to kill the child within

I don't know exactly where this romantic notion of "the child within" came from. We idealize youth in really stupid ways, in my opinion. I mean, sure, who hasn't looked at a lithe teenage body and drooled a little? We've all been there! But let's face it, despite their physical beauty, kids do stupid shit. They ask too many questions. They have no personal boundaries. They are curious about sex. They dream of bigger things. They get in trouble. They play pretend. They have imaginary friends. They think that something being boring is enough of a reason not to do it.

I say this in the heat of my own little epiphany. I am an emotional infant, and possibly mentally challenged. I am hopelessly old - quarter-life-crisis-ready, beaten and bruised by adult life - but I have never felt more like a child. Instead of enjoying an ice-cream cone or spinning joyously around in circles for no reason at all, however, I feel helpless and lost. I do not enjoy this feeling. Being a child is frightening.

What missing ingredient was there in my development? So many of my peers have it, but I don't. They book appointments, go to work, grocery shop, join gyms, have power lunches, pick out new drapes - and all like they have a clear idea of why they are doing these things. I do stuff as well, sure, but for the life of me I can't figure out what any of it is for.

I dwell on the details.

My thoughts are utterly grandiose.

I want to be a fireman.

No, a police officer!

No, no! President!

I just want some peace.

I want someone to pull a lever and spin my brain like a slot machine, and make me arbitrarily live out the course of my life according to the random pattern of events the aligning wheels would illustrate. Instead of cherries and lemons and apples, the symbols would be more akin to hieroglyphs or Chinese characters. Each one would provide its own chapter to the book of my silly life, a sentence in a Madlib story, a character in an improv scene. I would be a happy robot then.

For if I were a robot, I wouldn't question the feelings my maker endowed me with. If I felt fear or desire, or pleasure, or love, I would accept all that as part of my robot nature. I would do what I do without ever wondering what else there might be. I would love what I love because I was made to love it. There would be no possibility of questioning the source of this love, or its motive. There would be no shame.

But instead of an adult robot, I am a baby primate. Great ape. I am not a suitable house pet. I may want to drive cars and then eat somebody's face. I may look civilized because I know how to use eating utensils and the toilet, but I am still a wild beast.

Oh, if only being shot with a tranquilizer gun didn't hurt...

on blogging about blogging

Please make sure to check out a new blog I added to my favorite blog list. Since I have nothing of any interest to offer you lately, I thought I could at least do you the service of pointing out who really DOES have a point of view on things outside of their own broken emotions. I mean, let's face it. If you're not interested in mental agony and general schizoid behavior, there isn't much to see here. This is why I am hereby releasing you to float through the blogosphere like helium-filled balloons to look over the fascinating lives of others, enjoying their quirky sense of humor and well-readness about current events.

Start here:

http://goodnightmoon.tumblr.com/

Remember, this is one of my best friends, so I get half credit for everything witty and funny she says.

Please stay tuned for more hot blog on blog action.

guilty?

It's the first real snow storm of the season. Everyone was so excited. Everyone but me, that is. I am the sucker that agreed to "dump" at 6 AM at the radio station, and woke up this morning dreading the decision I would have to make. To dump or not to dump? That is the question.

My car is like a sardine can of a death trap. The wheels are balding, one of the headlights went out AGAIN, even though I just replaced it like last week (must be some electrical issue), and the break pads need to be changed soon. This really isn't the ideal vehicle to take me all the way to Fairfax in these precarious conditions. All that is bad enough in its own right, but when I thought about the fact that my reward for the arduous journey I would have to undertake is barely above minimum wage, I decided I couldn't in my right mind do that to myself. There's a dump button in the on-air studio, after all. They don't really NEED me. Maybe they can try to tone it down this morning with the sexual innuendo. These are scary times for everyone. No time for cheap laughs. I could very well be kissing my potential references and recommendations good-bye for this, but my defiant spirit says it's better to live reference-less but intact, than to die referred and mangled.

To punish myself for my pesky survival instincts and to prove to the universe that I am NOT being lazy and looking for a stolen day of sleeping in, I will stay up and watch Woody Allen movies on my Netflix instant viewing. "Mighty Aphrodite" - here I come!

New podcasts are up, by the way. Check them out.

http://www.switchpod.com/p19578.html

life is like a twizzler pull-n-peel

My mind is unraveling. Nothing makes any sense right now. I thought I had made progress - that rationality was my muse.

I can't strike from my memory the very essence of what I felt like last Tuesday: light, free, content yet exhilarated. If we are nothing but masses of energy percolating with different frequencies, then it really seems extra unfair that mundane, physical circumstance is preventing a potentially beautiful and fruitful co-vibration. It will take time for my brain to readjust to this new level of perception. It will take my heart even longer to stop aching at the thought of what could never be. I know I will survive any disappointment. I know I am complete already... But who can resist basking in the glow of unfettered joy when the opportunity throws itself at one's feet? And who can willingly relinquish the right to even remember that joy once it's gone?

Appropriately enough, I've lost my voice. The raspy gasps my throat emits when I attempt to speak match the ugliness of my societally sanctioned self-denial.

To live in peace can mean so many different things. At least I seem to have a clearer idea of what it means to me. I'm not there yet.

Happy new year?

I realize that I am still technically young, but I certainly never expected to still be this underdeveloped, emotionally stunted, almost helpless husk of a human being by this time in my life. In Soviet Union time, I'm not only an adult, but should be raising my second or third child by now... WHILE going to work as an engineer at some office, and cooking dinner at home every night.

You know what I had for dinner today? A strawberry popsicle. Actually, it's an organic frozen juice bar from Trader Joe's, but that doesn't make it any more of a complete meal - just less poisonous.

Anyhow, I only wanted to take a brief inventory of everything I have and am while I have my wits about me. Of course no personal accounting can take place so quickly, nor should it be taken lightly, but I never seem to be able to play by the rules, so let's make light of my baseness, my weak moral character, and fat stack of failures, shall we?

1) My marriage is not what I intended it to be - that is, it's currently over, or at least on long-term hold. I counted on this man to save me, and he certainly gave me a great boost at the beginning, if only through allegorical inspiration, but ultimately, he needed me to save him even more. I think I gave him a good head start too. I pointed him in the right direction, emotionally and mentally. I cannot be the one to guide him through anything right now, though, as I myself am suffering from severe growing pains. Where is my wild-haired, clear-eyed, robe-clad sage?

2) I find myself painfully attracted to people who have absolutely no interest in me. This seems to give my mundane existence excitement. I don't know why I find suffering so exciting. Hi, my name is Mariya and I am a sadomasochist. And I like to drink and smoke, too.

3) I have finally enrolled in an improv class. Appropriately enough, it will be at the DC Improv. Monday nights, starting in March. I believe it will culminate with a showcase performance. This excites me and frightens me greatly.

4) Speaking of painful attraction - I am surprised by the sheer number of people I have been feeling these "vibes" from or towards. Am I just lonely? A sexual deviant? A self-aggrandizing fool?

5) Despite all this emotional turmoil, I still manage to get intellectually inspired from day to day, which is reassuring. Maybe all this falling in and out of love is just part of my experience. I shouldn't try to will it to be different. Maybe it has to be this way.

6) I am poor.

7) Truly disturbed to see tiny signs of aging start to creep up on my face. I miss the passion I felt when I first started this pseudo-vegan lifestyle. Back then "no dairy" meant "no dairy". Now it's "no dairy unless I really really want some and haven't had any in a while". Terrible. That's what I get. If I don't commit to not getting feeble and infirm and wrinkly, I can't very well expect to accomplish anything in that regard. When was the last time I had a proper work-out? Who even knows?! I need to re-read "Jitterbug Perfume" and get inspired again.

8) Windows Vista is not as bad as everyone tries to make it out to be. So far I don't see how it's bad at all. I'm just glad to have a new computer.

9) I keep having very vivid, sensory, emotional dreams.

10) When the clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve, and as Dick Clark was stroke-mouthing the last of his unsettling count-down, I was in the car with my sister. We shared a brief ironical giggle as we made our way to an unlikely Russian party with red caviar and vodka and such delicacies as smoked pickled herring under a bed of shredded beets, potatoes and boiled eggs with mayonnaise. Mouth-watering, I tell you. It's like a salt-fish potato salad slaw.

Good night!