Life on this Saturday night presents me with the ultimate choice of pelting over to my persistent cough or cheating with my lips to a drag of a menthol cigarette. Youth's relentless invincibility won me over as I pulled my bird's nest into a messy ponytail secured a new bright yellow rubber band.  I found myself somewhat presentable in a pair of flannel boxers balanced with a huge UCLA heather grey sweatshirt.  Thus giving a reassuring nod at the girl looking back at me, I figured I could counteract odd looks with a loud sniffle and teary smile that could be interpreted in one of two ways:  Horribly dumped or the love of looking like a normal woman from her natural habitat. 

While blaming this wretched virus could work to cover this past weekend, the truth just sits here.  Eating the neighborhood market out of all their canned beef ravioli only contributed to my hibernation.  Quarantining myself to my room to avoid spreading my sickness to other weaker immune systems has only plunged me deeper into my thoughts.  That damn unsurmountable state of unfilfillment which has hovered around me for the past several weeks.  It didn't matter whether I was silently alone or surrounded by individuals, I am lonely.  And I knew I was the only one with the cure.

But my head hurts enough during this intermission to fully feeling the effects of those precious meds I just ingested.  In the truest sense of immediate gratification, my Saturday night drive for the perfect comfort food and smoke-induced artificial high awaits.  So with a quick spritz of an expensive birthday present on my still beating pulse points,  my right hand instinctively picked up my keys.  The familiar jingle made my heart skip as at least my stomach anticipated fulfillment. 

Presently my mind is devoid of thought except for hazy remnants of the new it jailbird Martha Stewart. Ah the dirty secret is out as the nefarious genius of domesticity holds a recurring role in my dreams. Blame it on the late night ritual of reading the news or my zealous passion for cleaning and aesthetics. But unfortunately the blankness isn't from practicing the Zen concept of no-mind, but due to the overwhelming number of neurotic thoughts scurring upstairs. 

Despite exaggerations of the Stewart stronghold in my dreamworld, a restructuring of my everyday living dominated for the past month.  After reburying my face into my favorite pillows eager to reenter my dream, it turned out I lost my mental bookmark it during those three seconds I left to help my mom.  Instead snippets of lighthearted convos floated by when it hit.  Those precious, fat teardrops slid down as I allowed myself to feel the sorrow for the mishaps of my year.  Except if it weren't for the spots of a darker shade of purple leftover on my pillowcase, it could been passed as a dream for the departure was just as rapid as the arrival. 

While truth lies in big changes equating to openings for even bigger opportunities, those tears were refreshingly overdue.  And they seem to best answer the question repeated via every form of communication for the past three or four consequtive days:  Are you alive?  Thus considering most friends know of my periodic retreats from society, the sheer act of confirming my existence over and over usually signals the time to declare mutiny over hermitism.  So guess its time to join the world again.

He blinded me.  The golden aura blanketed me with an inexplicable warmth.  It was that almost artificial glow that only seemed possible in dreams or under careful supervision of lighting technicians.  His rays warmly enticed me as I found myself spiraling into its magnificant abyss.  Simultaneously euphoria coursed through me.  Yet it wasn't the usual cautious euphoria I developed after my early twenties when I was led by idealism embodied in the form of impossible expectations.  This new feeling beckoned me to uncharacteristically invest faith, almost like a catalyst for me to relinquish control.  I wanted to trust it and simply let go.

Then I realized letting go wasn't such a good idea as my car almost french kissed this massive SUV parked on the street.  A half-smoked cigarette gingerly placed between two fingers was automatically thrown out.  After repositioning both hands tightly on the steering wheel, my eyes turned into slits.  Yet halfheartedly trying to recapture the moment, I flickered my finger clockwise on the volume knob for Diana Krall to serenade me even louder.  But my mind had moved onto higher grounds as it pondered fast food breakfast delicacies for my consumption as I drove directly into the light of my second sunrise of the week.

p.s.  dedicated for my girlfriend who checks my pulse through these writings.  miss you!

when things were simple.

Given the past 4 to 5 months have consisted of greeting sunrises alone, my shaking bed couldn't mean anything good.  Damn.  My hand limply dug into my twisted down comforter to locate my security pillowcase.  Then my scowl melted into a silly giggle as the worn out cotton fringe brushed against my fingertips.  Almost able to hear my sister shaking her head and smiling at this too familiar scene, I couldn't help but smile back.

Then the faint, blurry image of an overnight bag perched at the foot of my bed prompted suspicious thoughts to run across my head.  It led to an interrogation for another affirmative breakup confirmation from that Russian for the umpteenth time.  My sister nodded quickly inserting a comment about her internship uniform.  Forcing my eyes open, there she stood in an updated version of her old Blockbuster uniform for her internship.  Unconvinced yet tired of caring, I slammed my eyes shut as if it would magically stop me from caring.  A wistful sigh escaping me caused my sister to pause.  That sugary nostalgic glaze probably passed over her eyes as always when we reminisced of Glendale. 

1998 was the faithless first summer home from college.  By week two, words like trapped, caged, help ran through my mind quite often in Glendale.  Being nineteen sans license in LA while tightly clutching onto a social life equating to one licensed but carless boyfriend was somewhat limiting.  Yet summer's sweetness yielded the satisfaction of making a few choices.  Movie titles for this week's 5 free movies courtesy of my sister's Blockbuster perks.  Perhaps lunch would be a salty pastrami from the dingy corner deli.  Was there time for that last afternoon cigarette before my mom came home.  Or my favorite was mentally scouting locations for the boyfriend and I to do it but mostly all that was needed was the sign that the parents left for work for it to be a perfect day.  Things were just what they were.  I miss it.

My favorite deep red bucket hat I wore today now sat floppily on the passenger seat.  Giving it a sideways glance as I swiped a old napkin across my dash, it looked tired.  Maybe even a bit wilted. Such a contrast from its fiery self when I first delightedly donned it on my head after passing a mere George Washington to the Gap employee.  Or perhaps it was just the beads of sweat clouding my vision as I fulfilled my sudden urge to clean my car interior in sweltering heat.

Trying to shake the sand on my floor mats from that day at Zuma Beach is when that feeling washed over me again. This sense of immediacy has been encapsulating me.  Applied to finalizing my revised resume to crazed early dawn searches on the Internet for the last two episodes of my Korean drama.  Funny thing about that is that I missed it. It being my determination to keep moving forward, which had slipped into oblivion for the past three or four months.  The familiarity of that facet of myself comforted me, and quieted the teeny tiny voice that questioned whether it/I would ever be back.

This process of life.  But as one of my favorite xangans reminded me:  Timing is everything.  A time and a place for everything.  With that in mind, I rolled my napkin into a ball as my effort to clear all the scatters of cigarette ashes was fruitless.  I restacked my growing collection of stolen airplane barf bags, and reinserted them into the backseat pocket facing my unknown drunk passengers.  Then I stuffed my head into my old hat before noticing it had been lightly scented of leftover chicken burrito that had been seated next to it.  Ew.