There's only so much mental health to go around.....

You know, someone was just telling me about this theory over dinner a few days ago. I was ranting and raving about quitting smoking, quitting sugar, upping my work hours, switching out my workout regime, and giving myself a head to toe makeover SIMULTANEOUSLY when my friend Mark mentioned it.

"Yeah, they like, did a study where people were offered a plate of cookies and a plate of radishes. One group were allowed to eat the cookies and the other group was told to abstain from the cookies and only eat the radishes. 15 minutes later they were given algebra tests and the group who had to deny themselves the cookies did 30% more poorly than the cookie monsters."

And this proves?

"Well, you know, each of us only has so much willpower, discipline, and perservance to go around. You want to make dietary changes fine, but work might suffer. You want to quit smoking go for it, but your diet might spin out. And if you want to completely GUT every bad habit you have at the same time you might as well forget being able to show up for your life at all. Like, ever. "

Anecodotal evidence collected from my own life proves conclusively that this is in fact the case. Although it is getting far easier to live happy, joyous, and free w/o being constantly tripped up by my character flaws the desire to completely renovate myself every 30 days is one that comes with some serious strings attached to it. That's a fair amount of upheaval to be putting myself through. Takes alot of energy away from the business of living to be constantly re-inventing. You basically can't do anything else but isolate yourself in the metaphorical cocoon you've built until the day you decide YOU'RE SO TOTALLY READY to show the world your beautiful new butterfly wings.

Except that day never really comes. There's always a reason to put it off and put it off and put it off. There's always little tweaks here and there that have to be made. Another five pounds to lose, another 50 points added to my credit score- then I'll be ready. These days, I'm always asking myself, what am I getting ready for? What existential night out on the town is all this spiritual primping for?

And a bratty little voice in the back of my head says, "There has to be something else. This can't be all there is for you."

Ultimately, this is why every major habit breaking I've ever undergone was undertaken. Or...errrr......something like that. I quit sugar because I'm convinced that my anger will abate when I'm not suffering from sugar highs and lows. I quit smoking because I'm convinved that my restless irritable discontent nature will be less noticeable when I'm not suffering from constant nic-fits. I hit the gym because I am CERTAIN my self esteem will soar once my body is bulletproof.

And to a certain extent, all of these things are true. But I just pulled out of a majorly narcisstic phase where nothing was more sacred that then the temple of the body, and while I look amazing on the outside, my inner life has been fairly tumultuous ever since. And if I take the time to start sorting out my life's deeper issues, my aerodynamic abs will start to liquify. Sigh.

And as of this morning, I'm ok with that. Because I'm starting to get it. Having a life in balance means exactly that, balancing between states of living. Presence cannot be replaced with presents and no one gets out alive.

Babble forth boldy my beauties-

Ing

Wowwwww.....creepy

GEMINI
[May 21–June 20]

Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden of Eden because of an incident involving an apple, right? Wrong. Many Biblical scholars suspect the fruit in question was either a fig, grape, or pomegranate. I mention this, Gemini, because I think you'd be wise to review your own personal myth of exile. It's time to question the story you have been telling yourself about how your paradise got lost. Evidence you discover in the coming days just might suggest that everything you've believed is at least half-wrong—that your origins are different from what you imagine. And as for the forbidden fruit that supposedly led you astray: You may realize that it was actually a precious medicine.

Why I love Invite Health

Listen, I have to have my vitamins. I cannot live without them, and I fear my reliance on them is far more psychogical than physical. It makes me feel infinitely better to know that my delicate cells are being flushed with high grade omegas and fortified with all manners of aminos. I. Have. To. Supplement. It pleases me. And not for nothing, I've gotten through some of my more harrowing physical moments (detox, post-partum depression, liver cleansing) with the help of pharmaceutical grade nutrients.

So, much like an addict with a heroin habit to support, it is crucial that I maintain a relationship with a supplier (dealer). Invite Health has the hookup as far as I'm concerned.

I almost (but not quite) feel a little guilty forging the comparison with drug addiction and vitamin popping. Invite is trying to do something good for mankind, and they should be commended for it. Nowhere near enough money is spent researching naturopathic rememdies to serious ailments. Invite has a thoughtful, deliberate approach to supplementation. They have supplemental solutions for a host of ailments that tend to baffle traditional medicine. They have licensed nutritionists working at the stores and if you ask for a nutritional consultation, you will get a nutritional consultation!

Such was the case with me, when I sprinted in Invite this morning between meetings. I had been out of Sam-e for four days (remember when I discovered Sam-E) and was rewarded with a mild depressive episode last night for my troubles. My moods have been a bit more erratic of late, because I've totally surrendered to my sugar addiction and we all know what happens when I do that. I've been trying, desperately trying, to kick the white stuff, but the harder I try the worse it gets. So I thought I'd throw that out to the Invite Universe while shopping for my regulars.

"Excuse me? Does this Carb HX support you nutritionally while you transition to a low carb diet or is it a carb-blocker?"

"It's a carb-blocker."

"Ahh, I see. Ok. Hmmmm. Do you have anything that helps you transition to a low carb diet?"

He looked at me knowingly and while never once breaking eye contact asked me, "Is it the Sugar Cravings?"

JESUS H!!!! How does he know?!?!?!?

All kidding aside, I dove right in and told him everything. I mean, all of it. The Quitting Drinking, The Quitting Smoking, the Dietary Obsessions, The Over Exercising, The Depression, the whole damn shebang.

I told him my goal was to cut out all simple sugars and non-complex carbohydrates for the next 30 days and he prescribed a nutritional attack to combat: blues, sugar cravings, lowered energy levels, and blood sugar swings.

For the next month I am taking:
Sam-E (Always, it's a miracle amino)
5-HTP
Fish Oil (Mega, mega fish oils which make the inside of my nose smell like tuna, but whatevs)
GlucoHx (Chromium, Alpha Lipoic Acid, Vanadium, Gymnema, Bitter Melon, and Fenugreek)

It'll take some time before I see whether or not this is working, but so far so good. It is now 4:10 and historically, this is exactly the time when I would be succumbing to my pre-dinner crash and stuffing my face with peanut m&m's to try and boost up my flagging energy levels. I'm fine. I'm not salivating and suffering with mental fantasties of a chocolate bender, I'm quite alright.

So we'll see. I'll keep you updated. I know I'm always maniacally googling any new vitamin I think will correct my woes, so all anecdotal information is good. Having said that, I am not a damn doctor, so please don't think I'm offering medical advice. Especially if you're on depression meds. Heartbreaking and tragic things happen when people stop taking mind meds w/o medical supervision. Don't even think about it.

But I digress, if all goes according to plan (hahahaha * snicker * lol. I plan, God laughs) by the end of this month I should be sugar free and living the sweet life! I've been round this bend enough times to know, that if I can make it through the first 30 days, I'm golden. My blood sugar stabilizes after that, cravings turn towards healthy stuff, and my abs come out of hiding. But if I fold in the first 30 days, only God knows when I'll be able to get another sugar free day again. It's that freaking bad folks. I literally have to count days off The White Devil. I cannot have so much as a teaspoon without throwing myself headfirst into the sugar cyclone.

Go to Invite! Get hooked up! Check them out and stay tuned for further developments....

xoxoxo
Ingenue

Holy Service Batman!

My life is all alcoholics all the time these days. I don’t know where it came from, it’s certainly wasn’t my intention, but here we are. I learned how to work the program, the program worked me over, and now I have something to offer the sick and tired who are sick and tired of being SICK AND TIRED.

Those who can must, peeps. It’s a fundamental truth of our way of life, my primary purpose is and will forever more be to help another alcoholic. That’s it. Anything else I add in there re: diet, boys, outfits, occupations, and hair color is really just my will manifesting itself in the only way it knows how. It still comes right back around to; what did you do for the other guy today? Who did you help? Did you sacrifice your own creature comforts for the well-being of the next woman?

I’ve always wanted to be of service to my fellow alcoholics. I’m moved deeply whenever I hear someone announce their day count. I love Newcomer women! But for the longest I was balls out terrified to open my mouth around them, because I thought I would scare them right off. When I was still counting days, I was relatively happy. I stopped drinking and my life got immeasurably better in those first months. But from four months until very recently, I failed to enlarge my spiritual condition and my untreated alcoholism ran circles around my attempts to control my disease.

I was a surly, screaming bitch from month 4 to 14 and I had no idea why.

I tried to do some step-work, but it really didn’t have any affect because I wasn’t completely surrendered. I thought I was, but thinking can be incredibly misleading when it comes to the nature of alcoholism.

Long story short, I was given the gift of desperation AGAIN, I started my steps in earnest, and I really went after my recovery with everything I had in me. And I got better! I got glowy and happy, social and bubbly. The more I stepped, the more people started responding favorably to me and before I knew it I had new-comer girls asking how I’d stayed sober for almost two years.

I was baffled when this first happened. I’m so used to thinking of myself as a miserable excuse for sobriety that seeing some gorgeous little drunk come up to me with admiration in her eyes, was more than I could handle. I freaked out, said something weird and abrupt, and ran away. Progress not perfection, right?

I wasn’t settled into the changes that I had undergone. I didn’t trust that I could interact normally with people now that I had my spiritual experience. I was still defensive and locked up, waiting for hostile comebacks to come vomiting out of my mouth. Or for the volume of my voice to raise uncontrollably, and for people to starts slowly backing away from me. I’ve had 29 years of seeing people shy away from me, it’s normal and natural that I would still be expecting these things. But it’s no longer necessary, and slowly I started sticking around to answer the newcomer questions that were leveled at me.

And my answers are always the same.

“Ohmygod, you HAVE to do your steps. It’s like Magic….you have to try this shit!”

“Did you start your steps, yet? That’s fantastic, I’m so excited for you! You should call me, I want to hear all about it.”

And I mean every word of it. Every word of it is what was given to me when my sponsor read the Big Book with me. That’s what saved my life. Shit, that’s what gave me a life worth living! Steps, steps, and more steps. Service, service, and more service. These two things bring me incalculable amounts of joy, and I can’t stop shouting it from the rooftops.

So now, Alcoholics are popping up EVERYWHERE. There’s two in my office that are in constant need of support. One of them suffered my foolishness when I was first getting sober, and now he’s newly sober so I can repay the kindness.

God, you work in such mysterious freaking ways. I totally respect your Gangsta.

Ingenue

P.S. Stepwork brings the sexy back.

Dr. Jekkyl and Ms. Hyde? Your table for two is waiting...

It’s so funny to be getting a look at the Jekyl and Hyde nature of Alcoholic Ingenue and Recovered Ingenue.

Untreated Alcoholic Ingenue:
Walks a mile a minute with her shoulders squared and her jaw set. Shouts when she means to whisper, fumes and blames EVERYTHING on EVERYONE. She’s usually wearing way too much eye makeup (her favorite avoidance therapy is fixing up the externals when the internals are gnarly) and two pushup bras (because one is never enough when you’re sick and suffering) to try and fake cleavage that God did not intend to be there. She flirts with married men and then gets outraged when they say inappropriate things to her. She spends her entire work day trying too look busy and important at the expense of actually doing her job. Don’t even think about asking how her day went, she’ll tell you all about it. And it ain’t ever pretty.

Recovered Ingenue:

Still wakes up feeling a mild case of the Fuck Its, but drops to her knees first thing and gets in conscious contact with her creator. After that she bounds around like a golden retriever, just happy to be up and about and moving. Hair and makeup are whatever she has time for, she prefers to spend her “getting ready” time on spiritual and physical fitness. No matter. Whatever she looks like on the outside, she feels totally gorgeous so she’s free to wear whatever the fuck she pleases, male attention be damned.

Work is spent in service to the world at large. When she has a question she asks it humbly, even if it makes her look unknowledgeable. She works through problems as they arise, instead of putting them off for another day. She answers phone calls and emails. She takes responsibility for her mistakes and works arduously at correcting them.

She DOES NOT BLAME THE QUALITY OF HER LIFE ON ANYONE ELSE.

She sounds like a bit of a surfer girl when she speaks, and she doesn’t care what anyone thinks about that because authenticity is fucking priceless, dude.

She smiles and hugs, listens, and laughs.

With all of this evidence, you would think I’d have absolutely no reservations about strenuously working my program and chasing after my steps. And yet.

Every now and then we all need a refill on the willingness. I can’t ever forget what I become when I fail to enlarge and maintain my spiritual condition.

xoxoxo,
Ingenue

God help me.

Damn, dude. It happened again. I vacated my blogging for no good reason and here I come, crawling back in abject humility.

Yeesh, that's a bit dark isn't it? I didn't mean it to be, but it stays. Maybe that's my true inner state right now. Maybe that's what I'm trying to supress. Maybe I'm trying to hide from the fact that even though I've been step-working like my ass is on fire, my life still seems a bit.....awful. Don't get me wrong, it has it's moments! All in all though, I have to say I am not impressed.

And this is my own doing, really. I am back living with roommates, AGAIN, and again all hell is breaking loose. It's nowhere near as vicious this time, and it's not affecting me as deeply, but it is affecting me. I react, I pre-act, I fix, I solve, I pray, and everytime I think I've come to the bottom of this shit, it comes back.

Having said that, I am deeply, deeply responsible for the hurt feeling of my roommates. This time, there is no doubt in my head that I am the problem. I left the apartment for months in a state of mild disaster, I'm construction style confrontational whenever they try and approach me about it, and lately I've been pulling off this Mean Girls style sneer whenever they come within a five foot radius of me.

I'm in fullbown attack mode and I cannot make it stop.

My adversaries? A 60 year old buddhist nun and a 5 foot 2 codepenent trainer who flinches whenever someone sneezes too loud.

What the hell is the matter with me? Honestly, the buddhist nun is a bit of a nightmare, but I know why or how she's stirring up this level of character defectiveness. I cannot seem to extricate myself from the downward spiral where she pulls me aside in the morning to explain to me that I'm angry and confrontational and I respond by becoming angry and confrotational.

It's no good, the emotional hangovers are BRUTAL and I did not vacate my last hostile living situation to move into another one. Clearly, G.O.D has a lesson for me that I failed to learn the first time around, so we're going for it again.

G.O.D-

Please, for the love of all that is Holy and True, show me what it is you want me to learn in this situation so I can do the damn thing and get on with my life. And please, again for the love of all that is Holy and True, make it obvious.

Can I get a witness? Whoop whoop!
Ingenue

Birthday GRRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My birthday was actually this past Saturday, but I am now 3 to the 0. Is it just me or does that KICK ASS? I mean, really, 30 is a brand new decade. I'm sober, I'm fifth stepped, I'm blonde, I'm fearless. What's not to love here? But the real gifts of this birthday just keep piling up. It's not what I would have asked for, but clearly God has chosen to celebrate my arrival into my Dirty Thirties......

GD's Gifts to Me:

• On Thursday my sponsor sat for 7 hours (WHEN THE WOMAN HAD MONO) to hear my fifth step. She helped me see things about myself that I've been batshit blind to for the last 29 years. Nothing's felt the same since, and I am truly ready to march into this wild world and right the wrongs, bring the funk and bring the noise. I feel like a warrior princess gone gorgeous, and 90% of that is in seeing where my defects are (and praying daily that they be removed from me, so I can fully serve this Universe).


• On Friday, just after my spiritual experience, I got to qualify at one of my FAV women's meetings. Normally, qualifications for me are ego-driven Team Ingenue Extravaganzas. This one felt different from the jump. I was moved people. Can I get a witness?


• On Saturday (otherwise known as THE BIG DAY) I did yoga, took about a million birthday phone calls, ate a red velvet cupcake given to my by my roomie, and laid out in the sun. After that came the DANCING because it wouldn't be a weekend, let alone a birthday, without dancing.


• On Sunday the Universe said happy birthday to me with a New Moon in Gemini. A New Moon in your sign, ON YOUR DAMN BIRTHDAY, is a huuuuuuge deal. It doesn't happen very often. When it does, one must be prepared to harness that shit and take the ride. You say your New Moon wishes, you spiritually prepare yourself for change, and you step into the unknown.

A spiritual experience, a New Moon, a full dancecard, and the gift of being me! Happy Birthday, indeed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ingenue

I don't know how...I don't know why.....

I feel amazing today. Like, really fantastic. I'm working seven days in a row, I haven't showered since Friday (it's Sunday morning), but I feel better than I have in a while. I feel cute (thanks to my favorite slouchy hat which covers up seriously grungy hair and brings the adorable all at the same time), my muscles are presently in love with me (thanks to Exercise TV) and I am happy. Fancy that!

Today is not the sort of day I would have planned out for myself. I'm technically on duty at the jobsite, but I have more freedom to wander and catch a meeting and drop off my laundry and all that happy horseshit. Yesterday I felt completely LOCKED DOWN and I had a really hard time accepting the fact that I was going to have a 13 hour workday, ON A FREAKING SATURDAY, when Times Square was just outside my door filled with happy, joyous, and free tourists who had NO FUCKING IDEA how much I was suffering mere feet away from their joviality.

This is where my head goes when I am in Active Resistance Mode. It doesn't matter what I'm resisting, form does not follow function in this case. It could be that my pedicure is taking too long. It could be a dinner where 10 people too many showed up, and I wanted it to be intimate and cozy. It could be a seventeen hour work day, or it could be a day off where nobody else wants to play.

Active Resistance Mode is simply me finding my body in one place, and my mind wishing it were somewhere else. I start daydreaming, and then I start mentally conniving, and then I start silently begging, and next comes the fuming. After a few hours of all of this inner dialogue I take it to the streets and start shouting at whoever I've decided Is. To. Blame. for the fact that I am being held somewhere against my will.

It's pretty fucking painful, I can tell you that much. It's an even more horrible headspace now that I rarely occupy it. I've had a taste of freedom and surrender and whenever I lock myself back up it's completely unbearable because I know all to well what's on the other side of the bars.....

Today, I surrendered to the Universe and the Universe surrendered itself to me. Off to enjoy my dirty hair and my sunlit spirit.

Construction Kisses,
Ingenue

Confessions of a Nutrition Junkie

Email I wrote this morning to Heather Strang, Conscious Eating Diva Extroardinare


Subject: I love your mission!‏

From:
Ingenue
Sent:
Fri 5/01/09 9:02 AM
To:
heather@heatherstrang.com

I am so called to food issues, and alot of what I just read on your blog speaks to the many different nutritional callings I've had over the past few years. I have a VERY difficult time integrating all of the different paths I've taken foodwise into one thing that works for me.

Sugar and hypoglycemia are my main issues so I love the craving free life that low carb gives me. But I grow weary of eggs for breakfast every morning, and a life lived w/o watermelon and Green Smoothies, is no kind of life at all in my opinion.

I loved raw food (ate raw for almost two years) but suffered from daily hypoglycemia symptoms. It was weird, I felt nutrients coursing through me ALL THE TIME, but had wild ups and downs, mood swings and anxiety. I was doing a super high fruit deal at the time though, so there is that.

Organic vegan usually finds me getting down with way too much bread, and I miss lean protein sources, but ethically I feel way superior. :)

And typical S.A.D. just makes me feel depleted in the self esteem department, in every way, but it's so damn easy to slip into.

I feel like I keep getting called back to wheat-free, dairy-free, and definitely SUGAR-free (sugar turns me into a sociopath) as the foundation of a eating plan the works for me. I've been so impressionable for so long, that if anyone else lost 35 pounds with it, I wanted to do it, like yesterday. But these days I'm more concerned with finding out what my body wants, and your blog inspired me greatly to that end.

Cheers,
Ingenue

Things I Learned on Vacation

It’s only mildly horrifying to me that I was actually AFRAID to take time off. Times is bleak, and my alcoholic mind had me soundly convinced that disappearing from my jobsite for more than 6 hours would result in my immediate replacement. It’s a typical workaholic trap, conning yourself into believing that your work-world will stop spinning in your absence and in your exhaustion holding out that you’re the most disposable employee to ever grace God’s Earth. It’s an easy and predictable way for my disease to rob me of any peace, and I was officially down for the count by the time I put my PTO request in.

Frankly, I would have totally called my bosses and screamed, “HAHAHA! I was just joshing about the vacation. I know how much you need me, I would never dream of leaving you. YOU DO NEED ME, RIGHT?” had I not been completely laid out by a moving vehicle the Monday before my departure. That sufficiently shook me up enough, to call Uncle, to surrender to my need to shut down and turn off.

So Thursday came and I scurried around my disaster of a bedroom trying to put together as many outfits as I could cram into my travel bag. That didn’t work, so I ran out and bought a SECOND travel bag, and stuffed that one full too. You can imagine my surprise when I arrived DC and discovered that I didn’t have a single thing to wear. Best laid plans, right?

I brought my LEED book with me to study on the train. I had a 4 hour ride ahead of me, and I was planning on sucking every last minute of it dry, for maximum productivity. Instead, I found myself aimlessly staring out the window watching trailer parks come and go in my line of vision. I tried to open the book, but it literally jumped right back out of my hands like it was electrically charged. So for the first time in many, many moons I did: Not a Damn Thing. I just sat there and let it be quiet. I sort of let the trauma of the last week wash over me, and through me, under me and everywhere. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I stayed quiet. Sometimes a girl just need to sit and navel gaze, and when that time comes, nothing else will do.

Lizzie was waiting for me at the train station and although DC was every bit as busy as NYC, it was noticeably happier. I found this profoundly disturbing. Of course I had gone on vacation to enjoy myself, but I was not convinced that I could shuck off my surliness with so little preparation. I immediately lit a cigarette, fixed a fakish smile to my face, and bravely set foot into my vacay.

The first night was a little rocky, because I was still totally confrontational NYC style. A random homeless dude started serenading us and I completely lost my shit.

“Will you just FUCK OFF already? Jesus H! What are you, high? Nobody wants your busted compliments, bro. Fuck off, fuck off, FUCK OFF!”

Lizzie stared at me aghast, but quickly recovered herself like the true lady she is. Telling loudmouthed assholes to fuck off had been my favorite pastime when I left the city, but it didn’t jive so well against the backdrop of Dupont Circle. And yet, I was relaxing despite myself, and this became crystal clear when we sat down to dinner.

It was like I had never eaten a decent meal before in my life, it was fucking mouthwatering, it was…..Chilean Seabass. Miso and Mirin Marinated Chilean Seabass. Why didn’t anybody tell me about Chilean Seabass before? How long has this shit been around? Am I the last to know everything?

I was so impressed with Chilean Seabass that I had it for dinner for EVERY night of my vacation. I tried to have it for breakfast one day too, but that didn’t pan out.

Friday was much sweeter, more gentle. Lizzie went to work and I stayed behind in her completely DOPE apartment. Her building had an unbelievable gym in it (which oddly none of the other tenants seemed interested in) so I spent a few hours down there, getting my tone on. I went to Whole Foods and got down with some organic, and I strolled in the sunshine. Strolling rocks, fyi. I usually hit Broadway in a full-blown gallop, but I think DC seduced me back into the sauntering fold.

Anyways….

Lizzie got home from work and we motored off to my second DC meeting. We got dinner on the waterfront (more Chilean Seabass, WHAT?!?!?) and then hit a hookah bar. I can’t remember who brought up the psychic idea first, but whoever thought it up deserves all of the gold stars in the universe because that shit BLEW MY HEAD APART.

She was Lebanese with bleached blonde hair and a wonky eye (which I thought lent tremendous credibility to the whole scenario) and the second she took hold of my palms, she knew everything there was to know about me.

She knew that I have an unquenchable appetite for tall, dark, and handsome, bad boys. (Who are apparently no good for me)
She knew that I have a love, passion, and fear for my writing.
She knew that I was lacking the confidence to pursue anything creative as a career front.
She knew that I have a big, big problem with shopping and spending.
She knew that I have a big, big problem with stress and aggravation.

She told me:

None of the men around me are really worth my time right now.
Just after my birthday a blonde man will be coming who is a match for me (I’ll recognize him because I will find him boring, but she swears that’s a good thing)
It’ll be 2 or 3 years easy before I have the confidence to live my destiny and create for a living.
I’ll be back in school by the fall.
I’ll live into my 90’s (which kind of scares the bejesus out of me. I’ve always looked forward to dying young. Hmmm.)

Lizzie almost fell out of her chair a few times, and I just sort of sat there with my jaw on the ground. It was a magical thing, but not always happy or safe. Her biggest revelation was that construction was a very temporary occupation for me. She stressed again and again that money isn’t everything, and the work I’m doing now is NOT MY CALLING. Seeing as I’ve been actively killing myself to make my job work out for me, I wasn’t too thrilled to hear that. She said nine more months and then I would have to quit. They’ll throw money at me, and I’ll have to decide what’s more important, money or my wellbeing.

We started scribbling down our prophecies when we got home and planning out Saturday…..

To be continued….

M*therf*cking M*nday.

I’m back in the normal NYC hustle and bustle after five blissful days of vacation. It’s alright, I suppose. I seem to have retained some of the peaceful equanimity I picked up in DC, and I certainly had a mind-expanding spiritual experience. Mind-expanding spiritual experiences should accompany EVERY vacation or you really haven’t gotten your money’s worth, in my opinion. Trust.

But before there was Paid Time Off there was the impending Nervous Breakdown. I’ve been as forthright and honest as I could be about the fact that the last few months for me were holy shit storms of stress and aggravation (almost entirely work-related). Well, last week, just when I was convinced it was as bad as it could possibly get, it got worse.

Mondays are rarely awesome, but some Mondays set a tone for the week so outrageously horrible, that you find yourself praying for a quick and merciful death in lieu of the work week you find yourself facing. I had that very Monday. The day started with typical client complaints because I was trying to schedule inconvenient but necessary construction into their occupied space. So I gave up trying to get my workers where they needed to go and then my bosses RIPPED ME NEW ASSHOLES for not aggressively scheduling my work fast enough. It was raining and cold and I dressed for sunshine. I was four days off sugar and trying not to drink coffee, so I couldn’t really articulate my standard quick responses, and it was noticed. And commented on, frequently. I ended up just grinding the work day out. I absolutely could not wait to get home so I skipped the AA meeting, and went straight for the subway. I got off at my stop, and started trudging home with my head down against the rain when some Asshole in a beat up Toyota decided to bounce me off his windshield.

I got hit by a fucking car? WHAT?!?!? Did that really happen? Am I alive? Am I hurt? No, I’m…..what the fuck am I feeling right now………oh that’s right, ANNOYED.

The cops came, the firemen came, the ambulance came, and 40 minutes later I was allowed to continue walking home in the rain. The Asshole never got a ticket, but I was extremely lucky to have not been killed, so I let it be. I had only been home, shaking, for a few hours when I got a mildy poisonous text message from a newly sober girl who I had agreed to collaborate with on a recovery book. She had arranged for us to meet with a literary agent the next day (that meeting was set weeks ago) but decided to cancel the meeting, using my car accident as an excuse, until we could “get on the same page”. I used the cancellation of the meeting as an excuse to liberate myself from a book proposal that was just not sitting right in my conscience.

The long and short of it is, I had seduced myself with dreams of book related fame and glory (and an escape from construction). And she was such a talented writer in her own right, that it was hard not to get excited about the idea of what we could create together. But something kept needling me in the dark hours of the night, and the more I ignored it, the more signs of strain started popping up in our burgeoning partnership. At that moment, it became pretty undeniable. I'm in no position to be telling other sober women how to live happy, useful lives. I'm certainly in no position to be collecting money off of my proposed "solutions". I am still, obviously, trudging away to learn how to do that for myself. I know that I have books in me, but that's going to happen in Divine Time, not according to a schedule I try to force on myself.

I sat on the edge of my bed and tried to tally up my day. Gnarly, shitty work day, and I would rather carve out my eyeballs than go back. Fantasy book deal completely SHUT DOWN by me, no less. And hit by a car. If my karma is now bad enough for me to be getting hit by cars, what kind of a realistic life expectancy can I have in NYC? Maybe 6 months? A year? How does one go about spiritually rebounding from an experience like this?

I took Tuesday off, and thank everything that is Holy and True, I had scheduled a vacation for that Thursday. Wednesday was spent at work showing off my bruises and contemplating the deeper meaning of what had just happened. Was my HP telling me to LITERALLY check myself before I wrecked myself? My soul’s radar may not be the strongest, but it is there. And past experience has revealed to me, that when everything in my life goes fucking BOOM at the same time, it’s because I’ve strayed too far from Divine Will for me. My course is always in need of correction at that time, and this time around I suppose, the Holy Powers That Be decided a car/body collision was the only way to snap me out of my workaholic trance.

So I decided to surrender, yet again, to God’s Will. I prayed all day, I prayed all night, and the next day, and the day after that, for him to show me what exactly he had in mind for me. I promised to take his guidance seriously this time, and set aside my own ambitions and agendas.

Ask and ye shall receive, no? I got the divine instructions, over the next five days of my vacation. Jesus, I was really getting ready to sell myself short there. And that, kids, is the moral of my story. My meager mortal plans for myself are nowhere near as fitting, amazing, and BIG as the plans of my higher power. If I stick with my will, I end up with fuckall. I surrender to The Only Will that Really Matters Because He Always Wins Anyways, I get the power and the glory and the kingdom. Forever and ever, man.

Who knew?

Ingenue

Let's try this again, shall we?

I am having a really lovely, enjoyable life experience right here in this moment. This is a good thing, because I had a fucking miserable week. I mean really goddam grueling. I could sit here and list off all of the external forces bringing me down (I blame the MAN) but the truth of the matter is, I'm miserable and I'm making myself sick. I'm hurting alot, and the more I try to make the pain go away, the worse it gets.



I've bleached myself out, I've shopped myself silly, I've starved, I've binged, I've smoked, I've caffienated, I've raged, I've withdrawn, I've worked, I've run miles and NOTHING gives me a moments peace. I just keep running faster and faster and faster.



I'm tired now. I don't want to run anymore.



So where does that leave me? If I can't live with my external pleasure traps, and I CERTAINLY can't live without them, what the hell am I supposed to do?



I'll do the only thing that can be done in a situation like this, a first step.



"We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable"



Unmanageable. Unmanageable?!?!?! Again? But I'm sober now! And I manage really important and stressful construction, why can't I manage my own internal shit? This can't be happening again, it can't be. And yet, here I am.



I cannot make it through my work days without making an emergency shopping stop halfway through the days.



I made myself throw up three nights ago after a sugar bender gone awry. SUGAR, Jesus Wept! I'm eating it by the pounds to alleviate the emotional turmoil inside me.



I cannot manage my emotions, I never could. I am powerless over my pain and my attempts to shove it back down. I am powerless over alcohol and my life is the definition of unmanageable. You know, I actually started admitting that last night, and ever since, my life has been noticeably nicer. Acceptance and surrender work miracles, I've known this for a while.

pow·er·less
(pour-ls)
adj.
1. Lacking strength or power; helpless and totally ineffectual.
2. Lacking legal or other authority.

I am powerless over alcohol, I am powerless over my own emotions, I'm powerless over BOYS, I'm powerless over work.

E

Blonde Ambition

When I was a little girl eagerly awaiting adolescence, there was nothing in the world I wanted more than my own Style. None of the other girls at that age had any Style either, but their Mom's did, and every morning they showed up to school perfectly primped and coiffed (In over-sized Gap sweatshirts and side ponytails, as was the style then). The Moms with Style always managed to dress their daughters in a balance between trendy timeless. Basically, they set the bar as to what you were supposed to look like in the 6th grade. And woe betide you if you couldn't fake the funk. Kids be vicious.

My Mom had absolutely no Style, but God bless her, she tried. She tried to dress me like DJ from Full House, but I usually ended up looking like a rumpled Kimmy Gibbler. Kimmy Gibbler with a Salt n Peppa asymetrical haircut, although I can't remember if that was Mommy's bright idea or mine. Suffice it to say, I was an absolute mess. I suffered endlessly for it. Adding insult to injury, we moved twice a year, so I was subject to regional bullying standards in, like, every state in the union. What's hot in Concord, NH is trash in Toledo, OH and I had to learn this the hard way. Over and over and over again.

My Mom would seriously spend our rent money for new outfits for me. I would come home begging for her to take me to the Mall, sobbing and crying because of the humiliation I had lived through that day in school. She and I would shop all night trying to find something for the next day, a perfect outfit that would win me friends, enhance my attention span in class, and make life bearable.

To this day, I haven't found an outfit that can do any of that. But I've never stopped looking.

These days, I do have Style. My alcoholic overcompensation to those childhood tortures was to create a BULLETPROOF external image that would morph into whatever I needed on any given day. I can take the temperature of any new city's fashion climate in 5.3 seconds flat. Before the end of my first night in a new home, I've changed my hair, revamped my wardrobe, and either gained or lost approximately 4 pounds to suit the level of curviness I think would be best to fit in with my new surroundings..

The things is, if I'm fairly mentally healthy and things are going well I dress down, I relax, I smile. If the shit is hitting the fan, I need 90 outfits in 90 days. And Manicures. And 60$ Lipgloss. And Caffienated Cellulite Cream that's probably a rip-off. And Perfect Eyebrows.

This is the state of mind I was in last night, when I decided to respond to an emotional crisis with a new dye job. For the last 2 years, I've been black haired, blue eyed Irish. My hair has been every length and style known to man, but the color scheme has stayed consistent for a minute. Sometime around 2:30 pm yesterday afternoon, black hair started to feel like the MOST AWFUL, most constraining, most wildly unnecessary burden to ever lay itself on my shoulders. I had to be blonde, and I had to be blonde, like, yesterday.

I called my stylist who is remarkably inconsistent in her abilities (to lazy to find a new one) and told her I'd pay her anything she wanted to give me Sienna Miller's golden shaggy bob. She swore it could be done, I booked it down there, sat through four or five scalp scarring bleach sessions, and then.......I was done. When she unveiled the finished product, all hell broke loose inside me.

"THIS IS NOT WHAT WE DISCUSSED IRMA!", I screamed. I swear to god, the entire shop came to a screeching halt. Everyone was giving up their undivided attention to the bitchy (and blonde) white girl losing her shit in the corner. "This. Is. Not. What. I. Asked. FOR. Where the fuck is my hair? Why is it orange?"

Irma just rolled her eyes at me, because unfortunately, this is not the first time this has happened. Their was a Halloween Highlighting Incident (which I truly thought we had gotten past) and a Rihanna Wannabe Haircut Episode (you'd think I'd learn about asymmetrical cuts) but this one was a Defcon 2 level meltdown in the works. I was expecting to feel peaceful, sexy, and powerful in my new hair, and instead I saw my desperate sixth grade self staring back at me in the mirror.

I was not prepared. My new roomie had to scrape me off the sidewalk to get me home. Mind you, there's absolutely nothing wrong with my hair. I've actually gotten mad compliments on it this morning. But it wasn't what I was expecting. And my expectations must be met or chaos ensues.

Sigh. Isn't that always the point? My expectations always lead me astray. They promise me happiness and contenment and instead deliver me frantic scrambling, grasping consumptions. The more I try and satisfy my desires, the more desires I have. And I still can't get no satifaction.

But when it comes to outward appearances, I cannot be trusted. I am a Chameleon to the fifth power, and powerfully deceptive to boot. The more I try to control the "image" I am presenting the less control I have over my reality. God, I am really this much of a control freak? Huh. Who knew?

But today, I still have the drama and the wreckage of my past from yesterday to deal with. No amount of hair bleach can take that away. Although, I will admit that I'm about to do a minor Sephora shopping bender and probably a mani-pedi.

That's just me chasing my bliss.

Ing

Goddammit, Hotmail.

My Hotmail is such a perpetual source of misery for me. Emailing in general sits on top of my latest shitlist, with good reason. It is not a clear, concise method of communication but it masquerades as an easy, breezy conversation tool. Text bombing can fuck right off too. I'm so over e-bonding. I refuse to dedicate anymore time to trying to unravel obtuse emails, searching out emotional subtext and finding only inane emoticons.

For whatever reason, almost all of the difficult conversations in my life are pumped through my Hotmail. Like attracts like, you know, and I'm a busy girl who tends to avoid awkward conversations for the sake of productivity. So naturally, most of my closest relationships feature people with the exact same character defect.

It wasn't always this bad, but for the last 6 months every time I fire up my personal inbox I have this gnawing, gnashing dread in my stomach. My ex-roommate has a lot to do with this. Although I lived down the hall from him, whenever he had something unsavory to tell me, he'd email blast that shit at 8 in the morning. I'd be plugging along in my work day and I check my mail on my blackberry and all of the sudden, THERE HE'D BE. Reading me the riot act for some imagined slight, trying to make his money problems my issue, passive aggressive little shit-bombs that hit their mark every single time.

I have a low threshold for idiocy.

So I did the only mature and sober thing I could think to do. I blocked his email addresses.

The Evil One got used to getting big, firey emotional responses from me everytime he poked, so the first day that I didn't freak out via email response, he started to meltdown. He opted not to discuss the matter with me in person, that would have been a little too normal for us. Instead with three days my spam box started filling up with hundreds of emails with bizzare subject headers and Sci-Fi Sender Names. One such email, subjected: "I never stopped thinking about you" caught my attention and wouldn't let go. Upon opening it I discovered another one of the Weenie's misspelled rants.

is this your twisted version of restren of pen and tungue? why can't u be a better person? if u have to be that miserable you shold just drink, because u r a waste of sober life.

See what I mean? Charming, right?

These days the web trauma has branched out into other areas of my life My new sponsor seems to like conducting our sober business over text and email and it's just not working out for me. I send these emails out into the abyss crammed full with whatever is tanking me, and if (this is a Big If) I back it up with a text, a phone call, and another text, she may respond with a few sentences of her own. There's no eye contact, there's no back and forth, there's no body language. Everything's left up to interpretation and my alcoholic mind REELS when trying to get a grasp of another's online motives. She and I are still getting to know each other and emailing as opposed to talking in person DOES NOT A DAMN THING TO FACILITATE THAT.

(Also, you know how the bible says an eye for an eye? I firmly adhere to the doctrine of an email for an email. If I write you, hit the reply button. Common courtesy, there.)

And Facebook, don't get me started on Facebook. Facebook is born of Satan, and I think we all know that. I don't need any online social community tempting my stalker tendencies. Let those sleeping dogs lie, alright?

Basically, what it comes down to, is that I have been found guilty of making people jump through hoops to get my attention. When left to my own devices, I avoid and isolate...I bridge-burn and ignore. At some point my Hotmail kind of became like Switzerland to all of the warring factions in my life. They decided they could seek asylum in my inbox with their undetonated psychic bombs. And I've been left with the wreckage of that, an irretrievably broken relationship with online socializing.

Basically, I want to get off my computer and back into real life. This is my goal for the coming weeks. I can't change anyone else's behavior towards me, but I can def curb my own habits of avoidance! That's within my reach, baby, and I plan to bravely set foot into reality where fact is fact and fiction can be left alone.

Other than that, I'm praying, resting, detoxing, socializing, loving, healing, crying. More on that to come.

Cheers bebes,
Me

Smiles and Sunshine

I feel good. 'nuff said.

:)
Me

Oh Jesus. Now this?

Are you a Workoholic?

Do you get more excited about your work than about family or anything else?
Are there times when you can charge through your work and other times when you can't?
Do you take work with you to bed? On weekends? On vacation?
Is work the activity you like to do best and talk about most?
Do you work more than 40 hours a week?
Do you turn your hobbies into money-making ventures?
Do you take complete responsibility for the outcome of your work efforts?
Have your family or friends given up expecting you on time?
Do you take on extra work because you are concerned that it won't otherwise get done?
Do you underestimate how long a project will take and then rush to complete it?
Do you believe that it is okay to work long hours if you love what you are doing?
Do you get impatient with people who have other priorities besides work?
Are you afraid that if you don't work hard you will lose your job or be a failure?
Is the future a constant worry for you even when things are going very well?
Do you do things energetically and competitively including play?
Do you get irritated when people ask you to stop doing your work in order to do something else?
Have your long hours hurt your family or other relationships?
Do you think about your work while driving, falling asleep or when others are talking?
Do you work or read during meals?
Do you believe that more money will solve the other problems in your life?

I answered fuck yes to all of the above. Now what?

Ingenue in Wonderland.

Listen, I have something to admit, and I really would rather sit here blowing smoke up your (and mine) collective asses. In fact, so deep is my denial to the reality of the last few weeks that I've already mentally written this blog posts a few times with my fantasies intact. But alas, there's only one truth and that truth is, I have been renamed the Bacon Egg and Cheese Bandit.

My planned detox was going swimmingly. I was all about the spinach smoothies, watermelon, giant salads, and cooked food whenever I saw fit (as long as I didn't imbibe dairy or gluten). I FELT AWESOME. I had five toxic pounds melt off me and I wasn't stressed about my food. Big opportunities started chasing me down and, for a minute, it looked like all my dreams were on the verge of coming true.

Then my life happened.

I had already been putting in 10to 12 hour days on my site (normal for me) when three things happened in quick secession:

1. My co-worker announced he was taking an impromptu vacation during the most crucial part of our construction schedule.
2. A design got approved for a section of my project that requires MAJOR STRUCTURAL work and excrucitatingly long shifts to execute it.
3. It was decided by the heavens above that I would be covering the balance of the hours (basically day and night).

Hello 17 hour work day! You want to laugh? 15 hours is now a day off for me. 19 hours happened last Friday, and more often than not I'm dragging myself off this incredibly needy jobsite WISHING I could convince men to build for me just one more hour, because I don't know how this is going to get done otherwise.

But there are labor laws to prevent that sort of thing and that's really just me talking crazy anyways. I'm up every morning at 5 am, on the job by 7, and rarely hitting my bed before 11pm. FUCKING BRUTAL. At first, I was almost catching a bit of a buzz of the long hours (it's all too easy to become addicted to your work. Trust.) but now, I'm tired. Really, really tired. I'm balls deep in heavy construction mayhem and I can't see my way out anymore.

Basically, the month of March will consist of Ingenue building like her ass is on fire and little fucking else. Good thing I love my work. I got alot of it.

But that's not all! Adding insult to injury, my Arch Enemy Roommate has decided to rent out my room underneath me, effective April 1st. Meaning, I am also trying to find a new apartment right now and dealing with the emotional shitstorm this injustice has brewed up in me.

I stayed with my detox for the first few days and (with a slightly larger cooked food ratio) and then before I knew it: I ate. I mean, I ATE. It started with the first BE&C Bagel which tasted so amazing that I promptly chased it with another one. That day for lunch, I had a ginormous burrito dripping with sour cream. I had three Americanos for dinner and two california rolls for a midnight snack. I felt sooooo much better. I felt heavy and weighed down which can feel surprisingly grounding when your life seems to be speeding on without your consent. I slept like the dead that night. No strangely psychic dreams (a frequent occurence when I'm high raw), just a mild case of indigestion and a sore lower back.

And it went on and on. I haven't put on any weight, but that's solely due to stress and running around for 17 hrs a day. I feel like poo, but for the life of me, I really don't know what to do. Change that, I do know what to do. From here on out, I'll take it day by day. The thing is, I'm getting really good at taking care of myself. Seriously I am! But it takes time to be self-nourishing and that is the one thing I do not have these days. Also, I feel like all of my habits these days are reactive instead of proactive. Every morning I'm popping digestive enzymes and amino acids in a desperate bid to repair myself from yesterday's work abuse, so I can do it again. And again. And again. Eating well and exercising to try and keep your body in top physical condition is something else entirely. That feels so far away from me right now.

Those are the sins of yesterday. Today I write this with a coconut water and a bucket of cantaloupe next to me. All I can do is get up and try again, right? Construction will always be construction and Ingenue will always be the one and only In-gen-wheeee. I WILL learn how to do what I do and eat what my body needs at the same time.

No victims here, baby. And I'm done volunteering for ill health and untapped potential.

Mucho besos,
I xoxoxo

This is more like it!

Aha! It was just as I suspected, last night's funk was little more than an emotional detox. OK, so maybe I had no idea what was going on between my ears yesterday, but I feel worlds better this morning. I mean really stellar. Thank heaven's I didn't do anything rash. I would have missed out on the most fantastic morning, I've had in a month of Sundays. TODAY TOTALLY KICKS ASS AND CALLS IT SALLY.

Or something like that.

My favorite lucky breakfast is canteloupe, watermelon, and grapes. But I've been too busy to make a trip to Whole Foods, so I've been relying on the deli across 42nd for my supplies. Sometimes they have watermelon, sometimes they have grapes. Occasionally they will have canteloupe AND grapes. Today? All freaking three. Angel choirs sang when I gazed upon that fruit salad bar this morning. Golden Jesus Beams radiated from the heavens.

Yesterday my job site was a pile of tears, heartbreak, and failure to me. Today? We're shouting it out and it's getting done. I love constructive shouting. This is not arbitrary, abusive, ass-reaming. This is two parties with equally valid points squaring off and raising their voices to the fucking skies until the matters resolved. And then you crack a joke or two, break some balls to signal the end of the dispute and everybody walks away content. It's deeply cathartic and a shitload of fun. (Unless you're on the losing end of the conflict, which I NEVER am). Ha.

What freaking happened to me last night while I was sleeping? Was I Jedi Mind Tricked and I didn't know it? Did the On Demand episode of Rome I was watching hypnotize me into a positive headspace? I'm not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I'll just take this fabulous morning where I look completely adorable, and run with it. It's pretty staggering how much an attitude change can alter your reality. Like, whoa.

And to all those beloved souls who reached out and held me together through my dark night of the soul, it made all the difference in the world. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.

xo
Ing-ee-nue

Wow. I REALLY hate being an Alcoholic today.

Alright, I know I'm a drunk. My body doesn't respond to alcohol the same way a "normal drinker's" would, and because of that I CANNOT DRINK SAFELY. Horrible, wiley, petulant things just happen to me when I'm drinking, and so I cannot. Can't be done. Tried that, didn't work. So why, why, oh sweet jesus, why am I STILL longing to be able to stuff my face with shots at Happy Hour with my Bosses?

Because I am a freaking Alcoholic and part of that is craving something I can never imbibe again. Although last night, I seriously considered cashing in my 1 year and some month chips for a one day coin that I could collect with my shiny happy hangover at a later date.

I DID go out with some workfolk last night and while the night in itself was unremarkable, the spiritual hangover I have this morning is threatening to derail the little bit of sober sanity I've put together. I usually bristle at meetings when oldtime AA's decribe our sort as "crazy" or "insane" but today, I know exactly what they mean. Only a truly batshit crazy woman would come out of the kind of alcoholic wreckage that I have and consider going back for any reason. And the reasons I want to go back are ill advised at best.

I miss drama. I miss self destructive flings that hurt more than they please. I miss hotel rooms with crisp white sheets and married men between them. I miss fuck me heels and smeared mascara. I miss whiskey breath. I miss beer tears. I miss the miserable and cocky little girl that I was, and I'm afraid of the women I'm growing into. I am freaking grieving for my drunkeness like I've just lost a parent. Probably more since neither of my parents are really that stellar about showing up when their needed. But you know who has ALWAYS been there for me? Jamesons! And now I've divorced him and I can't help but wonder if it wasn't a horrible, horrible mistake.

You know transformation is such a terribly long and tricky process that it's no wonder I'm feeling lost in the shuffle right about now. Some years back I lost 60 pounds. I think it took two years when all was said and done. But there would frequently come times when after a 3 pound weight loss that I HAD FOUGHT FOR, I'd look at my new body and think, "What the hell good has that done me?" My knockers were limp, my stomach gathered in these weird ruffles above my brazillian. It wasn't a linear process, is what I'm saying, and I spent more time in between sizes, swimming in ill fitting clothes than I did prancing around in tiny bikini's.

But now, years later when I've been an enviable size and shape for quite some time, I hardly ever think back to that long, protracted era of EXTREME PHYSICAL DISCOMFORT. I only reap the benefits. I feel like this is what's going on in my sobriety right now. I'm too far into my transformation to turn around, and I'm not far enough to see the light at the end of this fucking birth canal.

So, uhh, yeah, day 8 of the detox is clearly bringing some repressed emotions front and center. *grins sheepishly*

It's all good. I'm off to catch a meeting and share my little irish ass off. Good luck and God speed friends.

-I

Well, well, well....

I am WITHOUT blackberry today. This is, in equal measure, both liberating and terrifying. I clearly have access to my laptop, or I would not be able to blog about my terror now. So there is that. For what it's worth.



I'm actually feeling sort of Xena Warrior Princess today. The morning was a bit rushed and rocky, but once I started digging into the day's conflicts I found my hidden backbone. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Anyone can maintain spiritual equilbriam during happy times. It's how you ride the rocky road that shows you where your faith is REALLY at.



Last night was a snoozy, ignoring my obligations, detoxing, self-indulgent, sort of extravaganza. I napped until 8 pm, woke up and started sampling an assortment of Larabars, watched HBO movies until 2 in the morning and then slept until 5 am. I'm not saying that's an ideal night of REM cycles, but it was kind of fun and I felt fine this morning for it.

Until I walked into ALL HELL BREAKING LOOSE on the job at 7:30 this morning. For a moment, I was regretting my secret of night of tv viewing, but I had no choice but to dive in to the center of the mayhem. The water was surprisingly warm....

My mind is far more clear than it has been, my anxiety levels are way low for such a nasty day, and I'm extremely present in all of my activities. I'm noticeably more productive and organized and sarcastic comments aren't sticking to me like they normally would. To me, this is truly Raw Food in the Real World. This is Principles and Programs in action, and baby, it's fucking sweet.

Earlier in my sobriety I frequently bemoaned the fact that maintaining a spiritual existence on a construction site was a magic trick on par with curing cancer. "How the f'ing hell am I supposed to manage that?" I'd weep. I refused to take responsibility for my chosen line of work and I really expected to be given some sort of crown after any day I'd managed to work 12 hours without a tantrum. But as I've grown up, I've had to admit the truth. It was no accident that I ended up in a male dominated industry, scrambling after a postion of power. There's something I want to prove to myself here, and the world isn't about to stop spinning while I get on with it.

It helps me to get clear about this sort of thing when I'm upping the work I put into my program, or cleansing, for that matter. Because I can tell everyone else whatever I fucking please, but if I don't know where my own motives are...well....I'm sunk. Bliss and Nirvana are lovely and all that, but I'm a brick and mortar, results oriented sort of girl. I want to know which parts of my psyche work and which ones don't. I want to maximize every single hour available to me. I want to build like my ass is on fire and love like it's the last day on earth. Sobriety hasn't cured me of my alcoholic extremism and I sort of hope it never does. :)

Life is short, very short, and I need to know what makes it sweet for me. Day 5 of cleansing has left me with my mostly core self, and not to brag, I'm kind of perfect.

Thought you should know.
Ingenue

Big Love, baby.

Today was a good day. It wasn't the day I had planned out for myself, but it was good. I have a new sponsor (yes, another one) and we had a tasty little chat after That Big Meeting today.

I came home afterwards, and I MEANT to workout and study, but instead I napped for 5 hours. 5 HOURS. It was soooo nice.

I woke up and strolled down to the organic bodega around the corner and armed myself with Lara Bars for a Big Love viewing session. Lara Bars have new flava and they are flipping scrumdidliumptious. Coconut Cream and Pistachio make my nipples hard. Equally.

So, where does that leave me? I end day 4 with some mild detox symptoms, achy knees, and a lethargic dreamy countenance. I am excited about upcoming endeavors, but not my usually ambitious self.

Right now, I'm still working through something R told me over brunch.

"We're Sober now Ma. There are no more victims here. There's only volunteers."

Quickie, quickie....

Day 4 is upon me and the one thing that I AM SO FREAKING HAPPY ABOUT RIGHT NOW, is that my digestion is VERY happy about the food change. There's no way to pussyfoot around this subject, so I'll come right out and say what's on my mind.

When Raw Food is working out for me, pooing is like the most enjoyable experience ever.

When Raw Food isn't working out for me, the constipation, bloating, and uncontrollable gas explosions make me long for a quick death.

This time around Raw Food is working, working, working. Mind you, I've made alot of mistakes along the way, and now there are some food combinations I know to avoid. No nutmilk fruit smoothies, for instance. Shit makes me swell up like a beach ball. If my fiber intake, like, triples over night (as it will anytime you switch from cooked to predominantly raw) I know to up my water big time in the beginning, to move it all through.

Listen, it is categorically impossible to feel sexy and gassy at the same time. This is not my vanity, this is not me being a weenie. Never in the history of raw foods or vixens has a woman managed to pull off a full scale seduction while worrying that any minute her bowels might decide to eject a steady stream of Volatile Organic Compounds. And Raw done Wrong can lead to weeks and weeks of gassy, constipated, autointoxication. I've had to learn this the hard way.

The last time my elimination system went on strike because of Raw Foods I tried to be a man about it. "Toughen up, bitch!" I sternly admonished myself. "No one's ever gotten a fully detoxed cell structure by complaining about every little stomach ache and grumble." Of course this self directed vitriol only managed to make my stomach hurt worse. That time around I learned that my bowels will happily close shop if I don't talk nicely to myself. :) Stress and anger constipate me as quickly as bad food does.

Who knew?

Ingenue

Day 3.....

Anecdotally speaking, the third day of ANY new dietary shift is a BFD. Your body is starting to get wise to the fact that you're seriously not going to be giving it what it's craving. Which is a good thing, because at three days into a cleanse your cravings are unlikely to be centered on anything wholesome. :) Once you start purging addicitive foods from your diet (and dairy and gluten are damnably addictive. How many times have you heard someone says they couldn't live without cheese? Or bread for that matter? Total junkie thinking) your body starts to go through the withdrawal process. As a woman who's been forced to withdraw from a variety of substances MANY, MANY times, let me offer my hard-won expertise on how this business goes down.

Stage 1, HOLY SHIT ACUTE WITHDRAWAL
Lasts: anywhere from a few days to a few weeks.

This is it. You're learning to live without something that's no longer working for you and your mind and body are in full scale revolt. Your emotions are all over the place, drama levels are running high, and you have this internal itch that you'll never be able to scratch. Physically, depending on what you're trying to kick, there's a very good chance you feel flu-ish and miserable. For some reason whether you are trying to come off heroin or quit sugar for good, withdrawal always feels like the flu. Of course the levels of severity are subject to change. :)

Remember: You are utterly powerless over this addiction, whatever it may be. Pray for patience, pray for strength. One day at a time, yeah?

Stage 2, PINK CLOUD, BITCHES.
Lasts: a few weeks, a few months, if you're karma's REALLY good- maybe a year.

To quote Big Boi: It's like a brand new pair of reeboks or a junkie freshly detoxed. You feel the tingling all over like convulsions or the rooster pox...
Who knew you could get catch a fucking buzz from being abstinent???? But it's true, and never fails. The minute your body stops withdrawing, you temporarily enter the blissfully orgasmic state of.....hmmmm.......pink cloud pleasure mania. It's not quite happiness, although it can be easily confused for it. It's certainly not a bad thing, and you're actually hoping you can stay on Cloud Fuschia forever and ever and ever. But alas, this is not to be. This a rest and recovery station, not a permanent home. NOWHERE IS THE PINK CLOUD MORE OBVIOUS THAN IN RECOVERING FROM FOOD ISSUES. For example: You're three weeks on raw food and you feel amazing. You've lost six pounds, you're never hungry for junk, and after a long traumatic history with binge eating, you feel in control of your body and what goes into it. Could it really be this easy? Might you finally be free from this horrible shit show?

Not exactly. As soon as you start asking these questions it's time to move into.....

Stage 3, RETREAT DAMN YOU, RETREAT!!!!!
Lasts: as longs as it needs too.

And you were doing so well! Yesterday you were optimistic, upbeat, looking forward to your new life and today you are resistant, surly, and downright combative with anyone who makes the mistake of getting in your way. Your body is feeling amazing without the... (booze, sugar, dairy, cigarettes, whatever, take your pic) but you can't help noticing that your emotional self is...uhhh....pretty fucking emotional. Without the haze of a sugar high, without the release of an hourly nic-stick, you're just strapped in for the Feelings Freefall. It. Is. Exhausting. You're starting to realize that you weren't just eating because you were hungry, you didn't starve yourself for all of those years because you were dieting, and nobody who's mentally well drinks to blackout four nights a week for fun. Something big is going on inside you and it's been there for a very long time. It's utterly terrifying, and you are FULLY WILLING to eat, drink, or smoke whatever you need to MAKE IT GO AWAY.

It may sound gnarly, but this is the stage where the girls become women. Anyone can stay clean on a pink cloud, but every day you stay away from your chosen substance in this stage is a freaking miracle. You're turning within, you're wading through your inner muck, you're surveying your internal damage and decay. You've been sick, really really sick, and you don't know what's going to make it better. DO NOT QUIT BEFORE THE MIRACLE. You are brave and beautiful and as crazy as everything seems, you don't want to miss what comes next.....

Stage 4: REVOLUTION BABY (By way of Acceptance)
Lasts: as long as you'll let it. :)

You give up. You're surrendered to the reality of YOU, not what you think you should be. You need what you need, you want what you want, and all you really know is you don't want to go back to where you were. Regardless of what you're feeling, you're managing to act (and action is far more important than words or feelings) like a woman who loves herself deeply. Your body expects and wants wholesome foods and your mind doesn't argue. You engage in some serious downward dog when back in the day you would have been binge drinking. You still stumble here and there, but you KNOW it's all good. You're feeling more protected and nourished then you have in a very, very long time and you have the courage to live in the present moment and not in your fantasies. You feel your feelings and then get on with your life.

This is totally the stage where the student is ready and the teacher is appearing. You'll start meditating more, examing toxic relationships, and reaching out to new soulmates. Your creativity will be at an all time high, and you are truly firing from all cylinders. ENJOY THIS SHIT. Just enjoy it, you've freaking earned it! Healing hurts bad sometimes, but did you give up? Did you cash your check? No, you did not! You rock, in a big way, and no one knows what the future holds for you. Whatever it is, it's guaranteed to be beyond your wildest dreams.....

Into the beyond, my beloveds.

Ingenue

Counting, counting, counting days......

Alright that wasn't fair. I know it totally makes it sound like I've relapsed, but seriously, I loved counting days. It was a very special time, although a time I have no intention of repeating. God willing. Still, there's something magical about a ninety day bench mark. The bible says, "Give it but a season" (that's ninety days for you atheists out there) and while I usually gloss over the finer points of the Holy Word, they've made a believer out of me there. In three month's time, miracles can happen. In three month's time drunk girls can morph into sober chics. Anything you can commit too for 90 days can be safely considered for a lifetime.

So imagine my joy when the effervescent Raw Divas suggested a pre-spring 90 day cleanse! HOOK A SISTER UP. This has been a winter of All Things Cooked and Sugary for me, so I need to release some toxins in an epic way. Cleansing for me is one of life's greatest joys. I have a tendency to attract spiritual clutter in my day to day existence, so periodically, I need to STOP and let go. The beautiful thing about cleaning out your body is that the rest of your life follows suit. You find yourself emptying out your closets, cleaning off your desk, and letting go of old dogma that no longer serves you.

It's like working The Steps on your saddlebags.

And this is a really beautifully thought out detox too. It's called....drumroll please.......

THE 90 DAY STOP BEING SO OBSESSED WITH WHAT YOU EAT DETOX

I know, right? Freaking Brilliant.

I have huge, beautiful, life changing things ahead of me this spring and I need some space to welcome in the new parts of myself I haven't met yet. So here I go. Detox/Cleansing is a HUGE way to let the Universe know, you're open for business. And Universe, I am so unbelievably ready for you.

So I will be posting my adventures in produce here. Day 1 has been filled with:

Cantaloupe and Grapes
Beet/Carrot/Apple/Spinach/Dandelion juicies
Spinach/Avocado/Cashew Salad
Coconut Shake
Raw Vegan Oreo (num num)

The only rules for right now are religiously avoiding Dairy and Gluten (two MAYJAH disgestion stressors) and loving yourself into absolute oblivion. But check out these chicks for yourself. They'll give you the proper lowdown and they're worth supporting. To Self-loving women out to make the world a happier, healthier place? Can't beat it.

http://therawdivas.com/blog/

When was the last time I told you I loved you?

Now.

Luv, luv, luv youse.

Ingenue

I'm tellin all of y'all,it's a SABOTAGE!!!!!!!!!

Well this is a fucking fabulous day. I'm eleven days off cigarettes, three days of all sugar and refined carbs, and one glorious day into my period. I actually feel like I have the flu, but what that actually is, is anybody's guess at this point.

My body is crying but my soul is flying. Somehow, insanely, no matter how bad it hurts right now I'm holding on. The truth of the matter is that I'm tired of being a smoker and frankly scared of the obvious damage I'm doing to myself. When I was younger, I could shake that shit off. I had no fears of painful and drawn out deaths, I was impervious to Quit Smoking Campaigns. I was surely unbreakable in the way that all alcoholic adolescent twenty somethings are. Now, it's all changed. I hurt in places I never hurt before. Compulsive behavior eats away at my sense of wellbeing and I know how to set my addictions aside (work those steps baby).

I'll admit that the decision to give up sugar so early into my smoking detox came as a total shock to me. Yes, I do frequently surprise myself. I've always been desperately sugar sensitive. I just don't react to the stuff like my other girlfriends do. One chocolate inevitably means 15 chocolate and a crying jag and some sort of sugar hangover the next morning. And shakiness, nervous tension, and irritabilty until I have some more. Remind you of anything?

It's always been like this, but I think smoking was somehow disrupting the full cause and effect of my sugar binges because when I quit puffing, that blood sugar ride got DEADLY. I actually passed out on my bedroom floor after I lost a fight with some Magnolia Cupcakes. Blackouts? Passing out in my clothes? REALLY? I'm sorry, but that's a little too close to active alchie-ism for my comfort. I'm going to have to tap out.

So I started reading some of the OA stuff (the resident sugar abstinence geniuses) and I identified left, right and all over the place. Although I don't have a weight problem, I have no control over the amount I eat when sugar is involved. I lie, I hide, I do all kinds of weird shit to obscure my eating habits from inquiring minds. So giving it up was a no-brainer, but still scary. No smokes, no sugar, no sanity? Is that sort of thing even possible?

Well thankfully for me, it's VERY possible. Because here I am doing it! And I feel so lovely and authentic that whatever cravings and discomfort pop up along the way, I KNOW that a cigarette and a snickers bar are not gonna make a damn thing better. Just like when I counted days....I have that same knowing.

It's totally revitalized my sobriety and I'm so proud of myself. I have no will power whatsover, but willpower in this sort of situation does you no good anyways. What's needed is willingness. And this I have in spades......

What I can't do for myself, I'm willing to let God do.

Et voila. No smokes, no sugar.

Ingenue