Tuesday, April 19, 2011

One thing’s for sure: I’m a fraud.

When Gandhi made up his mind about something, that was that. Take meat. One day he figured it was no longer such a good idea, so he immediately cut all meat out of his diet. When he found out his clothes were manufactured by British companies he stopped wearing or buying them. Hence the loincloth. Gandhi’s mind became a solid wood-carved bowl, his intentions clear inside, not getting muddled or distracted. Gandhi wasn’t one to waffle.

Here’s my mind in a recent yoga class:
(looking at a guy two rows in front of me)
Look at this schmuck. I bet he thinks he’s a super yogi. Yeah, buddy, you do two more pushups instead of an updog during vinyasa, we get it, you’re like, behemoth strong. Don’t think I don’t see right through those low lunges in warrior II. You’re showing off and I’m not buying it. Prick. Fuck this guy. Trying so hard, I bet he’s not getting any of the mental benefits of yoga. How can he find inner peace when he’s peacocking all over his mat? Fuck this guy.

That’s one reason why I’m a fraud.

Today I drove to Target, all by myself in my mid-size sedan, turning into the four-story parking garage in a NASCAR-style swarm of other shoppers driving alone in their sedans.

That’s another reason.

When I watch documentaries one of two things happen: I cry like it’s The Notebook or the New Jersey comes out in me and I yell at the TV, telling this politician or the corrupt EPA to go fuck themselves. I’m usually so fired up after these movies that the heft of everything wrong compresses my ribcage and I want to scream and fix it and I don’t know how so I usually zip online and fill out a few email petitions and that satiates me for a while, until the next flick.

The latest one was Fuel, a really well done one about energy consumption and how running my sedan on McDonald’s leftover cooking oil can save this jacked up little planet of ours. My boyfriend and I swore to try and get a biofuel pump at our local gas station, but the past two weeks I’ve been filling up with the regular old devil’s juice. But not at BP—does that count for something?

Sometimes I want to give away everything I own and go to the Himalayas and meditate, even though I’ve got a hunch New Jersey will follow me to Tibet. Sometimes I think, what the hell are you doing with your life, Melissa, you slothful, selfish chump? Go help the people in India, or Japan, or Haiti, or anywhere. Go! Now!

But I stay in Tampa, in a nice apartment, adjacent to a main strip of nightspots and eateries. And I kind of hate that I kind of like it.

I say I’ll join the Peace Corps. some day. Those last two words scare me. I’m worried I’m lying to myself. It’s too soon to tell.

Is it possible to be a beer-chugging vegetarian (with an occasional bite of a chicken sandwich, usually precipitated by aforementioned beer chugging)? Can I come to terms with the fact that sometimes my mind is tranquil while most other times it’s a backfiring switchboard, smoking and sparking with wires coiled tight? Can I strike a balance?

Gandhi had a little Jersey in him. He was sarcastic and hot tempered. But also humble and fiercely compassionate.

Maybe being a fraud isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s all I can ask for right now, and instead of fighting my duality I should embrace it. Maybe this whole split personality thing I feel—one minute zen goddess, the next one a jealous bitch—is keeping me on my toes, making me investigate my mental switchboard, taking a mechanic’s eye to rewire where necessary.

Whether I’m chained to a cypress tree or telling bad jokes at the local watering hole, the other half of me is always there, and for now I’m ok with that.


  1. Just because we practice yoga doesn't mean we have to be perfect. Love the cartoon!

  2. Where does the clarity come from?
    What is known from dawn?
    Where does love come from?
    Where should my power be drawn?

    Could you see through my eyes, the last seven or eight.
    You would laugh though searching is great.
    To understand the truth of words long past said.
    When it ended I gave up dreams of life and ended up dead.
    Now what does this all mean?
    Gosh I have no clue.
    I just hope that your heart shockra sticks to it like glue.
    There will be no time wasted on editing or proofreading
    These words come out proper, no need for deleting.
    16 minutes later
    Sorry I lost my imba for a minute I needed to gather
    being of track is always a matter
    I am sorry to think you needed me or for that matter anyone else
    Because it was supergirl all along
    five foot three, and powered by self
    Gandhi like few got it for sure
    Why do I search for things that are such a bore
    Why do I react like an animal in heat
    While others just reproduce the same old beat
    But you know something melissa
    I am not Gandhi and neither are you
    You were just kitty and I was just boo

    You know in your heart if I never left this is true
    Tampa would not have called and your life would not end true
    We both needed to leave home to find ourselves
    and if you never ended it with us then I would have been consumed by hollywood
    all these years have been designed so that we survive
    I love you melissa carroll
    I hope that one day I find you again

  3. Dont B depressed, dear. I was severely in the doldrums for yeeers after my accident, girlfriend died, dog lost, sparse friends, speech loss for almost 6 years, totally dysFUNctional family till this day... yay! Dont feel so bad, dear; life is ending soon: 1-outta-1 croaks. Wanna know the Way out from my perspective? Lemme fill-you-up withe avant-gardeness and wisdome necessary to achieve Seventh-Heaven, dear...

    Wanna wiseabove to help a 'Plethora Of Wurdz' [POW!] which are look'n for a new home in your novel?? Yay!

    Q: Can anyone tell me the difference between K2 and IQ? A: Nthn. In Seventh-Heaven, we gitt'm both for eternity HawrHawr Need a few more thots, ideers, wild wurdz or ironclad iconoclasms? Voila!!

    VERBUM SAT SAPIENTI: As an ex-writer of the sassy, savvy, schizophenia we all go through in this lifelong demise, I just wanna help U.S. git past the whorizontal more!ass! we're in (Latin: words to [the] wise)...

    "This finite existence is only a test, son," God Almighty told me in my coma. "Far beyond thy earthly tempest is where you'll find tangible, corpulent eloquence". Lemme tella youse without d'New Joisey accent...

    I actually saw Seventh-Heaven when we died: you couldn't GET! any moe curly, party-hardy-endorphins, extravagantly-surplus-lush Upstairs (in [the] end without end -Saint Augustine) when my beautifull, brilliant, bombastic girly passed-away due to those wry, sardonic satires.

    "Those who are wise will shine as brightly as the expanse of the Heavens, and those who have instructed many in uprightousness as bright as stars for all eternity" -Daniel 12:3, NJB

    Here's also what the prolific, exquisite GODy sed: 'the more you shall honor Me, the more I shall bless you' -the Infant Jesus of Prague.

    Go gitt'm, girl. You're incredible. See you Upstairs. I won't be joining'm in the nasty Abyss where Isis prowls
    PS Need summore unique, uncivilized, useless names? Lemme gonna gitcha started, brudda:

    Oak Woods, Franky Sparks, Athena Noble, Autumn Rose, Faith Bishop, Dolly Martin, Willow Rhodes, Cocoa Major, Roman Stone, Bullwark Burnhart, Magnus Wilde, Kardiak Arrest, Will Wright, Goldy Silvers, Penelope Summers, Sophie Sharp, Violet Snow, Lizzy Roach, BoxxaRoxx, Aunty Dotey, Romero Stark, Zacharia Neptoo, Mercurio Morrissey, Fritz & Felix Franz, Victor Payne, Isabella Silverstein, Mercedes Kennedy, Redding Rust, Phoenix Martini, Ivy Squire, Sauer Wolfe, Yankee Cooky, -blessed b9 ...shake well B4 use!

    God blessa youse
    -Fr. Sarducci, ol SNL