Okay, so I got some massively good advice from a person or two today, and they're going to remain nameless for the time being, but they should know who they are. I decided to take it.This craphole of a page is simply allowing my depression to drag me under further, so :P on that crap!

First on my list to thank is Olivia "The Predator" Gerula. This lovely woman is my boxing trainer. And yes, I say trainer, because we aren't learning anymore. We've learned the moves. We are now training to put them into practice.

I've always been interested in kickboxing, ever since the first time I heard of it, via John Cusack and the movie Say Anything. Last year I even took a class, and was interested in pursuing it, but my instructor never contacted me for further lessons, and I never pursued it.

Well, after losing a lot of weight in a short period of time, and in a very unhealthy way, I decided that I wanted to pursue this interesting sport a little further. But first, I felt that I needed a refresher. So I signed up for a class through the Leisure Guide. Well, I think it was one of the absolute smartest things that I have ever done for myself.

I was blessed by the Gods, I think, when I walked in through the doors and found Oliva standing there, ready to whip me into shape. Because she kept on encouraging me, right till the end of the class. And she persuaded me to join her three times a week class. And man, am I ever glad I did.

I love it! And I love how it's shaping my body, even if it's not as fast as I'd like. I'm so healthy now. And I hope to keep getting better and better.

It's such good therapy too. Have a bad day? Go beat the crap out of the heavy bag. It really, really won't mind!

This wednesday, I actually got to spar with "The Predator." And I lived to tell the tale.

So, I thank Olivia, for helping improve my health, being encouraging, and giving me a few hours a week where I'm working so hard that I don't have to think of anything at all!
Posted by Arieanna at 2:09 PM |

I haven't written anything in months. But upon exploring ways to fix the things that are broken in my life that I feel are more than worthy of fixing, I came across a like-minded passage written by a friend of a friend. Said passage inspired me to create the following:

The room around her is bleak, and drab, holding no interest. The walls and their undiluted, muted, dark color has seeped their way into her soul until she feels as if her spirit itself is only being kept alive by the complete grayness it now contains. Because anything that is composed of that much of one substance has to be alive, or die, and she could not be allowed to die. Death, for her, would be a release of sorts, and she knows that no release is forthcoming.

Her eyes, if one were to choose to look at them, are, in fact, a reflection of the bleakness of her soul. Not that there is anyone here to look, or, rather, anyone here that cares to. The ones that would have noticed are long gone, separated by distances too great to cross. And she's unaware of how that happened, uncomprehending of what it is that's brought her here, to this place.

And here, in this place, there is no one at all that cares enough to look into those dull eyes. No one to notice that the once bright of the blue grey of her eyes, the thing that separated her from others, that marked their uniqueness is gone. The color now just serves as a depiction of the dull color that pulses in her shattered spirit.

At this moment, those eyes simply stare sightless out the windows. Windows which, aside from her locked door, are at this moment her only portal too the outside world that has forgotten her. To others, the windows would be a way to cross into the world on the other side. For her, the windows are simply another torture. They are a sliver of a glimpse into a normalcy that she is no longer a part of. They only serve to remind her of what she no longer has. The sliver of blue sky she can see through them is a color blue that is no longer applicable in her life.

She sits and contemplates for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time, what she has done to obtain this life, this solitude. For she had to have done something. Nobody ever receives this kind of punishment without deserving it. No on is this succinctly cut off from all of those of import to them without committing some atrocity. She'd like to know what she's done. She'd like to have had a sentencing. She'd have liked to have had her judge and jury stand up, read the verdict, and tell her what crime she had committed to be deserving of such a payment. But no. For her, it was straight to the punishment. For her, the not knowing is very possibly the worst part, far worse then the rest of the punishment. For is she doesn't know what mistake it was that she made, however will she be able to avoid repeating it?

The alarm bells ring and they are the only kind of ringing that she hears nowadays. The ringing of the telephone is something from her past.

She reaches over, her hand catching up the clock to both silence the noise, and look at the numbers.

She can put it off no more. It is time. She rises from the mattress, puts on her uniform, and opens the locked bedroom door of her apartment. She needs to start towards her office. It is time to face another friendless day in her now friendless existence.

If only she knew her crime. It's all she asks now. All she feels she has a right to. And it's such a little thing. But to her, it's the world. Because without that knowledge, she only feels doomed to keep repeating this process until the end finally gives her peace.

It's a lot like what that other person wrote, and I thank that person I do not know but through thinest of threads for inspiring this piece as a whole. Her piece made me realize how jailed I've felt in my experiences lately, and I wanted to write something, anything, to get some of the pain out.Take it however you want. You always do anyways.
Posted by Arieanna at 2:39 PM |