Just for today I can accept people who are disruptive in meetings while I am sharing. Today I was sharing about my father's inappropriate behavior when some guy in the meeting spilled his coffee on this lady. They sort of got into it because she was wearing a fancy outfit. It got kind of loud just as I started talking about the time my father suggested I wear a patted bra. Then some newcomers came in and couldn't find anywhere to sit and pulled out the folding chairs. Those things make a huge racket. I was having trouble keeping my storyline straight and was worried people wouldn't understand the true depth of my pain if I didn't end on the proper note of hopeful, yet, deeply processed emotion. I always try to stay in the "solution" and incorporate a lesson on how my higher power is working for my greatest good. Regardless of how my life is really going, it's important that other people find hope in my sharing. Unfortunately, I completely forgot what I was saying and ended up blurting out "Keep Coming Back!" "It Works if You Work It," and every other overused slogan I could think of.

I hope I didn't blow it. It seemed to me that the old timers were bowing their heads in shame at my total lack of recovery. Perhaps some day I'll have the wisdom of the elders. For now I think I'm going to write cheat sheets for my shares.

It seems like whenever I start to seriously work on affirmations my life becomes chaotic and insane. Last night I did a meditation around the affirmation "I am willing to give and receive love." This morning I was driving on the 405 and, for the first time in my life (and hopefully last), I gave somebody the bird! Another time I did a meditation around the affirmation, "I am worthy of love" and my acting teacher screamed at me all throughout class. I wouldn't share this at a meeting, but I'm starting to think that affirmations are dangerous. I'm going to put my Louise Haye Power Thought cards somewhere where I won't be able to find them.

Perhaps I need more mediocre affirmations, like "I am willing to give and receive casual small talk," or even "I am worthy of like." Start off small and then move to bigger things like love and abundance. These great affirmations are just putting the universe into overload.

Some days I just feel sadness and it's all I can do to get myeslf to the self-help section of the bookstore and cry. Usually when I'm feeling sad my allergies act up which causes me to hock (sp?) the stuff (mucus) in my throat. Needless to say, it's not my most attractive time. Today I wandered into a new section I've seen at book stores that doesn't have a name, but if I were to give it one it would be "Girly Fabulous Women's Books." It has books about how fabulous single women live, like "Sex in the City," but maybe a little more real. I picked up a book about how to be fabulous and I wondered why I feel so much sadness when I can feel fabulous instead?

"Just for today, I can choose how I feel. Instead of sadness, today I choose to feel fabulousness."

Today was my first day working to abstain from negative thinking. I'm reading this book called "Excuse Me Your Life is Waiting" where the author suggests that we raise our vibrations by replacing our negative thoughts with a positive aspect of ourselves. Today I chose to focus on the fact that I am very polite and always say "hello" to people.

After acting class a group of my fellow female thespians and I were walking to our cars down a dark alley when a car filled with young men pulled up. The men began complimenting certain parts of our bodies. I politely said "Hello," to them (since this was my positive aspect of the day). However, my friend started to yell at them until one of them called her a "hoe." Not willing to get discouraged I decided to continue to focus on how I always say "Hello" to people on the street, even when they're homeless people who are yelling obscenities at me. At that point, my friend grabbed my hand and we ran to the corner and the car drove away. My friend seemed a little concerned, but I assured her that my positive vibrations were keeping us safe. At that moment she looked at me like I was a lost child she had found wandering around the mall alone. Perhaps she's not yet ready to change her thinking. Just for today, I can pray for my friends who aren't ready to raise their vibrations.

As a compulsive underearner I have trouble spending money on myself. Yesterday, I had my hair cut and highlighted and as I handed over $110 to my hair dresser I realized that I could have bought groceries for a week for a family of four. However, that's my "deprivation mentality." The truth is, according to recovering members of DA and Esther Hicks-Abraham, there is enough in the universe to meet everyone's needs and we need only to believe we can manifest. Perhaps, to ease my guilt, I should drive through the poorer areas of greater Los Angeles with a loud speaker and inform people that they need only stop with their "deprivation" thinking. However, I might get confused with a born-again Christian.

Everytime I read the latest issue of O Magazine (O stands for Oprah) I am filled with joy about the wonderful spread of recovery throughout the world. However, when I get to Dr. Phil's section (which I usually try to ignore) it feels as if my father has just jumped out of the pages. This month Dr. Phil advises women to avoid infidelity in their relationships by "investing energy in their appearance and the level of sexual activity in the relationship." A person doesn't need a PhD to give this advice. All he needs is to hang around men in bars who objectify women. Why would Oprah take advice from a man who sounds just like an alcoholic? I guess even Oprah has flaws (though, it's hard to believe) and maybe she has found a father figure in Dr. Phil. I guess, just for today I can accept that even my greatest idols are just human beings with their own issues to work out.

When people compliment me, it's important for me to learn to take them in and let them nurture me. In the past, I dismissed or argued with anyone who complimented me. But today, when a kind homeless man told me that I looked "gorgeous" I was able to take it in. I didn't focus on the fact that he hadn't showered or had large cataracts in his eyes. In the past, I would have let such things diminish the value of the compliment. But today, I simply said, "Thank you." Just for today, I can learn to receive a compliment.

Just for today, it's OK to share. After lunch I walked over the vending machine and bought some peanut M&Ms. One skill (or, perhaps, I can call it a talent...OK)...skill/talent I have is tossing small objects up in the air and catching them in my mouth. However, I decided that I did not need to eat this entire bag of M&Ms and I certainly didn't need to toss them up in the air thirty times. So, I decided to share them with my co-workers. Despite the fact that after sharing I was left with only three M&Ms does not detract from the fact that I was engaging in an act of generosity. Sometimes sharing means less for me. And even if it is less of something that is stale and has been sitting in the vending machine for what tastes like years, there is a part of me that feels like...well, like I could have standed to eat more than three of them. However, my choice to share the M&Ms lifted my spirits and put less saturated fat on my body. Just for today, I can be grateful that I know how to share.

Just for today, I can accept that the creators of the "Dance Machine" are not in a program of recovery. If they were, they might think twice about displaying a large "FAILED" sign at the end of the game for those of us (myself included) who can't master the steps the first time! Don't they realize that the only way to suceed at anything is to make mistakes. I have to be honest and say it was a little disheartening to see that giant word right after the game ended. I thought I had done fairly well for someone with little dance training. But despite what the "Dance Machine" may think I know just for today that I am not a failure, but someone who learns from her mistakes.

Just for today, I have many things to be grateful for today; some big and some little. Here is my list: 1) sweater coats are still in style this season (I can still wear my furry blue one and not feel dated) 2) my cell phone is still, technically, functional (despite the fact that I dropped it several times at Disneyland and broke the spring that allows it stay open) 3) my friends don't blame me when my father puts the moves on them 4) I have a large computer monitor at work to stare at for eight hours a day 5) I'm not an unemployed mother of three living on welfare 6) I don't have any life threatening diseases (not physical ones at least) 7) I'm not the rock bottom worse dancer in Jazz dance class 8) I'm not experiencing pre-mature balding 9) I'm not a former child star and 10) I have a great eyebrow stylist!

Just for today, I have many things to be grateful for.

I now create fabulous wealth! I now create a flow of income where money pours in up the whazoo! I now take that money and spend it on a DSL connection (so that I can do things other than sit in front of my computer watch pages load)! I now buy a $3,000 new IMAC! I now go on a clothing spending spree, buy some new furniture, catch up on my wedding gift giving, tithe some money to whoever spiritually feeds me (it was my church, but after finding out that the future governor of California - yes, him! - attends and gives plenty, I don't know what they need my spare change for)! I now invest the rest in lucrative real estate and blog about the minutia rich people complain about; the lines at Whole Foods and nannies who don't speak English (except I do speak Spanish and am of Latin descent). Ok, ignore the last one. The truth is, I don't know what rich people complain about because I don't have many (i.e., none) in my inner circle of recovering artists. The point is that, just for today, I can affirm financial abundance!

In Los Angeles, one can find many fabulous 12-step meetings. Meetings filled with rock stars and people in black leather who smoke a lot, or meetings with socialite women with Prada bags and French pedicured feet. Or meetings with actresses with cool flowey clothes who cry about their abusive parents (who were probably a childhood icon). And these are wonderful meetings, filled with the spirit of a loving higher power. However, I, personally, like the meetings filled with secretaries and temps, and people wearing clothes from Loman's and Ross, who don't consider facials and massages as part of their recovery program. While I embrace my own fabulousness (though, there are those baseball-cap, no make-up, days when I CHOOSE to embrace my earthiness) I like meetings that don't have a high quotient of fabulousness. And not because I think that God looks down on Fabulousness, but it just distracts me, personally, from the greater goal at hand, which is to recover from the effects of my alcoholic family and re-connect with my own higher self (who does happen to be VERY FABULOUS).

Just for today, I accept that in order to find my fabulous self, I need to go to earthy meetings.

I prefer to think of it as "waiting for the right time," or "creative percolation" or "getting in touch with God's will (or time)," or "getting my bearings." I know some people in program say that "nothing changes, if nothing changes," but sometimes nothing changes because I am forcing My Will on the universe. Still...(if truth be told), nothing is changing in my life (at least on the outside). And while I know not to "compare and despair," and not to "compare my insides with other people's outsides," and not to "should on myself," I'm starting to think that maybe I've waited long enough for the right time, and talked enough about my Issues with Succes with my therapist, and read enough Deepak Chopra for seven lifetimes. Maybe maybe there is no right time to take risks.

Just for today, I am willing to gently let go of procrastination.

The Universe supports my highest vision of myself and my life. Therefore;

I am a chaneller of love, joy, laughter, and the occasional ironic comment!

I will soon find lasting fulfilling romantic love that will result in marriage and effortless procreation (after which my body will quickly regain its former shape)!

I am a creative being and am awaiting large sums of money and a miriad of speaking engagements for my "work!"

I am a great lover and supporter of people seeking liberation from the tyrannies of addictions, repressive government regimes, poverty, sickness, and bad childhoods!

I support Mother Earth by recycling (which, just for today, is enough, though not as much of some other people do)!

I relinquish all negative thoughts based on scarcity and deprivation models!

I am a child of God/Higher Power/Source Energy/What Have You and am adored by my creator!

Just for today, I believe in affirmations (is there, quite frankly, any other choice?)!

I've been shame spiraling for the last 12 hours (yes, I shamed spiraled in my sleep and dreams - especially in my dreams!) regarding the lastest miscalculation in my checking account. But shame is thinking that I AM a mistake, not that I MADE a mistake (or some such rhyming slogan, I can't remember them all). DA (that's Debtor's Anonymous) has taught me that I am not the number in my checking account or savings account, and that the universe is infinitely abundant and that I can attract financial resources like my refrigerator to my Paella magnet (my sister got it for me from Spain.)

Just for today, I can forgive myself and ask the universe to remedy the situation ASAP. Did you hear that universe?! I said ASAP!

Just for today, I can be patient with the universe.

My sponsor recently pointed out that I seem to feel that it's my responsibility to like everybody. Even if the guy behind the counter at the corner liquor store grunts and rolls his eyes if I ask for change in quarters to do laundry, I feel obligated to see that he's a "beautiful person." But why do I have to like everybody? (Because everyone is perfect in God's world. That's why!) But I don't like everything in life. I don't like it when it rains. I don't like the smell of urine on the street. I don't like cars that slow to look for parking spaces in front of me. I don't like war and poverty, and low sporadic water pressure (like the kind coming out of my shower head), and the fact that the only dark skinned people in my neigborhood are nannies and cleaning ladies.

But people are "children of God" and "they do not know what they do" (or whatever the quote is), and love heals everything and....blah, blah, blah. I don't think I have the energy anymore (or ever really did) to be this big, humanitarian, Mother Teresa type-person. I envy people who are - really! But to do this myself sends me on a path of total disconnection from reality (for me). Also, I guess I'm afraid if I don't like everyone, then I have to deal with the people who don't (God forbid) like me.

Just for today, I can find people irritating or even not like them, and (I guess) it's OK if people don't like me.

I spent the entire morning trying to remember that high-larious thing I said yesterday to my friend that I swore I would write about today. But since I still can't remember it, I decided instead to write about my co-dependency recovery dream. My friends were married (my childhood friend Betty and my friend Joe, who don't even know each other in real life). We were all climbing up a steep hill/cliff, and we were slipping and struggling, and then Betty fell and started rolling down a hill, and Joe went after her, only to find himself hanging on the cliff's edge with Betty. And I was above staring down at them and thinking, "hell, if I'm going after them," because I've spent my entire life falling down hills for people. But then a miraculous helicopter came up and rescued them, and laid them gently down and this really handsome man who ran the helicopter kissed Betty on the head.

I guess on second thought it wasn't that great of a recovery dream because I was still staring down at them from where I was climbing, instead of getting myself up the hill.

Just for today, I can look at the top of the hill.

According to the new age philosophy of Science of Mind, our whole life is really just a movie screen on which our thoughts are projected. Talk about pressure! Even if I try to not think negatively, I can't help some of those neurotic, thoughts from creeping up. For positive and neutral thoughts (if you can hack them) it's all very good. For instance, this morning I was thinking about my friend Deniece who I love very much. Later in the day I was in Sav-On, buying some X-mas lights and guess who I saw? Deniece! However, in the afternoon, I was on a walk with my friend Martha and we were walking on a street where a lot of people walk their dogs. Casually, I thought to myself, "At some point, I'm probably going to step on some dog shit." Next thing you know, it's in the crevices of my Danskos.

Just for today, I can be paranoid about my negative thoughts.

I can't spend my life trying to please other people or pretending to be someone I'm not. It's challening in this world of fear and social pressure to really be yourself. Consequently, there are many things that I have denied for fear of fear of clashing with the status quo. For instance;

I never liked Seinfeld, the show always kind of gave me the creeps (and that's scary to admit).

I don't really feel pathetic about being single and living alone, (I joke about it only to comply with the standard party-line for single women in our society...until now, that is.)

I still like the smell of Polo on guys like I did when I was in 7th grade and all the guys bathed in it for our slow dance parties.

I don't like big houses. They feel lonely.

I wish I could spend $1,000 a month on clothes, but I don't care AT ALL about cars. (In fact, I think old beat-up cars are kind of cool-looking, so long as they are functional).

And, finally,....I don't like the Holidays!

(There are many more, to be sure, coming up later.)

Just for today, I own my real self.

Around the age of 7, right when I was about to make my first communion, I developed a religious/spiritual fervor (that was, in retrospect, a great distraction from my familly life) and began to compulsively pray and/or make the sign of the cross anytime I had a Bad Thought. Since I was only 7, the extent of my knowledge of "bad" was limited, but it amounted to one catechism lesson when the teacher (who wasn't a nun, but some volunteer) told us never, ever to use the words (and she whispered) "God damn." So, of course, I couldn't help but to start whispering in my head "God damn babies and poor helpless people" (I was acutely aware of disadvantaged people). I decided that the only remedy was to appoint a number of Hail Marys I had to say or times that I had to make the sign of the cross. Since my soul was on the line, I didn't let the fact that I might be sitting in a public place stop me from making EXACTLY 100 signs of the cross (or maybe even a higher number, whatever would purify my guilt). Needless to say, my mother didn't really take to sitting next to a little girl sweating bullets, while quickly moving her hand from her head to her chest, to each shoulder and back again...

"Stop that!" she yelled at me once in a movie theater.

I tried to explain the situation, that I was performing a feat that would put me on the path of redemption. However, in a fit of frustration, my mother told me that it was BAD to make the sign of the cross THAT MANY TIMES!

Not only had I lost my only means of redemption, but had unknowingly further thrust myself into the abyss of sin. Never again would I make the sign of the cross more than once in a given hour. To this day I will never underestimate the confusion of being Catholic and obsessive compulsive.

My friend Carl told me once that he gave up TV for lent (that's 40 days!) and turned his head when his aunt showed her wedding video.

However, being Catholic may have had little to do with it. There was also the time when I decided (for no apparent reason) that I absolutely had to do 100 cartwheels and I wasn't going to let exhaustion and sprained wrists stop me.

Just for today, I can see the origins of my compulsive behavior with all too great a clarity.

I now declare November 30th, "National Self-Help Book Burning Day."

I can't take it anymore. Any more words of wisdom about how to love and heal myself and I am likely to go postal. They all contradict each other. Selfishness is good. No, wait, selflessness is good. No wait, you're unhappy and feel like people are treating you like the bottom of their shoes after they've gone to the dog park because...you're really not giving the world enough love and it's boomeranging back to you (karma and everything). No, wait, it's because you're giving too much of yourself to the world and not enough to yourself (gotta stop saving everyone and cut down on the volunteer work). No, wait, it's because you're trying to figure out your problems on your own and not opening yourself up to the inspiration of a higher power. No, wait, the higher power told you to honestly express your feelings to your family, at which point you got lambasted by your father for the millionth time (thus, solidifying the resentment you've carried for the last 100 years. Bad higher power!). No, wait, it's because you didn't surrender your character defect of People Pleasing (and if it were removed you would have no problems telling people to f--- off). No, wait, it's because you need to make an amends to your parents for blaming them for your life since, after all, your spirit chose to come forth to this family (this one sounds truly insane). No, wait, it's because you're living in the past and not embracing the Power of Now. No, wait, it's because you're living in the Now of Yesterday because your Inner Child had a meltdown and your Inner Adult forgot to take the time to give her a hug. No, wait, it's because you forgot to say "I am a money magnet" 50 times, and fell back into your deprivation thinking. No, wait, it's because you're living without gratitude that you're way above the poverty line and in perfect health. No, wait, it's all because you forgot your meds. No, wait, it's really because you ate a muffin (and that's a LOT of sugar and flour) and have yet to accept that until you embrace veganism you carry the darkness of guilt in your soul. No, wait, it's because you're living in vageuness around your finances. No, wait, it's because you can't afford to buy a knife set from Williams Sonoma and your living room doesn't look anything like a Pottery Barn catalogue. No, wait, it's because people are born and die everyday, and life is confusing.

Just for today, I don't need to read books to tell me that.

I don't watch scary movies because if I do I'll wake up in the middle of the night and lie frozen in fear of seeing the heretofore quiet spirits living in my apartment. But a part of me still want to see Dawn of the Dead because I might get some tips on how to get along better in modern American society. I don't mean to diss on every day zombies who aren't actually dead yet, but just annoying to be around, (because I did spend the morning in a Cadbury egg/Marshmallow Peeps stupor without the ability to form an intelligible sentence), but I still think I prefer the undead kind, to those just on planet Emotional Shut-Down.

Because unlike terrorists, or LAPD in riot gear, or criminals, people without access to their feelings are truly the Scary People to me. Maybe I'm just paranoid (which, as the saying goes, doesn't mean people aren't out to get me), or it's just taken me a long time to awaken to the truth of a capitalist society, but I'm really an easy victim for those with less than Christian motives because I never see it coming. Someone can so much as say, "I'm goin' to take you down, bi-otch!" and I'll still be shocked when I'm flat on my back on the floor.

I know all I can do is love people out of their zombie like trance, because I try to duke it out I'll surely turn into one of the masses.

Just for today, I can love zombies.

It's so easy for me to feel like a little kid again. But not in a free-spirited, joyful way, more like a traumatized, please-don't-be-mad-I'm-sorry-for-whatever-I-did-let-me-fix-it kind of way. Which makes it really hard to have a relationship with someone who expresses more than one emotion. I don't care if I haven't seen the person or spoken to them in the last decade, I still feel that I have something to do with their neurotransmitters and serotonin levels going on in the brain of said person in that particular moment. And what makes it worse is that knowing this doesn't keep it from happening. I can say the affirmation, "I am not responsible for other people's feelings," all day and night and I'm still a ten-year-old trapped in a 32-year-old's body.

Just for today, it's OK to feel like an adult child.

There are so many different ways of looking at the world, it's enough to drive any lost soul insane. The Course in Miracles says that anger is never justified, but psychotherapy believes that anger is how we set boundaries. The Esther-Hicks Abraham philsophy says that life should be nothing buy joy and abundance, while Buddhism belives that suffering is a necessary part of life, and we should refrain from striving for material comforts. The St. Francis prayer says that we should give that which we would want to receive, while Al-Anon states that we can only give after we've put ourselves first...Vegans and health freaks say we should do away with meat, sugar and flour, Christine Northrup, and everyone else says that health or disease is all in our heads...Agape and a Course in Miracles says that our lives are a projection of our thoughts, while 12-step espouses relinquishing all thought to a higher power. A therapist I met with says that I need to go to psychothearpy twice a week to work through my intimacy issues before I can have a relationship, meanwhile my other therapist says that it's all a matter of finding "The One."

One thing is for sure, recovery and self-help has rendered me a useless member of society.

Just for today, I say fuck it all and do what I want.

I'm just curious about what kind of revolution France would have had in 1789 had the masses tried "working on their own issues" or "better feeling thoughts," or "loved and prayed," the aristocracy, or gone to therapy or a support group so that they could bring the "solution" to the fascists. Had anyone paid attention to condescending patter about unconditional love, inner peace, working on yourself, and ignored silly human physical issues like poverty, disease and gross material inequity, would any revolution have taken place? Would there have ever been any slave uprisings? Would women have fought for the right to vote? I mean, sure, I believe that love and forgiveness lie in my own heart, and sure I know that cable television and a $80 t-shirt from Anthropologie will never fulfill my soul (I think...), and sure I have many lifetimes in which to work out my relationship to my human needs (assuming that when we die we have a choice about jumping into another body suit...which to me sounds about as fun as going through junior high again...but I digress), and sure I believe that manipulating other people into changing their behavior won't ever put me at peace...

BUT THAT SAID...great oppression begs for a revolution, am I wrong? I mean sure people participate in their relationship with their oppressors, whether it be their spouse, boss, government, or hard drive, but is peace ever begotten by patronizing and silencing gut human emotions and gut human needs for food, freedom (and I use that word sparingly because it gets thrown around in a lot of STRANGE WAYS as of late), and expansion?

It's just seems like the difference between working on inner peace and lying dormant filled with repressed sound and fury, while the neo-fascists dictators, spouses, and office mates walk all over you is only a matter of perspective.

Just for today, I reserve the right to forego the New Age solipsistic drama and fight back in the real world.

There is something about a party where the majority of guests consist of people from 12-step programs that makes for odd slightly un-party-like conversations. While people at "regular" (non-recovery) parties may start conversations with things like, "Hey, how are you? I'm great! Been working a lot, but I'm going to Maui in August, can't wait...," at 12-step parties you might hear:

"Hey! I'm sorry, I forgot your name. My short-term memory is shot because I have a neurotransmitter deficiency that I'm taking anti-psychotics for...but I remember your face!"

"Do you mind if I take a second to share? The site of people eating cheesecake is bringing up a lot of feelings for me..."

"I just wanted to compliment your wonderful warm energy..."

"Let me just get one of those barbecued corn and then I'll tell you about the healing session between me and my brother...would you like some more vege caserole and another O'Doul's?"

...news, weather, sports...not happening.

Just for today, I can party with people in recovery!

My boyfriend walked into my apartment with sandy shoes and I just about had a nervous breakdown. I know I have a problem (a weird one, but nonetheless)...but just because I compulsively clean and just because I avoid a lot of other important things to do keep my apartment spotless...DOESN'T MEAN THAT IT'S STILL NOT A LOT OF WORK!!!

It has to be one of the more bizarre addictions known to humanity. Why couldn't I be an alcoholic, or something that is kind of fun for a little while, something that actually makes sense, like eating, having sex, or gambling. But no, my instincts are so derailed that the only way to satisfy my need to stuff my feelings is to find an addiction that takes deprivation to a new level and that not by any stretch of the imagination is fun. Not ever.

Just for today, it's OK to let my apartment be dirty.

While I was in agony today in yoga I thought about a new type of 12-step meeting, one in which people can only share while in a position. This would solve several issues: 1) the shares would be short and concise, thus, reducing the pain of co-dependent's tired of listening to other people's problems 2) the pain of whatever was being processed would seem minute in comparison to the pain of the muscle being contracted.

Just for today, I can have ideas in yoga.

Today I went to my D.A. (Debtor's Anonymous) meeting and shared about how I feel about not having a regular paycheck. I told them that it feels like I'm going to die. People tell me that I won't. That eventually some freelance work will swing my way, and even if it doesn't I won't die, I just won't be able to pay my bills. They say things like, "feelings aren't facts," and other canonized slogans that condescend to the human condition as if it were some dated fashion statement, like leg warmers.

After my meeting I had lunch with my friend Bruce and we commiserated on our common experience of working jobs far beneath our skill or (more importantly) interest level. Like me, he belives that he has to be bored to tears to make a living. However, since I've made the decision to refuse a Dilbert life-style the the fear, the terror...the horror of financial uncertainty plagues me like a bad sugary coffee drink hangover.

Between Bruce, my boyfriend, a trip to Santa Barbara, and the end of Los Angeles' rainstorm, life feels good again and I'm grateful for all that I have.

Just for today, life is good.

This morning I decided to take myself on a short Artist's Date (as discussed in The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron) to The Getty Museum in Los Angeles. My favorite part of the Getty is the location. Talk about a key piece of real estate! If your corneas can survive the glare of the white stone, you can see a 300 degree view of Los Angeles (the museum itself takes up that last 60).

First of all, I'm not sure about that tram that took me from the parking lot to this Castle of Art. It jerked a lot and I wondered if the financial dilemna of my freelance life would be resolved by a horrible crash of the museum tram; WOMAN DIES WHILE TAKING ARTIST'S DATE TO THE GETTY (Julia Cameron would be screwed). However, I survived the tram ride and arrived at the museum to be greeted by the blinding white stone and little old ladies with museum badges. I wondered if someday I'll be a little old museum lady and decided that it's a dream worth keeping.

However, my dreams of taking a peaceful leisurely church-like stroll through silent rooms decorated with famous and passionate works of art were quickly squelched by the masses of people, mostly students, breathing all over Van Gogh's Lilacs and Monet's something or other. I don't know what I was thinking. That I am the only person in Los Angeles who knows about a mammoth museum that's free to the public? That's the problem with public places; they're full of people.

I did gain inspiration from Pollock's "No.1." After examining the flight of the paint that landed on the canvas, I'm not going to let anyone tell me that my screenplay needs a story. It's words and scenes thrown on paper. If it doesn't make sense to you, that's fine. The important thing is that I know, that it's my soul's signature. Thanks, Jackson!

After visiting the Impressionists I wandered through the furniture and tried to measure the French bed to see if it would fit in my studio. One thing's for sure, the French were short 300 years ago.

The whole trip took two hours and I learned that the world won't come to an end if I take a few hours out of my day to visit a museum (although, did just feel an earthquake...so, let me get back to you).

Just for today, I can go on an Artist's Date.

After years of reading annoying books written by self-righteous people about how to demolish negative beliefs with cheery affirmations, I have decided to a) burn all those books and b) to simply abstain from the sort of running inner-commentary that criticizes my body, self, etc..in other words My Inner Critic (who I like to call Martha). Forget affirmations, they're like bad commercials in my head. I've decided I'm just going to have an empty brain. I'm boring. Who cares. It's better than having Dennis Miller rants in my head about every unfortunate thing to happen to life, from greying hair (which is very, very sad) to governments that insidiously try to silence journalists by blaming them for creating Anti-Americanism abroad (yeah, like it's NEWSWEEK'S fault that the whole world hates America...can you tell I'm in a bad mood?)

Anyway, this past weekend my inner-child suddenly decided that she absolutely HAD to re-paint the window sill because my window sill was chipped and looking highly unattractive. And it seemed like if I fixed that little thing in my life, other problems wouldn't look so bad. So, I went to the hardware store and bought some oil based paint, forgetthing that that's the kind that gets all over everything and is hard to clean up. In the proces of getting paint all over my body and my apartment, I somehow got it on my dishes. And now my dishes are poisoned and I'm convinced that my Inner-Critic is punishing me for refraining from it's negative diatribe with OIL BASED PAINT (I just need to blame something for the fact that I decided to start painting at 8:00 PM on Saturday right before I was going out...why? Because my inner-critic is trying to hurt me!).

Just for today, I can protect myself from my Inner Critic.

I figure I've spent enough in parking tickets to feed a small African village for a year. For some people, it's things like drugs and alcohol, food, or sex that does them in - stuff that actually makes sense as far as addictions go. For me, it's parking tickets. When I'm feeling a little down, I put just enough change in the meter to give me a five minute window of panic. The movie ends at 9:30 PM, my meter will be out at 9:25. The rush! The adrenaline! What fun! Will I wake up in time to move my car for street cleaning?! Who knows? The suspense is my drug of choice.

Is there a parking/traffic violations anonymous group? Anyone?

Just for today, I am powerless over parking tickets.

My friend gave me a book called "Why Men Love Bitches." I haven't read it yet, but I already can't wait to read the sequel, "Why Men Love Bi-otches." If it doesn't exist, I'm going to have to write it myself. I mean being a bitch is cool and all, but if I'm really honest with myself, I know the glory comes from being a full-on in-your-face "bi-otch." Ever since I saw that word scrawled on the bathroom wall in the fourth grade (...and then a hundred times thereafter as I hustled through a very creative public school system), I have been on search for my inner-bi-otch. It's not just men, either, everyone loves a bi-otch. She's just not going to stand around and let you get away with anything. She keeps you centered. She's a force to be reckoned with. She's like Jesus or Ghandi, but dresses a bit sharper .

Just for today, I am in touch with my inner-bi-otch.

I don't know what's gotten into me. I have all these birthday gift certificates to cash in for mo' stuff, but I'm not really feeling the shopping vibe (weird!). Not only that, but I haven't had coffee for two days and I don't even miss it. It's like all my addictive behaviors have gone on strike and now I don't know who I am. I did spend a good portion of the evening compulsivly cleaning...so all is not totally lost.

Just for today, my addictions are at bay.

"Fun" is not a word I would use to describe this summer. Neither would I use the word "relaxing" or even "sand-filled"...

But as I mentioned in the company meeting yesterday, it's been a very "growing" time ("growing" being the universal euphemism for "total fucking nightmare") that has yielded positive results in myself and others (and I'm not just talking about work peeps...). In a nutshell, before this summer I still believed in the idea of politeness as an effective form of communication. Was I running for office? Not unless it was for Senator Doormat, or Representative I Hate Everyone D-California.

For reasons that don't really matter now, I was living in fear of appearing to be a "bitch" (as if that were a bad thing). What is a "bitch?" A much happier woman, it seems, than I have ever been in my life. Someone who speaks her truth and doesn't take piles of shit from people to store in her lower intestines (I never thought about it before...but maybe that's what IBS is?!!!). What I have learned from my very challenging job and some challenging personal relationships is that while direct honesty may not make for comfortable human interactions, it makes for much LESS stress and frustration, and, in the end (after the dust settles) a much stronger sense of connection to others.

I finally got it that I would rather be respected than liked.

Just for today, I am grateful for my summer of bitch-dom.