c: HAPPINESS

I like to know things about people.
What their favorite color is, their most memorable moment,
why they keep a certain item for good luck,
or if, like me, pine apples sting their tongues but taste so good.
I like to be lazy sometimes,
so I curl up in an arm chair and drink some cinnamon tea with a book, the rain coming down,
or lay back in the sand with the sun beathing through my eyelids.
Music is like air for me.
Writing is everything, and more.
Friends are the world... period.
I always look for where the rainbow ends
because maybe there's something waiting for me on the other side.

I wonder who I will know in years to come. I mean, who will be at my wedding? Who's going to be around to babysit the kids if I want some alone time? Will Julie and I really go across country as the icecream ladies and future old lady rockstars we always promised we'd be? Will Sketchy and I get a villa in Italy and be famous super models, lounging around all day in the sun when we aren't shooting for some famous magazing, like Vogue. We've already made an arrangement; she will do the dishes, I will clean the house, and we will both do the laundry. It works out well, since I hate doing the dishes.

Meeting people is spectacular. Someone I met at Mad4Mod a few months back gave me his number and his card, telling me to call him if I did make it to NY. I contacted him, and he emailed me about a great offer. It's for a resort wear company, and he said she's a friend of the family's and she specifically asked for someone who was a "natural blonde with great legs"...and thus, I was contacted. All I have to say is, thank GOD I have been going to the gym at least 6 times a week for two months straight. We'll see what happens, if she's interested, which I hope she is. But it's the beauty of an almost stranger helping me succeed that made me smile. Why can't more people be like that?

Who Am I?

I was pondering this the other day. The sun was shining and my toes curled in the delight of its warmth on my face. The wind was blowing my hair away from my eyes, which sought out the squirrel who was just then climbing the tree i'd grown up with. If there had been time, I would have followed. There are many memories in that tree; hide and seek, tears of joy and tears of sadness, hiding from my mother after a particularly bad fight, escaping from life to talk to the sky, hoping it would listen... I wondered if this tree would mean something like that to the future owners of the house, or if it already had.

Today, though, was no time for escaping. It was a time for facing. Facing that particularly hard question: who am I? I am obviously not the little girl with skinned knees, pink cheeks and tangles in her hair, whose voice hushed the cabin of girls at camp to listen to stories, and who fell into tears for being picked on so much. I am not the angst ridden teen who wore black, black and more black to hide herself away, who let herself be chastised and ridiculed, all the while sinking deeper into herself and shutting everyone else out. I am not the selfish, immature girl I finally grew out of, who thrived off the sudden attention from boys and girls alike, and then became obsessed by it. No, i'm not any of these. But then, who am I? [Besides the girl with the huge smile and sparkly pants, that is... c: ]

I am Elisabeth Marie Heffernan, daughter of Helen Elisabeth Dunleavy and John Cullen Heffernan. I am Julie McElwain's best friend, and am engaged in a constant love/hate/mostly love battle with my younger sister Alexia. I am the wistful girl who you can find staring at the sky, and you might wonder 'what is she thinking about that makes her look so sad?' But I am also the girl who will speed walk down High St., her legs pounding and her hips swinging in time to the music. I listen sympathetically when you are crying, and make funny faces at girls who are giving you the evil eye. Sometimes, I am crazy, and I will feel close to breaking, my whole body and soul trembling with the sudden swing of darkness. Then other times, you will see me out of the corner of your eye, and I will be stifling a giggle because I've thought of something funny but I'm half concerned/half not, that people will see me laughing all by myself and think i'm a little crazy.

I believe in the impossible, and question science instead of stories.

I am open minded and always armed with a smile, just in case I need it.

I am shy, but I will also go up to someone on the edge of the dance floor, who's looking uncomfortable and nerdy and alone, and ask him to dance.

So, while that doesn't totally answer the question, I think it answers some.
















[Gary is my artist friend in St.Augustine. He's the one on the trash can. I made friends with a lot of the 'bums'. Some of them are actually pretty insightful, ya.]

So...

This week started out okay and ended okay. Nothing extraordinary in between. Go figure, right? Areopagitica was pretty good. They set me up with some new tasks. Book covers, which, by the way, I despise, and two window displays. That's right, a window display.

That's somewhat reminiscent of the Mad4Mod days. Anyway, in the right hand display you will see pink and red letters, all hand cut and sketched. They spell "Imagination doesn't cost by the gallon!". It's meant to show off the new books on travel we replaced the whale books with. I actually want to read a few of them. Travel's always been crucial to me in my plans for the future. I just can't imagine being "grown" without having seen India, Ireland, Hawaii, Africa, Italy...

I really do work hard, I just want that to be known, in case it was ever doubted because of my complete lack of enthusiasm. Just because I don't want to do something [work wise, at least] it doesn't mean i'm not going to do it. I put all my effort into it, and I am speedy and helpful. I'm not being arrogant or preaching my skills. Many people have commented on this, including Rebecca and Doug. I do get satisfaction from the fact that they noticed. It's nice to be appreciated.

5/16 late post

I've been reflecting lately on the general nature of humans. We're such a fickle race, aren't we? Sometimes, thinking about it, I remember a quote from one of my favorite books. "...Perfection doesn't understand why we hate ourselves so much, and yet refuse to change. She honors our flaws [J.Ruth Gendler, The Book of Qualities]..." Isn't that so true? How often do we comment about our appearance, job, house arrangement, friends, relationships, etc. Everyday sounds about right, right?

Well, I realize that most of the time, we complain and moan and go on about our evil boss or the cellulite on our thighs, and then we sit around and nod complacently when this boss is being an unnecessary jerk, or lounge on our couches eating Cheetohs and cookie dough, pausing briefly to consider using that gym membership you're forking $40 a month for, but then decide that it's probably packed, and anyway, this is couch is just no nice...

I used to be one of those people, so I know all about it. I was the girl who sat around crying about her thighs and the slight pudge on her stomach where, according to the magazines, a six pack should be. Then, i'd proceed to sit and eat about 4,000 calories with a good friend and laze on the couch, discussing how angry we were at our boyfriends/parents/bosses. It was only when I went to the gym and realized, wow, crap, i'm of shape and I have a horrible diet and i'm always depressed and have a hard time sleeping. Maybe there's something wrong with the way i'm living? Now, I walk to and from the gym, burn calories with resistant training, do weights, and, of course, go home to a well balanced [vegan] meal. I've gotta say, I feel better than I ever have.

So is it any wonder I have a problem with people who shove their faces with McDonalds and then glare at me, saying something like "God, you're so thin, i'd KILL to be that thin [*shoves handful of fries in mouth*]." Well, I want to say, you don't have to kill. Just change your diet and start working out.

Speak up!

This society needs a good, healthy dose of truth.

5/14 late post

Alright, so the truth is out. I adore Rebecca and Doug, but the bookstore itself is HIDEOUSLY BORING. It's okay, I try to make the best of it. Although it would appear that they are noting my lack of interest. Really, how interested can a person be in cleaning stacks upon stacks of books each and every day, with half hearted attempts at conversation and returned weak laughter. I feel awful that I can't immerse myself in it, can't enjoy it the way I'm sure they do. It's caused me a lot of guilt. It's not them that I dislike, not even the store itself, just the mindless, monotonous tasks.

Sometimes I think that for Walkabout, someone should just say- my walkabout is LIFE. That would be amazing. I mean, how often do we honestly live life as we should? I don't think many people can say they live each day to its full potential. I know I don't. Especially not lately. Although this new healthy lifestyle is absolutely fantastic. Who knew being in shape and eating right could feel so good?

If I could do whatever I wanted, I wonder what i'd do. Maybe i'd stay up all through the night, awe struck by the moon. I'd be hit by a sudden intensely creative urge and write pages upon pages in what was once just a blank notebook without a story. Perhaps i'd get up at dawn and climb the tree in my backyard to the very top to watch the sun rise. I could go on the streets and observe people, write sketches about them, wonder what their life was. I can picture myself going up to a homeless man, quietly offering him a sandwich, and then asking him how exactly he ended up here. There's a chance that said man [although I won't discriminate; not all homeless people are men, obviously, this is just an example] would throw his sandwich back at me and call me a number of ludicrous names... but there's also a chance that he would open up and tell me the story that no one else thought to ask.

Now, isn't that a learning experience?
I guess it depends on what you think you should be taught.

5/13 late post

So, i've been getting a lot of, ahem, crap lately from people who are angry they haven't been seeing me. I've been threatened with death even. It's really not that funny, come to think of it. Not that you're laughing; I didn't either. One of my old pen pals wouldn't speak to me after never receiving a letter back. We just barely made up today. Anyway, it just made me think about the importance of time. It really is such a crazy concept.

I mean, who really even invented time? Who thought it up? I know the calender system, the Mayams, the concepts about the druids. I know that the earth rotates around the sun, and I know the whole night and day shebang. But who stressed such importance on hours, minutes, even seconds. There are even advertisements for a website that will tell you "How Many Minutes You Have Before You Die". Such an eerie thing, I thought.

You have six months to live, the doctor says to some patient, who is now stricken with the realization of just how important every moment really is. Each sunset brings a wave of terror: did I do something meaningful? What did I accomplish today? Did I make it count? We're all plagued with these thoughts, these worries, these fears, even. We rush to make our appointments, count down the days until summer, wonder what lies beyond the vast experience of college.

I'm tired of wasting time.
It's time to start living.

Life, love, and books

I've been working really hard lately. Ironically, I work at Texas Road House, ha ha! It's the only place I had an instant contact in, and no where else I passed my application along to called back. Therefore here I am, utilizing my skills as a hostess. Not only am I hostessing and interning, I also have personal training twice every week, and when i'm not there i'm at the gym myself. I've developed a love for the workout high. It's a good and rewarding feeling.

I've been reading a lot of silly 'single and sassy in the city' girl novels lately. Besides the useful fashion advice and a few good laughs, there's not much to it. So naturally I sail through them within a day or two, depending on how soon the sleeping pills knock me out. Oh yes, another recent thing- the doctor finally prescribed me some sleeping pills. For the past few months it's been a struggle to fight my way to sleep, and most likely ended up with me waking with a start a few hours before dawn, and thus the struggle continued again... So, the sleeping pills were a promising thing. I hope they continue to do their job, although twice i've woken up immediately, remembering that these are not time release.

Did you know, most people have a problem with chemical addiction? It's from a chemical your brain releases when you have strong feelings of love, whether for your friends, family, or 'other'. This chemical is called oxytocin. In an article I read, I was stunned to read the following "...so the brains of people deeply in love do not look like those of people experiencing strong emotions, but instead like those of people snorting coke. Love, in other words, uses the neural mechanisms that are activated during the process of addiction. “We are literally addicted to love,” Dr Young observes. [pg.3] " Man, does that explain a lot. Apparently, when love fails, or is rejected, the chemical reverses itself, and the resulting depression is sometimes accompanied with symptoms like fainting, dizziness, head aches, difficulty breathing, etc. This isn't a comforting thought. Last night, I talked to my first love, and when we hung up I started crying.
Cheers to this wonderful chemical;
the chemical addiction of love.


Article: Oxytocin, Chemical Addiction and the Science of Love.
http://www.oxytocin.org/oxytoc/love-science.html