Today I Found Myself

I'm about 8 oz, 4 gigabytes, and 700 hours of 15 years of memories. Of course, I'm talking about my precious I-pod, MIA since November and presumed lost to me forever. Oh the power I've bestowed on such a little device. When I moved from Los Angeles last year, I downloaded ALL my music to this contraption and unloaded my CDs for $100 at Ameoba. No, computer geeks, I did not back up. You give me too much credit for presence of mind and technical savvy.

As many of you know, I've had quite a ride this year. A painful separation ending a relationship of 8 years, living on my own, a tumultuous new relationship that ended in heartbreak, and being laid off. I've never felt so naked, babe-in-the-woods, lamb who's lost her way, since well, I was pulled kicking and screaming from the womb on a hot July day thirtysome-odd years ago. Alone for the first time in years, no prospects, no job. Being separated from my ipod was just another cruel technicality. All my memories stored in songs that could take me back to my senior prom 1989, Boston 2002, or Los Angeles 2004.

So today I was washing my car, one of my errands in preparation for a heavily anticipated trip to New York. I'm embarrassed to say what a rare and monumentous event (the car washing) is, but it has not been the first time in 8 months. And I had scoured, turned my car, apartments, bags upside down for it. But it was in my car, under the seat the entire time. Like my soul and identity it's always been with me, but it took me awhile to find.

Sick as a Dawg

Last night I was up with fever and chills until 5 am. This is not a pity party, or an attempt to elicit sympathy. To be honest, I don't mind. Of course, it couldn't happen during a worse week, as I've got two client deadlines pending. But I rarely get sick. Not since a head cold in 2005.

I view it as an internal cleansing, as my body's way of telling me to slow down, and shed the poison from my system. The past 6 weeks has been a flurry of events, trying to get my mind off a certain someone, and prove that I'm a tough ass and don't "need him." My therapist pointed out that I've been trying to skip steps in the mourning phase, and I need to properly grieve. Maybe it's my body's way of grieving since my mind won't let me. And fever, chills, sore throat feels a thousand times better than psychic pain.