because i know some very funny and amazing people.

and because it's important to laugh at our own ridiculousness, here are some of the best things i've heard lately, in list form, of course:

1. me: the second we sat down, i just said, “let’s just agree to split the check.”

molly: way to suck the romance out of the room.

yeah.

yeah, i really need to work on this.

2. anna: the woman in front of me is paying with a check. excuse me, 1999 called, they want their form of payment back.

3. my mom: well, it's just that...you can be quite formidable at times. 

   
4. danielle: i'm re-reading Extremely Loud/Incredibly Close and it's making my day better. it really is one of those books that sucks you in to every moment. i underline all of the parts i love and i want to be able to write a story like that one day. that book makes me want to be a writer.

5. amy eileen: your blog should have a soundtrack. or a scent. lilacs, or vanilla, or 'bookstore.'

6. molly:  i'm sure your kids will be the type of kids who have plaid umbrellas that match their plaid rain boots.

me: you bet your ass. my kids will be so chic. have you seen the j.crew crewcuts catalog? it's too much. it's too much for words.

7. katie:  i opened a j.crew card this weekend.  i just couldn't help it anymore. that's what she said.

8. an online magazine where i submitted one of my essays: We are very interested in your Let Her Go piece. Our theme for the spring issue is going to be rebirths/reinventing yourself and I think this is perfect.

9. laura, talking about what she chooses to share on her fabulous blog: i'm confident that ranting without reason simply isn't the way to go.

another thing i really need to work on.

10. "i'm glad i know you." 

addendum: bethenny frankel, about her daughter: i want her to be soft and sweet and nice and not hard and a survivor. 

after work, i get to meet a very good friend for what i'm sure will be a very good hamburger with lettuce, pickles, and extra onions. 

grateful feels so much better than bitter. remember that, rhi.

a trigger.

this quarter i've been taking teaching creative writing every saturday from 10-1:15 in the loop. during this past weekend's class, a grease-stained bag from arby's triggered a memory.

we take a break halfway through the class and one of my classmates always comes back with food, usually mexican. this saturday, he apparently wanted arby's. i remember that feeling.

this classmate looks just like a boy who lived down the hall from me in our dorm, a boy i adored when i was twenty-one; i got two memories in one. i watched this guy eat a chicken sandwich, pop, and fries. i couldn't smell any of it, and for that, i was grateful. i don't need to smell it to remember things. walking past an arby's does it. walking past any place that's bad for me makes me remember how much bad i allowed to take over my life.

smelling it wouldn't make me want the food; i haven't had arby's in close to six years, but it would make me think of all the lunch hours i spent in an arby's parking lot while working at a banquet hall in high school. it would make me think of two giant roast beef sandwiches, curly fries, and a chocolate milkshake.

this was my poison.

i watched him eat the chicken sandwich. i looked at the bag with the slogan, "dig in. big grin" printed on the front and back. clever. but i never had a grin on my face while stuffing warm roast beef and fries into my mouth. i was never happy. i didn't eat to be happy. i ate to get away from feeling anything. i numbed myself. that's what binging is. i sat in a four-door burgundy volvo in a parking lot next to an alley and sobbed as i ate. i hid. then i drove back to a job i hated and ate from the stash i hid in my desk drawer.

it's all about hiding. hiding your food, your shame, your sadness, your anger, your confusion.

hyper-awareness. of food. my food, my classmate's food, greasy food, what i'm eating too much of, not enough of, what i'm wearing, what doesn't fit, what i desperately want to fit, how much i'm running, how little i'm running. all of it. i can't turn it off. and the only thing that turns it off is stopping myself, forcing myself to stop, saying the word "stop" out loud, even if it's on a crowded train. writing about it always helps. i put the words down. i look at them with squinted eyes and i sort through them. i make sense of them. bad days trigger spinning and it never shuts off completely. it's just turned down. i'm working on it. day by day, i'm getting stronger.

last week was a rough one:

i had a dental appointment with a specialist i had never met. i have to see him again this weekend.

i experienced nearly every side effect of the medicine he prescribed me. 

i had two huge projects to finish for my classes, one was to write an essay about italy, a time that brought me such joy, a time in my life where i've never felt healthier. i want to get back there.

i had a date with the first man in six years to bring me flowers. i sat across from him in a booth in a small and lovely restaurant and ordered jumbo shrimp with garlic, apple wood-smoked bacon, roasted red peppers, and scallions. i savored every drop. i ate actual food. and as we sat there and talked and laughed, i realized i can't do it again, not for a while. not even with a kind man who is on time, and opens every door, and pays attention to things. because for the first time in my life, i'm taking care of myself and making room for someone else means less room for me.  i know that there will come a day when i will have balance in my life and a partner and it will work. it. but today, i have to protect my life, this life i'm trying to create and make beautiful and rich. and i have to figure out how to do it on my own. because i know i can. 

too much.

it's just too much.

sunday morning prayer.

lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it.

i can't remember the last time i felt/heard/saw something so beautiful.

a random thursday night list.

because i love lists...

1. two things for which i am counting the days: baseball and lilacs.

2. i want to learn how to bake macaroons, coral and pale purple ones.

3. looking at my favorite blogs every morning and stealing a few, er, thirty minutes on pinterest before bed, these two simple things make me so happy. there are so many ideas and recipes i want to try, especially for book club. i just need more kitchen counter space...

4. my cousin had a baby boy yesterday! william dean. i bought this card at barnes & noble and popped it in the mail this afternoon. will, i cannot wait to meet you. you have no idea how much love and noise await you from these two families. 

5. i have a date saturday night. with a man. a man who didn't say, "we should hang out," or "let's do something sometime." he asked me to dinner and he said, "okay, it's a date." there is not enough time in the day to articulate how sexy i found this. also, said man reads this blog. i'll figure that out later...but for now, i'm not going to change how i do things/how honest i am on here. because you know something? being honest feels really damn good. another thing that won't change: the fact that i will continue to think about outfit options until saturday at 6:45. 

6. parks and recreation+ a conditioning clay mask + pita pizzas=heaven.

7. i want to be friends with bethenny frankel, caroline manzo, and amy poehler. imagine the cocktail parties. Lord.

8. martha stewart now has home office supplies at staples. i'm in trouble.

9. never underestimate the power of shoes. i want to wear my new brown boots forever. forrrrevvvvvvverrrrrrrrrr.

10. i love all of this, except for the purse. i can't do anything with that; it's way too small.

that's what she said.



(photo #2: j.crew)

one day.

dear love,

this. i want this.

love,

me

(photo: amelia lyon photography)

She let go.

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of fear. She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming
around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely,
without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a
book on how to let go... She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her day-timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyse whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual
Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.
- Ernest Holmes

*There are actually two authors listed on various websites. The other is Reverend Safire Rose. I'm not sure who originally wrote it. If anyone has any leads, they're much appreciated!

never again.

last week, i was cleaning my apartment and going through old photos and papers. i found this photo of me when i was nineteen. it's from a family trip to new buffalo, michigan. my heart breaks for this girl.

never again.

p.s. i got rid of the green coat.

sundays are for love.

this photograph by dorothea lange. i just love the contrast: the softness of her legs with the hard things around her. 

  

(photos from pinterest. last one, postsecret.)

a list of letters.

dear van morrison,
please come to chicago. and please play all of astral weeks in an irish pub for me and my friends, nobody else.

dear xrt,
i'm hoping that one of the 119 entries i submitted to win bonnie raitt tickets will be the winner. yes, i'm officially greedy, but i'm in love with you. i'm in lurve with you.

dear ben kweller/ani difranco/andrew bird,
new music. from all of you. is it my birthday?!

dear einstein bros bagels,
i wasn't kidding when i said you should have punch cards for regulars like me. i never kid about sandwiches.

dear green winter coat i should've retired two years ago,
it's been a slice.

dear chris brown,
go away. there aren't enough words in the english language to explain what a loathsome person you are.

dear co-worker who said, "sometimes i just wanna give you some sugar,"
i adore you; that made my afternoon yesterday.

dear may,
please hurry up and get here; i'd like some lilacs to keep next to my bed.

dear anne lamott,
thank you.

dear self,
slow down. just slow it down.

what's for dinner.

For my Travel Writing class, the assignment was to write about the best meal we ever had.

Where, When, and What’s for Dinner?

My best friends Anna and Kevin married each other last year on April 30. The weather cooperated; the whole weekend provided us with perfectly warm spring temperatures, ample sun, no rain. Their rehearsal dinner was at one of my favorite places in Chicago, one of my favorite places in the whole world, a tiny family-owned Italian restaurant nestled on a side street in little Italy. While an undergrad at UIC, I bypassed the student cafeteria and spent many afternoons after class savoring lemon chicken with roasted potatoes, the kind of lemon chicken that will forever remind me of the smells of my grandmother’s kitchen. It’s the kind of lemon chicken I wish I had the recipe for, but they don’t share it; I asked.

Tufano’s is cash-only and they don’t take reservations. Framed photos of celebrities cover the walls, many of them in Bulls and Blackhawks jerseys, as it’s a popular spot before games at the nearby United Center. Next to the famous actors are photos, signs, and flags of the Chicago Police and Fire departments. Walking into the dining room, you see families from the neighborhood, grandparents and teenagers at tables next to on-duty police officers and couples on first dates.

The menu is written on chalkboards on the walls of the screened-in patio and the room where we ate. I love this little detail; looking at that menu made me feel like I was back in Florence, living on a street full of restaurants as beautiful as the Santa Maria Novella around the block from my apartment.

Anna and Kevin sat in the middle of a long, wooden L-shaped table. I sat to the right of Anna and to the right of me were her parents, my second set. I have never seen so much food on a table, not even at Thanksgiving. All of the following were slowly brought out to us: bruschetta, fried calamari, house salads, French bread with parmesan cheese and olive oil, chicken picante w/ pine nuts, mostaccioli, meatballs in gravy, sausage and peppers, fettuccini alfredo with chicken, spaghetti with oil and garlic, shells with broccoli and shrimp, angel hair with marina sauce, Riesling, Chianti, tiramisu, miniature cannolis, and chocolate and vanilla gelato. The second a platter was empty, our waitress, God bless her, was in and out of the kitchen with a refilled tray. No one ever waited for seconds, or fourths.

I sampled nearly all of it, especially the meatballs. I sat and stared at my plate before I began eating. I looked around me, at Kevin’s three brothers, his parents, Anna’s brother in town from serving in the Peace Corps in Africa, relatives from out of state, Anna’s aunts and uncles and her and Kevin’s two year-old nephew. I looked at the White Sox game on the television on the wall facing our side of the table, a table full of love, and I said a prayer of thanks.

In between garlic shrimp and the most delicately topped bruschetta, I took nearly one hundred pictures. With close to twenty-five of us, the back room where we sat was dimly lit, but the icicle lights hanging from the ceiling were more than enough. I had more than enough light to see the black olives, mozzarella, and red onions in my salad. I didn’t need bright overhead lighting to smell the Italian Sausage and amaretto-soaked tiramisu I somehow found room for.

Everything was served family style, which may just be the best way to eat any meal. Passing heaping bowls of steaming hot pasta, with everything slathered in olive oil and butter, topping off each other’s wine glasses, taking that third helping of sausage and peppers you know is a bad idea. But you don’t care because you’re surrounded by people you love and it’s a weekend of marriages. First, at this you’d never know it was there if you weren’t looking for it restaurant, a marriage of home-cooked food and a table of two Irish families, howling laughter, and the sharing of stories. And tomorrow your best friends will marry each other. Fettuccini alfredo will make an appearance there too.

your perfectionism is crippling you.

“you will go nowhere as a writer.”

this is what my professor said to me at 9:20 last night in a classroom with yellow-green walls and lighting designed to make sure no one ever falls asleep. every week, i feel transported back to my pediatrician's office. 

"why is the grade important to you?" she said.

"because i want an A. i've been trained my whole life that As are the goal and i can't turn that off just because this is graduate school and i'm here for writing as opposed to mathematics," i said.

"but why is an A the goal?" she said.

because that means i did a good job, the best possible job. anything less than an A is failure, why can't you see that? why do i have to justify wanting to do well?

"writing is for you, nobody else," she said.

either she said the words, "your perfectionism is crippling you" or i thought them as she politely informed me that i'm doing a lot of self-harm. it's ridiculous that i can't remember. most of my energy was spent on trying not to cry in front of her.

"you need to stop writing to please other people. it's not about giving the teacher what she wants.  do you have bird by bird by anne lamott?" she said.

"i've read parts; it's one of the books in an ever-growing stack next to my bed," i said.

"have you read it? go home and read it. read all of it tonight. bring it on the train with you.  you have this great internal conductor, but you cut yourself off at the quick every time," she said.

i stood in front of her. i drank my coffee. i looked at the lights, at her, at the energetic walls.

i thank her and i leave. i let myself cry for half a block. i miss my bus. i walk into the student center to kill twenty minutes. i sit amongst loud undergraduates and for a second, i wish i have more than a cat to go home to. i allow myself five minutes to wish i had someone waiting for me when i get off my bus, someone’s arms to crawl into so all of it will feel a bit less, just for a little while. someone who will look at my face and know to give me a minute. someone who will know i'm lying any time i say i'm fine. someone who knows to hold me, just hold me after i admit that i'm scared. and my professor is right. and i don't know how to stop. 

i walk the four blocks to my bus. the bus is late. i wait twenty minutes at the corner and see the word FORGIVE is painted on the pavement. i've seen this before; it's been there at least a year. i walk to this corner so i'm not near mcdonald's. i don't want temptation, not after a conversation like the one i just had.

forgive. i think about the word for a second. jim, molly, anna, my mother, everyone tells me i'm too hard on myself. everyone. people i've known for an hour tell me this. i'm not a closed book and i have a horrible poker face. if i'm mad, there's nothing i can do to hide it. if i don't like you, it's obvious. but some people never pay attention.

i should forgive myself.

i should do a lot of things.

i should forgive myself for wanting everything to be perfect, for needing everything to be perfect: my writing, work, friendships. if it's perfect then i have stability. i crave neatness. i crave organization. i grew up in a house of chaos. i escaped into structure that i found in school, in being vice president of this and editor of that. i escaped into controlling how much food i ate, how much i fed myself. it was a lot.

i should forgive myself for staying in things for too long, staying in things i couldn’t make work. it was never my job to make them work; life is not a series of jobs. friendships and relationships should never feel like jobs. ever. things that feel like this bring no joy.

i want joy in my life. i deserve that much.

i should forgive myself for worrying and obsessing over not remembering everything my professor said to me on tuesday night. i worry that if i don’t write it all down, i’ll forget it. it will be a long time before i forget how i felt as she spoke to me. i do the same thing with jim. all of their words, i carry them and remember them at random times. i never forget the big things.

i want peace in my life. i deserve that much.

i want the peace i felt when i emailed molly tuesday and said, "i feel calm about things, more peaceful." i want the feeling i had before going to my professor's office before class and got knocked on my ass. i want the feeling i had before she knocked me down again after class. she wasn't mean about anything; she was honest. i like her. i respect her. i want to impress her. she doesn't need me to impress her. she doesn't care about it. write, just write. you are here to write and if you cannot learn now how to write for you and please yourself, you're in trouble, rhi. big trouble. and no one will dig you out of that hole but yourself.

and you don't ever plan on needing anyone's help. 

how's that working out for you?

it's ironic to tell a perfectionist not to try so hard to be perfect, like it’s a switch. that then becomes something else i MUST do, another job. i'm going to try extra hard to stop trying so hard.  

i get on the bus and i cry. i have a good cry i didn't realize i needed. monday was a great day. tuesday was better and then i met with my professor who cut the shit and was honest with me. she called me on my crap. i sit on a crowded bus at 10:30 at night and feel every part of my body tighten. i feel sadness, worry, fear everywhere.

i get home at 11:00. i feed ruby. i put on pajamas and collapse into bed. everything feels heavy.

"write for yourself. you will go nowhere as a writer if you don't stop comparing your writing to other people and if you don't stop writing for other people," she said.

things fall into our laps when we need them, i truly believe this. i needed to miss that bus so i could walk to a corner, look down, and see this:

life rule #1: pay attention.
life rule #2: go from there.

my love for her knows no bounds.

i cannot adequately articulate how much i love this woman. her heart, her confidence, her voice, her humility, her hair, her laugh, all of it.





step 1: be happy with yourself.
step 2: go from there.

amen.

slowing down.

i had zero desire to step outside my apartment this morning. i didn’t go for a walk, didn’t buy the newspaper, didn’t go to the market to buy fresh fruit. i slept in. until 7:30. i drank a whole lot of coffee, caught up on southland, left chocolate cupcakes and valentines for my neighbors, did laundry, and watched the valentine’s episode of parks and recreation. again.

last night, i had tapas with three girlfriends. i dressed up. i drank white wine sangria with lavender. we rotated plates of herbed crostinis with serrano ham and manchego cheese, bacon-wrapped dates stuffed with sausage, beef empanadas with queso fresco,  the most amazing black tiger shrimp sauteed in garlic and olive oil, and white bean gelato. that's not even all of it.

i am trying, very hard, to slow down. to be more present. to enjoy a saturday night dinner without worrying about how my legs look, how my arms look, how everything looks and feels. the thought of how many moments i’m missing makes me tired. i need to stop. 



an addendum or two:

there is no greater thrill than eating a lovely dinner with amazing women, surrounded by love, laughter, sassiness, and the sharing of stories. friends from home, work, college. there is no greater thrill than having fresh conversations, conversations about the things we do and the things we love.

there is no greater thrill than sitting in a room full of couples and not feeling sad or jealous or annoyed. there is no greater thrill than sitting across from two people at a bar and seeing how happy they are, and being genuinely happy for them. and not wishing someone was sitting next to you, not needing someone to sit next to you.

recognizing that you in your chair are enough.

there is no greater thrill than walking home late at night, in heels and pink lipstick after a night of fun. sweet, simple fun.

some days are hard. sometimes i get lonely. but there is no greater thrill than being happy and alone.

i'm so grateful to be here.

source: tulipsandlattes

stop being a grump.

i was grumpy by 5:30 this morning. 

i didn't want to leave my warm bed, ruby wouldn't stop crying, and then karl lagerfeld insulted and degraded adele and several other things, rick santorum ran his mouth about planned parenthood, and mitt romney ran his mouth about everything. i was in a foul mood. 

but i went to the gym. i ran three miles. i felt better.

it's days like this that i make lists and today it was this.

the most random list of things i’m thankful for:

Prop 8 being ruled unconstitutional!!!!!

XRT

The way running shorts make me feel

The Huffington Post

Arianna Huffington in general

The New York Times online, especially on Sundays, so I can save $6.00

The chocolate cake donut from the bakery by my apartment I ate Sunday morning on my walk

Hair detangler that smells like strawberries

The person who invented hair detangler
A text/email/phone call from someone for no reason

Gnocchi

Martha Stewart

Michelle Obama

Ellen Degeneres

Tulips and peonies

Bob Marley
Tom Petty

Really crispy bacon

Diet Coke
My book club

Chocolate with caramel

The Head and the Heart 

The really handsome man with the salt and pepper hair who works at the Halsted Orange line stop. One of these days, I think we should say hi instead of just stare at each other through the glass booth.

Mitchell’s

Pizza Nova

Leslie Knope 
Mango salsa from Dominick's
Men who pursue
Men who make me laugh, really laugh
Men
Dark chocolate pudding that's 10 calories and sugar-free
Email threads with girlfriends that last all day
People who keep you accountable
Avocados
Jim
Target
NPR
Mindy Kaling, Conan, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert. All of you. Yes.
Sigur Ros
Bon Iver
David Gray
Being completely satisfied by cleaning your bathroom cabinet and organizing your pantry
Wednesday night plans that involve dinner and a play
Paul Konerko 
15 days until pitchers and catchers report. I can smell the grass.

Grateful feels a lot better than bitter.

too good not to share.

amen.

it's back march 25. about damn time.


(Source: Postsecret)

i believe...

in the simplistic beauty of routines: parks and recreation and pizza nova on thursdays, the sunday paper and breakfast with the beatles, and bubble baths with miles davis.

there's nothing wrong with building an outfit around jewelry, usually earrings.

in making valentine's day plans with people you adore. whether it's a partner or a group of girlfriends, love is love. tapas are a bonus.

complimenting strangers feels really, really good.

sometimes there's nothing better than an early morning walk around my neighborhood before the world is awake.

in learning the names of people you interact with on a daily basis. ken-the wonderfully cheerful man at the halsted orange line station i see in the morning. he smiles every time i call out to him.

the fact that diet coke gets rid of my headaches faster than expensive migraine medicine is the definition of insanity.

the pennies i find and keep in a shot glass that used to be my grandfather's, next to my gram's old key chain bring me more luck than i realize.

cleaning and organizing are therapeutic. so is pinterest.

i can and WILL accomplish this for our next book club meeting:





(photo: witandwhistle.com)

a list of letters.

dear next week,
can you be a little less crazy than this past week? maybe? you think about it.

dear horizontal stripes,
why won't you love me? i have so many ideas for the two of us.

dear diet coke,

thank you for taking the edge off my headache.

dear legs,
thank you for the 2.5 miles you gave me this morning. 

dear brain,
stop being self-conscious about the running shorts. muscles are a good thing.

dear adele,
is it february 12 yet? i can.not.wait.

dear redbox,
please have 50/50 at a convenient location for me.

dear bus ride home,
please, please be quiet. and fast.

dear person who sold out josh hamilton,
one word, karma.

dear josh hamilton,
i believe in you.

on fear.

i'm sitting in one of my favorite places to write: a tiny, usually quiet coffee shop near my apartment. today, it's transformed into a hub of people and noise. i don't like when things i love and rely on change on me. the volume level is at a 10 and i'd like it at a 2. why are all of us so unaware of how loud we are? 

i had an "emergency" dental appointment today. over a week ago, i ate a granola bar and a piece of it got lodged under my gums. since that day, one part of my gums became swollen, irritated, red, and sore. it's hurt ever since. when i finally admitted to myself advil wasn't doing the trick and benadryl made no difference whatsoever, i called dr. ericson's office on tuesday. she was somehow able to see me today, which required me to take off work, borrow anna's car, pull myself together, and drive my scared self to downers grove. the dentist is at the top of my anxiety list for reasons i won't get into right now.

i got there forty minutes early. brilliant, rhiannon. the receptionist was short with me; i was short right back. i was in no mood.

when i got called into the exam room, before my doctor came in, i took out my iPod and listened to eminem. he calms me down, go figure. he calms me down because i force myself to sit and listen to the words. his words make me feel empowered. my breathing slowed. i stopped shaking.

she walked in. through tears, i said, "if one of my teeth falls out in your hand, what are we going to do? what's the plan? i need to know what you're going to do. i can't leave here without one of my teeth."

she laughed and rubbed my shoulder.

"i don't like to worry about problems unless there's a problem to worry about," she said.

amen, sister. i'm trying to to work on that one.

i go to the worst case scenario, with every situation in my life.

she looked. she calmed me down like she always does. she complimented my shoes and my sweater. she was wonderful.

"i'm pretty sure it's just gum trauma," she said.

gum trauma. from a frigging granola bar. she said it's likely nothing more than that, but she mentioned maybe seeing their gum specialist; i had to push for this.

she said, "if you want to see him, dr. cunningham is great,"

yes, i want to see him. good Lord, i'll pop in his office on his lunch break right now if he can give me thirty seconds.

"i'm getting nervous that you aren't giving me more bad news. what aren't you telling me? that every one of those teeth you x-rayed has a cavity? just tell me, please," i said.

i really do hear myself in those moments and i think, "rhiannon, stop. just stop. close your eyes. take a breath. you are here. you are taking care of yourself. stop spinning."

i need to keep a soft diet until i see the specialist, who isn't available until the 22nd. oy. i actually got a bit happy when she told me that. i thought to myself, "i could maybe lose a few pounds eating only soft foods."

(works out that i'm already in therapy.)

bon iver just came on and suddenly it's quiet. thank you, barista.

i sit here with an internet connection that keeps timing out, people that keep bumping into my table, a sore mouth, and a million things to finish for my classes. i have a prescription waiting to be picked up, medicine that will make my mouth feel better, which will make me a more pleasant individual to be around for the next few weeks. whatever the specialist tells me, i will deal with it at that time. i will follow my doctor's orders for the next three weeks.

it's easy to speculate and worry about things while waiting for an answer to all of your questions. it's even easier to assume and prepare for the worst.

this is poison. and it's robbing me of valuable time and energy. i rob myself of time and energy.

all i can do is reconize when i do these things the moment i start to do them and tell myself to stop. i will do this as often as i need to because i don't want to be this person anymore. i want more than this.

i am better than this.

this begins and ends with me.

i will try and breathe more.

i will go home and brew a pot of coffee. i will organize my mail, feed ruby, and do my work. everything will get done.

i will wake early, run two miles, go to work, and breathe there too.

one thing at a time, rhiannon. one thing at a time.