Rooftops

Here I sit on another rooftop, in another country, some two years later. I am still that person I was, still the same I always have been, yet somehow, I am more full. More complete. This fullness comes with the understanding that I have not been able to achieve what I came here to do. I did not save the world. I did not discover my true calling in life. However, I understand now. I understand that saving the world is not, and never will be, the work of one individual. Not even the honorable man we can finally call our president-elect can do this on his own. The amount of suffering and problems in this world are unimaginable from a basement apartment in Manhattan, no matter how global, open-mind, or compassionate I attempted to be. I wish I could say I felt like I made a big difference, but that would be a lie. I was naïve and self-centered to think I could achieve lasting impact on my own. What I know now is that this work will be achieved by the hands, minds, and hearts, of many.

I also understand now that my own future is unmapable. Everything we see, hear, and experience, influences us. Some people, some stories more than others. Some have that stickiness, that pull that inspires us to not only react, but to take action. Some opportunities are missed, but if we can be patient, more will present themselves. I am learning to be patient. Cambodia is not a country of constant connection, ready-set-go career paths, or hyper-expectations. This adjustment has been difficult, and on some days, I still struggle with the question of "What, exactly, are you doing here Liz?" The answer is not something I can easily defend. I am here to grow, experience, and learn, and that's all we can ever hope to do.

As my time here quickly comes to an end, I wish I could have done more. I wish I had more time, and I wish I didn't have to go home. But now I know what is here. And I want to know more. I hope to return with more of these lessons and to continue to share with others.

Here I 

the wanting to be something for someone that you'll never ever actually be.

I don't know about you, but I do this thing all the time. I try to pretend like I don't care about someone that much, when really all I want is for them to ask me to talk them away and sleep in their world and rip them from the painfully ridiculous lifestyle they've made for themselves and make everything okay. I say, I can do that! I can be that! I promise I'll fix you! And then I realize that I need to fix them so that they can fix me too. But that's never part of the deal. Here's the other part, the easier part to talk about that you probably can really relate to. I say I'm going to do something and be something and see something and then never actually do. But not just in a simple way. Not in a lazy way. Not just saying something for emphasis, but really really actually wanting to do it. And the reason why I don't is because I am busy doing something and being something and seeing something else. While in the process of those other 'more important' things, I forget about the things I had every intention of doing in the first place. Example: I really want to go to this place/see this show/try this restaurant in New York because I am leaving it soon and want to make sure I go there before it's too late. Okay. I will do that tomorrow. Tonight I will work, and then go home and go to bed early so I can wake up and do things. Or not? Tonight I will drink things and stay up late doing things I shouldn't be doing and worry about things I shouldn't worry about and never ever ever go to sleep because I might miss something in the night time that I'll never see again. And then the light comes. And then I get stressed because the birds are chirping and 'even if I go to bed now I'll only get 3 hours of sleep and that's not enough!' and blahblahblah and I'll never be able to enjoy whatever lavish plan I made for myself before I got drunk. And then the plan is drowned out by demonic nightmares and shrunken heads. And so it goes.

And so my time goes. Peacefully ticking against my sweat stained skin as my heart reaches out for my better half, begging me to GET - IT - TO - GETHER - PLEASE. okay. Tomorrow I will.

Step 2: Determine the Appropriate Solution

It's pretty amazing all the many ways the body has of telling you it's time to stop. Physically I mean, not emotionally, because if I listened to my emotions once in a while I would have stopped a long time ago. Obviously that's not enough.

One bladder infection, two yeast infections, a ridiculously painful and emotional hangover, and an annoying cold have made it clear to me that it is, in fact, time to quit the daily binging (a term that can be used both literally and figuratively in this case). While I didn't intend on letting it get this far (does anyone ever intend to have their vagina go on strike not once, not twice, but three times in two weeks?), I do feel responsible for abusing myself so much that it actually affected my physical state. My body is generally surprisingly resilient, what with the 6+ drinks a night, 4- hours of sleep, and emotional roller coaster my recent break up has been. Fortunately, (and unfortunately for my liver/sinuses/genitalia) I did figure out that I needed a change of lifestyle asap before I got eaten alive by fire ants or contracted SARS.

So, I left. Duh. Leaving is so often the easy fix. The solution that says, 'If I just get away from it all then I can definitely get over it and make everything better.' Yes, of course it works. When you can start over in a new house with a new washing machine and refrigerator (by 'new' I mean 'different,' not actually 'new' because this stuff is actually older than me) and you're not looked in the face with all your problems, then you would and SHOULD be able to get over whatever is bothering you. The stinging hot Florida sun, the hot-as-bath-water-chlorine-infested pool, the ancient neighbors with their leathery damaged skin and a Walmart within 5 minutes driving distance has been a true version of Paradise.

I didn't say I stopped drinking. Or loathing my seemingly endless lonely existence and rolling chub around my waist. But I did start thinking about improving the condition of my mood and my body. And it's working so far, at least physically. My cold is gone. I have gotten at least 8 hours of sleep each night (for the most part). I have ditched the late night binging (except for that 3am trip to Denny's for breakfast the other night... but this should be a requirement for everyone's well-being once a year). And I have been reading books, which I actually never do. So it's a start. The true test will be what happens when I actually land at La Guardia tomorrow morning and feel the depressing cold and hear the frantic yelling cab controller lady trying to organize a massive line of people and yellow taxis. All I can say is that I am mentally and physically prepared for success, and that will be all it takes.

Hot Hot Heat

As we have already strayed entirely from our intention of providing light-hearted commentary of music, art, and culture, I think it is acceptable for me to use this space to discuss... POLITICS!

Tomorrow is a big day for anyone born on March 4th, or anyone unfortunate enough to have been assigned jury duty, but even more colossal, its TEXAS and OHIO! The primaries/caucuses (I still don't know why we have both) in these states will most likely determine the next US president! Thats right, I'm liberal, and an optimist.

The outcomes of tomorrow's elections are less important to me than the fact that I will be getting an additional hour of free time per day from now on. At least. I have been obsessed with the juicy details of the shaky relationship between Hillary and Barack. It's become a drama series for me, and quite frankly, I am afraid that after tomorrow I might actually have to start watching Lipstick Jungle, or something. Ah!

But seriously, I can't wait until Barack and Hillary stop competing because they are both such wonderful candidates. They would both be great leaders for our nation and are both prepared for the job. Both have senate experience, personality, crowd appeal, the ability to inspire, the excitement of being a "first", and the oh so popular promise of change. Oh yah, and both are democrats. They seem pretty similar to me. I will not even say that I would take either, any day, over our current chief, because that understates their brilliance, but I would. Oops, I said it. For me the differences do not exist between Hillary and Barack, but rather between now and tomorrow. I do hope there is change. I see our potential in both candidates and the sooner we can unite behind one, the better shot we have.

It's gonna be hot, hot tomorrow. Get excited!

Step 1: Identify the Problem

Wine, coffee, and cheese may be the mantra I stick to for a long time. (I think it's weird that two of my vices at this point are beverages, as opposed to drugs or penises or fake sugar.) But that doesn't mean I should exploit any one of them to the point of disaster. By disaster I don't mean any one of the following, on its own or combined: a) gaseous dairy coma, b) shaking legs and fingers, c) purple lips and tongue. Those are the least of the problems. The real disasters are a) naughty dirty raucous disappointing decisions, b) intense nausea, c) 4 hours or less of sleep, d) too many calories to even count or justify, e) incomprehensible yelling, moaning, and other generally awful noises.

How, you may ask, are these three things related? I'll tell you:
I have a rough day because I am tired and bloated (presumably from drinking too much wine and eating too much cheese), so I come home from work/school/sorority shit and I sit on my couch with a bowl of cheesy pasta and a glass of Cab. Why? to make me feel better, duh. The only thing to cure a hangover is more alcohol and carbs. Everyone knows that. Then I stay up late because I'm too full and drunk to move (picture: lying flat on my back in bed, something like Stranger Than Fiction playing on the tv, occasional moans and sighs as I click through my cell phone, barely able to keep my eyes open, looking for someone fun to drunk dial, when I realize that I am not even going to be fun to talk to at this point, so, more moaning and sobbing while Harold Crick almost gets killed by a bus).

Fast forward to 8am the next morning. I have to literally peel my eyelids from the tops of my cheeks. My body is frozen. I have no control over the shaking. It's 25 degrees at most in my room, but I can't even snuggle under the covers because I'm too dehydrated to move. After more groaning and snoozing the alarm, I finally force my skin to leave the sheets. Then I chug a cup of coffee. Then I get in the shower. Then I stop at Dunkin Donuts or The Bean and chug another cup. Then I get to class and am paralyzed with shaking again. Then I eat cheese for lunch because I'm so hungover and tired that I need more salt and fat and carbs so at least my mind is happy while my body struggles. Then I get home, open a new bottle, and begin again.

So, what should I give up for Lent?

itchy, red, burning, bumpy, scaly, red, itchy, oh, and HOT

If I knew then what I know now about steroids. Who knew that they could come in the form of a cream that makes all your skin imperfections disappear like magic healing potion? I definitely didn't. Nor did I know that they can also cause an apparently common Perioral Dermatitis. It's beautiful, I know. I'm really mad at my mom. I can't tell her because it's really my fault for being so naive. But she's the one that gave me the steroids when I had some red dry spots on my face and said "You can even use this more than once a day if you need to. It will make it go away!"

Three months later I have the nastiest red and bumpy face. I should not have listened to her and her witch talk! Magic creams = bad. All I want to do is put the damn cream back on because it makes my skin PERFECT and BLEMISH FREE but I can't.

'Think of the face as a cream junkie that needs a "fix." One needs to go "cold-turkey".'

Ok American Osteopathic College of Dermatology, I will think of my face as a drug hungry convict because that REALLY makes me feel better about wanting to roll in a pool full of smooth cool steroid cream.

I feel beyond terrible about myself and my entire life, which is absolutely pathetic because there are so many worse things that could have happened to me, like, say, cancer or the HIV or Tourette's. Although if I did have Tourette's then maybe it would excuse the outbursts I always think about having but never can because society holds me down. God damn society! If I weren't applying to work in restaurants where looks are ALL that matters then I wouldn't care about this so much. But I'm not going to get hired with red scaly bumps all over my face. Not attractive. My mom said, "It just looks like you have a cold and have been blowing your nose a lot." Yea, maybe if you're a DINOSAUR and didn't care that everyone stared at your reptiley dry skin and black and blue mark in the middle of your forehead (completely unrelated, and no, I wasn't that drunk). All this reptile stuff is in addition to the infection I have in my vagina (no, it's not contagious). So I am on a lot of drugs, needless to say.

I can't think about getting better because all I can think about is how much this hurts/itches and how I'm going to be ugly for the rest of my life and never get a job or a hot boyfriend. Because these are the things that really matter for me to live a happy and fulfilling life apparently. No one ever said I wasn't shallow (sometimes). So I am going to lay here with this wet towel on my face because it has soothing properties for 3 seconds, which is better than nothing at all.