I like the fact that the word neurotic and erotic rhyme. No point to this statement, except that the thought makes me giggle.

I’ve been under the weather, since the start of the week.

(Paused to look up origin of the phrase under the weather, as I couldn’t concentrate until I knew. Findings: The crew aboard ships become seasick most frequently during times of rough seas and stormy weather. People experience seasickness as a result of a ship’s constant rocking motion. Passengers seek refuge from seasickness below deck. Below deck, or the keel of the ship, provided shelter from the weather but is also a place where passengers experience less rocking motion. Thusly, when one is under the weather, he/she is seeking relief from suffering by going below deck, beneath the weather.)

My acute illness has mimicked my eldest son’s head-cold exactly: sore throat, followed by body aches and slight fever, followed by faucet nose and non-stop dripping eye.

I look lovely, truly: puffy faced, swollen eyes, and red nose. But seeing I’m well enough to post, despite my ghastly appearance, I’m surely recovering.

For Christmas, my cousin sent me dark-chocolate that is molded into the shape of a cherub. At first I believed the act of eating a cherub to be strange. But then, after I used a knife to decapitate the angel and dismembered and mutilated the entire body, I felt oddly sinful and delighted all at once as the sliced-and-diced sweetness melted inside my heated mouth.

Being sick during the holiday season sucks eggs!

Primarily as there is nothing to do but plumage through all of the festive goodies scattered about the house. This cold came with a ravenous appetite, and seems I was unable to satiate my stomach unless I devoured at least ten english toffee pieces (covered in nuts) a day, and washed these devilish-treats down with goddess-like, sugar-coated pecans.

I now pause to thank the scale for announcing my excess poundage, and reminding me of my pillaging. I thank the mirror for reinforcing my weight gain, in the form of chipmunk cheeks and a plump little belly. Indeed, I resemble a cross between Rudolph and one of Santa’s helpers. Quite fitting for the season, I suppose.

I’ve been fighting the miserly voices in my head, those poopheads that like to admonish me for indulgences, reminding me constantly of life’s dangers, including obesity, liver disease, and lethargy, from anything from the spiked eggnog and port wine, to the nighttime cold medicine. Severe liver damage, the phrase itself, keeps dancing in my head like some vivacious roadkill demanding to be dissected. How I long for visions of sugar-plum fairies or the liken, and all things sweet. Instead I am endowed with this overactive mind, that can’t seem to ever relax, especially when drugged up, over-stuffed, and immobile.

I’ve had way too much time to meander through the wilderness of my own thoughts, and have, as a result, circumvented all my previous avenues for planned respite and escape. Knowing I needed to bypass my own supercilious mind, while stricken with fever and while experiencing both emotional and physical angst, I devised an escape plan.

I keenly reasoned, if I had a goal that involved helping others, but that also incorporated the act of relaxation, that I might indeed be able to relax, and feasibly enjoy said relaxation without too much guilt.  (Goal + helping another = Happy Sam)

I am happy to report that my scheme against my very own self worked.

As I rested flat on my back, and set about to watch some ten-plus, romantic comedies in the stretch of 48 hour time period, I repeatedly reminded myself, that in actuality I was neither sloth-like or a waster of time, because I was partaking in the act of researching ten movies (goal) in order to report out potential films that might offer others happiness (helping another). Thusly, each time the icky, snotty interior voice (that lives inside me and eats at my joy) spoke up, sometimes several times in a quarter-hour, spewing words such as: useless or fatly couch spud, I was able to strike back with my plan. In so doing, in speaking up for myself to myself, I was able to savor at least a few stringed minutes of peace of mind.

While this likely sounds quite ridiculous, my resulting behavior has produced this glorious list of  Enjoyable  Films.

1. Happy Accidents

I’m a Marisa Tomei liker, so I’m biased. This is a year 2000 romantic comedy. If you are a romantic at heart and love happy endings, this one is a keeper. Plus the main characters pretend name is “Sam.”

2.  Overnight

http://movies.netflix.com/WiMovie/Overnight/70243744?locale=en-US

There are several films with this same name. This one takes place on an airplane. “This romantic comedy follows two neurotic strangers who meet amid an odd group of passengers.” ~ Netflix

3. Sidewalls

Sundance and Foreign Flick…. artistic and visually stimulating. One of my new favorites. Odd and lovable movie. True love will find you in the end. Highly creative.

4. In A Day

A UK film. Heart-warming. A man and woman spend one day together because “someone” wants her to have a great day; the woman is spoiled. Sweet with a twist. Loved this one.

5.  HottieBoombaLottie

A geeky movie that really made me smile. There is a scene towards the end that involves a person with a paintgun shooting in a classroom; because of events in the USA recently, I was sensitive to this scene. However the rest of the movie was delightful and unpredictable in its quirkiness and oddity. I love a movie where the underdog finds happiness.

6. Take This Waltz

Oh my! Erotic and Neurotic combined. One for the ladies. The ending seems to keep coming. A mixture of lust, love and heart-break.

The movie truly mimics this song:

7. The River Why

If you like fish, you’ll love this movie. About a man finding himself and escaping the tight-grip of his parents’ opinions. Nice musical score, lovely characters, and pretty people. Based on an acclaimed novel.

8. Romantics Anonymous (LES EMOTIFS ANONYMES)

I loved this one so much, I might watch it again tomorrow. Innocent and adorable and passionate, all at once. And it is centered around chocolate!!!!

9. Quill: The Life of a Guide Dog

I had to include this one on the list. I watched most of this Japanese film. The beginning is adorable. The end slows down some, but it is nonetheless deserving of attention. I don’t think it classifies as neurotic, but it definitely was an endearing movie. My dog, Violet, really liked this one, and kept watching the puppy.

10. The Fairy

“Belgium-based trio Dominique Abel, Fiona Gordon and Bruno Romy follow their acclaimed ICEBERG and RUMBA with another Tati-inspired, candy-colored romp: this time, a charmingly off-kilter adventure about a hotel clerk who falls in love with a wish-granting fairy.” ~ Youtube link above

~~~~~

If you live in the USA, these are all on Netflix.

Love,

Sam (aka: hopelessly romantic neurotic)

After spending almost four weeks housebound from a powerful virus, I am feeling re-birthed and hopeful, and so very grateful for the energy to move off the couch.

Although I am still processing, I am making some keen observations. Naturally, being idle for a month gave me ample time to think and re-digest my thoughts.

I know now, that prior to my illness, a lot of stagnant energy was kindling inside.

For the last several months, I had felt pulled in many directions, but pretended I did not.

I fooled myself.

I told myself I was at peace and happy, but I was not.

I told myself I was on the right track, even though I felt adrift and lost.

I pushed myself forward and pulled myself.

Everything felt forced and contrived.

I fell into the trap of fixation and obsession.

And into the trap of people-pleasing.

I used my tendency to hyper-focus to escape life.

I see now that in blogging, I was putting pressure on myself to come up with “worthy” posts. I couldn’t write something simple or fast. I had to “prove” to others I was worthy.

I also placed a burden of responsibility on myself to “help” others through example.

I was under extreme pressure, at times, to perform.

No one ever made me feel like I had to act a certain way or produce a certain output. I did it all to myself.

Like in the past, I thought I had to show people I was good enough.

Later, when I took photographs, again, I thought of outsiders and onlookers. Was my photo good enough?

Logically, I could analyze the pressure I was putting on myself, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how.

My walking, too, I turned into a game of unworthiness. I believed that if I didn’t keep walking five miles a day that I would become undesirable to anyone. I told myself that if my husband were to pass, then I would forever be alone. I told myself to be loved I had to be better. I had to be prettier. I had to be sexier.

I truly thought I’d outgrown some of these self-defeating patterns.

Obviously my spirit took note.

Illness.

In the later part of 2010 and early 2011, I hyper-focused on spirit and self-growth, reading one hundred plus spiritual/religious texts.

When that fire dimmed, I focused on returning to college.

When that avenue was closed, I turned to the outer me: my physical body.

The thing is I was never balanced in all my endeavors.

Always there remains this lopsided excess energy exerted into a self-limiting passion.

I am set to self-destruct.

Inevitably I awake from some dream-state and realize I haven’t been present. I haven’t been living.

Balance is the key. Unfortunately a key I have not been able to find.

Until now.

Until this sickness.

I feel like I don’t have to prove anything to anyone through my writing.

Though, I’m still insecure, I accept this about me.

I may always be insecure.

But I’m starting to realize there is a grace and humility in being me.

And even in my state of wondering and need for validation and confirmation of my worth, I am  enough.

I am good.

I am okay.

I am tired of trying to be something or someone.

Tired of trying to improve someone who is already divinely perfect.

So for now, I’m letting go of the fight.

I recognize my new “fixation” is obsessive cleaning, de-cluttering, and organizing. Not a bad fixation to have in the scheme of things, if I say so myself.

But I am not fighting.

I am not pulling myself down with guilt.

And I am naturally finding some balance.

I am turning again to practicing being in the present and living in the moment without the need to control—especially without the need to control myself.

I am returning to where I was in 2010, when I was awe-inspired by meditation, chanting, spiritual reading, energy-healing, and the like.

But I am returning more balanced.

As I move into this new month of October, I am recognizing a seasonal change in myself.

Despite the physical anguish and mental suffering, I am thankful for the time of reflection I was forced to encounter through my illness.

I was made to be still, too weak to escape into anything but my own thoughts and sleep.

I’m starting to rebuild the fire of self-love, passion, and love of life within me. Only this time, I have gathered the kindling and wood to burn for only me. Not for the world. Not for someone outside myself. But for the beautiful being I am. The one who is never afraid to admit her struggles, her challenges, and character-building “imperfections.”

And I’m reconnecting to my higher power, that I choose to call God and Jesus. It’s nice to go home again. To be held in unconditional love, and know all will be okay.

Love and Blessings,

Sam

A paper I’ve had since I was a teenager. (During my panda bear collecting years, e.g., sticker.)

The power of words poster I had on display in my study.

The candles I light to reflect and heal.

When and where the forgetting happened, makes no difference.

The child spirit lives.

The mourning of what ifs is over.

Jimmy Buffet has the right idea.

Barefoot Children in the Rain.

Laughing and singing.

The complexity of simplicity.

How the road meanders and twists.

Mind travels in confusion.

A mouse in a maze with cornered sadness.

Poor little mouse.

Obstacles built to block the turns.

Instead, transform.

Fill maze with happy corners.

Tear down walls.

Wither skeletons.

Shrivel ghosts.

I call upon all children dressed in costumes of grownups.

Who long to dance barefoot in the rain.

Who long to go on Huck Finn’s and Jim’s adventures.

Characters emerge!

No need to hang ’round till judgment day.

No need to fret about getting caught by the grown ups.

No more swinging back and forth between freedom and restriction.

Release ball and chain.

Swing high in child’s land.

Be understood by those who play the game.

Those whom break free.

Show me your dreams and I’ll show you mine.

Show me your hearts’ desires.

The sillier the better!

Show me the days of moonshine—swinging under the moonlight worry free.

Come with me and follow the dreamers.

Build wistful memories.

Fiction over fact.

Sneak off in the night.

A band of traveling robbers.

A secret hide away.

Bounce on a bubble full of trouble.

Carefree and light.

Laugh at the fibbing, stealing, and misbehaving.

It’s all an illusion, anyways.

Barefoot Children In The Rain 1995

Jimmy Buffett, Russ Kunkel, Jay Oliver, Roger Guth, and Peter Mayer