I think we’ve come full circle. The parent is a child and the child is growing up. And because I am patiently waiting now, and only a little worried and not very scared, it seems my father did a good job.

i have been struggling with myself this year. i have tried to be silent when all i want to do is tear my hair out in frustration and scream until my voice disappears.

yoga is a good place. i can escape the world and dive into myself. but the more i discover about myself the scarier it gets. what if i go to far and not like what i see? if i keep practicing will i be able to learn to accept who i am regardless of what kind person i may be?

fights are shorter now, but they are often explosive and start because of some stupid reason. i am so tired. but sometimes i see this glimmer of what we once were to each other and i dare myself to hope.

he’s always mad about something everyday and he doesn’t see it. he does not notice how he yells at me or how he walks out on me in midsentence. there is a problem but he just doesn’t want to do anything about it. so i’ve been keeping quiet. i don’t say anything anymore because if i ask him to please not say bad words or give the bad sign to the other car in traffic, he will only get mad and say bad words all the way home. everyday when i ask him any question at all he answers me with an “i don’t know” and a shrug of the shoulders- that makes me so mad i want to stab myself to end my suffering.

i am not a patient person, but i have been waiting. in the back of my head i keep thinking about how it got this bad. i still get stupid nightmares about past hurt. the memory does not hurt as much but i hate when it comes up. maybe we’re not meant to be together because it’s too painful and sad and lonely and he’s far too angry with me over something i don’t know i did. or maybe he just hates me.

There is much more to my head. And I am relieved. I was afraid that marriage and work has reduced me into a whining helpless bitch. But it hasn’t.

I have been writing P through snail mail and I have found great happiness in it. I am grateful to have a friend to write to and who writes me. I am happy to have someone who appreciates all the little words I want to write.

I am happy to have a friend like F who knows that giving me a moleskine will compel me to write. And even more thankful that he can sit in the passenger seat of my car and be supportive about my driving. He’s mostly unhinged, but he’s the kind of quiet that makes me feel better about being myself. He’s the guy who waited for me to take photos of barnacles, even when he thought it was stupid.

I still write about being married and about work. And I’m still unhappy about my relationship with my husband. My friends will never understand why I still wait for something good to happen when things have only gotten worse. But I would like to wait, because maybe the man I fell in love with is hiding underneath the mean and angry man I go to bed with every night. I really want to wait and I would really be grateful if my friends could just be supportive and not say I told you so.

I look back and try my very best to see that I am actually something now compared the person I used to be, but I’m not something. I’m honestly not anything at all. I’m still lost. I’m still stubborn. I’m still angry. And worst of all, I am still so very lonely like no one would ever believe.

I think people think I am ungrateful for the things I have received over the years. I am not. And I talk about what other people think like it should matter when it never does. I always end up doing whatever the heck I want anyway. Not that it has made for a happy life. But it’s important to me to do what I want with whole hearted selfishness. And so why I have been putting my life on hold for another is a mystery that I will probably never solve in this lifetime. I have gone completely bonkers over this marriage. Turned myself inside-out-up-side-down for a man who could not care less. Jeez, we’re not even friends. (my definition of a friend is someone I can expect to dump my problems upon when the stress is too much for me to bear- either by unreasonably complaining about something at the top of my voice or just stupidly crying about it while said person just listened -and no, that’s not all a friend should be, but it is the first thing my friends do for me. they don’t really have to fix the problem, they just need to help me clear my head about whatever crap I’ve gotten myself into. and I do get into a whole load of crap all the time. so no, just to be clear, the man I am married to is not my friend at all, he’s the type of person who gets mad at you when you’re completely freaked out about something bad someone did to you.)

So now I am thinking, maybe this is the year to make a big change. If I can muster the courage to just do what I think I should have done years ago. But I am so very afraid, because in the deep dark honest recesses of this stupid person is a stupid kind of want that rejects all reason. I am completely f*****.

So here’s to turning thirty and feeling fifteen. Uncertain, foolish as ever, and doomed if I don’t make it.

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I think my head had this idea that if I came running to the husband I would get empathy at least. But this head is stupid. I think it was the worst thing to do at that moment. Or any moment of need for that matter, because:

1. the husband is unable to empathize

2. the husband is in the middle of a koreanovela marathon (full house- aza aza fighting!)

3. the husband does not understand the value of my files

4. the husband does not know how to make me feel better when I lose stuff

What is it with me? Why did I think he would fix the bad feeling? Why? So then, after realizing how stupid I was, I cried. But I don’t think I cried enough because I still have this stuffy chest and my throat is all tight and uncomfortable. And all this emotional crap is just blah.

Why do I want him to make me feel better? Why? It’s the stupidest thing in the world to want someone to make you feel better. It’s childish and sappy and really really stupid. And it never works because I want to be made to feel better a certain way. In all of my stubborn stupidity, I don’t think I’ve met anyone who has been able to just erase my bad feelings.

So then I started thinking about all the nice and warm and happy things I’ve known and one thing stood out. I was sitting on my single bed in my first apartment. And this boy and I was watching tv. And then this boy fell asleep. While I think he was sleeping (I will never know for sure) he put his arms around my waist. (yes folks, once upon a time, I had a real waist that could be seen even when I sat down) I was surprised that it did not tickle because my middle is a picky middle and touch always turns to tickle. He was warm. And for that moment, all was right in my universe.

So now I go back to that moment when I used to be able to just sit next to the husband and feel like I was home. It feels so far away. I think we’re falling through the cracks of time. I just want this husband to please be that one person to come home to. I just want him to be that friend I can’t stop talking to. I just want him to be that one person that keeps the loneliness away. But he’s always so far away. He’s here but he’s never here.

My friend celebrated her 4th wedding anniversary this year, and on her facebook page she wrote: Happy four years. 2010 marks the fourth year of our wedding too but I’m unable to write happy four years. I was unable to write anything at all. I think I had expectations and hopes and dreams. Four years later I am drowning in my own tears. What is wrong with me?

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I was two decades too late. In the 1960′s the Manila Bay was blue. Blue. Blue like the sparkling sapphire. Blue like the San Francisco sky. Blue. Real blue. I cannot say enough of how blue it was. It was so blue I was amazed that no one was swimming. How can people not flock to the water when it was so blue?

In 2000 I joined a dragon boat rowing team and we trained in Manila Bay. On my first day they made me jump off the boat as some sort of initiation right. I did not jump off, I stepped off. I was afraid that jumping will stir up too much muck. Instead I inhaled deeply (so as not to sink too deeply), shut my eyes (so as not to get dirty water in them), stuck as much of my lips as I could between my teeth (to avoid getting water into my mouth), pinched my nose tightly and then stepped off the boat gently. It has to be the single ickiest moment of my life. The water was slimy and it felt like it took forever for my head to break the surface once more. And when I surfaced I felt sheer terror. Fear of the germs and disease and what was clearly the city sewage that I was swimming in. I almost panicked at the thought that my unprotected girly parts were in the water. Ah but I went rowing for an entire school year there after. Talk about insane.

It is so sad to see the blue that once was and sadder still to have such a bad memory of the place that used to be so beautiful. In the books Manila Bay was described as a long beach. I wonder how the sand disappeared. And I wonder how many other places like that were destroyed by idiots like us. Compared to this destruction, my anger pales……Tags: anger, beach, manila bay, 1960, philippines

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I think it is creeping up into my head. I imagine it would be like the dark side beckoning. I refuse to be Vader. But when I think about it, Vader seems better because his darkness is clear. I can see that Vader is what he is. Senator Palpatine however, is like an auto-immune disease. Pretending to be the antibody I need and yet heedlessly killing off my healthy cells. It sounds harsh, but my mother is just like Senator Palpatine.

All my friends think that I am such a lucky daughter. They all tell me that I should stop being bad and just be nice to my mother. They all think I did mean things just because I was being a stupid immature rebellious child. But while I was stupid, the decision to stand up to my own mother was not a childish one. I believe I am fighting for the right to receive fair treatment, the right to my own choices, and to receive the respect I deserved as a human being. All my friends think that my mother is a kind and caring person towards her children. God knows she could have done so much better. If she had been but a fraction as kind, I think my siblings and I could have had some sort of happy childhood. She is not entirely void of love. She does care, but her iron fist is physically demanding and her words cut through the heart in ways one must not even dare to imagine. I sound like I am exaggerating. But you will never know what it was like unless you suffered with us.

I think I understand why my father said he was unable to mend his relationship with her. I think I understand why my mother is unable to try to make their marriage right. But for the longest time I had been hoping that they would either make-up already or separate because the clash of the titans has driven us all to madness.

While my mother resembles Senator Palpatine, my father was far from perfect. But I will be honest. I like my father more than my mother because I can talk to my father without being judged. He is able to listen to the dumbest of things that I say without calling me stupid.

I will probably get more crap from writing about this. But I am trying to manage my anger and this is extra unsaid burden that I don’t need right now. So I don’t care. Anyone can say what they want to say. I know what it was like being my mother’s child. And I believe she has broken me beyond belief. But because I care, I have been treating her well for the past months. It is with great effort that I do so because I really don’t want to be like her when I get older. I am afraid. I don’t think it’s possible to be happy with a person like her. Maybe I don’t understand who she is. But what she does are things that I pray I would never ever do.

So here we are, four siblings resembling damaged goods. A walking atomic bomb, a compulsive liar, a spineless panic man, and a wordless passive aggressive.

I wish I could blame my Senator Palpatine for all this anger. But I should have seen it coming. From the time I was seven I knew things. I should have been able to release the anger in a healthy way. But I didn’t. Instead, I chose to write in my diaries. So now here I am, nearing thirty and not a day more mature than when I was seven years old writing in the notebook I begged to have with messy tear drops all over the pages.

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Laundry days are bearable. Laundry days are necessary. So I do it.

Laundry days become the source of rage when the husband has a difficult time choosing what clothes to wear. (which is every single day- in this, he is more the girl than me and I find it taxing to watch him fit a shirt and toss it back in a crumpled heap in the closet.) I hate it. I spend a lot of time and effort steaming clothes, folding them neatly and tucking them away neatly. It usually takes half of MY day and this slob of a man un-do’s whatever I made so much energy to accomplish!

My dream solution would be:

1. To have separate closets so far apart that I won’t ever see his mess.

2.  To never fold his clothes ever again.

It’s probably not a good reason to get angry. But I am tired and frustrated and this laundry lady is completely unappreciated.

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I think he is channeling my rage.

Last night we had another incident that involved the poodle trying to steal people food from the husband. I didn’t know the dog was doing something wrong, until I put my foot in the wrong place and my toes received an attempted bite. (attempted meaning: I felt the teeth but there was no wound.) The husband spanked the dog and the dog turned into this vicious bare fanged monster. So then, the Wookiee was sent to his room without his toys.

I love Finn. I am happy we have a dog, but for the love of all dogs, I have no idea what we are doing wrong. So I tried to talk to the husband. He was, as usual, non-responsive. Like I was bothering him over nothing. But I love Finn and it’s not his fault the marriage sucks, so I tried. I think I was able to strike a deal with the husband that instead of spanking and yelling, we would talk to Finn calmly and spray him with citronella water whenever he does something bad. All I got was a dead ‘okay’.

It’s just sad, what this has come to. And I hate that our friends think that the proposal was so cool (because it was underwater and the husband is claustrophobic and hates the thought of depending on SCUBA for breath). What’s the point of a grand declaration of love if the love is lost within a few years? We started dating in mid 2002. That makes almost eight years together. Have we finally had it? How do people do this?

But this is about the dog. I have been thinking this morning. The nice little dog woke me up by licking my face. He was so sweet. So I said, dear God tell me how to take care of this dog because I don’t want to have to give him up because of his aggression.

Ah, but answers don’t fall from the sky. If they did, I wouldn’t even be like this.

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I was trying to remember the guy I married. In the car today, I was supposed to be in pilates class but the husband was yelling at me so much, I couldn’t stop crying. He said it was my fault. It probably was. He would not have turned into this stranger if I had not done anything wrong.

But I keep thinking about what I tried to do to keep things from falling apart. I do believe I have tried. And I honestly resent the sacrifices I’ve had to make to give him what he’s asked for. They were painful things. And today I am sure I have not gotten over these things.

I regret trying to get pregnant immediately after the wedding. I truly believed I was ready, until I found out I was already pregnant. When I found out I was pregnant, I panicked and thereby realized that I was not ready. After realizing I was not ready, we lost the baby and for the longest time I was convinced it was my fault we lost her. At this moment I believe myself when I say I know it was not my fault we lost the baby. But it still feels unfair that I was pregnant with a baby that was never mine. I think that in some ways I still think it was his fault we got pregnant when I was not ready. I trusted him when he said he was convinced we were ready. I am sure he was. I wasn’t sure I was, but because he said WE I believed him and let myself get pregnant. It is for this reason that no matter how many times he tells me we could try again, I refuse. I am not ready. I don’t know when I will be ready. But I don’t want to try and get pregnant again just to find out if I am ready. I prefer to wait until I am sure I want a baby before I try again. If he is unable to wait until then, that is my fault and no one else’s. 

I regret not writing as much about my problems with being in this marriage. I was trying to get away from the prying questions from the people in my life who read this blog. I was trying to protect the husband from friends who ask him about our marriage. So today this post changes that. Or tries to. If there is anything left to save at all.

I regret giving up scuba diving for architecture. I had to skip scuba in order to review for and take the architecture board exams and to work with my husband on his design and construction business for which he has no place for me. It is exhausting and depressing for me. He likes it. He enjoys it. I don’t like the job he gives me. I don’t believe in the husband’s management system. I want to improve some things, but he refuses and everything ends up in arguments over chaos that I did not create to begin with. I tried to convince myself that passing my board exam was for my father, but it really was not. I tried to convince myself that passing the board exam was for my best friend, but it was really not for her. It was really because one night, while we were drifting off to sleep, my husband told me it would be so good for us if I took the architecture board exam and got a license. The bottom line is I have been doing all the architecture stuff for him and it does not make me happy. We always fight about the work. And I am just so tired. It’s not that I am not grateful for my license to practice architecture. I am grateful. I believe I am privileged to be in this profession. But I would like to practice on my own terms. I would like to be the kind of architect I respect. Not some pushover with a license whom anyone can just order around to sign and seal things. I was happy to pass the exams. I’m just not happy with the kind of opportunity I am given, to participate in my husband’s company. I believe my professional opinion should matter. And being in a company where people refuse to hear what I have to say as an architect or manager will never be good enough for anyone.

I regret asking my husband for help with my anger management problems. While it is true that I am way over my head in the temper department, I never should have asked him for help. First of all, he refuses to listen whenever I tell him I have a problem with exploding anger. And when I say exploding anger, I mean a volcano eruption that intends to wipe out everything in its damn path. I hate myself when I get so angry. The Lord God knows that I have always tried to suppress the anger long before it reaches the critical boiling point. But I almost always never succeed. I have tried countless times to tell the husband nicely to please not bother me because I am mad about something and I am trying to stay calm. But he always meets it with his own brand of anger. He thinks I will stop getting mad if he gets mad first. But it never works and I boil over completely. I am lucky to just be yelling. But some days, at the peak of anger I want to bang my head against the wall just to make it stop. Of course I have not cracked my skull just yet. But I am so scared that it is just a matter of time. I think the sad part is that he does not see that I am so afraid of my own anger. Each time I get mad at him for something he does, he equates it with something else. He does not see how much I struggle with myself. I know that the anger is not me. But it is inside me and many times it has taken over and I have felt like someone else altogether. I have been unable to process it when it comes. I feel helpless. I am starting to believe I am a psych case.  Well maybe I am.

Today I was beginning to get mad when he got mad at me. He kept saying he was mad at me for saying something because I got mad at something he did. He kept telling me to shut up. He kept saying I should just shut up so we will never have any problems anymore. He kept saying I should forget about anything he does that makes me mad so that I won’t get mad anymore. The whole time he was yelling and I don’t even think he knew he had been yelling at me. I could not even look at him. The tears just fell. Thank God for the tears because it’s harder when the tears don’t come when all I want to do is cry. I asked him if he wanted to break up. He did not say no but he got mad and said I wanted to quit. But I am just so tired of explaining myself to someone who does not try to understand. I am tired of doing what works for him. I want to do things that work for Me. I have tried his methods of forgetting and shutting up and it has only brought me to sitting on top of this angry monster inside of me that threatens to take over my life. And I keep thinking, what will happen to me if this monster wins? I want to fix myself so that I can stop looking over my shoulder all the time. I could not believe that I was married to a man who did not care about how my anger was eating me up. He did not even say that he was going to help. All he said was that I should fix myself. Even when I was begging him to please please please help. And when he spoke he spoke about work things that needed to be done. The pain was terrible. How could I want to be with this person who refuses to help me? I hate him as much as I hate myself.

He told me he could not remember the last time I told him I love him. He said I tell him I hate him all the time. I could not remember the last time I told him I love him. I can’t remember the last time I told him I hate him. That makes me the worst wife ever. But I can’t remember the last time we made love either. All I know is that he has refused sex too many times so I have stopped asking and have resorted to just trying to forget about it. I haven’t had a real kiss in months, and it is not that I have not tried to have a proper kiss. He always says he has a mouth sore and should not kiss. I think that this marriage was over a while back. I wish I was the kind of wife who cheated. Then maybe I could have taken a lover and used the love I got, from whoever that man could have been, to patch up the empty places of my relationship with my husband. But that would have been the saddest of all, wouldn’t it?

I think he expects me to be the perfectly sane, stable person who will always be happy and perky everyday. Which brings me to, the first thought I have everyday when I wake up – "I want to be happy." But everyone knows it is not always a happy day. You want it to be happy, but it is not always so. You try to make it happy but the world is never yours.

I don’t know him anymore. I can’t think of a reason to stay married. But I wish I did not have to break up with him. I have this hope of making it work. But it is very small and shrinking every day.

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To my surprise the lady blurted out: "ano yan sheep?" (what is it? a sheep?).

I stammered and said: "ay hindi, dog siya." (oh, no, he’s a dog.)

She looked at me like she could not believe it was a dog. I smiled again and said ‘bye. She continued to stare at Finn as we walked away.

This evening, for some reason, the husband and I remembered that. And we laughed. Laughter is so precious these days. Thank God for my sheep on a leash.

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I love his fluffy hair. I am so grateful we don’t get mats anymore. I’m planning to keep it short until summer is over. He’s always trying to sneak into the air-conditioned room or lay in front of the fan.

Today is his seventh month. He’s so old already. And he’s started humping stuff..oh dear. We’re considering having him neutered, but the vet thinks he’s got worth as a stud. But I don’t know. Everyone he meets thinks he’s so darn cute. And kids almost always seem to want to squeeze the life out of him.

It’s nice to have a little dog. If I can find a beach resort that allows little doggies to stay maybe I can go swimming with him..maybe..

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He has finally spoken. And in his infinite wisdom he says to me that if I can just stop being so angry with him we will be okay. The problem is, like I told him many many times over the past months, I am unable to rein in the rage the moment it reaches a certain level.

But of course he would have none of that. He thinks I should be able to control my anger because I am almost thirty and I am a professional. I have never heard anything more ridiculous in my entire life.

He thinks I should not be getting mad over little things. I agree. But that is why I think I have a problem – I get too angry. And it does not feel right. And while it does not feel right, I am incapable of stopping myself – as both of us have experienced on various occasions.

Would I be asking for help with something I can deal with myself?

I feel like a fucking addict who just admitted a need for help and was turned away. At this point I do believe substance abuse might be a considerably simpler problem. I mean come on, if I was a smoker I can just smoke for the rest of my life and die young.

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I try to remember how good it had been. I try to reach back in the far corners of my former self to collect moments that meant something – anything at all to tide me over this unbelievably deep rut that I am so mercilessly dumped in. I try to remember what warmth there was, but every memory is so distant, remembering succeeds only in more stinging tears. I hate crying. There really is no point to all the water-works. It never solves anything and it only makes me feel uglier with all the puffy slits that pretend to be eyes and the blotchy nose.

Right now, I like having my face licked and caressing the soft almond colored curly fur. I like the furry warmth in my bed next to me and tiny paws on my chest trying to wake me up. It is my most welcome distraction from this sorry excuse of a life. but wouldn’t you know it, it’s like I’m seven again and all alone with a dozen shadows to talk to.

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I see myself teeter tottering. I am afraid and lonely. How do I explain myself when I am unable to make sense of anything? I am so tired like no one would believe. I am just so very very tired. No amount of reading or writing or pilates can seem to shake it off.

So the other day I bought shoes in the hopes of finding freedom in running. It made things better when I was alone and sick and miserable in college. I think I have a bigger problem now because I am still sick and miserable even when I am supposedly not alone anymore.

I don’t even understand why I ended up here. It shouldn’t be like this. I was supposed to be happy sharing my life with somebody. Instead we sleep with our backs to each other and cold conditioned air in between. There is a growing lump in the middle of the mattress and I am unable to make it go away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I just want to be happy.

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The infinitely annoying smart aleck in him irritates me to no end. I don’t need sass. I have enough on my mind to keep me occupied for the rest of my life. I don’t need someone who makes it his goal to annoy me. There are enough annoying people in my life. I don’t need extra aggravation. God knows I pray for happiness every morning when I regain consciousness. Now wit is something else. But believe me, his answers to serious questions are not witty. I wish they were.

Its a lot like being a balloon that is endlessly inflated until it finally loses the battle and explodes all over the place. If there was powder in it you’d see traces. But because I am not a balloon I rage and wail and throw things. I scream into the pillow, into the wall, bang a wooden spoon on the kitchen counter and succeed in breaking it. I cry too.

I cry mostly out of frustration. I hate being out of control. I was crazy so many times in my life but I was never out of control. All the things I did I did with purpose – whether or not it made sense- there was purpose in it. Even acts of stupidity. But I’ve never had to deal with this much anger. I feel like I am two different people. I am starting to be afraid of my angry self. But this husband could not be begged for help. I tried begging for mercy too. But none came.

So in the darkest of nights I think to myself that maybe it’s time to let go of this relationship. I had hoped to be married to someone who would bring out the best in me. This man it seems, has turned me into this incredible monster. I have never been so angry with somebody, so many times in my entire life.

Did I make a mistake when I married him?

Tags: anger, marriage, relationships, crap

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I wish I could say I had known what it was like to be ready to explode with truth and brutal honesty that I did something ridiculous just to have it out with. But no. Unless you count the million times I saw it in my mind’s eye.

I wonder how many revelations end so well. Half time, the things we choose to hide are usually stuff that will probably hurt or disappoint. Who wants to reveal any of that? Maybe at the brink of death, we might feel that since there is no time to suffer the consequence of such revelations, we might as well spill the terrible beans. But how cruel to share the secret at the end of time! How depressing to leave a path of unknown ache as we pass away.

But where do we get the courage to just come out with it? Shouldn’t our lives be about striving to make it so that there are no ghosts up the attic? Ah but what do I really know?

Tags: must love dogs, movies, secrets, blah

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I tried crying and screaming to let all the frustration out but it has not fixed me.

I just want to spend my days with someone who actually believes that I matter. I just want to live with somebody who will not force me to eat green stuff that I never like. I just want to be with someone who will not laugh at me when I am upset over something.

I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask for?

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It’s Saturday. How can it be the ickiest crap day of my week?

Tags: crap day, bad belly, tummy ache, loose bowels, ick, yuck

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TV1: Beach from sixty40 on Vimeo.

Tags: stop motion video

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People have been relentless in reminding me that the biological clock is ticking – therefore, I should have kids like right now. I’ve said it once before and I say it again and again that it will happen in God’s time. I say in God’s time because I really don’t know when it’s going to be. Some people just jump right into it. Most people just grow into it knowing what to do. I don’t know what to do. Come to think of it, I am twenty nine years old and I’m not so sure I know what I really want. I mean I do want things to happen but I am never sure if I truly want them to happen until they actually happen. The experience is usually different from the dream.

You think you know what it’s gonna be like when you flip the scenes over and over in your mind but when you finally reach that moment you realize that it was never all that you had hoped for it to be. Mostly because you didn’t know that moment as a whole. You think that if you had the snippet you imagined, that would be all there was to it. But it’s never like that. At least not for me anyway.

But I am a firm believer in the best time. I am convinced that things have a way of happening when they’re supposed to happen. Who knows when the exact moment will come? Do I really want to know?

Tags: life, time, experiences, waiting, hope

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But I really don’t know for sure if they truly liked it because it tasted like good paella or if they really liked it because they knew I worked so hard making it.

The happy thought of the day is that it does not matter whether they tasted good paella or my dish full of love, because either one of those things taste really really good! (although I would have liked it to be a technically good dish…)

Tags: paella, lunch, love

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I will be cross posting for a while until I finall decide what to do with myself. I was able to make  Qumana work. Qumana is a blogging tool that lets you write posts offline and works with Typepad, WordPress, Blogger etc. For now I will be double posting entries, as I am not quite ready to let go of my wordpress account.

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I wish I could make everyone try STOTT pilates. It helps with self image issues too because you have to look at your body closely and really listen to it in order to perform the exercises properly. It encourages imagination too. You need to learn to imagine where where your body parts are located inside the space you occupy so that you know what muscles to employ to perform the movements with precision.

I personally prefer the slower movements that include pauses. I like that I move with deliberate slowness and I like that the slow movements make me more aware of each muscle group. It is amazing how many small muscle groups we have on our bodies and it’s even more amazing that there are specific movements that can target just the small muscle groups.

Most people have this notion that STOTT pilates is all about stretching. It most certainly is not. It’s one of the safest exercises we can do because it allows people with back problems and injuries to participate without risking further damage to their bodies. Isn’t that amazing?

If you feel like trying it click here: http://www.vivianzapanta.com/

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So now I am seriously considering moving my blog to typepad.

what do you think?

So if you see me immersed in a book with some weird paper cover, please don’t ask me what it is.

My dog couldn’t stop staring at my shoes until I took them off.

I had no idea that wanting to look like a grown up girl involved so much work. I need to practice with make-up a whole lot more, because my previous practices resulted in my husband telling me that I looked like the Bratz doll.

I had this recurring dream where Karen and I were walking on the sidewalk, dogs in tow, wearing dresses and looking so grown up and happy. I’m hoping it would come true before either one of us turns 30.

I wish we had someone reliable to run the office for us while we are away so that we can take short breaks from time to time. It has been so long since I’ve been with my fishy friends. And my brand new wetsuit is getting old in storage.

I think about the salty water and the fish. I think about swimming with Finn in the cool blue waters.

I wonder how much more of this waiting I can take.

I don’t understand why the sidewalk contractor buried this fire hydrant. What happens if there is a fire?