. Cindy stopped and watched for a moment. It saw her watching and curled its scaly fingers at her. She smiled and decided to jog back to her car. It was time to meet her friend for dinner. She wasn’t exactly sure how she would get a hold of her spirit, but Cindy knew she wouldn’t leave this town again with out it.

1.

i am not quite there exactly, but i'm busily preparing the way for a new start.

i feel power coming back to me.

but this time around, i am more careful, a little wary, and humble for sure--but most importantly, fearless.

Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once

i figured some things out.

there are people in the world.

some of those people are messed up with their issues.

some of those people are not messed up, but are with their issues.

then there is a person or two without issues.

the thing is, is that the people who are not messed up, but have their issues, should only be with other people who aren't messed up and are with issues or with the one or two that do not have issues.

because when they are not messed up and they get with someone who is... it tends to turn them into one of the people who are messed up with their issues.

i started prozac a few days ago.

also, i figured out that the more ghetto the music, the better the workout.

and i figured out that if we never do anything to our names as human beings in our lives, there is one thing we can do that is worthwhile; when we're in a good place, we can be there for the ones who are not.

i don't know how some people do this alone.

the final thing i figured out is that the more ghetto the music, sometimes the better the message:

"i ain't got time for bitches. i gotta keep my mind on my motha fuckin riches." --Tupac

"so play the cards you was dealt, baby, i'm the hand." --Fabolous

"I know the times seem long, just try and keep strong, put on your headphones and rewind this song. Remember you ain't missin' nothin' homes, I promise you ain't missin' nothin' homes." --T.I.

"You waitin on me to die you gon be waitin for a minute. Boy im ready for whatever. Somebody better tell em. I'll be here when the smoke clear and everything settle. For real." --T.I.

I'm going to...

I'm going to write a guide for breaking up.

Hand and Foot

The girl’s name was Hand and his name was Foot. They met one day when she was building a city out of sand on the beach. Towers surrounded by walls and rows of huts and houses with grainy yards and seaweed trees emerged from Hand who worked endlessly. Hand never got tired. She was forming two bridges over a moat that surrounded the tallest tower when she heard a sound like someone being punched over and over. It was a slap followed by a thump and the thump sounded like a heart beating or maybe breaking. It was getting louder because it was getting closer. Hand had slapped many things like other hands and dough when she made bread, but she had not heard a sound like this.

She heard Heart beating once when she was small and young. She lay on her mother’s chest and learned what Heart sounded like. Her mother was called Face. Face taught her the names of everything in the world she had ever seen because Hand always asked. Hand wanted to create things and build things and sometimes, when what she saw wasn’t good, she wanted to tear things down. Face taught her to be careful with her building, creating, and tearing because Eyes and Brains and Lips were always watching.

“Do you mean that you are watching, Face? You have eyes and brains and lips,” Hand asked her mother.

“No,” Face said. “Eyes are everywhere. Eyes will hold you accountable for what you build or tear down. Eyes will acknowledge what you create. Brains will explain your actions and Lips will tell everyone about the things you make. You are Hand and are responsible for moving things. Your movement is meaningless without Eyes and Brains and Lips. You’re a team that works together and answers to no one but Heart.”

Face put Hand on her chest and let her listen to Heart.
“That’s Heart? She’s inside you?” she asked her mother.

“Yes, Heart is in me. She’s also in you and almost everyone you’ll ever meet.”

Hand rested on Face and listened to the thump of Heart. It sounded good and she didn’t want it to stop.

Hand smoothed the sides of the bridge that stretched over the moat and listened to the thump approaching. There was a slap, then the thump like Heart, then the thump she did not know. She did not want to stop working on her city in the sand because it was going to be a great accomplishment, but she had to stop and see what was passing with such a sound. She looked up and saw Foot for the first time.

Foot was strong. He reminded Hand of herself--five appendages, tiny hairs on one side and smooth skin on the other, nails lying in their beds, soft veins resting--only Foot moved differently because he carried and supported so much. Foot flattened the sand beneath him and seemed never to tire of stepping on things.

As he got closer, Foot began to realize he was approaching a beautiful city made of sand. He thought for a moment about the many homes he had tried to make on this beach and how they were always just mounds of sand he had packed together with the bottom of himself. He watched as Hand trimmed away sand to reveal ledges and windows and tiny door knobs. How articulate she is, Foot thought. If only I had fingers to mold sand into castles, I could create such beauty as this creature does. Foot admired a small forest of sand trees Hand had formed on the outskirts of her city. She pretended not to notice Foot as he paced around the edge of the trees. Finally he asked her name.

“I’m Hand,” she said as she curled her fingers and bowed to Foot. He said he was Foot and curled his toes.

“I admire your work, Hand,” Foot said. “I’ve always wanted to live in a place like this.”

“Oh you can!” Hand said and blushed. She kept looking at his toes, her fingers reaching toward them slightly. She wanted so badly to touch his toes. “Well I mean,” she started, “once I can find a foundation firm enough to build on. I also need a sturdier material to work with. I’m able to smooth the sand into a flat surface, but it isn’t strong.”

“I know a way to make things harden,” Foot said.

“How is that?” asked Hand.

“It’s easy. You walk on them,” he said.

Hand remembered vaguely doing something like walking when she was only a baby. She worked with Knee to move along. She seemed to remember someone like Foot taking over the walk and that’s when she began to create things. She never tried walking again because she found that staring down at the ground was too depressing. She preferred to look ahead.

“I think I know how to walk on things, but I don’t like to,” she said to Foot. “Also, I’m not very good at it.” She blushed again, embarrassed at how quickly she gave personal information away.

“I could do it for you,” Foot said. He blushed too because he offered so eagerly. Hand accepted right away and Foot began to stomp around. She watched in awe as he pressed the sand together efficiently. The square of sand he pushed down on started to shine. It was as if the millions of grains were pressed together so well they began to form a rocklike surface. Hand couldn’t believe how talented Foot was. It was when Foot looked up and took notice of Hand’s admiration that he accidently stomped on a tree. Foot was not used to being appreciated.

As days passed and turned into weeks and months, Hand and Foot worked together. Foot would smash the ground and make a nice place for Hand to create sand statues and flowers and cars--all kinds of things to fill the city. It’s true that sometimes Foot accidentally stomped on the things Hand made, but she never got mad. She knew that one day, he would learn to build like her. She just smoothed her fingers over his toes and told him it was okay. It’s true that sometimes they stayed this way for days. It’s true that Hand eventually lost site of her city.

It had been almost a year since Foot stomped into Hand’s life and she still loved to watch him work. He still loved for her to watch him. He wanted to know what it was like to be Hand and to wave and touch and be seen. All he did was carry weight and stare at the ground all day. It felt good to change the sand into stone and for someone to make use of it, but Foot began to long for an extension of himself. he knew that he could never connect to hand in that way. He only thought of this for a moment and went back to working and basking in Hands admiration.

Hand began to wonder if Foot loved her the way she loved him. She decided he did and thought maybe Foot loved her because of how she made him feel about himself. She gave him a new purpose and made him feel beautiful. She told him he had the bluest veins and delicate bones. His dark hair made a lovely contrast against olive skin. His muscles were graceful. Hand never wished to extend beyond what she could see in front of her. Hand could only see Foot and she told him so.

Once when Hand was dusting sand away from the features of a riverbed in her city, she looked up to find Foot very close to her. He looked tired, but antsy. “I want to take a nap, but I can’t sleep,” he said.

“Why not?” Hand asked.

“My muscles are sore,” he said.

Hand blushed as she offered to massage Foot. He said she could try and when she pressed her fingers into his muscles, Foot melted. She never admired him more than when she was taking tension away. Foot fell right to sleep.

Hand massaged Foot every day until he fell asleep. Then Hand got back to work. It went this way until Hand began to fall asleep too. Eventually, Hand and Foot just put each other to sleep every day and only talked about their dreams when they were awake. Their city of castles and streets slowly became dirty hills and grainy fields of sand as they rolled around admiring each other and dozing.

One day Hand woke up to find that Foot was gone. He had left before, but never without telling her where he was going. Hand tried to keep herself busy so that she wouldn’t worry, but found she had trouble building things in the sand. It scratched her skin and made her muscles cramp because she had not been building anything for so long. Hand was out of practice. She settled on tracing floor plans in the sand all day because it didn’t work her too hard. All the while, she listened for that familiar thump. She didn’t hear it until the moon had almost reached the other side of the sky. She asked Foot where he had been.

“I met someone,” he said. “Her name is Leg.”

Hand curled into a fist and cried. Foot tried to console her by stepping on her fingers and kicking sand at her. He tried to tell her he still cared about her so much. He told her he never meant for her to fall in love with him. He thought they were just a hand and foot spending time on a beach in the sun. No matter what he said, Hand coiled tighter into a fist and cried louder. Eventually, Foot gave up and joined Leg to do what he did best. He walked away.

Hand stayed in a fist for many nights and days. Numerous creatures passed through the ruins of her city and said they wished they had a place to stay. “Would you build a city for us to live in?” they would ask and Hand would tighten her fist and begin to cry until they passed by.

It was not until Face came and presented Hand with a gift that she loosened her fingers to expose her palm again. She had to open her fist to receive the sticks her mother brought for her. “Hand, you have to begin building a new city. You can’t just lie in the sand and stare at the stars every night for the rest of your life. These sticks will make a stronger place to live than you have ever imagined. Face placed her cheek against Hand’s palm and then kissed her goodbye. Hand lifted a stick and began to construct a new foundation on the sand.

It was not until Hand’s new place was completely built and she had lived in it for months that she was visited by Eyes, Lips, and Brains. They came as a group and examined the work of Hand. “Your home is so impressive I may cry,” said Eyes as he inspected the handiwork before him closely. Hand extended a finger to catch the blob of moisture that dripped out of Eyes. Lips said she wanted to tell everyone of the structure Hand created. Brains thought about it and decided Lips should. They stayed and visited over tea for a while. Before Eyes, Lips, and Brains set off on their way, Hand said she had a question.

“Will I ever love again?” she asked shyly. Hand felt embarrassed to ask such a selfish question. Eyes said he had seen a creature called Arm once. Lips told her that she would have to look beyond the sea. Brains thought about it and decided Hand should try. Hand thanked all three of them and told them goodbye. When Face came to visit the next morning, Hand was already busy turning her sticks into a raft. Face helped Hand and together they made the raft into an entire ship by the time the sun had set. Face watched as Hand sailed toward the horizon in search of Arm and together they felt it when Heart swelled.

The other day, my neighbor came and knocked on the door to see if he could have something from the pile of things I have waiting to be taken to Goodwill outside my door.

He asked if I was moving and we got to talking. Somehow he ended up talking about his life and how he wanted to do something that was worthwhile. He said he planned to join the Marines. He said he wasn't afraid to die.

I never know what to say when people say things like that to me.

i want my new place to feel a certain way.

i am friends with a lesbian couple at work: sharon and monique. i'm a lot like sharon in many ways and monique gets along with me, so naturally we all get along. sharon is older; she's mentored me quite a bit.

she told me that if i needed to get out of my apartment anytime before i am able to move out, i could stay with them at their place. i was able to resist the offer for about two weeks before i finally texted her asking if i could crash for one night.

i had been to their place before, but never to stay the night--just for dinner or whatever. it's a beautiful home right at the base of the sandias. it's very clean, well-decorated, and well-lighted. it reminds me of the trones' place, but different.

anyway, they said they would leave the key under the mat if justin left (their son, my age, they all three work with me at bravo) because they were working the closing shift that night. so i went a couple hours before they were off work and had the house to myself. it was so good. i just sat in the dark in their giant living room watching law and order with their little dog, cocoa, curled up on my lap. the dog and i both fell asleep before they got home. they showed me to my room upstairs and i slept all the way until 7:30 that morning without waking up once. i even went back to sleep until about 9. it's crazy that the only time i can remember sleeping like this in the past year was once, at the trones' of course.

after waking, i could hear them cooking in the kitchen and smell [turkey] bacon cooking. waking up to the sound of someone already cooking is one of my favorite things. it makes me feel like a little kid. taken care of...

i went down and sat at the table while they cooked. sharon kept me company and slowly, cousins and aunts of monique's came over. even her mom came. we all gossiped and ate breakfast.

i don't know how to explain how fulfilled i was this morning.

part 2:

to be honest, i, like everyone else, have noticed that i look different. i don't like saying it out loud, so i'll cop out and type these admissions instead:

weight is dropping off of me. i haven't been eating right, or at all sometimes. it's not because i have been working for it.

i work too much, but it doesn't bother me. the best way to explain how i have been functioning is "autopilot."

i admit that i am in a selfish place. i should be giving more to others right now.

my face looks tired. i am tired... i figured out. i stopped my consumption of caffeine yesterday. today has definitely been a challenge (as was yesterday) and today, i saw it on my face. i had lost sight of how much stimuli i was putting my body through.

i'm not sure how long i'm going to stop, but i am going to join a gym finally on friday. i don't know how i feel about that.

now i'm going to post a picture of my face as it looks today. i want to see it and be reminded that i don't look my best. this picture is my admission that i'm not doing well, and my promise that i will get it together.

I'm not sure what I'm getting at, but I wanted to write about this.

For whatever reasons, we remember certain things forever.

There was a Native American lady who worked at the DMV in Carlsbad, who probably still does, who was there when I went in with my mother to get my driver's license at age 16. While I was waiting, she caught me scrubbing my eyes with my hands.

"No, no, honey! Don't rub your eyes like that!" she said. I stopped touching my face and she continued, "Don't ever rub your eyes because you'll have bags like me when you're older." She did have bags--dark, spotty sagging ones. Though, she wasn't ugly. I waited for my mother to respond. She looked on towards the front of the line, but I watched the muscles in her face become tense. I told the Native American lady I wouldn't scrub my eyes.

But I still scrub my eyes. I can't decide if it's because I don't believe my eyes will sag. Maybe I know they will sag anyway and I'm willing to sacrifice some borrowed time for the comfort of scrubbing. Maybe it's because my mother didn't acknowledge her. I don't know why I scrub my eyes, but ever since that day, when I do, I feel a little guilty and I see that woman's face in my mind.

Kusum in Hardwar

Each morning before the sun rises from behind the horizon, Kusum wakes and begins to boil a pot of tea. She sits on the back porch of her flat where she has a priceless view of the Ganges. Every day since she’s been back, she has sat in the same whicker chair drinking tea from the same maroon cup and watching the sun rise to light up the water. Without fail, she spies the same person engaging in his morning routine.

She doesn’t know who he is, but she thought him strange that first morning back in this holy land. She had not slept and stayed in the whicker chair staring into darkness until the first bits of light came from the horizon. She noticed a figure approaching the water’s edge. She watched as the man bent forward and scooped water into his hands. He brought it up over his head and let it fall over his body, his arms stretched up toward the sky. He began his ritual when the farthest edge of sky was still black with tiny stars and he finished when the sun could be fully seen. Kusum was bothered by him at first because she didn’t understand his habit, but each morning as her grief trickles from her eyes, she sips tea and watches him, depending on him to stay the same.

away again

i am getting a one bedroom apartment. a building away from my best friend brittany. i'm going to be living alone again.

starting all over again.

in april.

a blurb i wrote in response to hemingway:

Every mid-morning the light is pale in Albuquerque where the same two waitresses begin their opening duties at an Italian restaurant. The Native American one is the beautiful one and the Italian one is told she is sweet all the time. The light is brighter when the hostess arrives and it’s even brighter when the first guests trickle in. By the time the light has reached its brightest, the lobby is littered with people waiting for tables and all the waiters have arrived for their shift.

The beautiful waitress smiles when she rushes past a line-cook. “You’re looking good today, Mama,” he says with his Mexican accent. He is the one all the rest of the cooks go to for translation. Escobar and Luis and Omar and Camilo go to him for translation. “¿Estás enojada conmigo?” they ask when the beautiful one ignores them. Sometime she says she’s busy and that she isn’t mad and they ask the line-cook who speaks English to tell them what she says.

The sweet waitress greets her guests and means it when she asks how they are. When the elderly lady at table 14 asks for hot tea and honey and for her pasta to be cooked longer so it’s softer, the sweet one says, “Of course.” She smiles at the elderly lady and means it when she tells her she likes her purple hat. She tells her that it suits her skin tone. She tells another guest that she likes her blue purse and she means that too. Two of her regulars, the doctor and the doctor’s wife, come and ask to be seated in her section because she is so sweet. She tells the beautiful waitress that her new hairstyle is fresh like Spring and the beautiful one says thanks. The managers and other waiters and cooks all tell her they like her new hairstyle because it’s fresh and reminds them of Spring.

The beautiful waitress gets out of work before the sun sets and she goes home where she still lives with her mother. The sweet waitress works a double-shift and closes the restaurant. She is the only waitress there when the last guest comes into the lobby with a book tucked under his arm. The hostess asks him where he would like to be seated and he says, “I’d like a table that’s clean in a well-lighted place if you have it.” She gives him a seat in the sweet waitress’s section where she really means it when she asks him how his day has been.

I very much like these boots. I know I have some brown boots that come up to my knee, but I really want some that go just above it, like these.

In black even.

i am finding i need to write about more than fashion.

because i've been inside my head so much in the last few days, i've tried to focus on my body and examine how it's reacting to this troubled time i'm having.

the strangest is how my arms burn and burn when i hear him talking to her on the phone or see him wearing something she gave him. my arms. i don't get it. that was the one place where my chakras were actually in good balance when i was evaluated at dahn.

my arms.

burning and then cold.

I'm glad I only have four readers

when i'm at dahn yoga, i think how i can't even tell people about my experience there because it's embarrassing. it's embarrassing because we do the sort of things that everyone judges unless they're doing it... like group circle hugs for five minutes and dancing with our eyes closed. it turns out that the one class i can go to each week is not really yoga at all. it's just totally nuts. but i paid for it, and i while i have no idea why, i do like it.

the thing about it, is that it's always different. you go in having no idea what these little korean women are going to ask you to do, you just know you're going to do it. tonight we learned a "happy dance" that reminded me a lot of something we would have done to warm up for choir in middle school. grapevines and all. but you know, it made me happy. i laughed. i tried really hard to be good at those stupid moves.

tonight, i also began to feel power building in my body. i thought it would burn or be heavy when i finally started to feel it, but it wasn't. it actually made me feel lighter... like i could stop carrying the weight of my own body for a moment. power never gets tired, and it held my body all night tonight.

there was a point where the master asked us to stand in a circle with our eyes closed and touch our pointer fingers to one another's. she instructed us to send messages of strength to each other. we had to hold our arms at shoulder height and bend our knees. at first, it quickly became excruciating. the girl to my right remained steady and i fed off of her. the girl to my left, her finger kept slipping, so i held her hand up with my other fingers. i fed off of her too because i felt i had to be her strength. eventually, my legs were shaking, but i didn't feel pain. when it was over, the master informed us we stayed in that position for 20 minutes. i was floored.

i also bought my first pair of size 12 dress pants today. i bought them for an interview. i got a luxury white button down to replace the one i wore out. also, i got a blue skirt. this blue skirt, paired with the white button-down, black tights and my small black boots will be the first "outfit" i've had in a long time. the problem is that i've nowhere to wear it.

tonight in dahn yoga, master kim asked us to share about what we got out of the class. when it was my turn, i tried to be vague. i said i felt like i gained power and that i was happy because that's what i need most right now. she asked me why and i had to listen to myself tell a room full of strangers (whom i just did the c-walk in the middle of the room for not thirty minutes earlier) "my heart is broken." and there was a silence. they were respectful. then i said, "i need power because i don't want to lose my spirit." master closed her eyes and said something in korean. then she told me i was right to be there.

does anyone know where i should wear my new outfit?

oh yeah. and i got my hair cut.

I love this shade of blue. Robin's egg?

I've decided to just carry my money over until the end of February and make a purchase then. I need some time to clear my head anyway.

In the meantime, as I think of them, I'm going to post about items of clothing I think every woman should have--or something to that effect.

For example, every woman should have a quality white button-down blouse. The one in the picture is the one I have. I've worn it to work many times, which is not a good thing. It was almost $50 at Dilliards when I got it. I had a gift card at the time and was desperate for a work shirt, so I used it all on that. I was mad that it wasn't on sale, but after I got to know the shirt, I realized it was worth every penny.

Not only is it truly wrinkle-free, but its material is soft and flexible, though not like my white button-down from the Gap which has some form of spandex in it (and wrinkles very easily in the wash). When I wore this shirt, I always made good tips. I must have washed it a hundred times and it never lost it's shape or brightness. I recently ruined it with degreasers, trying to get a stain out of it (it ate holes in the fabric).

I plan to save up and get another one day because it's one of the most versatile articles of clothing one can own and fits into any wardrobe no matter what style you claim.

Also, it's a no-fail option to pair with slacks or a skirt for a job interview.

That's all I have on that.

shrink; to draw back, as in retreat or avoidance.

I went to Anthropologie last night.

I tried on a black and white striped skirt, size 14. I tried an off-white muslin dress, size 12. I also tried on a size large green sweater. The girl who set up my fitting room tossed in a gray and white stripped potato sack of a dress with little red buttons down the back.

There were a few things I wanted to try on, but surpassed my budget by about $60.

I found it hard not to buy hair accessories or candles, necklaces or pot holders, or whatever else that doesn't rest on the curves and bulges of my body.

I tried on the clothes. I've been a size 14 in pants and skirts since the last time I dropped a few pounds a year ago. Up until recently, that same size 14 had always been snug. I've been happy to find some of my old 14's a little baggy, and yes, I've lost some weight.

I've been other sizes in my life, but 14 has been the smallest since middle school. I don't know how many times I've recited, "Marilyn Monroe was a size 14" over and over in my head for the past few years. Last night at Anthropologie, I was surprised to find the skirt was too big to wear.

It sounds stupid now, but when the sales girl asked me through the door if the skirt fit, I said yes. I said I didn't think the print was right for me. I said this as I bunched material together at the small of my back to make it fit. It was confusing. I haven't been trying to lose weight. I haven't for a long time. I just gave up on it a few years ago because i don't think it's good for one's spirit. The only thing that has changed since this time last year and now, is that I've fallen in love.

I slipped the skirt off without unzipping it and hung it back on its hanger. The striped dress wasn't a good cut for me and the sweater was frumpy. The dress fit on my waist, but not on my upper body. It was too big.

If my spirit could take form, sit down with me for coffee and ask questions, I think she would say, "Cindy, why aren't we happy that we're shrinking?"

I would sip my iced espresso, place my glass on the table and ask, "Why don't you ask me what's really bothering you? What is a body for?"

My 20's. Limbo.

I am officially and cordially uninvited to the Bible study I was attending.

They decided to become a married couples group.

And I'm not a married couple.

I still haven't found an item of clothing to dress my body with. I'm setting out for Anthropologie tonight. You don't have to be married to look good in clothes.

Though, I'm sure it helps from time to time.

My Feet are My Favorite Body Part.

I was going to start at my feet.

I had $75.

There were these little black calfskin ankle boots.

But they were $110.

Freddy offered to pay the other $35, but I couldn't let him.

I was going to start at my feet.

The Start

i've decided to start this blog because i'm putting a little money away each day to buy myself a piece of really nice clothing at the end of each month.

it's in an attempt to learn to love my body.

also, i hope to write more often than i do. i feel guilty calling myself a writer.