Contemplations of Mohonk

Kim has created a monster. My trip to Mohonk was just what I needed. It is one of the most, if not THE most wonderful place I’ve ever been to.

There is a TV room, but I had no interest in seeing it. The place had a very distinctive smell, which is probably some combination of the natural woods they use and the fires burning in fireplaces throughout the hotel. It defies description.

When you are outside there is no one great view. Every direction you turn your head you see fantastic natural scenery. While you may exercise quite a bit you become rejuvenated. Life outside of Mohonk matters not quite as much as it did before.

You would think that time would fly because you’re having a great time, but for some reason it doesn’t work like that at Mohonk. I found myself amazed that time seemed to be slowing down, debatably at one point I think it even went in reverse, and it may be because you aren’t distracting yourself with media. I was only there for two days but it felt like twice as long, which when you’re at a place as wonderful as this is a good thing.

Finally, it was time to leave and I said goodbye to Mohonk vowing that I would come back as often as I could. Yet another great reason to go to school and get my life together. More chances to visit Mohonk!

I don’t know if Kim knows how grateful I am to her to be introduced to such an awesome place. I like the fact that she knew I would love it and what that says about me.

While I was there I spent a lot of time contemplating the effect that negative and positive attitudes and environments have on you. It reinforced my idea that what you bring to life really affects how you see it and how life affects you in return. If you bring a positive attitude to life, you see more positive than negative things in it, the bad things that happen become opportunities and not misfortunes. We may think of ourselves as mirrors who reflect the world around us. This is true for many people, but I think they are just reacting rather than acting. I decided that I will always try to act as a positive force instead, and let the world react to that, hopefully reflecting positive things back at me. It may not work all the time, but I think it will work often enough to make a difference.

I had an opportunity to try out the results of my contemplations last night. You may have heard me complain about my noisy neighbors. They are frequently up late and they love loud music. Last night they were partying late and I found myself getting angry that they weren’t being quiet. I then remembered my ideas and decided if the noise was really too loud for me to sleep or if I was just pissed off I could hear it at all. It was too loud for me to sleep. I then decided rather than be pissed off all night, or go over there with an attitude problem, I would go over and politely asked them to turn it down and see what happens.

What I said was this with a smile: “Hi, I was wondering if you could turn down the music a little bit? I’m having a little trouble sleeping… Thank you so much and have a good night.”

As I was leaving my neighbor even commented that I was wearing no shoes in the rain (I didn’t want to get my slippers wet). I told her that it was okay and went back to my home.

I didn’t hear a thing from them for the rest of the night. I think that it had a lot to do with how I decided to approach the situation. It is a rehash of the old “you get more flies with honey…” saying. Though I’m not sure why anyone would want flies.

I wonder if they get irritated by the crowds and noise from the bar on weekends. Maybe we can all join together as a neighborhood and do something about it.

The world is not always wonderful, but it is the way you approach that which is less than good that defines you, and may change the way that people react to you.

Don’t simply react to your world. Act on it and shape it, make it react to you.

Crossposted to Facebook.

Story of a Food Addict

It always happens eventually. I’ll be sitting across from a friend in a restaurant after months of eating healthy and getting fit. I may have even lost noticeable amount of weight, which is impressive for me. Sometimes I’ll start it, sometimes they will, but suddenly my friend will turn into a pusher.

“I’m getting the chicken tenders.”
“They’re good, I used to love them, but I can’t eat them anymore.”
“Oh common, you should go ahead and order them. You’ve doing so well and you look great. One serving of chicken tenders isn’t going to hurt.”
“I guess you’re right, yeah I’ll order the chicken tenders (or have a slice of pizza, or have a chocolate).”

Here lies the secret of my failure. The backbone of my yo-yo dieting. The incident that begins a horrible guilt-ridden downward spiral back to where I started.

I am a binge eater and a food addict. A lot of people laugh when I tell them I’m a food addict. Society has not wrapped their heads around the concept of food addiction. Many people discredit this because we need food to survive; how can you be addicted to something like that?

Honestly I’m not 100% sure, and I’m the one affected by it. My best guess is in this society filled with foods that are dense and rich and easy to come by; people like me stopped using food to survive and started using it to medicate themselves. Eventually those people began to rely on the food to get them through life. If this comes with weight gain, like it did for me, the social isolation becomes a whole other reason to use food to fill the void.

My personal struggle with food addiction was joined (as it often is for people) with binge eating. I didn’t just want to medicate, I needed to eat as much of this food as I could. When this behavior made me feel bad, I would just do it again and feel worse. This cycle would continue until I’d hit a bottom of sorts (usually frequent stomach aches or chest pains) and I would start getting healthy and staying away from those bad foods. I’d meet with some success until I ate what I call a “trigger food” and eventually, like a house of cards tumbling down, I would be right where I started again and feeling more like a failure.

To me an addiction is a behavior or behaviors that you have no control over that affect your life and your health negatively and if left unchecked could even lead to your death. Yet I think the word “control” is where the debate comes up with food. People who don’t share my problem can not understand why I can’t just dig in and practice self control. Why can’t I just eat one slice of pizza without my whole world falling apart?

After my last big burn out, I started reframing my thinking. I used other addictions as a framework for understanding and dealing with mine. Just like an alcoholic cannot have one beer, no matter how “good” he’s been, I cannot have certain foods, no matter how long I’ve been healthy.

I started by making a list of trigger foods. Trigger foods are those foods that I cannot eat under any circumstances because I cannot control how I take them in. For instance, I can’t have one piece of cake, because even if it doesn’t happen right there and then, (I don’t binge in front of people) I will eat an entire cake in one sitting. I noticed by the way, almost all the foods on the list are high in fats, salts and sugars, usually all three.

Next, I thought of other ways to reward myself that do not include food. I could buy a new shirt, or download a new song for my IPod, or take myself out to a movie. Or get my nails done.

Next, I told those people who spend the most time with me what I was doing and asked that they not encourage me to eat these foods, even on holidays and other special occasions. My sister even asked for the list of my trigger foods, so that she doesn’t serve any of them when I’m at her house. I can’t stress this enough, because success comes from the support of those closest to you.

Finally, I’ve come up with ways to deal with temptations. Most of mine are exercise oriented. I find if I dance for a few minutes or play and interactive game, the craving is gone by the time I’m done. Also, don’t let yourself get really hungry. Hunger leads to bad decisions.

I know eventually I’ll be starving at the mall, or I’ll find myself in the restaurant again. But this time when I’m told “You have to indulge sometimes,” or,
“Just once won’t hurt.” I’ll be armed and let them know that I do reward myself, just not with food.

The real question is should I tell them?

I was taking the bus to work today and we pass a sign in front of a bar that says, "Beer is cheaper than gas! Don't Drive, Drink!" The sign then advertised some beer at $2.00 a bottle.


No it's not...and you just proved yourself wrong on the same sign.

I know the sign is just a clever advertisement, but I just can't let it go. I know the sign is wrong but now I need to figure out how wrong the sign is.

I then begin making the calculations in my head to figure out how expensive a gallon of that beer would be, assuming it's being sold in a 12 oz. bottle.

For the record it's $21.33, which is way more expensive than a gallon of gas. How much more? We'll get to that.

I also have to mention at this point that this went on in my head, on the bus, while I got to work.

I also had no control over whether or not I made these calculations, my brain was doing this whether I liked it or not.

It's not over yet. Later on, while sitting in this very chair I remembered my time on the bus and I felt compelled to look up the average price of a gallon of gas in Albany and figure out how much it would be for 12 oz. of it.

Albany's gas is currently $2.801* a gallon, making it .26** cents for 12 oz of it.

This part and the next part I have some control over, because I needed a calculator and a website to make these calculations. However, I didn't have much of a choice because I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it until my curiosity was satisfied.

Then by idle curiosity I thought why not just figure out how much more expensive beer was.

Beer is more than 8 times more expensive than gas. Not only was that sign wrong, but it was ridiculously wrong.

I compulsively do this kind of thing in my head all the time and I'm not sure what that means.

By the way, the math changes if you choose to drink at home depending on the beer you're drinking, but either way the sign is wrong.

I'm like a poor man's xkcd.

*Gas prices supplied by http://www.albanygasprices.com/


**Some figures were rounded.

What Happened to Jean

It’s a shame what happened to Jean.

No one knows why exactly, but she always said that she spent all her time fighting off madness.

No one paid much attention, because she always said things like that.

The last day I saw her, she had gathered up all of the things she loved and arranged them in neat piles all over her room. She said she was only going to eat rice and steamed vegetables from then on, and that she planned on duct taping the windows and all the cracks in the room to block out the light. She said that it was because beautiful women were thin and pale. She said it was because she couldn’t stand outside anymore.

Then she said that she never wanted to die, but sometimes she wanted to fade away like pencil on very old sheet of paper. She wanted to go somewhere far and distant, where the world can’t get close. She said that she wanted lay in the grass and let the pain drain out of her like ink from a pen.

I didn’t pay much attention, because she always said things like that.

Later, we saw her standing on the bridge. She wore a pair of slippers and an old-fashioned bathing suit she had found in a thrift store. She had wrapped chains made of many colors of construction paper around her body. They blew in the wind and got tangled in the veil that trailed from the back of her head. Her make-up was perfect. We were drunk and tired, and we laughed and told her to come down so we could go home.

She laughed too. She tipped her head back and laughed so hard right before she jumped.

Her note only said that she had discovered how to fly and it wasn’t a moment too soon because she was very tired of being bored.

No one knows if it was a suicide note or if she meant it.

But I think it was both…

These days, we talk about and think about everything Jean ever said.

Now that Jean doesn’t say anything anymore.

Finish It!

Any time I’ve heard an aspiring artist ask an accomplished artist what he or she would do about their half-finished project, the accomplished artist’s answer always seems to be, “finish it.” For better or worse they insist the aspiring artist finish the damn…whatever.


It has occurred to me lately that I’ve never really finished anything. My life is a series of loose ends, abandoned projects, and forgotten ambitions. I am a node of untapped potential. By no fault but my own, my works are standing like Johnny Cage the end of a Mortal Kombat fight, dazed and wobbling. All I do is stare; no awesome combos ever come to mind.

Finish it…

Maybe I’m afraid if I finish something I start, it won’t be as wonderful as I thought. I don’t know where this comes from. I’ve never had anything I’ve done really reviewed negatively. Maybe I don’t want the streak to end.

I think this has much to do with my reluctance to see things end. I hate endings. Endings are usually so sad, so bad, so…final. However, I am fabulous at beginnings. I have started many stories with fantastic characters with awesome back stories and fabulous premises. I fail to do anything with them. I can never seem to push them forward to an ending. Happy endings are dull outside of a massage parlor and dramatic sad endings are equally lame.

There is nothing to be done for it though. I see myself pleading my case of unfinished business to every fantastic artist I know of, living or dead. In my head they all say the same thing almost in chorus.

Finish it…

My new goal is to do just that. Finish things. Finish everything I start for better or worse. I endeavor to tie up all those loose ends. I’ll complete abandoned projects and I’ll fight for the ecstasy of doneness. Every new thing I get excited about I will bring to its ultimate conclusion.

All those artists in my head would be proud, even if I never join their ranks.

The end!

A Terrible Essay

I am a terrible writer.

I only say that because I write in a noncommittal fashion, and mostly for my own amusement. I don’t write with technique, and if it weren’t for computers, the things I had to say would be unintelligible. This is just another manifestation of my desire to express myself in as many ways as possible. Another way to purge my thoughts. Another way for me to make life more interesting before I die.

I am honored to be surrounded by many people who when asked what the answer to life, the universe, and everything is, would proudly respond, “Forty-Two.” I wonder if any of them really put any thought to what Adams might have meant by it. I think Forty-Two is fine. I think that Forty-Two is just as good an answer as any, and usually I answer that question the same way. The point is the question is more important than the answer. The journey is more important than the destination. We never get to know the question, which is appropriate because I don’t think we all get the same one.

I spent nearly 30 years of my life trying to find my purpose. I was too afraid to do anything because I was afraid it was the wrong thing. I wanted my proper destiny. The truth is there is no destiny. There is no plan for you. You are spat out and you die, and everything in the middle is just what happens. One decision is as good as another, and the future is written by the actions of the present. Stop reading your horoscopes; there are no answers. Why are we so scared of the notion of no destiny? Your life is only wasted if you didn’t try to do what you most wanted to do at any given time. Why do we search so long for purpose in an otherwise cold universe? Why are we so afraid to make our own way? Maybe it’s because if it all goes wrong, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

I for one was not afraid when I realized this. To me the idea was very liberating. All of a sudden life ceased being a search for that perfect fit, and became this awesome blank template onto which I could write the story of my life.

“Elena once shot 15 grizzly bears from a hot air balloon!”
“Really?”
“No, they wouldn’t let her on the balloon with a rifle. She had to settle for a bottle of rum and 36 hours of Duck Hunt. To hear her tell it later though you would never know the difference!”

I became a person without destiny. I replaced that search with goals and means. I purged the doubt and regret from my life, and instead learned lessons and constructed plans. I had permission to do exactly what I wanted with the time between this moment and my last without the least worry about when that will be. There are temporary fuck-ups, detours, and distractions, but there are no wrong turns or wasted time.

My terrible writing has changed as well to the essay format it once was a long time ago, replacing a general boring diary format. I will probably never know if it has any real merit. Hopefully, I’ll say something interesting on the way to those goals and means.

What are those goals and means? The means is a college education. The goal is to get drunk in interesting places. I prefer to keep it simple, the recipe for a good time.

Things my mother taught me.

I posted this on the discussion board for my Sociology class a little while ago. The topic was about how we socialize our children by gender. It turned out to be more emotional than I expected:

I grew up in a Matriarchal household (picture Roseanne). My mother was clearly in charge and even my father answered to her. This probably had a lot to do with the fact that she had to be a single parent in a time where that was generally not acceptable for women.


As a child I was not given only boy or only girl things. My clothes were all kinds of colors. I had all kinds of toys. I remember when I was five I would spend a lot of time playing with this Superman action figure I had. I used to tie a towel around my neck and pretend I could fly. I had dolls I really liked I played house with other kids. I owned a bunch of matchbox cars. My toys were chosen by the fact that they were cheap and not because they were for a specific gender. I loved wrestling and My Little Ponies. I adored video games and running around getting dirty.

Mostly I was taught constantly that girls are just as good as boys and can do all the same things boys can do. I was told to never let anyone tell me I couldn't do something because I was a girl. I was taught to be a strong woman because my mother thought I should be prepared to survive on my own without a man. According to my mother, you had to be able to do it all and be strong.

Now I have interests in science and math, and I still play video games. I also like arts and crafts and dancing. I wear make-up and I consider myself to be a tough broad. I have my mother to thank for that. I thought with all this talk about how we gender identify our children from an early age it would be nice to present my life as an example of what could happen if we didn't.

On a personal note my mother died when I was 20. We didn't often agree, and this is the first time in a long time I teared up thinking about her. I had forgotten how much she really had to do with the woman I became.