Update.

My life grows and withers in coffee shops. As my mind flourishes so it crumbles. I blame quite a bit of my artistic endeavors on coffee shops. Blame isn't the right word. I accredit. I owe the honor to. I am inspired at tables in corners with coffee and strangers.

Caffeine is a wicked drug. I am not addicted. At least I don't think I am.

But maybe.

I am an addict. This I know.

I met him in a coffee shop. He quickly became my drug of choice. Listen to Ke$ha's "Your Love is My Drug." That shit was my anthem for awhile.

Maybe I need some rehab, or maybe just need some sleep. I've got a sick obsession. I'm seein' it in my dreams.

A lovesick crackhead.

What I had become.

I shared my love to a depth that he couldn't handle. I loved too much. And now he is gone.

Only myself to blame. To accredit. I owe myself the honor, of chasing him away.

And so I cry out to the Lord. I open up My Utmost For His Highest...and there it is "The Initiative Against Depression."

HA! A LOL almost escaped my weathered lips. These lips that have spoken what felt divinely inspired, but was not received accordingly.

Depression, in my case, is a choice, is situational. I do not have a chemical imbalance, at least, if so, I am not aware. Depression, in my case, is a choice. And therefore, I must take initiative against it. Ozzie Oswald tells me "If we do a thing in order to overcome depression, we deepen the depression; but if the Spirit of God makes us feel intuitively that we must do the thing, and we do it, the depression is gone. Immediately we arise and obey, we enter on a higher plane of life."

This morning I nearly started watching the movie 2012. The man talked a lot about the end of the world. How he's certain that it's ending in 2012. So I wanted to watch the movie. I did start watching it and about 30 seconds in, I bailed, felt intuitively that I shouldn't be watching something so dark in such a fragile state.

So I put on Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. And laughed my aching heart out.

I felt the need to go for a walk. I love where I live because I can walk to places. Downtown is a seven minute walk away. And the ocean is about a three minute walk away. So I've been wandering downtown. The bank. Parking services. The library. Yet another coffee shop. I ate Chipotle alone in a park in the sun. I filed my taxes. I'm blogging. Thinking about moving home.

I'm not sure why I'm in Santa Barbara anymore. I thought I was here for Jemma and Rovenna but they're getting older now, and so am I. I can't be a nanny forever.

I got a job bartending. And promoting a night club. We just got ranked 85th in the nation.

It's not me. I've fallen into this facade. Dolling up. Slinging drinks. Flirting. Getting people wasted so they can make bad decisions. Who am I?

I let the management belittle me, berate me, because I'm new. They are demeaning. And I am supposed to be ever-grateful. Because I am the anomaly. I have no previous bartending experience, nor do I have any serving experience, nor have I put in two or more years working for Sandbar. But they gave me the job. And now I am forever indebted to them. Or so they treat me.

I am a club promoter.

I run around town handing out fliers. Come to Sandbar. I'll get you in free, wristband you for drink specials, I'll get my cut, and go home.

Where I am unhappy. Because this is not me.

And so my heart is tattered lying on the laminate floor in this homely coffee shop in downtown Santa Barbara. I don't feel like I'm supposed to be here anymore. But maybe that's just my wicked and withering mind playing tricks on me.

I don't want to be a slave to money, which is what I have become.

I am selling my soul to Sandbar Santa Barbara.

And I gave my heart to a man that didn't want it.

My mind is what I have left, and it is trying to beat it's way out of my skull. Round and round we go on a sick cycle carousel. Depression. A choice. To live in my brain. Or to step out of the darkness. To sit in the sun and let the waves of self crash elsewhere. For I am mine own. And I determine the extent to which the choices of others will effect me.

Is this where I belong?

Stunted Santa Barbara.

Only time will tell.

Pray for me please. If you're still reading. Still caring. Thank you.