I'm in my own trap

I struggle to express myself, blocked by walls I've built myself. 

Britney Shears

Ok, I realize that this post is really really really like, late.  I mean, Britney shaved her head like 4 centuries ago in entertainment news years.  But I saw a picture of her the other day with the shaved head and got to thinking. First, she didn't look THAT bad. Why do people FREAK OUT when a woman shaves her head?!  And that made me then think about how much I totally understand why she did it.  It was a big 'f-you' to everybody.  She was tired of being what everybody else thought she should be.  She was mentally 'off', yes.  That's really not up for debate. However, sometimes I think we get mentally unstable because we are not being who we are and we are too busy trying to figure out what everybody else expects us to be.  I have short hair, I love it.  It suits me.  However, I mostly hate it. (Yes, I'm aware that in a previous sentence I said I loved it.) It's never just 'perfect'.  And it really boils down to this, it's totally not about the hair.  My hair and how I feel about it is a reflection of what's going on in my life.  I have often thought about shaving it off, and when I do, I think of Britney and I think.. hey.. that was pretty brave.

I go from having moments of pure gratitude and grace, to being just as confused and worried as ever.  Sometimes I think that my father having cancer is really waking me up to the fact that my time on this planet is finite.  I dyed my hair a shocking red today.  It's gorgeous, but I'm not sure I would have done it if I wasn't feeling like .. I don't know, like I'm tired of sitting around waiting for life to happen to me.  Sitting around waiting for things to be 'better' before I live.  Sitting around waiting for 'shit to get done' before I can relax.  Sitting around waiting for inspiration to strike.  I'm realizing that the beauty of life is that we have to find our inspiration, we have to stop waiting.  Life is fucking messy.  I mean, beyond your wildest dreams messy.  Like so fucked up sometimes I wonder what the point is.

My father has cancer.  Colon cancer.  He's 73.  It's been hard watching him go through this.  Hardest thing ever.  He went from about 190 lbs, down to 159.  He had a bunch of his colon taken out 3 months ago, just started recovering from that and is now taking chemo.  He's got to do this for 6 months.  His feet hurt. One of the side effects of the chemo.  Just typing this, my chest hurts.  He's a trooper, strong... but this is making him physically weak.  It's hard to articulate how this feels to me.  He's been the one constant man in my life.  He may not have always been there for me, but he was certainly ALWAYS there for my mother.  How do we transcend human suffering and pain.  How do we make sense of things that make no sense at all?  How do we take the moments we have and infuse them with joy that is tangible, that we can feel, even in the midst of the moments that are profoundly painful?  Can pain and joy co-exist?

I decided to start a new blog.  I was sitting here trying to be witty and come up with some Title and URL that was .. I don't know, creative.  I was looking through a Vogue magazine sitting here and saw the word Viva.  Live.  That's a good word.  Then there was a layout in the Film Noir type ..type.  And I looked up Noir, and it means dark, depressing.  I find it sort of funny that my blog title Viva Noir sort of hints at 'live darkly'.  That isn't what I meant, but I liked it.  It's sort of like the anti-depressant blog.  Ha.  I guess that means that Viva Noir is sort of meant to be ironic.  I also find it interesting that spell check keeps telling me that Noir is spelled wrong.  It doesn't recognize the word.