How To Prepare for the Camino De Santiago

This was my Thursday night.

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Melanie on Growing Up

I admire his straightforwardness – I really do!  It’s the people who skirt around truthfulness that piss me off.  I am more apt to respond nicely to this text, then I am to someone who’s hiding their intentions.

He showed me respect by being honest, I’ll give him that.

The real creepers out there developed a way of asking these questions without actually having to ask them.  And if I call them out on it, they get all defensive like I’m the bad guy.

You will be less of a creeper if you’re honest.  And respectful even!  I know how crazy that sounds, but it’s true.

People who aren’t honest, judge themselves more than anyone else.  They control the situation with  their ego, hiding the truth from others and even from themselves.  Whenever anyone’s not being honest, friction is bound to happen.  Friction, judgements, accusations, anger….

How do you find your honest self?  With self-actualization.  And how do you become self-actualized?  Confronting your true intentions.  The ego keeps us from ever really knowing ourselves.

The ego is essential for spiritual growth and evolution.  It is the reason for all our suffering and without suffering, we will not strengthen or ever know the true meaning of bliss.

And bliss to me, isn’t about giving hand jobs.

And hey, I’m not one to judge.  If people are into that sort of thing, let them be into it!  There’s nothing wrong with it as long as nobody’s getting hurt.

For me personally, it’s just not my thang. It really doesn’t matter if I do or don’t, all that matters is that that’s not how I want to define myself (or be remembered).  It’s like taking away that special something, and turning it into something mechanical and bodily, not spiritual.

I’m a mind, body and spirit kinda gal.  The universe won’t synchronize to my beat otherwise.

Anyway…

That monk from my dream really did do something to me.  My heart is open, my faith untouchable, my compassion expanding.  It’s like I’m sitting back with a cold lager in one hand, my blog in the other, and I’m just sitting back taking in the show.

We all need each other to remind us to let go.  We are learning from one another how to love and respect.   No one can ever hurt me again, no matter how bad it gets, nobody will ever be able to cause me pain.  I have too much compassion and understanding for any of it.  And even if I do manage to get hurt again, I roll with it.  I roll with it and it polishes me somehow.

None of it matters.  None of it matters simply because nobody see’s the truth.  If you’re on the receiving end of emotional abuse, you are no better than the abuser – you are both playing the same game.  Compassion is what keeps you tied, but it’s also the answer for stepping aside.  Self-actualization shows you where you are attached and where to let go.  Compassion for yourself is the thing most liberating.

One of my old friends called me up today.  One that I haven’t spoken to in years.  She told me that I sounded more mature, like I was all grown up.

Me – “Really?  I feel more mature.”

I haven’t thought about it until today, of how my awakening is showing on the outside.  I still act like my normal self – I’m still the same person.  But there are subtle changes taking place.  So subtle even to me.

It makes me think that we’re all children until we learn how to take responsibility.  And for us to take responsibility, we must conquer our hidden fear of those who hold authority or power over us.  We must become the person of authority (authority over ourselves).  Growing up is about believing in yourself.  To feel that you’re entitled to be here.  You have a voice and every right to be heard.

This is the reason for my inability to speak in public.  It’s also the reason why I get nervous on my birthday.  I feel that I don’t deserve to be celebrated, or that I don’t have any right to speak in front of a large group of people.  Believing that I do have a right, is tied in with spiritual awakening.

Stop asking permission when it comes to matters in your own life.

Once you get over the hump, you are free to play with it.  You start to see yourself crisper, to be fully connected with the movements of your body and verbal expressions.  You are in the drivers seat.  You can dance and sing better, communicate better, create anything…better.

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The China buffet

A Chinese buffet restaurant in the United States of America (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My Mom calls me from her cell phone.

Mom – “Me and your Father are sick.”

Me – “Why what’s wrong?”

Mom – “We ate bad food at the China buffet.”

Me – “Oh geez.”

Mom – “Your Dad has stomach pains and I have the runs.  We’re not going back to that place.”

Me – “That stinks.”

Mom – “We’re bringing you home some.”

Me – “What?  Why?!  You guys got sick!”

Mom – “No, no they made it fresh.  We made sure.”

I’m eating it now.  Shrimp and scallops.  I’ll take my chances.

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Melanie the Master Watercolorist

Imagine a universe where there exists no purpose, and time stands still.  Imagine a place having no matter or gravity, no stars, nor moons and only two known dimensions.  Nothing really exists, and nothing matters.  It’s a universe built upon silent illusion.  Now I want you to visualize what that universe would look like.  The image most people come up with looks something like this:

I signed myself up for introduction to watercolors in an adult ed class.  It only cost me $100 for 8 classes!  I’m there with a bunch of menopausal women who fan themselves in the freezing school room, then complain that it’s freezing.  They’re awesome.

I signed up to learn to paint with watercolor because it’s a vital step in my grand scheme of taking over the world…eh hem, I mean becoming filthy rich and living in a mansion.  I have this idea you see, an idea so brilliant that it was never thought of before – I searched Google and no, I’m the first one to think of this angle to take over the world…eh hem, I mean paint watercolor paintings in an adult ed class.

I really do have a good idea but in order for me to make it happen, I need to become a master watercolorist.  There is no other way.  Well, there are other ways, but they aren’t as fun.

As luck would have it, painting in watercolor happens to be the hardest medium to paint with.  Detail?  Bah, who needs it, right?  No wait, I need it!  Me!  I’m a detailed drawer.  I draw in the very finest points mechanical pencils can produce!  I hide myself in the details.  I control what you see.  And now you’re telling me to be vague?  ME vague?

Well, I guess my outward appearance can be vague.  It’s all part of my allure, my mystery – and honestly I can’t help it.  Even when I think I’m being completely honest and forthright, people view me as being cool – and I don’t mean that in a cool way.  But hey, Enlightened people can’t help their own complexity, or simplicity rather.

Shut your damn ego trap girl.

As you can see from my depiction of what a storm looks like over a farm house, I have lots of work cut out for me.

My classes are Mondays, my only day off to spend with family and friends – well, too bad sucka’s!  Mellie’s gonna take over the world!  Eh hem, er, I mean paint purdy colors with watery pigments – yay!

Yesterday was a fine day.  It was the first time in months where I was able to sleep until my normal waking hour of 12 noon.  I got an oil change at Economy oil and the guys working there are nice enough to suggest parts that my little ol’ slutty escort needs.

“You should have new wipers put on.”

“Do it up baby.”

“You should change your air filter.”

“We better get started on that then.”

A young man sitting next to me giggled.  He probably mistook me for a sucker.  Pffff, I’m no easy sell little man.  I just like spending money.

Every time I get my oil changed, the guys replace a plastic zip-tie that bears the responsibility of holding up the steal frame of my car.  When that zip-tie breaks, Essie starts sounding like a box spring getting some action.  It’s fun for her until we both parish in a fiery blaze of inundated fury.

I tenderly pat her on her dashboard – “Hang in there old girl, you still have lots of miles in you.”

I think I need to attend an AA meeting, anthropomorphism anonymous.  Hey, why do they call it anonymous if they make you stand up and state your name?  Not only state your name, but admitting you have a problem too?  That doesn’t sound very anonymous to me, no sir it does not.  Don’t you agree computer?  Computer agree’s that I’m right.

I just chatted with my new next door neighbor moving in to the cramped office on the other side of my wall.  A very handsome construction worker.  And lordy mercy me, he’s even nice!

Around this time last year I massaged a man named Martin.  I massaged him twice and both times I fell in love with him.  Anyway, I won’t get into too much on that since I’m not the mushy romantic type, but it’s suffice to say that I sort of puffed him up into being my illusory soul mate.  EW, I know right?  I’m so lame.  The worst part of this is that even when I meet a hunk of a man such as my new neighbor, I always say to myself, “He’s nice but he’s not Martin.”

If I ever do find myself with the desire of getting hitched, this fake man I created into my fantasy world will far surpass any real man I find.  It’s absolutely absurd, but there you have it.  Actually all this talk about men and love is absurd to me.  It is NOT nor will ever be my priority.  I have Martin as a friend on Facebook and I honesty think I looked at his page maybe three times – three!  This just goes to show that it’s not him I love, but the idea of him – the one so easily concocted in my head.  Either that or I’m not much of the stalker type.

Yuck, enough of all that.

I’m listening to Ani Defranco on Pandora radio.  Is she singing or talking?  WTF is this?  Ahh here’s a good song, Portishead Dummy.

What was I saying before McDreamy rudely interrupted my personal me time?  Shit.  It’s gone.  Hold on.

Scroll up…..

Ah lol, oh yes.  So yesterday was a day where I felt the true fruits of my labor.  And it fizzled over into today.  I received my new work uniform in the mail – an $80 top sold specifically to those in the spa industry.  It looks to be an asian wrap-around frock.  It’s one size too big, but still looks a hellova lot better than my frayed polo from Vista Print (don’t purchase uniforms from Vista Print, they shrink and fray and the collar gets all wonky, you know what I mean?  Ignore the fact that I wore and washed it every single day for the last 6 months.  It was warped in three weeks).

So today before work, I pumped my gas in style.  And when I was done, I hopped in Essie and pulled out into the rain and turned on the wipers.

“See that Essie?  New wipers!  Yes ma’am we are living large.  Ha ha living large indeed.  Me and you.”

I really need that AA meeting….

Speaking of AA, I so should have drank beer during the days I thought work was killing me.  They have a perfectly good refrigerator here and guess what else?  No one is here to tell me not to!

This week is still pretty stacked up, but I have gaps such as now.  These gaps are all that I need to keep me happy.

I loved most of my co-workers in my previous 20 plus jobs, so I hate to say this but, oh how I love this time with myself!  I love being able to see people when I choose – and not have to worry about gossip, overachievers (god how I hate overachievers), or the annoying ones that never shut up.  And I love the fact that if I am being gossiped about, I don’t care!  I don’t freaking care and I love it!  I feel the most stable I ever felt – stable and not feeling guilty or confused about anything.

My new lesson I learned only two days ago was to have compassion for myself.  That will be a whole different post and I definitely will write about it.  I also want to write about how to unlock your creative genius – I know how!  I’m still tapped into this never ceasing strand of understanding.

My brain these days is off the hook.  Or possibly off its rocker, I don’t know and I don’t care.  Anyway, the important thing is, I feel I have much to write about.  I have this passion for sharing everything I learn, everything I’m taught.  I use the word “taught” because it’s not me who’s figuring all this stuff out, but it’s something bigger than me that’s actually telling me.  And that’s part of the creative process, but I’ll save that one for another day.

I also learned that all knowledge is derived from experience.

A conversation I had with my client today:

Client – “It’s hard to trust doctors when they end up doing something that hurts you.  And you don’t say anything because you think they know better and know what they’re doing.”

Me – “Doctors are just regular people like you and me.  They’re no smarter or wiser and they make mistakes and aren’t always considerate.”

Client – “Yeah I know!  They don’t know what they’re doing!”

Me – “Nope, not a clue.  I mean it’s one thing if they seen from previous experience what exactly is happening to you, and they can apply their learned knowledge, but most of them have no idea.  Book learning is very different from actual understanding.  I believe that all knowledge comes from direct experience and that doctors have no experience being in your body, so in essence, you have more knowledge about what’s going on in you than your doctor does.

Client – “Oh my god you’re right!  I never thought of it like that!”

We were talking about those electronic impulse devices that you stick on your body.  I bought one from Groupon and when I placed it on certain area’s, it hurt!  I mean it really hurt!  The manual says to remove them if you feel pain.  His doctor never informed him of this possibility, and so the poor guy suffered through it.

Me – “You have to have more compassion for yourself.  Sometimes it’s not about having compassion for others when it’s you who needs it.  You find your self-compassion and you find your voice.”

Client – “Is it okay if I scooch up a little?”

Me – “Yeah of course.”

Client – “See I did it!”

Me – “Yeah but nobody likes a nitpicker.”

I didn’t actually say that last thing,  instead I said – “It’s funny how our brains work.  30 seconds from now I would’ve forgotten all about you asking to scooch up, even though it was something you had to think long about.”

The guy is one of those self-consious types, too afraid of speaking up.  I am too, or was rather.  I just recently learned why that is but I’ll save that for later.

Anyway, my last client will be here any minute so…..farewell turds.   I mean turtle’s.   Lovely turtle doves that is.  Yes that’s it.  Farewell my lovely turtle doves.  Turds are short for turtle doves.  It’s my pet name for you.

Later turds!

Your friend to the end,

Melanie

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Melanie’s Pervert Policy

Okay, so I’m a massage therapist with my own practice and few days ago an old man exposed his withered manjigglies to me.  I’m not embellishing when I say that my stomach contents rose up to touch my tonsils.  I became worried that once the vomit passed my tonsil threshold, it will land on his own two dangling tonsils that lay between his legs under a flap of flab.

He came in bearing his own washcloth from home.

Dirty old man – “I have restless leg syndrome so I can’t have anything on my legs.”

Me – “Huh….”

Dirty old man – “I brought my own towel for draping.”

He had a folded washcloth in his lap.

Me – “How big is it?” (I meant the washcloth)

Him – “Well, I brought two different sizes in case you’re not comfortable with this one.”

Me – “Do you wear underwear?”

Him – “No.”

I told him there’s no way I’m going to massage him using only a towel for a barrier, and he clearly got upset but wanted the massage anyway.  It was during the massage when he exposed himself.  It’s horribly disrespectful and annoying.  It’s more annoying than anything to deal with someone like that.

I had a cancelation in work today, so I made a few improvements to my business’ webpage.  I added a few new pages, one being a Pervert Policy.  I don’t care if it’s not professional.  I don’t give a shit quite honestly.  I’m someone with little patience and can get quite aggravated and snarky – actually making fun of these people to their faces.  This is something that I have to NOT do.  I must avoid bringing this frustrated Melanie to life.

Here’s what my Pervert Policy looks like on my business site:

PERVERT POLICY

See that?  That’s a picture of me with my Mother when I was a wee little lass.  Aren’t I cute?  If you look close enough, you can see that I’m actually somebody’s daughter.

I’m also somebody’s kid sister.

Please keep that in mind if your intensions are not pure and you’re planning on taking advantage of this wee little runt.

Pervert Policy #1 – I will NOT answer calls from blocked phone numbers.  You can leave me a message with your name and number so I can call you back.  This is my first line of defense since perv’s typically don’t leave numbers.

Pervert Policy #2 – If you do get me on the phone, questions about draping is a RED FLAG that you are a perv.  I don’t and will NEVER drape using towels.  I use sheets and only sheets.  Haranguing me about this only amplifies your pervertedness and you will get hit with snarky remarks because I can do that.  I’m the business owner.  Also asking me what kind of lotions or oils I use, I found to be an indicator of perversion also .  Why this is?  I have no idea.

Pervert Policy #3 – I can refuse service to ANYONE at any time before or during the massage without giving an explanation.  If you want an explanation, please refer to my Pervert Policy.

These policies are enacted as a way to preserve the sweet innocence of the child pictured above and below.

Real Vampires?

English: blood, human, splatter, drops (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sometimes I type in weird search terms to see what comes up. Last night I typed in “What happens to you if you drink human blood?”

And I got directed to a forum of freaks. Here are the top two freaks:

Peter I would suggest you check out these sites vampirewebsite.net and izidari.blogspot.com it may seam far fetched but do the research those sites should help. They helped me I’m not gothic emo or anything of the sort. I drink blood I get it from a clean source, and no It doesn’t make me ill actually quite the opposite gives me strenght and it keeps me foucsed also my skin takes on a much healthier glow see normally I’m really pale.. any who I hope those sites help you.. =) I know a lot of people reading this are already thinking I’m looney tunes but I’m not I’ve been to a psychitrist I’m sane but I am a real vampire, and no not like the myths and foklore, and I won’t die without blood but I won’t be in best health… oh and peter before jumping to conclusions really read those sites and be honest with yourself and ask many questions before you go around claiming to be a real vampire..

Read more: What happens if you drink your blood or someone else’s? How will it affect your health? | Answerbag http://www.answerbag.com/q_view/1068142#ixzz2MfwvbUYm

And number two:

well i dont know waht is rong with me cous i have neaver hade a craving for blood or wanted to be a vampir like this so if there is any one out there that can exsplain to me what is happing to me i will be happy

Read more: What happens if you drink your blood or someone else’s? How will it affect your health? | Answerbag http://www.answerbag.com/q_view/1068142#ixzz2Mfx8efU5

I got bloody noses constantly as a kid and so I drank my fair share of blood. Tilting my head back only to have it drain down my throat is not considered a fond memory.

Anyway, I have tons to write but no time to write it in. This week I’m completely booked up again. I seriously want to cry. It’s never ending. The best visual that captures what I’m feeling is one of tossing a nickel into a bottomless wishing well.

If only I can drink a little blood to get me through the week….

Does menstrual blood count? I can suck on a tampon like a popsicle. Would that make me a cool vampire?  Would Bella from Twilight still look sexy if she was caught sucking on a fat super plus until it ran white?

Wow Mel, you nasty.

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Rumpled Crumpled Smelly Ol’ Me

I’m gross, really I am.  I stopped blowdrying and straightening my hair for at least a month now, I don’t put any product in it.  I look like the unkempt little girl I was at 12, playing obstacle course with boys like in American Gladiators and running around the backyard with bb guns and our faces painted in camouflage.

I wear no makeup, wear the same clothes every day and I haven’t washed my World of Warcraft hoodie in like, EVER.  I wear it every day.

My mothers been using a lot of fried peppers in food lately, I wipe my greasy mouth on my sleeve.

A nice man all decked out wearing a fine suit always says Hello when he passes me – he says hello to me and as soon as he walks away, I dig my pinkie into my ear.

I have the feeling he has a crush on me – really man?  Come on now, furrealz?

So yeah, I’m gross.  I’m not proud of it, okay?  I go out in public like this!  I go to bars, restaurants, the mall – I don’t give a shit.  That’s the problem, I can’t make myself care.  I never cared.  It’s like having one  more thing to worry about, one more thing to occupy my brain – and we all know I don’t need anything else in there.

With all my life experiences, all the jobs I had, people lost, friends gained, places visited – Everything I learned throughout these 33 years takes me back to feeling like a kid all over again.

To love, to be loved, and having fun are all that’s important to me and it makes me feel like that little girl playing kickball with the boys and having a play wrestle fight.  It’s always for play until the older kids start betting on us.

My favorite activity is going to the food court in the Meriden mall and ordering orange flavored chicken from Panda Express, then buying a video game at Game Stop and I go home to play and eat for the remainder of the day.  To play, to eat, to not have to think or do or be.  It’s spectacular.

Panda Express (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A husband and kids?  Me?  I just don’t see it happening, I really don’t.

It’s Sunday and I’m waiting for my first client to arrive.  I’ll be massaging for 6.5 hours today.  I don’t wanna, no I don’t wanna.  Anything over 4, I get moody and work starts to feel like work.

First 3 clients done.  This is killing your poor old Mel.  5 days straight it’s been like this, and the week before that I massaged about 30 people if not more.  I’m so tired.  Yesterday I had an hour break in-between clients due to a cancellation.  I laid down on my massage table, rested my head on a pillow, and listened to my guided meditation tape.

Laying on my massage table with the ambient lights and table warmer may just be my new favorite activity.  Nothing beats it.  When you’re as worn out as I am, it’s absolute heaven.  I fell asleep within 5 minutes and kept waking myself up by either snoring or not breathing.

My forth client is here filling out paperwork.  Hey look at me, I’m typing and looking busy!  Yeah I’m one busy bitch.  One wacky crazy zany bitch.

Fourth client done.

Fifth one here filling out paperwork.  We are talking about the weather.  I’m able to type and talk about the weather.  Can you do that?  Pfff….what – EV.

Fifth client done.  I’m faded completely.  That last lady was moaning during her massage.  I’m learning to ignore these things, moaners make me anxious.

I’m scarfing down a bowl of rice before my last client gets here in 8 to 12 minutes.  Again with the salad dressing….Really Mel?  On rice?

Anything tastes good right now.  I’m famished.

Ahh yes finished with rice, now to sit and relax.

Yessss….

Vape on my electronic cigarette – wow it doesn’t take much to make me happy.  Take your time last client, no rush.  You don’t even need to come in!  Please don’t come in oh please oh please don’t come in.

If he was paying full price I would want him in here, but he’s just another groupon client.

Damn that rice and salad dressing…..  My stomach’s making weird sounds.  I need to go to the pee palace.  Damn he’s here.

Okay, I’m okay.  It’s 10am the next day.  My last massage yesterday was brutal.  It was 90 minutes of exhaustion and having to poop.  Do you know what that’s like?  Well, I won’t be the one to tell you.  Use your imagination.

I’m crabby today.  I have to give a massage at the spa down the street – that’s why I’m crabby.  It’s my day off!  I don’t know how to politely end his Monday massages.  I’m such a coward.  I feel like once my business slows down, I won’t mind giving him massages on my day off, but that’s only fear talking.  Fear telling me that I still need a second job.  I’m not trusting myself – thinking that my business will fail so I need a backup.  And as it happens with all fear-based choices, misery follows.

I can’t get angry at anyone but myself.

I tried once talking my way out of it, but he didn’t get it.  I wasn’t being clear or brave enough.  It’s such a tricky situation, it really is.  Next time I go out to eat with my co-worker, I’ll ask her what I should do.  She seems to always have good advice.  She’s really smart.

I’m still tired.  I’m going to eat breakfast and go back to sleep.

I need to start reading more, so I’ll put my blog on hold for a while.  I mean it this time.  At least a few weeks to devote myself to reading and finishing up with my groupon clients.

Damn, my cell is starting to ring with clients.  On top of massaging 40 clients a week, I have to answer emails, calls, texts…it taken me a good half hour calling back only three clients yesterday!  Each of them keeping me on the phone for 10 minutes.  30 minutes gone.

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Melanie Misses Herself

An example of a British-style crossword puzzle. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I made $527 dollars in these last two days and you want to know what I really want to do with the money?  I want to buy a flatscreen tv, an Xbox and the newest Fable game.  I want to turn off my phone – not just switch it on silent.  And I want to wear big bulky headphones that weigh more than my head.  I want to game.  Game hard and long for weeks and weeks.  Not having to think or worry about a damn thing.

Today is February 16, 2013.  It’s 12:09am and I just got home a little while ago.  I found myself reading old posts from two years ago and good lord I laughed so hard I cried!  I had no idea I was writing funny shit like that, no idea!.  I knew it was a little “ha ha,” but I was freaking crying out laughing!

What happened to that girl?  I mean seriously?  Damn…That’s a damn shame is what that is.  You caught me at an odd time in my life blog.  That transitional period into my 30’s.  My transitional period (or life rather) can best be described with visualization.  Try visualizing a grown child checking off her years by filling in the blanks of a crossword puzzle.  All the same answer, all the same word.  Linking together to spell out;

D U M B A S S.

I would’ve been better off skipping high school altogether and working on a farm tending to pigs, or getting black lung in a mine somewhere.  I no doubt would be more of a woman if I came home smelling like pig juice and coughing up my lower left lung quadrant.  But no, instead I surrounded myself with people of my own age group and nationality during the most soft-headed influential time of my life, and succumbed to that adolescent culture having nothing to do with anything tangible.  People grow up, but I grow something different.  I don’t grow up, I grow strange.  People are strange when you’re a stranger.

Life happened is what.  I don’t want to change!  I miss my old self.  I was freaking funny and didn’t even know it.

Life happens out of the norm, takes my spirit to other worlds and out comes this bizarre new oddity that is me.  Do I know any better than I did?  Is it for the best, this change?

I feel like I have a choice.  I can either go back to being that funny care-free vixen, or continue on this path of discovery.  I remember having to make this exact same choice when I was 18 and had that crazy experience when I saw God.  He was an immense white light – a conscious, powerful white light.  It could have been God, or it could have been my higher self, I don’t know.  I wrote about it a few times before and don’t feel much like writing about it again.  After that day of seeing the light, I made a conscious choice to stop digging around.  I didn’t like it and it scared me.  But now I’m faced with it again.  Do I keep digging?  Will I lose myself entirely?

It’s like peeling the layers of an onion.  Eventually, there is no more onion.  That’s what this feels like.  It’s not only me that’s the onion, but the universe as well.  Prying away the pieces, letting them fall away, left discarded.  I disembody everything to the point where everything is found to be insubstantial.  Meaningless.

I need to, I don’t know….Find a balance somehow.  I need to merge these two Melanie’s.  When I was under the influence of ayahuasca, she told me that the spirit world is a combination of spirit and physical.  That it takes both sides to build off one another to make it into that higher dimension.  It raises up, like 3D.

I have no idea how.  I have no idea what the hell that means actually.  But that’s what she told me.  Maybe there’s a place for my ego after all.  It’s sort of my signature, in a way – my blueprint.  It tells the story of who I am, where I been, and what I’m here for.  To have that all fall away now, would leave me with no identity.  So how do I merge the two?  All this is extremely complicated for me to even grasp.

In the words of Peter Griffen – “I have an idea so smart, my head would explode if I even begin to understand what I’m talking about.”

I would rather do math.

Anyway, I gotta sleep.  Tomorrow is going to be another freaking long day.  Why do I insist on blogging at night?  I can’t sleep when I do this!  I’m going to pop in a tylenol PM, stick a tampon in me.  I’m done.

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Things that make you go Huh

wet (Photo credit: whizchickenonabun)

Don’t you hate it when you have to pee so bad that you run to the bathroom, unclasp your pants, unzip and you go to pull down your trousers, only they won’t budge and you end up peeing your pants and ruining the rest of your day?  Don’t you hate that?

A lot of dress pants have a hidden button that is easily forgotten and overlooked.  People don’t like to talk about this button because it is a reminder of all those times they wet their pants.

Take heed of this cautionary tale.

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Melanie writes while she’s stoned!

English: Calcified cyst of pineal gland in CT. Deutsch: Verkalkte Zyste der Glandula pinealis in der Computertomographie. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My Mother has a 30 pound tumor growing out of the lower right side of her abdomen.  It just hangs there like an obese unborn fetus.

Mom – “I’m finally getting rid of this damn thing!  Isn’t that great?”

She grabs it and jiggles it around.

Me – “Yeah Mom that’s great!  It’s about time.”

Mom – “Have you ever touched it?”

Me – “Ew no I never touched it. Why would I do that?  No way.”

Mom – “Oh come on now don’t be a baby, just touch it, come here touch it.”

Me – “No I don’t want to touch it!  I don’t wanna! Please oh please god no, Momma  NO!”

As I was struggling and saying this, she grabbed my hand and pressed it up against her belly.

Just me and a thin piece of sweater separated us.  I could almost feel the mutant fetus inside her stomach communicating to me telepathically.  “It’s okay dearie, I’m not going to eat you.  Please be a pal and make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?  I’m a growing girl.”

I was reminded of the YouTube video of the fat lady with three demons in her stomach.

Me – “Ugh, no waahaa.  No wh-wh-why-eee-eee.”

I literally squealed as if I was being tortured by a sadist putting my finger in a cigar cutter.  Seriously, I sounded no different than if I was about to have my finger severed.  I squealed, stomped my feet and turned my head away.

Again, is it my inhibitions holding me back?  If I learned to let them go, would I actually enjoy feeling my mother’s obese 30 pound fetus monster?  Or is it about people disrespecting my boundaries?

These are some heavy questions.

Mom – “Geez you’re such a baby.  You’re just like your father.”

Anywho, in other news…

Today was an unexpected treat out of the ordinary.  I had the entire day off!  My phone rang like an angry bitch, but still – an entire day off!

I hung out with my adorable peruvian client last week.  I get these strange premonitions where I feel it’s important for me to attend certain events.  Like it’s a calling, a destiny or a benchmark in time that will lead to innumerable events that change my life forever.  I felt it when I was asked to go to the Gold Club, I felt it for just about every job I ever had, and now I feel it for the camino.

And it doesn’t just effect my own future, but can effect everyone in my radius.

Or maybe I just have nothing better to do and have nothing holding me back.

Anyway, my little pal wants to do charity work.  That’s an example of what a great person she is.  She asked me to volunteer at a shelter in the Bronx with her today, but it was called off last minute hence the free day today.

So, this free day was a blessing.  It’s already 6:08pm and the day is flying by way too fast.

“What can I do today that I’ve been putting off?  Oh I know, smoke pot!”

Okay, I’m going to make this quick.  Cannabis Sativa is having a very strong pull on me recently.  You know, the Mary Jane, the Devils Lettuce, the wacky tobaccki that Mathew Mcconaughey smoked in that one movie he was actually good in.  Yeah, that stuff.

There are so many healing benefits to smoking weed.  It is shown to grow new brain cells and even fight cancer!

The main reason why I want to romp around with Cheech & Chong is for the spiritual benefits.  When I was doing ayahuasca, the DMT from the medicine activated my pineal gland.  People from all around the world has singled out the pineal gland as being the third eye (it actually has a lens, cornea and retina).  Descartes described it as the seat of the soul.  It’s said to be the place where the soul enters and leaves the body.

Can this also be said about Mom’s monster tumor fetus?  Only the fetus know’s that answer.

I’m very sensitive to what goes on in my pineal gland.  I have crazy experiences that happen without any facilitator let alone ayahuasca.  Weird things happen to me and I have no idea why.

Pot is one such facilitator in activating the pineal gland.  It facilitates it by raising melatonin up by 4000%.  Melatonin is the pre-cursor to DMT which is released in the pineal gland naturally.

Basically when I smoke pot, I feel I have access to a higher level of awareness.  A place where I can easily read people’s thoughts, emotions and intensions.  I can also visualize stories I’ve never seen, only heard.  I can fully grasp and feel exactly what is happening inside a persons head.  I can whole-heartedly understand them to the point where I can no longer separate myself from their own thoughts.

Weed has a very powerful effect on me, and I’m curious to see if I can manage these higher states of consciousness.  And if maybe I can learn from them.  It brings meditation to a whole new level.  Honestly, I’m just plain old curious.

So I went to Lifestyles today in Waterbury, the armpit of Connecticut, to buy a bong.  On the way there, Bob Marley played on my radio and I felt so hungry that I went through the drive-thru window at taco bell.  I NEVER in my life went to taco bell out of my own volition.  I’m not yet a pot smoker and already I’m morphing into one.

People think of me as a hippie.  I have that hippie vibe.  But I’m not a believer in free love, The Grateful Dead, or floating around everyday in an amniotic fluid haze.  No, I’m not a stereotypical hippie sprouting peace signs and unshaven armpits.  But I am in essence, a true hippie.  I believe in love, peace and higher consciousness.  I’m not bound to greed, power, ego – I don’t care what people think of me, or how they view me.  I’m the real deal.  I want to smoke pot not to escape from anything, but to enhance everything.

However, if I was enhanced when I touched Momma’s chub monster tumor, I don’t think I’d ever recover from that.

Okay I’m High.   It’s 1:23 am and I’m high.  I have to be up at  8am to give 5 massages.  Weird.  Weed is so weird.  I want to eat.  I want to vape my e cig.  I feel like i have to be eating or something.  I’m watching family guy.  okay, so am I meditating and focused?  Am I closer to understanding god?  weed is nothing compared to ayahuasca.  diffinately not the same thing.  I can not think straight when i smoke weed.  i got caught up with too many distractions.  i feel i can reach zen right now because i know exactly what would clear my mind.  I know every thought that pops up.  Wow insane.  do I want to reach zen?  so crazy how our minds are so caught up in this physical doo that we can’t let ourselves go.  I see it so clearly.  I cant clear my mind because I’m too scared.  I can’t pin what I’m scared of.  slipping into death is what’s most frightening.

this is strong stuff.  I bought a bong today, never used it before now.  Never had this weed before or any weed for that matter.  I’m a lightweight and very sensitive.

weed takes you wherever you want to go.  whatever you want to think about, it takes you there and immerses.  ripping apart any topic.  Why did I take so many hits?  I’m such an idtiot.  Really.

I know that I’m not typing that well.  I’m not spelling correctly.  I don’t feel like caring.  Stupid weed makes me think way too much.  Okay, so far too me, it feels like weed is a tool for meditation.  To have no thought.  Man I’m so tired!  Weed knocks me out.

Anyway what was I saying?  Oh yeah, total meditation man.  It’s nothing to do with focus though.  Impossible to focus right now.  but weed is helpful in seeing where you’re mind takes you when you aren’t looking.  My real fears in life, my face feeling like a mask as I grow older.

I can hardly keep my eyes open.

What do I really want to do right now?  lets think about this!  It’s 1:40 am and I’m awake.  Why?  I’m exhausted completely, can pass out any minute and yet I’m here typing.  Shit blows my mind.  Shit BLOWS my mind!  I feel I havent consumed enough of the the day yet.  I must eat, I must drink, I’m not satisfied quite yet.  That’s why people have insomnia!  They are unhappy in their lives so they stay up until they feel safe enough to sleep.

Damn I’m having these nutty thoughts that seem so mind blowing, things I wouldve never even considered important, and I’m seeing them now like for the first real time ever.  Like, certain muscles in my body tense up for no reason.  Why?  why those muscles?  Like right now I’m finding it impossible to relax my neck muscles.  I’m afraid to let go.  Afraid very similar to letting zen happen, the nonthought of your brain.  As long as I have thought that I need to get out, or need to consume, I will never be able to loosen my neck muscles.  Holy shit I can type fast!  I mean seriously!  I never noticed this before, but I can type faster than the computer can keep up.  I type a sentence, and there is a small delay to what comes on  the screen.

I’m faster than the computer I’m faster that the computer i can see myself typeing faster that the compter can keep up.

Okay, I’m not that fast.  Well, I don’t know.  It’s not happening now becuase i’m thinking about it too much.  Now it’s not happening.

Super sleepy.  I want to go to sleep, I really do.  So why am I still up?  I’m sorry, call me crazy but this is blowing my mind!  There is not one reason why I should be up.  The fact that this is happening astounds me.

I havent consumed enough.  That’s what it is.  I’m not satisfied.

I need to breathe.

Weed lets me see things differently.  Any way that I want really.  My self, this girl we call Melanie is all jumbled, so I don’t see things the typical Melanie way anymore.  It’s freeing, but confusing as hell.  What to think about is the thing?  Do I have any questions to ask the great and mysterious cannabis plant?

Thats the thing, can’t focus.  My mom made ham and pickle and thats all I can think about.

A while ago I went to Ocean state job lot.  For those not familiar with Ocean State job lot, its like the Ritzy version of a dollar store.  It has the cheapest possible items for the lowest quality.  I bought crackers there last summer and those crackers are sitting on my shelf, opened many months ago and they are gross!   Why am I thinking about eating them?  I worked at a cafe once where I was in charge of cleaning my half of the kitchen.  I had opened boxes of crackers up in the cabinet stored there for maybe two years.  Someone ate them and vomited immediately after.  It was a banquet staff, so it was okay.  I didn’t feed them to a customer.   lOl Omg why does that make me laugh?  I couldvn’t fed them crackers to customers!  If that happened you know how much trouble I would be in?

Oh man.  So high.  Do I really want to write right now?  It’s 2:04 am.  I’m going to vape my e cig for a minute and watch another family guy.  Hold on.

I’m a one hit wonder.  One hit is all I need.  I think I taken about 5 tonight at least.

What is it about weed that makes me want to accept everything about me?  If I accept myself right now, I can enjoy myself and be happy.  If I think too much about what i can’t control, I can never be happy.  I have to let it take me and not be ashamed.  I think this has to do with those inhabitions I was talking about earlier.  Yes I knew they were important!  I mean, important in letting go.  You have to let go to be happy.

I wish I can be in someone’s else’s brain for a while.  So I can see how they’re thinking process differs from my own.  But thats kind of impossible isn’t it?  Does this pot alter my state or just amplify my own existing personality?  Nothing is different, only more of the same, but amplified.

Yawn.  I have not vaped yet.  It’s 2:12 and I have no concept of time.  This was a bad idea.  No, no I’ll be fine don’t be silly.  It usually wears off after an hour or so.

Oh just remember that I bought a bunch of quinoa on amazon.  They are already cooked and I can eat it right out of the container.  I’m thinking yeah.  Oh yeah quinoa.  But then I have to put my blog down. Will I miss anything if I put it down?

WTF I always get insomnia when I write at night!  Why did I start this?  I’m going to save this draft and I’ll re-read it tomorrow.  Or why don’t I publish it now?  What am I scared of?  No, no I’ll wait.  I’m not scared to hit the publish, it’s not about that but to write well, it’s all done in the editing.

Here’s what I’ll do, I’ll edit the part where I was sober and I’ll leave this part where I’m high.  I won’t edit the high part.  Besides, I’m doing this as an experiment anyway, right? How will I ever know the difference if I don’t keep the original of high Mel?

Crazy, I just went back and re-read what I wrote and everything makes perfect sense to me.  Will it make sense to me tomorrow?  I stand by everything I written as making sense.

Family guy is freaking funny.  I need to eat my quinoa.  Hold on.

Pot is definitely nothing like ayahuasca.  I had complete control and focus of my thoughts.  Honestly, ayahuasca was the best experience of my life.  Complete clarity.  No ego.  I have ego now, I’m all ego.  Weed has you’re brain rewiring and thinking differently, but it only rearranges, doesnt add anything or take away.  With ayahuasca, you’re ego is no longer present, just pure knowledge.  Weed is not giving me pure knowledge.  Only making my brain work more it seems.  It’s working more, and less at the same type.  All because I can’t focus!  It’s skipping around everywhere, working profusely and yet it’s not fully in control.  It’s working less in that its coming to no conclusion.  There is no final conclusion to any thought.  My  mind feels its working less because it can’t figure anything out.  I know nothing.

Well, I like writing when I’m high.  I really like it!  The problem is, it will no doubt keep me up at night.  This hugely sucks.

Okay, weed is good, totally awesome.  But it’s a substance that I’m not able to control like I control myself with beer.  I zone out and think and forget everything That I’m supposed to be doing.

I’ve been sleeping okay lately because I got myself in a routine.  Habit makes things easy.  Pattern seeking drift wood is what we are.  But if people only knew how they’re own addictions and unsatisfaction in life can keep you up.  If people were awake for that and not drifting, than maybe if they listen to what they’re thoughts are telling them, they can figure their shit out.

Writing helps me sleep.  Well, as long as I don’t write near bedtime.  I sleep better when I write a post during the day, like I accomplished my something creative for the day.  It’s satisfying.  Food doesn’t have that satisfying effect on me like writing does – thank god!  I would be in trouble.  I was up to 150 one year when I was hooked on chips and salsa every single night of the week being unemployed – oh man, bad times those were.

Okay I should really sleep.

I’m gaining slight control over my thoughts.  Not sure if it’s because I’m coming down off the high or I’m just getting better at adjusting.  Still not the same as ayahuasca.

I need to remember to breathe.  Is it breathe or breath?  Have I ever thought about that before?  Yes, yes I have and I always forget.  I think its the breathe that has the long e.  Wow can’t believe I don’t remember.  I remember remembering but now I forgot.

I can totally choose how I would react to pot.  I can be the experience, just as my dream foretold.  And now all I can think about is sleep.  I wish I didn’t have 5 clients today.

Chris Griffen is hitting on a girl with down syndrome.  Oh man this show is bad.

I feel like I need to empty my thoughts.  Weed will help me in getting it all out.

Meg just queefed in the bath tub with Stewey.  So bad.

Okay, its 3 am.  This stuff was supposed to put me to sleep.  I drank a few beers tonight too.

Wow the down syndrome girl is a bitch.

Okay, going to bed now.  Nighty night y’all.

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