I’ve never smoked a cigarette.

Image via SkinnyGossip.

I’ve smoked pot a handful of times and barely drink. I was D.A.R.E student of the year in NY because of an essay I wrote on the importance of sobriety.

How could I have known then the importance of such self-awareness and the overall awareness that accompanies it when your heart is open?

I’ll tell you how. 

Because I was born with a f*ckin’ nun inside of me. 

Maybe it was my Catholic upbringing. 

Or Spanish guilt. 

Or fearful parents. 

Or a sensitive disposition that has shown me I don’t do well with substances of any sort, whether it’s refined sugar, caffeine or heroin. I mean, I never did heroin (thankfully), but I know a lot of people who have. 

I’m going out on a limb on this one and saying, I’m glad my body detests these states of fog and fumes. Because for me, to dabble in that space would mean I’d need to remain in that state. I would have to readily block out awareness, light, and good feelings. Otherwise, I’d be too attuned to the pain I was causing myself. I’d need to upkeep the fog, the fumes, and the wildfires that fuel them. 

Haven’t I enough water and fire on my own accord?

Back to my original point: I didn’t have one. 

I was entertaining an inquiry: don’t we all want life to work out our way?

Yes, of course, we do, but we’re all so different. The kids on the short bus would lobby hard for donuts and maybe a larger bus to reform the short bus stereotype. Wall Street would lobby for coke, prostitutes, and less regulation. Latinos with family still in non-US countries and/or who are illegal would lobby for less stringent immigration laws. Strippers would want… what exactly?

In a sea of opportunity and difference, it’s easy to become indifferent. To stop wanting what you want. To judge it as bad, impossible, or foolish. 

Maybe you too were born with a crone nun inside you. 

I don’t know. What are the odds?

Pretty good if your Latin and/or Catholic, I’d say. 

Our choices and desires aren’t inherently bad. 

Misguided, maybe. Even the most f*cked up of people are still doing their best, even if their best is deplorable. 

I spent this past week letting go of the no’s in my life to cultivate greater bravery to a bigger yes and to accept that maybe, just maybe, I like the illusion of being in control. 

I’ve had to remind myself it’s ok to want a life where I’m successful and well dressed. That these desires don’t make me a bad person, despite what the poorly dressed nun inside me says. 

There is no one way to live life. How can there be? We are all so different. We are each a portal to time and space beyond what we see, interweaved and interconnected within a never-ending ecosystem. 

How can one way of life be right for everyone?

How can one look, one flavor, one idea be the all-governing, “only way”? 

It can’t. How do I know? Because the evidence of diversity is all around us. 

I don’t have any answers, per say. Just endless questions. 

And ideas. And insights. And breakdowns. An build ups. And tears. And poorly lit selfies.  Online dating is the best and the worst and maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. 

Because we’re not wrong for what we want and we’re certainly on the hook for how we go about getting it. 

 

 

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#bloopers 

Here are some of the outtakes. Enjoy. :) 

I’m never quite sure what’s going to come out of my digital mouth when I sit down to write, draw, poeticize, or dance. Even in masturbation, we’re living, creative forces.

I used to, and mostly still, dislike the word masturbation. Enough that I want to add some sort of exclamatory character in place of a letter as if to indicate vulgarity.

We simply never know what is to come of these self-pleasure sessions. I’m not sure when I began a relationship with myself. I’m not sure that Self needs a relationship. Scratch that. She most certainly wants a relationship but the kind that’s immensely self-serving and of course, in the highest of all involved. Let us not forget to add our new age hymns to these uncertain rhymes.

I’m not 24 anymore. Curse the human body. Not because I desire to be enter the emotional chaos that was my entire life, exceedingly so in my early 20’s, or the running and suppression that was the second half of 2x10’s until I reached a point of absolute rupture.

What am I talk about?

I’m talking about getting what you want?

Does it even matter?

On some level, I think it does. But we’re all so different, the nun who lives inside of crones.

Shut-up, Sally, I think back to her.

Who’s born with a f*cking nun inside of them anyways?

Me…