the morning after christmas...view from my:

bedroom window

driveway

mailbox

am i losing you?

my sister says that if i continue on this course of "blog celibacy" i will lose my readers. is that what i am doing here? has my silence translated into a resentful sense of abandonment on your part? am i losing you?

don't go. i am not lost, and you are not lost, and there should be no feeling of "loss" here on theboomeranger.

you wanna know the truth? i'm happy.

i blow up my mattress once before i go to bed and then a second time at around 3:00 a.m. almost every morning and i'm honestly, actually, despite this, happy. i've been reading a sizable amount of material the past few weeks to try and get my voice back but i think that there's another culprit contributing to my silence: writing when you are happy is hard. seriously. having something to rant about has served as the ignition to my creative and literary engine. reflecting on something that is negative in my life--or at least, something i perceive as being negative in my life at a given time--helps me transform a blank space into, well... a blank space with a lot of words. all that groaning and frustration seems to dissolve into something i can swallow and digest. sorry for the visual, but what comes out at the other end ends up being enlightening.

what i have to learn now is how to be in a state of happiness and still be able to write thoughtfully because part of this treacherous journey through the decade we call our twenties does include laughs, fulfillment, and joy. whodathought!?

the man of the house and his new houseguest are taking turns hitting the bong as i brew some coffee and defrost the blueberries that will go with my yogurt and crushed pecan morning creation.

"you workin'?" he says nonchalantly, noticing my fingers typing away on the keyboard.

"well, no...not today." pause. "i write, so, i pretend like i am getting paid."

"sure, just because you aren't getting paid doesn't mean that you aren't working."

(so true)

"...and just because you are getting paid doesn't mean you are working!" i offer back as he walks towards his corner of the couch.

nothing like some wisdom on a sunday morning.

golden retriever

the parents of the kids i was babysitting for are back together. he had been cheating on her since she was six months pregnant and apparently she had had enough and left the house--and him--with her baby girl in tow. that was about two weeks ago. now they are back together, because he is again the man that she met and fell in love with. the phrase "cold turkey" was even used to express his loyalty and devotion...in quotations...in a text message...to me. yah, a real golden retriever that husband is. and now i am being asked for my schedule next week because life goes on and kids still need to be picked up from school, driven to karate, and fed dinner.

well, that's exactly what i intend to do myself: go on. move on.

i had something of theirs that i had to return. a bike. a little red cruiser with a basket. they had kindly lent it to me for a couple weeks. i just had to return that bike. so yesterday i rode over and locked it to a tree outside their house. then i ran, literally ran to the beach and sat there for a while with the sun on my face and the sand in my feet and music in my ears.

as of now, they do not know that i am moving on...that i can't imagine being in that house again and making conversation with him. there is already too much negative energy in this world...why the hell would i invite it into my life? i feel sorry for those kids, i really do. but i have to put myself first. when i have my own family, they will come first. but now? i come first. it just has to be that way.

words

showing up to work at 6:15 a.m. only to get off and then spend six hours in a toyota camry to surprise my family on thanksgiving was perhaps the most liberating and cool thing i have done thus far in my young adult life. showing up on someones doorstep unannounced is an incredible experience for both parties involved. not only did i successfully surprise my relatives but also a handful of friends who were all in town for the holiday and also our five-year high school reunion. a truly incredible weekend; yet i can't talk about it. not because i'm trying to censor what happened, but simply because i have lost my voice.

fear of sounding like i'm trying too hard

mentally over the whole blog format and searching for a new platform

wondering if i'm just wasting my time and energy, if anyone is benefitting from this

more motivated to focus on writing a book

pure laziness

it is most likely a combination of all of these things/reasons/excuses. call it what you want to call it. fact of the matter is that something is inhibiting the thoughts in my head from coming to life on the keyboard, and that is like a death sentence to a writer.

so, i have resolved to the following solution: if i can't write words, i will read them. lots of them. from glenn beck's common sense to katie crouch's girls in trucks, the stack of words is grinning at me from across the table. "pick me! pick me!" they are chanting. "i will help you get your voice back." i reason that reading the work of other writers will help me develop and fine-tune my own writing style and push me in the direction that i need to be going. if the winningest coach in college sports history, a couple of experts on late bloomers, or a girl with a dragon tattoo can't help me, i don't know what will.

oh yes, and thank you public library.

5-year high school reunion...here we go!

dear friends and family,

be thankful for spontaneity. or, more accurately, the thoughtful planning of doing something spontaneous. okay. that's totally a type A person thing to say. i try.

and also, i'm thinking about starting a twitter account. thoughts?

off to volleyball training

more later,

theboomeranger

upon meeting a writer last night my friend quickly interjected by saying, "she's a writer, too," and all i could do was throw her a "how could you?" glance, blush, and assure him that i wasn't.

"well, i write, but--"

"then you're a writer," he said. "admitting that you are a writer is like admitting that you are an alcoholic. you must believe yourself that you are and even practice saying it out loud."

i'm a writer. i'm a writer. i'm a writer...

starfish

i now live in an office.

perks?

i get to take the dog on a walk whenever i please. i'm re-united with the all-mighty microwave. one of my new roommates can apparently fashion a halter bra out of a regular bra, which should come in handy one of these days. someone in the house subscribes to people magazine, so there's my celebrity gossip. and the owner just installed HD cable boxes on every television in the house, so the remote might as well be harry potter's magic wand.

downsides?

i have to walk five steps to catch a reflection of myself. whoever it is that made coffee and left half a pot sitting there to die apparently doesn't honor the same brewing code that i am used to. i can't walk around in any of my promiscuous sleepwear. and, my personal favorite: i have to resemble a starfish in order to keep my body elevated off the floor at night. goodbye mattress, hello blown-up mess. on the first morning following my first nights sleep in the house i woke up with my ass on the floor. i felt like i was the lettuce, cheese, and pollo in a soft taco. what ended up saving me was the little switch i found beside the mattress that slowly pumps air back into it. even though i haven't been sleeping well this past week, at least this switch prevents me from turning into a starfish at night.

to summarize: i miss you, mattress on manhattan avenue. why did i leave you for an office a mile away? well, i had no choice in the matter. the owner of the home i have been renting has brought his entire family here for the holidays so i had to vacate temporarily. to my good fortune he arranged for me to stay at a friends place, hence the reason why i now live in the office of a three-bedroom home. sounds like a giant step back but hear this: rent-free. yah baby, best perk of them all.

millionnaire overdose

i never thought i would be sick and tired of bouncing from one millionaire's home to the next. how can the novelty of a personal servant tossing you volleyballs and bringing you popcorn while you're half-submerged in a grotto be wearing off? when it comes to this exclusive los angeles lifestyle, i'm still brand spanking new...so why do i feel like i've seen all there is to see?

bullocks, right? i'm an idiot. only an idiot would forgo spending a day grazing over a feast of catered food, laying on plush lounge chairs, and, of course, playing beach volleyball. only an idiot would pass up the opportunity to eat, drink, and be merry--all at a strangers' expense. yet that's exactly what i did this afternoon. no guys and gals frolicking around in bathing suits for me.

i just couldn't witness another interaction between the seventy year-old man with a forty year-old's face (hello botox) and an ass-less, lingerie-laden model (who i thought should fight for her right to full financial and emotional repercussions from a hair extension gone terribly bad). although i couldn't conceal the fact that i was curious as to what in the world was making her light up, i also couldn't keep myself from thinking, "this girl has a father. where is he?" now i'm not trying to dump on modeling as a career choice. i am simply baffled at how some girls can put themselves in such tasteless situations to further their careers. i know the kind of faces and curves that make it onto magazine covers, billboards, and into victoria's secret underwear, but these girls ain't it. they're more of the, "i feel like bending over beside this muscle car" type.

enough about the girls. it's not about the girls. it's actually more about the guys. where are their wives? you are clearly fast approaching or already adding prozac to your laundry-list of supplements...where are the leading ladies in your lives? that's what bothers me. i like to see moms and dads and happy monogamous relationships. a.k.a., i grew up watching disney movies. simba would never cheat on nala. this i know. what i don't know is where the families are on these friday/saturday/sunday fundays i've been having recently. it's just a different world. when i'm in it i can appreciate the plush towels and mimosas...but in between a volleyball game and a dip in the pool i think about the people i wish were there to enjoy it with me. i am reminded of what's really important in life and that i can indulge in this world for a day and walk off the property leaving that world behind. it's fun and interesting (and one of the models last night complained of being cold for a good ten minutes before finally putting on a bra (light bulb!) but i'm leaving it at that.