Between blowing everything but the kitchen sink out of my nose every five minutes (I warned you this would be gross), and dealing with a waterfall-like menstrual flow (I wasn't kidding), and working desperately to appear like a normal functioning person during an intense work week, I feel like I survived some kind of female "Survivor"-like endurance test. I know I have some deep psychological reason for a) having these dramatic health issues and b) needing to blog about them, but it doesn't change the fact that this is what I had to deal with this week and it was a real f-ing nightmare. The breakthrough literally happened on Wednesday night when I was finally able to breathe through my nose again. Never did I think I would have so much gratitude for something so basic as easy access to oxygen. I have to say, there's something about being wide awake at 3:00 am for the third night in a row, soaked in a fever sweat, and blowing blood out of your nose to make a person really open to a higher power.

Just for today, I'm so grateful this week is over.

I asked him if antibiotics, steroids and sleeping pills would have any sort of subversive affect on my body (like make it feel real good), and he said, "Nope." Of course, he does this thing all the time (I'm sure). I've never had so much fun in bed alone watching "The Ice Storm" at 4:00 am. Or maybe it's just the sinus infection.

Just for today, I'm feeling no pain.

I've spent the past 48 hours spraying stuff up on my nose and watching in shock at what comes out. I'm also watching Spike Lee's documentary, "When the Levee's Broke" about the most poignant natural disaster in American history. Oddly, the two go together. A long-ignored sinus infections and the Katrina hurricane's effect in New Orleans. These are the purveryors of truth.

Just for today, I can live in reality.

I've spent the past 48 hours spraying stuff up on my nose and watching in shock at what comes out. I'm also watching Spike Lee's documentary, "When the Levee's Broke" about the most poignant natural disaster in American history. Oddly, the two go together. A long-ignored sinus infections and the Katrina hurricane's effect in New Orleans. These are the purveryors of truth.

Just for today, I can live in reality.

I mean, really, if I'm going to delete fifty comments by "asian wet pussy" a day, I may as well have something to say about our culture's complete and total desensitization toward pornographic imagery. I remember when being a porn star was considered a bad thing. Now, I can't surf late night TV without finding some documentary about the lives of porn actors (anyone else watch HBO?), or worse (and more common) about wanna be porn stars (Myspace?). I thought the whole point was to get paid for doing it in front of a camera. At what point did it turn into an honor?

There was a time when porn images illicited a reaction out of me. Now, it's more like bad PR for sex.

Not to mention fashion. I'm all for sexy outfits, but I still like to be clothed. The other day my co-workers and I were trying to think of the most risque outfit someone could wear in public these days and came up with nudity (though, I am thinking of designing a line of "Business Slutty" clothes...).

I really don't want to turn into someone who makes "it used to be..." and "kids these days..." statements, BUT it used to be that sexual imagery was titillating (anyone been titillated recently?...If so, I'm jealous) and kids these days don't have anything left to discover. It's all one giant red light district.

Just for today, I can sound like an old foggey (sp?).

FYI: Squash is very digestable when sauteed (can someone please tell me how to insert accents?) with a Trader Joe's stir fry.

Just for today, I can eat healthy food.

So I missed another day...but this time I have a fabulous excuse. One word. Grease is the word (alright, that's four words, but does it matter?...I got to see Shanana, live!). Yes, "The" Shanana opened for a screening of the movie "Grease" at the Santa Monica pier. There's nothing like belting out "Go Grease Lightning" with 500 die hard cheezeballs to put life in perspective (boy, that song is nasty...I had no idea what I was singing from ages 5-15.). I do have to say that when I initially got there and saw a bunch of middle aged men singing fifties classics, I wasn't thrilled. I don't know what kind of head space I was in, but it wasn't positive. However, once I found out that they were the real Shanana deal, my whole attitude changed. I sat next to a group of mentally disabled kids (is that the PC term?), and created a bond (albeit, a one way bond) with a kid wearing a leather jacket (Kenicky style). It was nice to know that this film is an ongoing source of pleasure for so many.

Just for today, I (still) LOVE Grease.

I came home tonight and crashed on my couch and did nada. Why? Because I can.

Just for today, I'm glad I don't have kids.

I spent the day cleaning my apartment and cooking meals for the week. So boring. Why can't I spend a luxurious Sunday sleeping in, eating a late brunch, reading the paper, and lazing around with my super sexy boyfriend?

1) I don't have a super sexy boyfriend (where are you?).
2) I have a compulsive cleanliness problem.
3) The newspaper scares me (the front page especially).
4) The brunch hour confuses me (isn't the whole day brunch?).

It's still a dream worth having.

Just for today, I accept that my Sunday was boring.

OK, so I missed another day of blogging...big whoop. Do I have to be so perfect all the time?! I was up till 2:00 am last night dancing salsa. As you can see, I'm working hard to become a salsa Godess. Actually, it was not my choice to stay out that late. I was exhausted around 9:30 pm, but such is the fate of anyone who chooses to be the designated passenger. I had a few good dances last night...but, unfortunately, a few atrocious ones. One guy smelled very bad, I just wanted to bolt, but my codependency kept me there. I need to learn to say no.

Just for today, I can be imperfect.

There's a time when I need to make myself tired. I'm taking such good care of myself, I've become a hermit living in a bubble. It's like I'm saving myself for something or someday and in the process wasting my life. Those are times when I need to go out and disperse myself out in the world. Stay out too late, be too busy, do too much. And then there are times when I need to pick up the pieces of my dispersement: drop stuff off at the dry cleaner, cook for myself, buy my mascara and shampoo and other crap Target (it's so much cheaper than Sav-On/CVS), and be boring. If it wasn't for gravity, we'd fly off the earth. If it weren't for fatigue and the fact that I don't have a personal assistant or a wife (is there a difference?), I would lose my center and be pulled into every attractive or obligatory corner of the world. Life isn't going anywhere. I can take a week off and take it easy.

Just for today, I can rest.

Such is the nature of commitments...they aren't always fun and exciting.

Just for today, I keep my commitments.

I went Salsa dancing with a male friend last night and heard for the tenth time the following words:

"Let me lead!"

Putting aside the fact that salseros (male salsa dancers) have serious control issues (let's face it, it's a great way to meet women), letting myself be led is a very big challenge for me. I've spent much of my life trying to figure out how to live, do the right thing, and make life work for me. What I didn't get is that you can't get life to work in the same way that you can't get a wave to work. All you can do is ride it out. If I can't salsa with life (can I mix anymore metaphors?...I seriously started this blog with the best of literary intentions), the last thing I'm going to trust to lead me is a guy (I just wasn't raised that way...right mom?). But now I see that it's about letting go and trusting something...anything.

Just for today, I can be led.

P.S. Can I just applaud my awesome consistency at blogging of late (except for Saturday)?!

Need sleep.

Just for today, I can use brevity.

I already broke my promise to blog every day. See, that's the problem with commitments...you have to commit to them.

I have sort of a good excuse. I had a very strange, surreal, slightly traumatizing and oddly nurturing day yesterday. After a terrible night of sleep on Friday, I woke up late on Saturday morning. All I could think about was how much money to spend on shampoo, whether I should get my eyelashes dyed, and if I really have to buy the book for my new acting class. I flew out the door in a flurry of last minute crazies to rush to my meeting with the intention of putting my make-up on in my car. At the intersection to take a left, I was so distracted with making sure I had put my MAC eyeshadow in my swim bag, that it took me a while to realize that all the cars had moved ahead. I had no sooner stepped on the gas pedal than I saw the car in front of me collide with an oncoming SUV that then went on to do four flips and land 100 feet away. It just went on and on and on...and I just sat there and thought, "Am I watching someone lose their life?!" It was like watching a car chase in the movies...except it was horrifyingly real. I held my breathe (forgot to breathe), called 911, and since there were about forty people rushing to the scene I turned left (very slowly), saying a little prayer for both parties (the car of the guy making the left was relatively unscathed), and drove on at 20 mph.

After my meeting I was telling my friend about the accident, still feeling quite shaken, when a red balloon suddenly emerged out of nowhere (we were on a balcony). She handed it to me as if I were meant to have it. The rest of the day was spent obsessing about salsa shoes (a perfect remedy for any emotional trauma). Later on, I went to Trader Joe's and the check-out guy asked me (for the second time that day) if I wanted a balloon.

One car accident and two balloons later (and a pair of salsa shoes), I arrived home to find some semblance of peace.

Just for today, I can slow down.

I know I make a lot of them. But this time I mean it. I'm making a commitment to bore you, my audience (Hi Mom!), each and every day, by writing in my blog every day for one month. Yes, this is a promise I am making and I give you permission to berate me publicly if I fail to live up to it. My entry may not be extensive. It could be one word...like, say, "Mad" or "Sad" (you get the picture). But the point is, I'm showing up to report to the world something about my life or emotional/spiritual state and thereby make am making a commitment to myself.

'Nuff said.

Just for today, I can make commitments.

Tonight my "boss" had me take a personality test and then proceeded to show me how the results point to my excessive co-dependency. Since we're both working at 10:00 pm at night (I'm not the only co-dependent), I had to admit that he has a point (albeit a sad one). I was so triggered by this realization that I decided to to shift into high-gear recovery right then by getting up and driving my ass home. Needless to say, I think he realized that I am of greater use to him in my co-dependent state (as have so many ex-boyfriends). I think Im growing out of the "I hope he's not mad" phase of my development. But I'd better still have a job tomorrow.

Just for today, I am co-dependent no mo'.

I spent $65 on skin/beauty products this month (which, for me, is a lot) and I can't help putting them on and looking in the mirror and thinking, "Are they working?!" I don't know why I keep thinking that I'm going to arrive at some zenith where I suddenly won't need to get my roots done or worry about my laugh lines. At least exercise makes me feel good. The maintenance of that ever receding youthful glow is endless and doesn't seem to release endorphines. AND it's exacerbated by the not-so-subtle nudging of the truth that it's only going to get worse. At some point in time, I may wake up to find my face mushed together in the morning and it'll never go back to normal (at least without surgery...I still don't think I'll do it).

Am I cranky, or what?! Ask me tomorrow and I'll tell you that being 34 rocks. Tonight I'm going to put on some eye gel.

Just for today, I can spend money on maintenance.

I've just always wanted to say that. But now, I think I want to tatoo it on my forehead. Not to be judgemental (what am I saying?...of course I'm being judgemental....why bother offering an opinion if not to judge others and feel superior?...boy, I sure can lie), but there are SOME PEOPLE who don't care to keep it quite so real. I've always been wary of calling people shallow due purely to vanity. In my experience, people who criticize LA people for being self-absorbed have struck me as equally guilty of that character flaw. But at risk of being called a hypocrite, I have to say that I just can't keep up with polite relationships anymore. I don't know if I'm just too old to keep it fake, or too tired, but it's gotten to the point where honesty is starting to projectile vomit out of me and if I can't be real with someone I can't really be with them at all. The upside of having less people around me is that those who do stick around aren't the slightest bit draining. In fact, they lift me up because they know where I'm at and who I am. And if someone doesn't like me, I take it as a blessing.

Just for today, I'm becoming more real.

I've been very remiss..I've been so busy lately. Not only do I have to work full time (can you imagine?!), but I've rediscovered salsa dancing. It's a very slutty (i.e., sexy) style of dancing. You dance with someone like they're the love of your life, and then the song ends and it's on to the next partner. If I'm going to embrace celibacy with the faith that it will lead to a solid relationship, I need somewhere to express my Inner-Slut (cuz we all have her/him).

According to my dance teacher (I'm trying to build up my library of moves), salsa dancing is the last place in American society where men have control (sorry). But, hey, so long as I don't have to hide my face behind a black scarf and can enjoy endless prospects for financial abundance in the work force, I'm all for giving up control on the dance floor. Not only that, but the more responsibility I take on at work, the more I WANT someone else to tell me what to do (although, I have to say, more than a few guys have reminded me to let them lead...old habits die hard).

Just for today, I can dance salsa.