Tupperware Heart
So I thought about my tupperware-contained heart for a bit, and then I thought about what it would really mean. You stick leftovers in tupperwares and leave them in the fridge for a few days or in the freezer until you don't know what to eat and so you go for them. And unless it's some really delicious lasagna or something, it's probably not your first choice.
The food gets moldy, or freezer burnt. So I think that was a really bad analogy, and just wishful thinking on my part.
Maybe what it really should be about is stripping away the layers of idealism until you expose the core, your true, innate self.
Today, in an effort to focus on a heart-healthy diet, I googled heart-shaped foods, thinking some exotic fruits would turn up. All I saw were cheesy Valentine's day meals like heart-shaped cookies and pizzas meant for people in love. And then it dawned on me. I really think about my heart as a kid's drawing, a scribble, a red, <3 kind of thing.
My heart doesn't look anything like that, but yet it feels that way when I talk about it, like it's some magical illustration that can be reproduced by the tip of a pencil.
But it's not. It's a muscle. It pumps blood into my body and keeps me alive. It's intricate, and designed in such a way that I am able to breathe and be here in this moment.
So how did it become such a flimsy, one-dimensional image? I don't have the answer yet, but it's worth investigating. All those cheesy movies I watched growing up, falling in love with famous celebrities, listening to romantic songs and wanting so much to have what I felt like I didn't. It's created a kind of cushioning of sorts, and there's probably a lot of misinformation in there.
The heart is a muscle. It pumps blood. I think I need to expose it, rather than keep it tucked away. Celebrate it. Love it. Allow it to breathe and enjoy its freedom; getting back to doing the things it loves, like toboganning, dancing, scrapbooking, whatever.
I want to strip away all the thick layers of romantic cholestorol I've built up over the years and get it back to its natural state. Pure.
Pure looooove.
Hopelessly devoted,
Katie
The food gets moldy, or freezer burnt. So I think that was a really bad analogy, and just wishful thinking on my part.
Maybe what it really should be about is stripping away the layers of idealism until you expose the core, your true, innate self.
Today, in an effort to focus on a heart-healthy diet, I googled heart-shaped foods, thinking some exotic fruits would turn up. All I saw were cheesy Valentine's day meals like heart-shaped cookies and pizzas meant for people in love. And then it dawned on me. I really think about my heart as a kid's drawing, a scribble, a red, <3 kind of thing.
My heart doesn't look anything like that, but yet it feels that way when I talk about it, like it's some magical illustration that can be reproduced by the tip of a pencil.
But it's not. It's a muscle. It pumps blood into my body and keeps me alive. It's intricate, and designed in such a way that I am able to breathe and be here in this moment.
So how did it become such a flimsy, one-dimensional image? I don't have the answer yet, but it's worth investigating. All those cheesy movies I watched growing up, falling in love with famous celebrities, listening to romantic songs and wanting so much to have what I felt like I didn't. It's created a kind of cushioning of sorts, and there's probably a lot of misinformation in there.
The heart is a muscle. It pumps blood. I think I need to expose it, rather than keep it tucked away. Celebrate it. Love it. Allow it to breathe and enjoy its freedom; getting back to doing the things it loves, like toboganning, dancing, scrapbooking, whatever.
I want to strip away all the thick layers of romantic cholestorol I've built up over the years and get it back to its natural state. Pure.
Pure looooove.
Hopelessly devoted,
Katie
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