got happy?

it's kinda funny. so many billions of dollars are spent every year on that eternal and elusive quest for happiness, for triumph over the human condition. how many of us ever find it?

there are so many things to be out there: frustrated, happy, in love, dejected, angry, petrified, ecstatic, envious, peaceful...

do you know exactly how many adjectives exist in the english language to describe the myriad emotions a human being is capable of experiencing? when you find out, let me know, 'kay?

macrina wiederkehr said, "we live in a world of theophanies. holiness comes wrapped around the ordinary. there are burning bushes all around you. every tree is full of angels. hidden beauty is waiting in every crumb. life wants to lead you from crumbs to angels, but this can happen only if you are willing to unwrap the ordinary by staying with it long enough to harvest its treasure."

on the other hand, daniel gilbert says, "when we have an experience --hearing a particular sonata, making love with a particular person, watching the sun set from a particular window of a particular room-- on successive occasions, we quickly begin to adapt to it, and the experience yields less pleasure each time. psychologists call this habituation, economists call it declining marginal utility, and the rest of us call it marriage." (stumbling on happiness, pg. 130)

well, who is correct? the picture i posted claims to know the answer, but also tells you that your eyesight is too faulty to see it, even though it's written there plain as day for anyone to read.

anyone who's not blind as a bat, anyway.

honestly, my money's on macrina. as soon as i read the quote, i thought of mr. gilbert's quote from his book. i mean, the audacity of such cynicism! what have we stated before here at iGoddess???

cynicism is NOT insight! sticking feathers up your butt does NOT make you a chicken!

of course, how many people is he going to reach with that whole "the rest of us call it marriage" crap? a lot, i'm guessing, because a lot of people get dragged into the monotony of everyday life and think that, because they're in a rut, life is a drudge. marriage can be a huge trap, i'll admit. i fell into it myself, and i fell into it far too young. once upon a time i even went to my bio-dad for advice. do you know what he told me?

in a nutshell, he told me to shut up, be a good wife, and take it.

i'm thinking he felt just as trapped by "habituation" as so many other people do. i can only feel sadness for him. my bio-mother told me to my face she regrets her decisions. she even regrets her children; she feels she never should have had any of us. my bio-father admitted the same thing to me, more than once. i call that a terminal case of declining marginal utility if ever there was one. i could never imagine looking li'l *c* in his eyes --my eyes-- and telling him i regret having him. if anything, he's my salvation. the one thing i've done right in my life, and he'll be ward of the earth after i'm gone.

the things i do here today --pronoia, manifesting the Funk, getting healthy, finding happiness, putting on my combat boots and bandolier and being a revolutionary freedom fighter-- is to make the world that much more of a better place.

happiness isn't elusive. it isn't habituation. it doesn't lessen with every single day, desensitizing us to all its wonderous gifts the more we're exposed to them. there is no saturation point with happiness! if anything, it's like our brains and our bodies: the more we use them, the stronger they grow. the more happiness we create and send out, the more comes back to us. the larger our capacity to hold it grows until we feel we should explode in a coruscating flash of blinding, orgasmic bliss.

of course, we're always looking for happiness, and that is our mistake. we're using our eyeballs, and our hearts are set on distant horizons. we should be looking into more mirrors, looking inside. and if we're not finding happiness in there, we should be creating it. getting more sleep, eating better, throwing out the clutter that's blocking the hallway. get out. get moving.


call up a friend and go see a movie, or go out to try that little indian hole in the wall down on sw morrison you've been meaning to try. take scuba lessons! give yourself permission to eat that piece of chocolate cake you keep saying your hips won't forgive you for! drink more water. find something that makes you laugh and try it! run around with your knickers on your head. make a bunch of picnic food and take the kids to the park, and screw mowing the lawn and folding laundry. find a new job...y'know, one that makes you happy and sparks your interest. take a salsa class.

just...find something, and DO IT. no, no...shut up and just freakin' do it! stop it with the excuses. you're just as tired of hearing them as i am. what are you afraid of? you're honestly telling me you're afraid of happiness? WTF?

when did we become a society that makes excuses to avoid happiness?!!?! i find something seriously wrong with that. equaly wrong is the culture that totes cynicism and the rat race as the pinnacles of "advanced" society. just how evolved are we supposed to be, anyway? too evolved to create happiness within ourselves? i guarantee the return is vastly more impressive than the best stock investments.

i know what the last line of that picture says, by the way. you wanna know? it says:


(no, really, it does. you can even count the letters.)

miracle concentrate, remember? a pound of honey, a pound of saffron, make love once. miracles in the mundane. bring it on, babe. give me the mundane, and i'll show you my happiness can make one basket of fish feed five thousand, too. life is nothing but the little things, the mundane and ordinary. the Divine Funk created it all...so isn't it all miraculous?

ha! take that, mr. gilbert...



CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): "If you make people think they're thinking," said author Don Marquis, "they'll love you, but if you *really* make them think, they'll hate you." My objective in this week's horoscope is to prove him wrong: I want you to love me for making you really think. In the hope of accomplishing this goal, I'm giving you the assignment of revising two of your long-standing opinions or theories about the way the world works. As you aggressively seek out the information that will help you change your mind, try to feel tender compassion for me, the wise guy who's asking you to undertake such an arduous and potentially rewarding task.


well, mr. brezsny, you've done it again. although i must say that i already love you for making me really think. i love you more than i love you. why else would i dedicate my wednesday blogs to you? i've rearranged my entire life according to you, the televisionary oracle, and pronoia. are you kidding? i'm a bootylicious pronoiac getting down with my inner Funktastic Jive! the Divine Wow is alive and well, and making horrific puns inside my head.

but i get what you're saying, mr. brezsny. and, i know, there are a few things i still need to work on. but for you, i will choose two. in fact, i'll choose the two most difficult, the two that get in my way the most often. the two that, lately in my life, are clamoring for me to remember them and retreat while there's still time.

1.) the world is filled with rabid wolves, and they'll always be nipping at your heels
2.) the moment you come within the grasp of Something Truly Good, it's going to be taken away

you might remember once upon a time i mentioned a certain shakespearean sonnet i worked on for a high school english class. i shall endeavor to approach this project with the same method which i used for that sonnet.

first comes the definition, without bias, without wearing my drama-colored glasses. the world is filled with rabid wolves, and they'll always be nipping at your heels.

what is the world? is it simply the planet earth? is it smaller than that, and only the united states? is it the world in which i live, meaning portland? or even simply everything within a two-mile radius? what is the world? do i really presume to be an expert on the entire world now? i've never been anywhere further than a few miles north or south of my country's borders. i've never been across the atlantic. i've never visited the lands of my ancestors, walked their temples or hiked in their tropical mountains, found others who looked like me with the brown skin, barrel chests, mayan noses and round faces.

and yet i have the audacity to claim to know what fills "the world." pfft! okay, delena, whatever you say. how's the weather there on planet delena, anyway? so obviously my claim is already filled with fallacy. the world is nothing more than the path my life had taken thus far. i should have said "my experiences," not "the world."

and rabid wolves? wolves are very loyal pack animals. when one of theirs is sick, they slow the pace of the pack so the ill or injured one can keep up. unless it's just too sick or too badly injured, then the laws of the wild take precedent. wolves are loyal to the end, however. they are loving parents, vigilant nursemaids, fiercely protective brothers and sisters, loyal mates for life. dangerous predators, yes, but only if you're young or weak prey separated from your herd.

in which case, the laws of the wild take precedent. perhaps i was simply young, or weak, and separated from my herd? there are predators out there, yes, and i've met my fair share. especially when i was eighteen. however, the universe is secretly conspiring to shower me with blessings. the universe is fundamentally friendly, always giving me exactly what i need exactly when i need it. love is an act of heroic genius, and pleasure is my birthright.

this doesn't sound like a pack of predators separating me from the herd and hamstringing me.

perhaps i had only hamstrung myself, over and over again. i remember the day i figured out that's what i should do. i'd been hit again, this time for...not getting perfect A's on a report card in gradeschool, i think. i'd spent an entire evening trying to point out what i'd done right and downplaying what i'd done wrong, but all the bio-dad wanted to talk about was what i'd done wrong. perfection in all my other subjects was merely expected and not important enough to be mentioned. i decided that night, as i lay throbbing and sore in my bed, that i would point out my flaws before anyone else could. i would wear them so all could see, and when anyone wanted to beat or berate me, i could hold up a hand and say, "already took care of it, thanks." i'd beat myself harder than any of them ever could.

so i hamstrung myownself, back when i was a child. i did it to myself. there were no wolves, just me. it wasn't the world. it was just me.

and what of the belief in disappointment as a full-bodied, conscious thing waiting in the wings to devour any happiness i might have?

y'know, the other day i realized that all my life, i'd been so desperate to get out of the House of Oppression, away from my bio-dad, that i created handsome princes and happily-ever-afters from the mirages waving in the distance. big *c* is (lovingly) called my knight error errant. and *j*? i wanted to get handfasted, not because i really loved him, but because i wanted the white dress and a big party. i was tired of waiting and was going to force the happily ever after, gods damn it all, if it was the last thing i did.

and it all slipped through my fingers, even at the last when i was trying desperately to hold it all together and it fell apart even harder. i was searching for false happiness, for those items of vanity and ego i thought would sustain me. i'd arrived to the place of the mirage and, finding no water, drank the sand and tried to will it into water.

then i learned how to give up my longing for control over those things i can't control. i learned to be brave, be nervy, and to have fun. i learned to kill the apocalypse within myself by transforming my shadow self into constructive expressions of the MultiVersal Jiggy Snake (who said, "Wee!"), to banish my inner flaming narcissist by breaking it up into its most basic elements so that i may then use those materials to construct myself into my own funkiest groovemate. i learned to transform my life, my body, and my spirit into manifestations of the Divine Funk, which created the universe, which is a fundamentally friendly place.

so what does this mean?

it means, esoterically, no one was responsible for my downfalls except myself. or, at least, i was as equally responsible as all those who put me beneath their heels. and i've taken responsibility for my part. i'm over it. the world isn't filled with wolves, rabid or otherwise. it's filled with humans; fallible, imperfect humans just trying to do the best they can with what they've got. some just do better than others. and Disappointment is no solid and tangible thing just waiting for me to be almost happy so it can ruin things for me. i was just reaching for the wrong things ad, the universe in its infinite, funky wisdom was giving me what i needed right when i needed it.

and perhaps now, as then, i'm being given exactly what i need exactly when i need it...if i but reach for it. i've been somewhat recalcitrant about it, mainly because i've been afraid of that disappointment. i've been bracing myself for it, bolstering up my strength so that "when" it came, i wouldn't be as hurt as i possibly would be otherwise.

not very pronoiac of me, was it? i should've been joyfully surrendering to the uniquely bombastic, phenominal and funkalicious Supreme Jive within my buddhalicious self. and if that means taking someone's affection and not being afraid to voice my own in return, then so the fuck be it. if it means letting go of the supreme irritation at the stress and physical challenge at work and simply accepting the fact that i'm building a phenominal reputation and high expectations, then so mote it be. if it means writing the heartbreaking work of staggering genius as only i can, then why am i racing against myself?

my body and spirit are a temple, and i should be manifesting the Funky Ya-Ya every day, in some way or another. in little ways, in big ways. in weird and mysterious, hidden ways that will never be overtly noticed, but they will be there. and so, mr. brezsny, this week i shall endeavor to search out those things in my life that will help change my mind and make these new beliefs not simply head-thoughts, but heart-beliefs.

may the Funk be with you.

tyrone wells

okay, so i had this entire post written out, right? then i looked at it, realized it sounded way too sentimental and dramatic, so i scrapped the whole thing. there were lyrics, a youtube video, and everything. but...nah. i'm just not that sappy. not yet. and definitely not in public.

there have to be at least a few private pleasures, after all...

but one thing i will do is stick with the original intent of the scrapped post. if you haven't heard of tyrone wells, i definitely recommend visiting their myspace page. they have a few of their awesomest songs available to listen to. might i most highly recommend "falling" and "sea breeze." i've had "falling" stuck in my head all day...


what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary


1. intense, suppressed suspense, anxiety, or excitement
2. a strained relationship between individuals
3. a force tending to stretch or elongate something
4. a measure of such a force
5. something delena experiences on a daily basis nowadays...

there are all sorts of things going on in my head, many of which actually render me quite absent-minded. i've done everything from run the swinging door into someone's face at work, to forget portions of a "top dog" package at work (which is too much for what we do, i think, but what do i know?), to simply wander back to the same place a dozen times knowing i went there to get something but not knowing what on earth it was supposed to be.

but that's the result of a good kind of tension.

there's also the not-so-good tension that revolves around wanting to call in sick to work because, oh, i dunno...my back was so jacked up after sepuku sunday that i actually lost sensation in my legs for a few hours and only sheer will kept me somewhat mobile. that, and a lot of stoicism. some days i'd wonder how come i'm not a whimpering little sobbing ball on the floor, except i know it's simply because i've grown accustomed to what used to be crippling amounts of pain.

the situation at work has gotten to the point of blatant disregard for what i'm doing there, and how much i'm doing to make up for the slacker, the lack of manpower, and the sheer volume of customer demands. yet again today i open the shop only to find someone has erased my blocked-out time slots and written in yet another dog, thus overbooking me to a heretofore untold ricockulous degree. i was already overbooked, but that dog sent me into such stress levels i'm still dealing with stomach cramps four and a half hours after clocking out. the disrespect is outrageous.

i love what i do. i love what i do. i don't love the self-absorption, lack of intelligent thought, and disregard going on. especially not when it means that every single day i work, i'm overbooked and end up staying late, thereby being present for walk-ins and it's mandatory we take them. i get stuck, and my body does not have enough time to recover before i have to do it all again. one day off (especially when 95% of the time i'm called in anyway) is not enough.

and then there's the tension of...well, the tension of wondering, of hoping and laughing and anticipating and wondering. the tension of six hours on the phone, or four, each night and every night all week. the tension of knowing there's a line somewhere, but not knowing where it is or what will actually be considered crossing it. the tension of envisioning things to come and just...

it's like the movie crank. you ever seen that? it's like that. like a slamming shot of adrenaline that just won't quit.



readers of iGoddess know that, while not entirely cynical, delena isn't exactly the product of a happily ever after. there's a difference between cynicism and skepticism. one is healthy, the other is a fashionable illness built into a monolith of the modern culture.

i won't exactly look a gift horse in the mouth, but i will concern myself with where the gift came from.

after falling far too many times for all the wrong loves, perhaps i've gotten a bit too wary in admitting affection at all. oh, if you're my family, or a friend, be prepared for heaps and gobs of affection to be poured over you like rain on a portland day. there is no limit to my love, no ends to my devotion, and my affection is boundless.

however, i'm discovering that --in a completely different capacity of affection-- i'm a little reluctant to admit much of anything. and while, yes, pronoia is about joyful surrender to the uniquely bombastic, phenominal and funkalicious Supreme Jive within your own buddhalicious self, it's not about blindly jumping off a cliff with the rest of the blithe lemmings, either.

and lemmings don't really do that, so where on earth did that saying come from, anyway???

however, i suppose it's a testament to my own growth that i don't simply throw myself into the sacrificial bonfires of modern myth and propaganda as i was wont to do once upon a time. and yet i don't scoff at the possibility of holding the seeds of truly wonderous things, either.

i'm wiser.


have i mentioned my eyeball husky yet? no, seriously, i have an eyeball husky. it's a husky that lives behind my eyeballs and is constantly shedding.

most people's morning ablutions include brushing of the teeth, washing of the face. perhaps some people take showers before heading off to work. mine include peeling back my eyelids and fishing for stray dog hairs that have worked themselves behind my eyeballs to irritate the absolute fuck out of my eyes. i live with the now-constant and ever-present sensation of hair in, on, and poking out my eyes.

not to mention after brushing, washing, rinsing, and brushing my hair again, i still find fur floating off me in tufts...to include colors of dogs i hadn't touched in days!

franklin p. jones once said, "anyone who doesn't know what soap tastes like never washed a dog." not only do i know what soap tastes like, but i could identify at least a dozen bouquets in a blind taste test.

raspberry oatmeal: piquant, with a bittersweet aftertaste that lingers long after the shop has closed

medicated: sharp and acrid, but with an underlying verdant quality, as if real herbs might actually have considered being included in the recipe, then settled instead for the dirt the herbs grew in

almond: tasting of nothing so much as the bar of soap in the ceramic dish by your sink, let alone real almonds

aromatic: subtle at first, but with a full and underlying body not to be ignored. don't let the scent of windex when you first open the bottle fool you.

there are more, of course, but those stand out in my mind the most. whoever said grooming isn't a contact sport can kiss my well worked-out ass. i'd like to see them try to wrestle with one hundred and eighty pounds of solid and determined dogflesh...and win.

so ha.


if someone says they were strong enough to face their own fears, and someone else says that they didn't face their fear so much as fed and fed and fed their own monsters until they ate themselves to death is not entirely the same thing. one is a test of strength and will, while the other is a headlong rush into the destructive capacity of a black hole.

the end result, however, is the same. new and transformative life growing out of the death of the former, as new mosses and flowers will sprout upon a fallen trunk of a mighty tree in the rainforest.

however, i believe that in facing one's fears, the fears are slain, but live on in memory. in some fashion, they aren't killed at all. in the other, the monsters are well and truly dead. in the former, the fears are faced, acknowledged, even embraced and incorporated into the whole self.

in the latter, the dead falls away, like the shed skin of a molting snake. like a deer's dropped antlers and a cat's shed claws. greed and gluttony win to the point of utter destruction. such cataclysmic events catapult a soul into the sa of satori, upheavals in the soul's geology of death and rebirth, a massive volcano destroying in order to create a new tropical paradise.

volcanic soil is among the richest and most fertile on the planet. geological upheavals of the soul. death and life. fear, courage, and enlightenment.



PDX at sunrise

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): "To have more, desire less." I urge you to make that your motto in the coming days, Capricorn. You're in a phase that's ideal for expanding your horizons by cutting back on your attachments. Your wealth will grow if you renounce any greed you may be harboring. Your power will intensify if you give up your longing for control over things you can't control. So be brave. Be nervy. Have fun. As you shed insubstantial wishes and barely-relevant obsessions, you may come to resemble a monarch.

this reminds me of that advertising campaign years ago, with the whole "less is more" theme. but then i think about it a little deeper, and it makes total sense. expand my horizons by cutting my attachments.

how else am i to be free to soar straight towards those horizons?

the karmic insinuations of growing wealth (i assume in the ways that count, and not monetary or material) if i let go of greed, as well as gaining power by renouncing control, are tied to the same thing. and it's just in time for summer, where the old, bulky, dust-covered trappings of winter are being shed --like that spare tire around your waist-- for the lithe, light, and billowy freedom of warmth, sunshine, and an abundance of the wild, growing things. with the Feast of Midsummer drawing nigh, it's the perfect time for shedding insecurities, illusions of control, spiritual and emotional baggage. the perfect time to give them to the Funk for recycling. the perfect time to stretch and dance and sing, to revel in body and heart, and water the soul garden of those things that are truly important...

truth, beauty, freedom, and love.

ah, the clarion call of the revolutionary freedom fighter: be brave, be nervy, have fun! as i was telling someone last night (this morning?), there are those people who protect themselves by being closed to new experiences, by embracing all things cynical and cold, peering into the mouths of gift horses everywhere, and assuming bad and hostile things while keeping their ears closed. and they succeed in their protection. very well.

and then there are those who choose to remain open, who are soft and vulnerable, a little closer to the surface than is probably wise. their hearts shine on their sleeves. and while they might be a little frayed at the edges, battered and reeling sometimes, and with a multitude of battle scars hiding beneath their clothing, they wake up every day and polish the heart on their sleeves. the violence, hostility, and cruelty of the world baffles them at times, but they're still there, eager to find the silver lining, eager to turn over every single rock and find laughter hiding beneath.

it's a sacred uproar.

and that's exactly what i've been working toward. i mentioned here a little bit ago, on one of my sunday scribblings entries, that i was dragged kicking and screaming up to the portland area, but now that i love it so much here, i'd have to be dragged away --kicking and screaming. here is food for thought, i suppose. i'm in a phase that's ideal for expanding my horizons by cutting back on my attachments. so what keeps me here? what keeps me in this (joking) refusal to leave my home and love?

i've given this a lot of thought over the past few months, actually. the only answer i can give is, "my family." i love my parents, i love our sunday afternoons together. i love my sister *cc* and *mj*, and *ds*, *ks*, and *kas*. i wouldn't want to leave my job not because i couldn't find the same position elsewhere, but because i adore the people there. i even love my customers and their dogs. yes, even the high-strung huskies. i love the scenery, the gorgeous, breathtaking, riotously colorful world i live in. i live minutes away from unique geological wonders of the world. portland and the pacific northwest saturate my cells, every molecule, every breath i take and glass of water i drink. portland nourishes me at the most fundamental level, and i am a part of it as much as it is a part of me.

and yet...if i left, it would still be a part of me, a mark on my heart and soul like the rings of a tree. and the love i share with the people in my life wouldn't fade simply for distance. is my love for li'l *c* any less with him 576 miles away? if anything, it grows daily. it would almost increase the wonder of it, the miracle of love being a connection that encompasses the world. people spanning the breadth of the land, connected by love.

so i suppose it wouldn't be so hard to leave here, and certainly not kicking and screaming. not if the connection and love remain. not if it means embracing adventure, expanding my horizons, by shedding the needless everything that holds me grounded.

and have you ever heard of a revolutionary freedom fighter who wasn't free? ha!

forget those barely-relevant obsessions. give me true passions to lose myself in. truth. beauty. freedom.


wonder. miracles. did you know that, to make a pound of honey, bees have to gather nectar from about two million flowers? to produce a single pound of the spice saffron, humans have to handpick and process 80,000 flowers. in delivering the single survivor necessary to fertilize an ovum, a man releases 500 million sperm.

dude! hold a pound of honey in your hand, and you hold two million arias of vibrant color and heavenly perfume all at once. one pound of saffron is eighty thousand crocus flowers in a single moment. make love once, just once, and you will exist in the presence of 500 million possibilities of love made manifest into a living, breathing human being.

it's, like, miracle concentrate. and it's happening all around us every single day.

what does this have to do with this week's horoscope, capricorn? only this:
how can we travel to the furthest reaches of our own horizons if we insist on holding onto the heavy, drab attachments that keep us running in place? to see more, to have more, we have to be open to more without inflicting our own expectations on the world. we have to let those go.

welcome to twenty-two minutes of world orgasm, baby.


what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary


1. a combination of diverse elements
2. a mixture
3. the most accurate word for all of delena's feelings right now

i actually sat here for about ten minutes trying to figure out what's that word again. tired? yes, but... accomplished? well, yeah, but... ah, satisfied! definitely, however...


it's just so many things. then it hit me: amalgam! yeah, that's it! it's that variety of tired that comes from completing very satisfying work. y'know, when your bones are water and your muscles quiver at their limit, your smile is a quiet effort and your head is hollow...yet it's not the kind of tired that leaves you wasted and empty, only filled larger than you were when you began?

yes, that's it. that's it completely.

i found out today that i pulled in twice as much money as projected, twice as much as the girls in my position. and i did more dogs. like, double-digits more. i had more add-ons (extras to include in the basic grooming package), more premiums (top-dollar grooms), everything.

i so rock!

of course, in order to rock as hard as me, you gotta work almost two weeks straight, have one day off, work another nine...close the salon back to back with opening it the next day...work overtime...come in on your days off...take the brunt when someone doesn't feel like coming in to work and she's booked solid (or overbooked). y'know, the usual.

we're down less than a skeleton crew over there, and everyone's feeling the hurt. it feels like i'm the only one working as much as i am over there, busting my back to the point of burning (my tailbone's on fire constantly now, and The Spot is in perma-spasm). i'm taking anti-inflammatories and painkillers when i abhore pharmaceuticals. it's a measure of the pain that i take them at all, and i know that. carpal tunnel syndrome has reared its ugly head this past week or so, and it got so bad i couldn't flow any energy at all out of my hands.

at all. that's never happened before.

but it's been good. i'm tired. by the Funky Ya-Ya, i'm so dang tired...but it's a good tired.


sunday scribblings

paper faces on parade...
hide your face
so the world
will never find you.

flash of mauve...
splash of puce...
fool and king,
ghoul and goose...
green and black...
queen and priest...
trace of rouge,
face of beast...
take your turn, take a ride
on the merry-go-round
in an inhuman race!

-"masquerade" from phantom of the opera

at first i was tempted to write about the masks we wear for appearance's sake, the metaphorical mask. but we all wear masks, and isn't the topic a bit overdone?

what about halloween? it's only my favorite holiday of the year. of course, i also happen to find it fun to shout, "happy new year!" to passersby and chuckle at their confused, startled expressions. where i come from, halloween is called samhain (pronounced SOW-en) and is our new year's celebration. it's a time to remember the past year, and reflect on Those Who Have Gone Before.

but in the meantime...it's also a fantastic time to dress up. i always joke and say it's the one night of the year i can actually dress like myself. i get out my broom and pointy hat. but aren't we all like that, in some fashion or other? we dress up as things we want to be, because something within us feels an attraction, a pull, towards it. we're drawn to those things we recognize within ourselves. halloween gives us the freedom to revel and delve and explore it more deeply.

you wanna dress up like a troll? go ahead! what trollish qualities do you possess? revel in them! how can you make them a positive and powerful force in your life? you wanna be a fairy princess? a dwarf? this coming halloween i'm dressing up as a huge present with foil wrapping paper and a big, fat bow. the tag's gonna say, "TO: Men of the World, FROM: God."

hey, whoever said a bit of confidence and ego was a bad thing? *grin*

but seriously, there are masques and balls, not to mention convensions and cosplays all over the world. people love to dress up, to play, to be something "other" for a day, a night, a weekend.

sometimes those masks are truer than we think...

ready for more about masks?
mask picture above from GoblinArt



CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): I wish I could get a newly discovered species of beetle or an underground lake of ice on Mars named after you. I wish I could buy you a temple in Bali, and arrange for you to have your fortune told by the blind prophetess of Rio de Janeiro. And I wish I could dress you in 200-year-old velvet robes and silk scarves once worn by Turkish royalty. You richly deserve honors and blessings like these, Capricorn. It's that time in your astrological cycle when life is supposed to overflow with rewards for the good work you've been doing for a long time. I urge you to be vividly confident that you do indeed deserve these rewards, and radiate that faith in all directions.


the universe is conspiring to shower me with blessings!

...but wait. haven't i already been saying that? DAMN STRAIGHT! once upon a time i was criticized for being unwilling, unable, and too weak/scared/dishonest to look into the abyss. there's something to be said for staring into the abyss too long. it stares back. there are people who spend so much time in the darkness, it becomes home.

to all those people who think staring into the abyss and navigating the Darkness is all there is: i give unto you my utmost, revolutionary freedom fighter, pronoiac histrionic yawn.

i have something better: the courage to look into happiness.

i can visualize and create my own happiness, thanks. faith precedes the miracle. what you see IS what you get. credendo vides.

...but it's nice to know the Supreme Funk sees and wants to send me a lovely bouquet of KICK ASS! just because. hehe...


sepuku sunday

there's junkmail tuesday, fucktard friday, grocery run monday, and now sepuku sunday.

after two sundays of utter suckage at work, i was braced for what i'd tentatively called "sepuku sunday," because the suckage is so hard that honorable suicide actually starts to look good. *nod*

but of course, being me, i gave it the benefit of the doubt. i walked into work with a smile on my face like i always do. i'd even been able to sleep in today until 07:30 because i didn't have to be in until 10:00. on my way to the bathroom i ran into the manager lady.

me: "guten morgen!"
her: "good morning. oh hey! you're gonna love this, delena. *sL* called in today."
me: "oh joy of joys. huzzah for sepuku sunday!"

she laughed. when i got to the parlor, another of the groomers said, "oh, you're gonna love this!" (yeah, almost the same words as the manager lady." "*sL* called in sick today."

yup! i'd already heard, i said. "gotta love sepuku sunday." nobody got it this time, however.

it actually wasn't that bad of a day. i had an hour and a half of down time because i was smart and didn't allow any time slots to be available. i did my dogs, plus two of the sick girl's dogs, plus five extras (and one last minute walk-in) for a whopping total of fifteen, ALL of which went out at least ninety minutes early.

oh yeah, i rock.

HOWEVER, and this is a big, fat, fucking HOWEVER--

one of the gods-be-damned dogs gave me poison oak!!!!!

poison oak!!

it started out as a small little ring of raised, red, burning bumps. one of the floor managers asked me if i was okay, and i pointed to it and asked, "does this look like ringworm to you?" she shrugged. one of the groomers overheard and said, "did you say 'ringworm'?" so i showed her, too. she shrugged. i showed the manager, and by then it had spread four inches up and two inches across and was burning constantly. she also shrugged.

i thought i was just chafing, because sometimes it burned and pulled like that. so i rubbed lotion on it. *rolls eyes*

by the time i got home, it had completely embraced my right forearm and was working its way up and around my left forearm. i went home and showed *cc*, asked her if it was just chafing, or a rash. when in doubt, ask the military medic.

her: "looks like an allergic reaction to something, dear."
me: "shit. i knew it."
her: "did you use any new soaps or anything?"
me: "well, i had to flea shampoo two dogs, which can do this to my skin, but it was already pretty bad by then. it started after i bathed this one dog. this one obnoxious, filthy, filthy dog."
her: *nodding* "it was prolly running around in the foliage and you got the oils on you."
me: "shit."

so i got to pour bleach all over my arms --which burned like a brisket in the seven hells-- and then rinse well with cold water, popped a couple antihistimenes, and slathered my now scald-red, swollen forearms with cortisone cream.

then i took my ass to red robin and had a boca mushroom burger, fries, and a roy rogers because i deserved comfort food, dammit.

oh yeah, gotta love sepuku sundays.



CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): "Most painting in the European tradition involved painting the person's mask," wrote abstract expressionist painter Robert Motherwell. "Modern art rejected all that. Our subject matter has been the person behind the mask." Your next assignment is similar to that of modern art's, Capricorn: to recognize everyone's persona, but delve deeper to explore the maddeningly complex, crazily inscrutable, gorgeously wounded soul that's hidden beneath everyone's persona. Strip away the surface, in other words, and investigate the essence lurking below.

if i felt like a smartass, mr. brezsny, i'd go on about how yes, modern art sees the hidden, illuminates the unseen beneath the murky depths, but post-modernism...now there's something interesting! why waste my time focusing on the maddeningly complex, crazily inscrutable, gorgeously wounded soul hidden beneath the persona, when i could just reject both the high and low forms of art, upend the art tables of sincerity and stability, and declare that only irony, spoof, and sarcasm are the last bastions of true art?

...but that would be very un-pronoiac of me, wouldn't it? cynicism is an illness, calloused and jaded apathy a boil that needs to be lanced. post-modernism is the skeleton dressed in finery and pretending not to notice it has no meat to it.

i used to adore post-modernism... i used to celebrate it. key phrase here being "used to."

it's funny. remember how i came home from work a couple sundays ago and actually cried because my back hurt so badly? well, late that day, one of the groomers had cornered me for something just one too many times. i put my hand out and asked her, "please, not right now?" and when she continued to speak, i just kept repeating, "just, please, not right now, 'kay?" until she finally backed off.

first off, i was very proud of myself for holding to my boundary. the old me would have let go the first time she ignored my request to delay the conversation and just swallowed the emotions. but i didn't. and i didn't break down and cry, or lose my temper, like i would have once upon a time. bully for me.

however, she thought i was upset with her. it's funny, because i thought she was then upset with me, so it was a huge mixup. i just wanted to avoid drama in the workplace. it got back to the manager lady, who asked why i was upset with the groomer. so i explained what it really was, and lucky for me, she's really observant. that groomer's a sensitive girl, and yes, i'm sensitive, but i hold myself in check a lot, and i also just come out and say what i want and need to say. it rubs a lot of people the wrong way, but the manager lady's like that too, so she understood.

last night, i finally had an opportunity to clear things up with the groomer, and i gave her a hug. we laughed. earlier, i told her i was making dhaal tonight and i'd save her some and bring it for her on saturday. oh joy of joys, another vegitarian at work!

so once again, mr. brezsny, you're on to something here. i've said it here before: i usually try to understand people as well as i possibly can. i give them the benefit of the doubt, second chances, and try to make my judgement calls based more on their motivation --the spirit behind their actions-- rather than their naked actions. it's gotten me skull-fucked repeatedly, but i'd rather that than have a jaded, realistic eye that borders on cynical. y'know?

i like my view of the world. it's a gorgeous place, y'know, where people are basically good people who try to do the right thing but sometimes don't have enough of the facts to be wise. we all need a little help, and you never know when a little kindness you give might be just the thing someone needs to completely change their life.

i would only add one word to my horoscope this week: "lovingly strip away the surface, in other words, and investigate the essence lurking below."

had other people i'd known been truly loving, investigating my essence lurking below, my crazily inscrutable and gorgeously wounded soul and not attaching their own expectations and imperatives upon what they thought they saw, i might've gotten better a little bit sooner instead of seeing pieces of the bio-dad in all of them and running the other way.

lovingly search for the essence in other people, with no expectations, always giving the benefit of the doubt. i think if people did that for others more, we'd find a lot more pain lurking in the darkness. a lot more scared little children, and a lot more inadvertent hostility than what we think we see. y'know? what we want to find. "you see what you wanna see, and you hear what you wanna hear. dig?" said the rock man.

and, i think, if we had no expectations, no cynicism, and a willingness to give second chances, we'd find ourselves capable of a lot more real compassion. a lot more radical intimacy.

may the Funk be with you.


eHarmony, eBay, eGads

okay, so i filled out another one of eHarmony's personality profile thingies because a.) they don't let you go back and change your answers once you've completed it, and b.) i was really dang curious to see how i've changed.

for the most part, i'm still me, which is a good thing. but some of my answers were different enough that it changed one of my results. i went from being "sometimes focused, sometimes flexible" to "focused." now, i loved the description of the focused-and-flexible result, because i felt that it really described me. when i'm focused on something, i'm intense about it. but i also know what my priorities are, and if something better comes along, i know that i can put down whatever work i was doing and go out and enjoy life.

...on the flip side, that could also say that i'm a bit flakey, not quite dependable, and i'd rather go off and play than be serious. not that that's entirely true, but i do know that life is more important than work, and making lasting memories with people i love will be the things i remember. not the work i stuck myself with on a gorgeous weekend, y'know?

but now, i've gotten more focused. i know who i am and what i want now, instead of thinking i'm what everyone tells me i should be, and wanting what other people suggest i should want. i'm so sick of people telling me what i am and what i want. i change my name, and i get "no, your name will always be ____, no matter what you say." i hate people like that. can you see the lack of respect for me as a person, an individual with my own mind? and that's just one example. i'm a revolutionary freedom fighter. i see injustice, and my response is to go out and fight it on the front lines. in the trenches. and yet once upon a time i had a mentor that used to shoot me in the ass and tell me that it wasn't my place, i could do better things, be greater.

but what if, inside, i belong out there, just one more soldier fighting for freedom, beauty, truth, and love? fighting against hypocrisy? fighting for equality? i might be "demeaned" by being G.I. Delena in the coming genocide of the imagination, but so what? revolutionary freedom fighters don't hang back on the sidelines. get me up to my elbows, dammit.

okay, off my soapbox.

so i know who i am: i am delena, daughter of funk, revolutionary freedom fighter, lover of the color pink, retro, and fantasy fiction. i know what i want: happiness, autonomy, to be surrounded by my family, and funk. and i've modeled my life to reflect exactly that. and i love my life!

so...okay. we went out to celebrate dad's birthday at this fantastic little brazilian joint downtown on 13th. it was so groovy! so i told them that i'd done the whole eHarmony profile thing, and in a thousand miles, it could only find two people compatible with me. i had to laugh. i felt so unique, that only two people, in a thousand miles in any direction, had enough in common with me to be compatible. not that i wanted to interact with either of them, or any of the other matches eHarmony's sent me since then. i like where i am.

this morning, i check my email, and not only has eHarmony sent me another match from somewhere in idaho, but there was a communique from them in the very next email! needless to say, my reaction was, "Eeeek!" so now what do i do? i mean, they're just 5 questions. eHarmony has steps you go through, like questions, then "must haves" and "can't stands," that kind of thing, to give people a template to help them interact in the beginning. it's really a neat setup.

so...this deputy sheriff from idaho has sent me questions. he likes robert jordan (who's my favorite author), loves his family, has a corny sense of humor (which everyone knows is a weakness of mine), craves honesty, is a movie hound, wants to visit the tropics (and old friends know about me and tahiti...)...

see where this is going? on paper, he seems pretty awesome. but...i like my life. i know, i know. it's just questions. it's not exactly where i want to be right now, but would i still be me if i stopped being adventurous? i dunno. i'll have to think about this one, because i really, really like my life as it is right now, with no one special in it. well, li'l *c* is special, but you know what i mean.

speaking of li'l *c*, it's his birthday this month, and he wants a bowling pin. isn't that just adorable?! a bowling pin! big *c* asked me to get him a bowling bag, which i will. i'm looking for one of those old fashioned kinds, the leather dome-shaped ones. apparently, nobody makes them anymore. if anyone's got one, i'd be eternally grateful for it! as is, i'm searching mightily on eBay.


what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary


1. characterized by or showing inability to remain at rest
2. unquiet or uneasy, as a person, the mind, or the heart
3. never at rest, perpetually agitated or in motion
4. without rest; without restful sleep
5. what delena's been lately

honestly, i don't get it. last night i couldn't settle down to save my life. i finally got to sleep around 01:30. and this is after taking melatonin and jeagermeister at, what, 22:30? i wanted to sleep. but i also wanted to stay up and watch a movie, read a book, figure out this stupid corner i've written myselt into with the heartbreaking work of staggering genius.

i wanted to call someone up and see if they wanted to hang out. it didn't matter who, either. i wanted to go take a drive, go fly a kite, go smoke a clove. i wanted to find some nice, mind-altering substances because i'd been on edge all day yesterday. sundays at work make me want to commit sepuku. they're horrible, horrible days. i almost actually cried at work yesterday. we just get so slammed, and i had three difficult descriptions (what people want us to do with their dogs) in a row that were all the same thing. every single one of my dogs went out late, some of them two hours late. the customer couldn't even complain in a civilized way, she had to be a fucking cunt about it, and then the manager lady took it out on me. she later said it wasn't that she was upset with me, she was more upset with the customer, but still. all i could think of was here i landed this fantastic job and now i'm going to get fired.

well, thank the Multi-versal Jiggy Snake i didn't get fired. thank all the Funk who made me. but still. sundays are horrible, and i just wonder where the fuck they all come from. don't they go to church or something? jeez...

and i still have that feeling of the unknown reality tsunami. It's coming. i don't know when It arrives or what It'll be or look like, but there's still that feeling. thank the Divine Wow it hasn't affected my appetite, otherwise i'd have to be upset.

but i kept getting up and wandering around the apartment early this morning. for the life of me, i couldn't figure out what to do with myself. i hate that. sometimes i still get the complete aversion to falling asleep, that vague and tiny dread of tomorrow. that desire to simply remain in the dark quietness of the middle of the night. the vague, sick, twisting feeling that i haven't done enough today, i've wasted what hours i had and i didn't do enough in them.

i've had that feeling for years, about night and sleep and bedtime. i wish i could say it's why i have such horrid insomnia, but i've had that for half my life -- literally. no, this vague the-tsunami-is-coming feeling is different. i can't stand being restless.


they call it "women's intuition"

you have no idea how many blog entries i wrote today, in my head.

hell, even *i* don't know how many blog entries i wrote today, in my head.

i tossed out every single one of them. don't get me wrong, they were actually quite beautiful. certain sentences were...poetic. but, i dunno, i just don't have the heart to blog today. it's been one of those days that makes me realize that while i might have done the whole "woman power! rar! i am in touch with my bleeding self and my bathtub with enya and wine is my moonlodge! gimme that drum..." sometimes the we-are-not-amused part of myself still can tell when i'm a little more hormonal than usual.

although it took *ds* to point out that i get a lot more guilt-ridden and second-guessing when it's close to that time of the month.

so i'm sure a lot of this is just the monthly descent into insecure self-doubt. i try to stay away from it now. especially now that i know it really is just me. honestly, i had no idea that i got that way, but thanks to *ds* i see the pattern now. sometimes all it takes is pointing out the pattern to me without accusation or condemnation. i don't respond to either well. then again, who does? but i take it a step further. i had quite enough criticism from the bio-dad, thanks.

but, i dunno. maybe it's just the blood coming, the surging tide of imbalanced hormones. today i woke up and i knew it was coming. It. a big, monumental change that i need to make in my life, to prepare for when It comes. almost like preparing for a tsunami, only not in a bad way. the thought actually occurred to me today: "maybe it's time to move back to so.cal."

to which i promptly replied: "like HELL it is!"

but the usual horror at the thought of so.cal didn't well up in me. it made me thoughtful.

you know what else made me thoughtful? i finally admitted it to myself. like, really admitted it to myself.

i want another baby.

i know, i know. i was all gun-ho about tying me up after li'l *c* popped out, but i didn't because my mother-in-law wanted me to make more in spite of the fact that one almost killed the both of us. i've never wanted another child. for three years after li'l *c* was born, actually, the very thought of getting pregnant again sent me into nauseated panic attacks. projectile vomiting and everything. it was traumatic. then, as the years passed, i went through the whole gamut of emotions regarding pregnancy and more children and my existing child and everything. there's one person i know i'd want to be pregnant with, but it's not going to happen.

i just always knew li'l *c* was going to be my one and only, and after i got over the trauma, i slowly realized i never got over the sad wistfulness of knowing i'd never have another. this past year and a half, maybe, the thought realization's popped up occasionally that i know i want another one. i always stuffed it back down, away where it belonged. but...it's there.

and not just that. i want to make enough money --soon-- to get my own small apartment. i want to decorate it in dragons, 70's retro, crocheted crafty things, and posters of shoes. i want a low table and lots of huge, floofy pillows. i want pink kitchen appliances just because it'd be a really hilarious joke.

pink's not even my favorite color, but i sure do like it.

and i wanna adopt a pug from the pug rescue shelter that's up in the puget sound. they're adorable, loving, funny, affectionate, and from the interaction i've had with pugs and what i know of them, they're the perfect personality to fit mine. i could give a pug a very happy, loving home, i think.

and there've been times lately, in the past few weeks, when i've had a bit of an appetite for someone in my life. not, like, in a trollish, prowling sort of way, and not even in the "someday my prince will come" kind of way. nothing of dreams and propaganda, stupid lies we tell ourselves about what love "really" is. just...an appetite for someone who is really compatible, shares my values, respects my autonomy, admires my journey into mental health. an appetite for companionship and friendship, chemistry.

and i also know that i don't want it right now. i like my life just as is: working, coming home to the great company of my small family, writing, dinner every other sunday with the parents. every first friday of the month i see a movie with one of my girlfriends. every once in a while i have lunch with *kas*. some unexpected evenings, occasionally, i enjoy ladies' night with *lw* and sometimes even *ky*. and that's my life.

and i like it. i'd be happy with a visit to whateverville, TN to visit my greggo, another ticket to hawai'i to get wild on the town with my other sister as soon as she gets back from iraq (we'd be scarywild together, i swear), and another ticket to so.cal to visit, well, everyone else in my life and stay with my lovely lovely *cd*. we'd stay up all night after her girls have gone to bed and sip spiked whatevers and talk about all those things that you can only tell a girlfriend over alcohol by candlelight. i've told her things i've never told anyone else, not even mentioned on the blog.

so...weird stuff. weird sentiments, and i wonder if it's women's intuition or just the rising tide of my ovarian dam about to burst.



CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): You're growing almost too fast, Capricorn. You know almost too much and you're almost too attractive. Furthermore, you're on the verge of being ridiculously smart, absurdly popular, and outlandishly creative. To avoid having any of this spawn jealousy in others, you should probably go overboard in expressing humility--even if you have to fake it a little. Another step you could take to minimize any problems people might have with your amazing beauty is to be extravagantly generous in sharing your wealth.

oh, mr. brezsny, don't tell me this. please don't tell me this... i'm too susceptible to hope and delusions of happiness as it is.

please don't tell me this. please don't tell me my work is paying off. all those days of torturous pilates where my ass is crying for mercy and you'd think i were getting my ass kicked (instead of kicking my own ass) with all the grunting and groaning because i can't do one hundred crunches in four different flavors without wishing for death. and the looking into the black mirror and staring my dark twin down into her very eyeballs. and, no matter how hard i try, i can't shed this naiveté for the life of me, and i've been told (and i know) it gives me an irresistable vulnerability -- because i don't grasp the world the way everyone else does. i don't see people the way they are, but the way i hope everyone is. i'm getting more beautiful by the day, shining just a bit brighter, believing just a little more that i am worth being heard, i am worth defending, i do have a right to exist...and to exist in happiness.

my confidence in myself is growing. i'm still shy, and i wonder if it's a part of me that will always be with me now, but being shy isn't the same as having no confidence. but unless i'm extremely comfortable with you, be prepared for much quietness, not a lot of eye contact, and even a little blushing. it's a little different when i'm with someone i'm comfortable with, but they're the only person i know. then it's all wit, sarcasm, and dry, self-depricating jokes. but i assure you, it's all bravado, because inside i'm nervous, unsure, and blushing like hell.

nobody believes me when i say i'm really quite shy. they've never seen me immersed in a totally new situation. it takes me ages to make friends on my own. ages.

but that's neither here nor there.

but i am humble. of course, i think the small pride i take in being humble completely throws it off the track, but hey, in the end it's our effort that matters. it's the climb, not the fact we reached the peak. and i know --and those who know me well-- know i'm the first to stand up and admit my failings. i gladly stand up and say, "my bad!" i even laugh at myself as i do it, and it's genuine laughter, too. but ever since houston, i am not afraid to stand up and, in the same breath after that "my bad," point my finger and highlight exactly how i was wronged in return. *n* taught me how to do that.

some people hate that i do it well. they call it "self-righteousness," and "arrogance," "ignorance," and "refusal to accept responsibility for my actions."

nooo...i just refuse to take responsibility for everyone else's actions, much as they want to pour them on me. i'm done being everyone's scapegoat, everyone's dog to kick at the end of the day, everyone's piss-on. and i think that upsets them, because they liked the power over. somewhere, inside, they felt they had a right to it. why else would they get pissed when i finally looked them in the eye and said, "no." but oh, no, not delena the doormat. it's not independence and strength to be admired...it's insufferable rebellion. now, true, i gave them that power in the beginning. but i also know i was raised and programmed not to know i had any other options. and it's not my fault they grew to like the power. it is my fault, however, that i gave up my own power in the first place.

well, i've taken it back, gods damn it all to hell. i'm my own revolutionary freedom fighter.

i don't tolerate that anymore. but i do still admit my mistakes and let everyone know when and where i'm ignorant. ignorance doesn't serve. being wrong is nothing more than the path towards being right.

i'm afraid of success. i'm afraid of living alone. i'm afraid of the dark, afraid of finding out i just might've wasted my life, afraid of finding out that all my work and effort and faith will avail me nothing. oh, i'm afraid of a lot of things. there are days where i'm nothing but one big ball of fear. the things i tell myself when i find myself getting trapped in self-pity sound more accurate to me than the truth, because i marinated in recrimination for most of my life. i refuse to acknowledge my birthday because i'm afraid i'll find out that no one really wants to celebrate me anyway, no one cares, so i'll get all dressed up anticipating a fantastic party and no one will show up. from the time i turned thirteen, my birthday was completely unacknowledged but my younger siblings still got some presents and special dinners. i didn't. and i still think, in my heart, that if my own bio-parents didn't want to celebrate me, why would anyone else? so i pretend it's just another day, and i try to be as low-key about it as i possibly can, because i don't want to set myself up for disappointment. but what i really, secretly, want are hugs and kisses and silly party hats and hilarious birthday cards with cats on them, maybe even a small present or two that actually required forethought.

i walk into a room and feel like the youngest, most inferior person there. i know i'm naive, and not very cynical or realistic (when it comes to people), and my idealistic "there's always room for beauty in the world of magic!" makes me feel not very smart to the people around me. i want to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, give them every chance and withhold my own possible negative conclusions as long as possible, and the cynicism of the people around me make me feel like i should still be led around on a leash. "c'mon, little stupid girl, you're still not ready to go Out There on your own."

and i know it all boils down to the simple fact that i've been looked down upon my whole life. my whole life. i've been accused of some very horrible things which, in their point of view, are entirely accurate and sound logical. but if they would only stop to listen to what was in my heart, what my motivations and fears really were, they'd realize i wasn't any of those horrible things and their conclusions were so far off the mark it isn't even funny. and i know it can happen, so i try to give people the benefit of the doubt. i haven't always succeeded, and it's always been because of my fear. fear that, so someone has said to my face, was apparently a cop-out excuse. so much does he think he knows.

no one's ever understood me, and i know how it feels. so i try to understand everyone i possibly can. i know it's impossible, but there were a few people in my life who actually tried to understand me. and they still stick out in my mind: a high school teacher, my best friend greggo, two waitresses from IHOP, mr. and mrs. caballero. people who make a difference.

i have very humble beginnings, and a gentle spirit too susceptible to cruelty and kindness, and i know it. no amount of confidence, beauty, popularity, or creativity will ever change that. and i know that, too.