Eda's World

I was trying to cheer up a friend who had received some depressing news about a job he had wanted. He felt powerless and overwhelmed. Just defeated. I tried to be upbeat, offer ideas, and encourage him to try again. He kept shooting my ideas down, and just generally deciding to accept failure as a constant. He finally said something made me snap. I hate it when people say things like this to me. "I'm not like you. I don't just get up and do things!" Why not, dammit? I lit into him like chicken on a June bug. I told him I don't just do anything. I chose to. I chose to find things to do. I chose to get out. I choose every damn day. I am not the same person I was a year ago. Hell, I am nowhere near the person I was five years ago or ten years ago. I don't even recognize the person I was in my 20s. I have created the person I wanted to be. No one bursts out of the gate and just becomes who they want to be. The only difference between you and the person w...

I had a brilliant idea for a new blog. Will share later, but the crux of this is that I had the brilliant idea of going to my oldest page on my gmail and troll for things I'd written that I had forgotten about in the sound and the fury of college. On the second page of emails I found this and thought some thing I think with alarming regularity about myself: WHAT THE FUCK, EDA? Where did this come from? Judging from the title of the email, it was titled: Counting My Blessings. Until you have had someone you love strip you of your dignity, and fill you with pervasive doubt, you could not understand the dizzying addiction of bad relationships. The first six months is the high you chase for the rest of the relationship. It is a toxic mix of unexpected sexy phone calls, animalistic sex and a fierce possessiveness that makes you feel special in a way that only an overdose of hormones can. Then, as the relationship rots, you twist and prune yourself to please an angry go...