I feel it may be about time for an update. I do indeed have much to say, but too much clutteredness fills my mind to theme the thoughts blog by blog; hence, this blog will be an amalgamation of many thoughts, side-notes, updates and such.

The parasites are gone. My stomach is free and still recovering, but all in all I feel much better. I have started school again…my final semester of my undergraduate degree. With the excitement of a new semester (being a last of its kind at that) my mind has been running labyrinths of my near future’s endless possibilities. This eager racing of opportunity has both inspired, made overwhelmed and confused my mind (to say the least of it). I feel the endless prospects of my life weighing me down like a boulder among grains of coarse sand on the edge of a greedy cliff. Both my ability to prosper and my exhaustion of will have been challenged, and I find myself irritated often and beyond ascendance. Have I already laid within the bed that I have made or have I yet to pick out the sheets? I’ve found peaceful comfort in the silent moments with God and the wistful moments spent with my husband. Moments indeed they are merely, fleeting and in constant need of more subsistence. I am amused often by the subtleties that adorn my life. I thank Heaven for its presentation of relief in each and every one of them.

I find the rant above to possibly be disturbing to some, but I assure you there is no need to worry. My literary personae has merely peered its head into my psyche once again, and currently I am writing with fervor for artistry. With that said, sorry if this makes little to no sense to you. But it is my update, have it if you will. I hope to return with further insightful or possibly clearer thought in the near future.

My sincere love and greetings to you friends,

Ashley

]]> http://ashleyzimmerman.wordpress.com/2008/09/04/update-september-4-2008/feed/ 0 ashleylauren1 sylvia_plath http://ashleyzimmerman.wordpress.com/2008/07/27/the-reason-for-my-hiatus/ http://ashleyzimmerman.wordpress.com/2008/07/27/the-reason-for-my-hiatus/#comments Sun, 27 Jul 2008 18:42:57 +0000 Ashley Zimmerman http://ashleyzimmerman.wordpress.com/?p=53 ]]>

Since my husband and I have returned from our fabulous honeymoon in Aruba I have not been feeling so well.  At first we were SURE I was pregnant…pretty much convinced.  I went to an internalist who ran one test, and that came back normal so she dismissed it as nothing. I started to feel worse: headaches, constant stomach ache and/or nasuea, back ache, fatigue, disorientedness….it was NOT fun. Once again we still thought I may be pregnant. So I went to see an OBGYN who ran several blood tests checking my progesterone levels, hormones, HGC, and many more. I went and saw her very recently to get my test results and much to my surprise, no baby, no nothing! She had no solution for me.

I was reffered to TWO more doctors to get MORE tests done. I was getting really worn out at this  point after TWO months of the run-around, and I KNEW things just weren’t right. I was playing all the options in my head and doing lots of research on my symptoms. Having just gone overseas I started to wonder if I could have a parasite. I actually had about 90% of the symptoms. Benji went to Whole Foods for me in search of an all natural Parasite Cleanse.  He ended up with a highly recommended box of treatments called Paragone (see photo above).  From what I know of cleanses and the research I did on this one, it couldn’t hurt me to do it…hey, I’d try just about anything to make me feel better at this point. It was try it and see what happens or go to more doctors, take more tests, spend a LOT more money…… yah, I was in.

Well, after two days of the cleanse “the proof was in the pudding” (literally)… I 100% had and stil have parasites. I have been on the cleanse now for about 6 days. It has not been the most lovely-feeling experience of my life, but its working and that’s ALL I care about at this point.  It lasts anywhere from 15-30 days depending on how strong of doses you take.  So needless to say for a couple weeks here I may be on writing hiatus. Between getting through school and killing parasites, I’m a run down girl.

Please pray for a speedy recovery and for these little buggars to be long gone when its over.  I can’t WAIT to feel myself again!

Yes, I”m the blonde with the book….yes, the one who looks like she’s prematurely balding at 3 or 4…… This picture, the conceptualization of this picture, are some of my fondest memories. In order is my cousin Becky, my cousin Carly, and then me. We are only a year or two apart from one another in age, and the two of them are sisters. And where are we you may ask? Where the three of us spent many nights together AS the three of us: Grandma and Tata’s (our Grandpa’s nickname) house. It was a ritual. We ran through the sprinklers the majority of the day, probably went for ice cream at Thrifty’s after dinner…and if we were lucky at some point in the day we went to the 99¢ store to pick out a toy each. The night would wrap up with a bath and Grandma combing our hair so tight slicked back we looked as though we were ready for our close-ups in Grease.   And we ALWAYS slept in one of Tata’s shirts. I distinctly remember the musky smell they always had; bold and sharp, but more comforting than any words could describe today. We were Tata’s girls. We were Grandma’s girls. The best part was, we got to be little girls together.

Today we are wives, managers, and even moms. The farther we walk in life the dirtier our feet get. You can wash, but dirt still remains.  Our agenda’s then: pick the right flavor of ice cream, play as long as Grandma lets us, laugh, tumble…. wait, I take it back. Our agendas then: NOTHING. Like I said, THAT was the sweetest part: all we had to do was be three little girls.

I miss them so much all the time, and our lives are SO different now. I visited them recently to see Carly’s new baby. We went out for ice cream and standing in front of the glass at Baskin Robins was exactly like it was then (only about 26 more flavors…). I felt as if even only for a moment, we were just little girls again. We didn’t need to have an agenda, we had ice cream.

Do you have these photos that bring back “the good old days”? Do you have the memories that make you think about the agenda-free days? Do you take the time to relish in them? Life is a crazy ride but I tell you, there’s something to be said for taking the time out to make BEING your priority…. think about it.

This is a photo from my first date with my husband. This was the first night we met in person. It was also my birthday. Now you are either thinking, “Well, I guess freaks DO meet on the internet” or you are thinking, “How could this be? They are that silly and open with each other on the first night of meeting?”. YES, We are silly, and we love that about each other. YES, we were comfortable within the first few hours of being together. YES, it WAS love at first sight. Okay, okay…that one was hokey….. but I certainly knew from the moment I met Benjamin Jay Zimmerman that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. NO, we are not the perfect fairytale. NO, we are not exactly alike; we have commonalities, but in all honesty we are complete opposites in many ways…..we complement each other. I’m a wide awake fish ready to swim, he’s a dead fish ready to be sushi.

Many a wise couple has passed on one of the most important keys to a successful marriage: a sense of HUMOR. Seems we had that one from the start… the challenge in lies keeping it up for the rest of our lives!!!

I set foot on the pavement in my ripped up, cut off, holey jean shorts, an oversized man’s sweater covering the length of my arms, a mud-covered baseball cap and a beat up pair of tennis shoes. My hair was frayed and tucked into my hat, sticking out in all directions. I took the first step onto the pavement, and I was petrified. I was homeless. Most would classify my upbringing as that of an upper-class status. I grew up an only child most of my life, I was surrounded by adults and cocktail parties, and I had a live-in nanny until I was twelve years old. All of this sounds as if I would have turned out to be quite the spoiled brat, but on the contrary I turned out quite the opposite. I am a devout Christian, committed to serving those in need, and I’ve always been very appreciate of all the blessings the Lord has bestowed in my life, down to every bit of the financial comfort I have experienced.

Being homeless was never something I feared of becoming, but it was a set of shoes I had never walked in before. I was somewhat eager to partake in the assignment, for the chance of such humility was a blessing in my eyes that I could only experience through this role. I figured I would be silent, keep to myself and walk along the streets minding my own business. I saw this co-culture as one that was alone, but never could I have understood the desperation and emptiness of this role until I took a position in it. Never in my life had I been so terrified. Never in my life had I felt so empty. Never in my life had I felt I was without hope for a life.

I walked the Las Vegas Strip in my new role as a homeless woman. I started at the Treasure Island. I walked along the side of the hotel feeling very alone and full of anxiety and fear. The first thing I passed was a bus stop. There was a homeless man asleep, snoring, and sitting upright on the bench wrapped up in all of his belongings. I scurried by him quickly in fear that he would awake and yell out, “Hey you girl! You ain’t homeless! You are a liar! How dare you!” As a matter of fact, I scurried rather quickly past all the people I encountered, filled with trembling fear. I feared the tourists would shun me or yell at me for being in their way. I feared the security guards would grab me and take me to jail. I feared the employees of the casinos on their way to work would yell at me, for whatever reason they felt necessary. I was in complete and utter fear of every person that surrounded me. I felt as if I was worthy of the status of an insect. I understood how they felt: small and insignificant to the world.

When I was driving down to the strip, I spoke to a friend of mine on the phone, describing the task I was about to take on. One of her first questions was, “What if people try and give you money?” This was something I had certainly thought about, especially as I was getting ready for the assignment this morning. I could not seem to get dirty enough! I tucked my hair in my hat so others could not tell I get it done regularly. I did not wear deodorant or make up, yet I still felt like a fraud. The perception I assumed people would have was that I became recently homeless. With that in mind, I thought people might feel as if they could relate to me more so, inevitably feeling inclined to give me some money. I told my friend that if I were to receive any money, I would accept it so as to not break character. When I was done with the assignment, I would stop on my way home and give any money I had collected to a real homeless person. No one gave me a thing. I was not given money, food, or anything at all to help my condition. I did not anticipate this feeling at all, but anytime someone reached for their purse, wallet or what seemed to look as though they were getting money out, I would feel excited. None of them did. In turn, I felt as if they could not understand. I felt that the people around me were ignorant and rude. I could not understand how they would not want to help me. I then began to isolate myself from them, and I looked at the people who surrounded me with anger; yet, I still felt helpless and meager.

My looking-glass self was now funneling my self portrait as unworthy. I felt dispensable. I felt unloved, even by God. I felt exposed, yet minuscule. Many people looked at me, a few gawked and pointed. One group of business associates at the Treasure Island actually hollered out at me. “Hobo!” one of the men yelled out, “Hey homeless girl! Hey bum!” I scurried along even faster bowing my head even closer to my chest. A few people looked me in the eyes, and I wondered if they had ever come close to experiencing what I was at that very moment. All in all, each of the people I interacted with made me feel as if I was lifeless. If I was small enough, I feel they would have stepped on me, ending my life and never stopping to think twice about it.

As I sat down in the driver seat of my car, leaving the realm of my homeless life, I wiped my tears and prayed. I prayed that God would look after me and help me to find strength in my everyday decisions, so that I may never have to come to this road in my actual life. I prayed that God would help the lives of every man and woman who lay hungry, alone and empty on the streets. I prayed that He would give them strength and bless their lives to escape the solitude and find hope. I prayed He would save them. Finally, I prayed for the rest of the world. I prayed that each of us here on earth would take the time to help the homeless. I prayed that God would help us open our eyes and find it in our hearts to give, whatever that may be, to these people in need. I prayed that somehow, by whatever grace possible, God would let the homeless of the world know that they are not alone and that hope is possible.

Reflecting I felt as if my material self was worthless. I feel as though I should donate everything I own, minus the essentials I need to live. Knowing this is unrealistic, I have decided that I will at least become far more active in giving to homeless shelters. I feel as though my social self has been humbled drastically. When in church we always discuss walking into worship on an equal playing field, for in the eyes of God we are all equal as His sons and daughters. I now feel this is necessary in every aspect of life. Whether or not the people around me may know it, I know we are all equal and as deserving of the blessings of life as the next. My spiritual self has been heightened greatly by the experience. I know God loves all His children, and it takes the ones filled with His hope to share it with others who still live in fear.

When hearts collide and eyelids rise up,

the weather enters through doors with welcome mats.

Winter bares the chill that raises hairs,

and summer holds the fire that blazes one’s heart.

Blooming buds bring breath anew to lips.

The recess of one’s visitor sings farewell,

and calls up the new colors of dawn.

Whisping, wooshing, and circling are the winds

calling out a familiar hello.

Beckoning are the Heaven’s above to one,

And one is receptive to it’s cry.

The Spirit here flourishes in sound daylight.

Progression slows the steps as I try to run through the mud.

Time, eternally circling the drain in which slowly leaks droplets of your life.

Everything is in slow motion,

like a picture captured in a slow shutter lens, and yet,

time is the constant struggle between happiness and I.

There is all the time in the world.

All the world will only see so much of you.

If all answers were questions, curiosity would be the aroma filling your nostrils in the morning.

Waiting.

There is always a period of waiting.

For more time? For time to come?

Ants scurry around below my feet

working their hardest seconds at a time

to do what is necessary for their life.

No questions.

Just actions.

They scurry, scurry, scurry and then

they get stepped on.

No concept of time.

No concept of when or why,

just action to guide their necessity for life.

I do not want to be an ant.

I do appreciate the dedication of one life

to action and purpose

without worry or doubt.

We are constantly in motion,

yet turning motion into action takes a step to be learned.

Creatures of curiosity are the smiles that fill the room

in which dancers train.

Learned steps,

intertwining souls and breathes.

Often these creatures get lost or lose their rhythm, becoming anger and fear conceptualized in the majority of our ants.

Busy, busy, busy and unable to see

the time that constantly passes by.

The time that is dead to them.

The curiosity collapses,

creating such beauty and such tears,

encircling back into the cycle of time and curiosity once again.

All in this enclosed box of time.

All the time in the world.

Walking along a narrow path, painted with color-light leaves

I peer through tiny holes in the walls.

Each hole fills a transfusion of life through one vein,

sending outrageous torment through my soul.

Some live,

and they really live.

Some don’t even know they truly exist.

Some breathe and watch the colors of smoky inhalations and exhalations paint their aurora, and they laugh to themselves.

Then someone asks, “What was so funny?”

“Nothing.” They say.

Knowing they couldn’t understand.

She knew we couldn’t understand.

Some could,

a little bit,

and those enjoyed the minutes she chose to share with them dancing atop a hill,

rolling in laughter all the way back down the hill to earth.

Moonshine is her spotlight,

while the stars remained her partners in freedom.

As children we spun circles with the wind’s wings,

always holding hands while staring at the infinite sky.

Today I smile at the sky alone,

saying “Oh nothing”, answering others questions.

I know that gray swivel, smudging the formation of that cloud… to the left, is you.

I bled today.

It was rich, thick and held no pain.

It came and went,

sharing life but taking nothing at its descent.

Kiss. Touch. All better.

In seclusion with my thoughts I cry.

Each tear slithers its path down my cheek and you try to catch them like a catcher in baseball,

but we both know sports were not your cup of tea…

they each fall to their place.

My soul burns like browned, withering paper that burns to ashes rapidly before the living eye.

She lands on my knee,

shakes the dust from her tiny fairy wings and asks what I desire.

“With all my heart and soul, little one, I want to know her.”

She sits cross-legged on my knee, tilting her head curiously.

“I know her. I know how she likes to laugh and I know how she likes to play, but yesterday I forgot. Little one, yesterday I was a woman and so was she. We stood together in a cloud of dust and when it subsided, I stood alone. Today I want to know the woman she is. Today I wished that woman I knew… to watch her, to speak with her, to kiss her, only to end with laughter that connected our souls again where they played familiarly.”

She stood.

Fluttering her wings slowly,

she flew to my face, trailing her tiny fingers through my lashes,

laughing.

She was gone.

I sank.

Further and further into the place I lay,

another tear slithering much faster to its destination this time.

Then, after this solitary tear I STOP.

I giggle,

softly.

I giggle a little more.

I close my eyes and smile.

This, here it is. My dreams,

my sleep with fluttering eyes and endless flight take us soaring atop a hill.

We sit there… as children. As women. As ladybugs.

Whatever we are, we are.

This is where we meet and laugh,

forevermore.