Hey, everybody, Epiphany Tiffany is back. And starring in a feature-length movie, an autobiography. And you know what else is back? The relentless epiphanies! This post is not only a self portrait entry for our friends with the fun March "Tools" theme, but this is also an EPIPHANY BULLETIN BOARD. Wootwoot.
* Hey, baking sucks. Not really. I love baking still, but the idea of it as a living grinds on me. Also, I'm not exactly sure why, but I've gained a few pounds and my sugar depression makes me a manic weep-a-zoid who posts dark blog entries that frighten my friends. SubEpiphany: Maybe try not to be SO desperate to leave the cubicle life. SubSubEpiphany: Cubicle life still sucks ass and I need to be rescued from it immediately.
*Any creative venture I do -- baking, bangles, painting -- is only a scenic route around my writing. I'm so bored with this epiphany that it is now my own version of Groundhog's Day. I mean DUH for fuck's sake. Hello, Epiphany Central? Help me because here's what I have to work out about My Writer Life: Writing is the only thing that takes total silence and my full, complete focus. E-ve-ry single thing else I can do while children climb on me and talk to me nonstop. With every thing else I can do two to three tasks at a time. So where are my blocks of vacuumous time? I'll expect something on that during the next round of epiphanies, thanks.
* I'm bringing Yoga back (yea). I had to give it another shot though I felt yoga was too good for me the first time around. I went to a studio that plays music during class. Not woowoo New Age music but hip hop and contemporary stuff. This may be a complete bastardization, I realize, but I love it. This version also is super athletic and it kicks my ass. Niz-amaste!
* There are a couple different ways to know you're having a good time. For example, you're at a party or you're away for the weekend and you're wrapped up in all the fun. You're thinking to yourself, "Holy shit, I'm having a good time right now"; you feel completely enveloped by it for the entire duration of the experience. Then there are times when you go to the park with your husband and your kids and you laze around there and maybe swing on the swings and maybe take your shoes off in the sand box, and then maybe you get watermelon BombPops from the ice cream truck which is still built like a rusty box and is still slathered in sticker images of every ice cream sold. And you sit on the curb and show your kids the best way to eat a popcycle which is to gnaw on it a little to create good slush and THEN eat that, but then you watch both your kids, at different times, accidentally launch their snow cones out of the sleeves right onto the pavement, and then maybe you discuss when the 5-second rule just can't apply, like if the snow cone had landed in an oil patch in the street. So, then you're riding bikes and scooters back from the park in the lazy-sun of late afternoon. The Locust Bean trees create a canopy shading your ride; they still shed melon-colored leaves and it softens the tread beneath you. And you look over at your daughter riding next to you and she's so beautiful & wide-eyed and the sun is sparkling all over her and you realize in that exact second that you are having the best time ever. You realize -again- that your life is perfect.
I love my husband because he’s kind of a dick. But he’s soft with me and his lip quivered at our wedding. I love my daughters. They’re brilliant and funny, and I’m here to kick down mountains that get in their way. I’m a vegan, and all is right in my world because of it. I can still beat the neighborhood in HORSE because I have a bad-ass set shot. Justice is served well through fair food, and scarcity would be a myth if we shared more, damn. Yo soy una mezcla which leaves me mixed up sometimes. My commute bike’s name is Loops and she’s my favorite kind of car. I wish I had written Chronicle of a Death Foretold. I’ve endured 54 hours of tattoo work. But above all, I fiercely believe in the underdog.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" - Kerouac (As told to me by Marigoldie)