MonthJuly 2014

The Thirty First of the Month

I think I just spent the last few seconds laughing at this terribly sad and pathetic and all too familiar feeling from my very own Adventures in Depression.


It’s been tough convincing myself today that I am not depressed, that I am merely sad. That there are solutions to my tangible problems. I’ve had intangible bouts of depression before and those are worse – because they are incurable. But right now in this moment I have a very real problem to point my finger at and for that I feel at least a little bit justified in my random bursts of anger, frustration, coldness, and of course – tears. I’ve gotten so good at controlling the tears that my eyeliner remains intact. Controlling my anger, though, is a task so much more monumental than my entire existence. I’ve never been able to suppress that part of me. I don’t even try anymore. But of course it’s a hindrance, and a cause for even more issues (hurting someone’s feelings, looking like an ambivalent employee, etc.) on top of my already pre-existing ones. Lose/Lose.

Anyway. I’d like to take a moment to stop talking about my depression (the same depression that abandoned me for just long enough to make me believe it was gone but has suddenly come knocking at my door)…

What I would like to talk about is the potential to maximize the efficiency of my day.

An Ideal Morning

  • Wake up feeling rested
  • Drink a lukewarm glass of lemon water
  • Meditate for 15 minutes
  • Calmly get ready for my day
  • Listen to a podcast while getting dressed
  • Prepare a fresh breakfast (nice and warm scrambled eggs for example)
  • Listen to the morning radio on my way to work

And this is what my morning has been like for the past two weeks:

  • I get an early morning work call (and when I say early I’m talking 3AM here) that product is getting rejected. Handle the work call. Fall back asleep.
  • My alarm goes off at 4:15AM and off it goes.
  • I fall back asleep.
  • I wake up at 5:05AM just barely able to open my eyes, craving more sleep, and already feeling that impending sense of dread that I will inevitably be LATE to work.
  • 5:50AM Check the time on my phone – I’m already late to work and I’m just barely mad dashing to put on some shoes, wonder if I have ~anything~ in my fridge I can take to work for lunch, find my keys, open my garage.
  • 6AM LATE. En route to work with angry music blasting from my iPod. Anxiety from traffic.
  • 6:20AM. I’m in the office, trying to chug a cup of coffee to get my engine revving.

This has been consistent for two weeks. I’m going to sleep at 10PM, an hour later than I know I should but that’s how the cookie’s been crumbling.

I’ve attempted these ideal idyllic morning routines before – and the problem lies in both how and when I fall asleep and how and when I wake up. Two variables that I should be able to monitor but cannot entirely control hinder the entire execution (how sleepy I am at night, if/when I get calls waking me up in the morning).

IDEALLY: I would wake up when I wake up. You know, that natural state of things. But alas that is a fairy tale long lost since the start of modern civilization. HELL, I’d even love if I had time to throw in a morning jog, too! Just before the sun has fully risen, before the start of the day’s heat, etc. It’s all just a dream.

It’s been rough times in Bri Land lately. The only thing keeping me sane are the hours in which I can forget everything. Those hours are at a movie theater or at the barre (exercise class).

For the month of August I’ll be participating in a Bar Method challenge: attend 17 classes in 4 weeks starting 8/3-8/31. I’m fully aware that’s 4x a week… I’ll be prima ballerina by the time August is over! (Though I should also note that I think I injured a muscle while running some time last week… but barre is very low impact so it should not affect my ability to exercise. No excuses.)

*sigh* And well yeah… that’s it for now.

Missing Pieces

Not a wish list or a mood board… but rather, the still need to buy. Because eating on my counter is impossible without a counter stool. And setting up my computer rather pointless without a desk. I have something that can pass for a vanity en route to me… though it’s more glass console table than vanity so we shall see what use it might provide.


New Home.

I have to say that I am so sick of buying furniture and miscellaneous home goods… I can’t wait until this is all over, my home is settled, and I can start looking at and dreaming of leather sandals, suede slingback heels, black trousers, cobalt silk tops, petite gold jewelry, that black leather-strap watch I’ve been ogling… and ugh. Sigh.

I’m rarely to never home and the few times I’m there I suddenly have a new “need” – a toaster to toast my bread, a rice cooker for the perfect rice,  a nonstick skillet for the fluffiest egg white scramble. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. It’s driving me batty. (Btw the toaster and rice cooker have been acquired. I did possess both but they were seriously old old ooooold… in need of replacing.)

I just want this whole nightmare to end…

And sure, a new home shouldn’t be a nightmare but it feels like this adult endeavor I was thrust into without being quite financially ready.

I’m exhausted.

In Search of the Object.

Inanimate objects as a means of expressing human emotions.

— Man in the Dark, Paul Auster

‘If I knew how to draw, I would apply myself only to studying the form of inanimate objects,’ I said somewhat imperiously, because I wanted to change the subject and also because a natural inclination does truly lead me to recognize my moods in the motionless suffering of things.

— if on a winter’s night a traveler, Italo Calvino

I almost don’t know where to begin.

I’m reading two novels right now, perhaps over-committing myself to the cause but the latter is infinitely harder to read than the former. The former, I began just last night and already I am on page 65 of 180 versus “if on a winter’s night…” I am on page 76 of 260; it’s a much slower, denser, very confusing read.

Coincidentally both novels express very similar ideas in very different styles and yet both also coincidentally contain multiple narratives: stories within stories within stories. Paul Auster blends the combined narratives in such a beautiful way that I feel compelled to know what comes next. Italo Calvino delves one level deeper and so far it’s a 3-level story that it’s hard to know what should be considered the main narrative.

This week has been incredibly busy in all the ways. Cherries are dwindling thanks to the weather conditions in Washington and I think everyone in the office cannot wait to wrap up the season.

This week I: attended barre class 3x, went jogging 2x, went to the movie theater, made a flash trip to Santa Barbara, bonded with my co-workers over sushi, got a 90 minute massage, got a flat tire, and infinitely more minutiae.

This morning I experimentally went after a potential object of affection only to find that by today I just no longer cared.

How can I find an object (of affection) to wholly represent my emotions if I haven’t any (emotions)?

This morning, just as last week, he was still ridiculously cute, polite, muscular, tall, with just the most gorgeous eyes… and yet, I felt nothing. The excitement I felt last week was perhaps just excitement of being in Hollywood, surrounded by nice people on an equally nice day. Today, I felt… well, to be honest, the whole week, I have felt extremely depressed. So everything felt muted, devoid of color (and today is rather gloomy to boot). His smile was nice but then I found him reminding me of one of my friends and then I sort of… eh.

When breakfast was over I felt myself not wanting to leave the moment. I didn’t want the moment to end because I felt there was more to be gotten out of the moment. But instead I left as empty as when I arrived. Maybe even literally, because I hardly ate.

It rained for a few minutes, but it’s still about 90 degrees outside and somewhat humid. Today doesn’t feel like a good day. I wanted so much more out of my day but it’s already 1pm and any chance at making more out of the day is rather slim.

There’s a friendly hang scheduled in a few hours and I feel awful but friendly companionship isn’t what I’m looking for right now. When I try to look for romantic companionship there’s just nothing there, though. Nothing can seem to fill the void that something is missing. But when I’m with people I just … can’t wait to be left alone again. I get this recurring feeling that I cannot stand people. Everything annoys me. But it can’t be that everyone in existence is annoying; the annoyance exists only within me. The annoyance is a tumultuous disturbance in my heart and I don’t know how to fix it. The only solution I have found is to remove myself from as many situations as possible. Only alone do things seem to make any sense to me. Only alone do I have all the freedom in the world to think and see and experience as I wish.

The sad truth is that no matter how alone I want to be, the world revolves on the assistance of others. An employer to pay me. A friend to run with. A group to read books with. A world to make the universe go round. Etcetera.

Very little feels good these days. Very little feels.

Throughout the week I did this internal constant back and forth of over-feeling, then hardening my heart to stop feeling, only to feel the weight of my sadness, to try and catch it again… every time finding myself closer to the ground. (I’m tired of getting back up.) I never let the emotions crush me entirely… I can stilt them for just long enough to stay alive until the sadness comes to pass again.

I found myself on the roof of my office building some time this week. I sat up there staring at the beautiful downtown LA buildings when I began to imagine what it would feel like to stand at the edge and jump. The feeling scared me and I started to cry. But I told myself I was self-inducing the thoughts, so I forced myself to stop crying, I forced myself to get my shit together and stop contemplating suicide. And my heart hardened leaving just a small, dull ache. Then I went back inside my office a few floors down and resumed work as if nothing had happened.

It’s always that way, though. The world must go on regardless of the feelings.

I wonder what sort of object could represent me. Maybe glass. Transparent, illusory, cold, resilient, present but adding no visual weight to any situation, and of course… the capability of shattering into a million small sharp painful little pieces.

What complements glass?


noun \ˈkäm-plə-mənt\

: something that completes something else or makes it better

l doubt anything can stop me from breaking.