Life in the Box

Hello everyone!

I’ve missed Watch-Me-Juggle-land quite a bit over the last few days. I’ve been juggling the heck out of everything lately- juggling all the things. I’m just glad I don’t have children or a dog, or my poor head might explode. It’s been a whirlwind and great learning experience. I’m writing to you now inside “the Box,” the box office at Yerba Buena theater.  It has plate glass windows and guillotine-like sliding doors, which one of my coworkers implied was for my own protection. People are really intense about this ballet-watching business, I’m telling you.


First photo with the new phone! What do you all think?

I look a little tired in the above photo, I’ll admit.

Over the last week or so, I’ve been living inside a box. Either it’s the box of my cubicle, a box office, or my little box of a Barbie house that I go home to every day. I’ve been answering the same questions over and over again, “When? Where? How? Why? When?”…and on and on. Maybe I could make this some ridiculous metaphor about life, but it’s just how it is. I’m pretty much this bunny:


It’s the long days like this that make me appreciate my solitude a hell of a lot more, that’s for certain. When I finally got done with work on Sunday, I felt absolutely no shame in holing up in my house with a quart (yes my friends, a quart) of Loard’s Lemon Chiffon ice cream and Game of Thrones.  I’ve also been indulging in the occasional shopping adventures, which I hope to document here at some point. Thus far, I’ve invested in some amazing new swimsuits and some, more practical things, like new work clothes and eye cream. I’ve also developed the nasty little habit of always having my phone in my hand- I’ve even been using it to catch up on my favorite blogs on Bloglovin’ lately since I’ve been on the go so much. At the end of the day, I even use it to watch my favorite TV Land reruns in bed. It’s clearly a party at my place! All things aside, I’ve been neglecting myself a little bit, but they say that the first step is to recognize the problem, right? I’m hoping I’ll do better or, rather, take better care of myself this week. I’d like to think that I have unwavering optimism, but that’s not always the case. I certainly do try though. The boss lady told me to keep my chin up the other day, and there’s something so reassuring about that. When I’m feeling stuck, I try to say that to myself. After all, everything might not always go as smoothly as you would like, whether that be at your job or at home, but that doesn’t mean you can’t walk away at the end of the day and pat yourself on the back for trying your best.

Until next time!



Hello all!

I can’t believe that Blogtober…erm, I mean October is almost over! I hope that you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have. I’m rather late to the party on this Blogtober prompt, but I’ve been thinking about it for quite a while. What makes you happy? 

October has consistently been a month of change over the last few years. Four years ago, I moved into my beloved little Barbie house of an apartment. It’s been the month of starts and stops- all positive. This year’s October has lived up to its reputation, to say the least. I’ve hit some milestones on Watch Me Juggle, and have written more than ever. Being so busy this month has only added fuel to the fire, and I’ve been making an extra effort to fit in all the important things in my life. I finally started teaching as a substitute in the local schools. It’s been an adjustment, but I have a good feeling about it. It’s just a new work/life schedule. So, what does this have to do with being happy?


I recently came across this little post on Instagram. Yes, it’s a little quote from yours truly. I vaguely remember having a poetic moment while teaching one evening, but I was so incredibly touched that my words resonated with one of my students. I’m perhaps doubly surprised at how my own words resonate with me, months later. The thing is, while there are always things in life that you could want, I’m glad to say that there’s nothing in life that I find I still need. There’s always room for improvement, but the surest way to making yourself unhappy is to look for all the things you don’t have. Sure, nothing is a guarantee in my life, and I, like most people, wish to never have to see another bill as long as I live. However, if you look at everything in context, those things aren’t really the important ones. I’m pretty amazed that I get to wake up in my own little home every morning, get to make a living doing something I love, and am surrounded by wonderful people. I just feel lucky, and happy.

I must say it’s hard to be particularly thoughtful on a Sunday night. I sure did try!

Good luck out there 😉


Bay Area Living

Hello everyone and happy Monday.






An Eva in her natural habitat. Photo c/o Patrick Baron

I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend!

I thought I’d share some photos with you from my latest adventures across the bay. I finally got to visit the Wave Organ installation in the Marina recently. It’s quite unique, made with recycled stone from the old Laurel Hill cemetery, and home to some beautiful views of the bay and the Golden Gate bridge. I anticipate many a day spent out on the hidden stone bench, with a cup of coffee from my favorite doughnut place right around the corner.

Those of you that have visited, or may live in the Bay Area, know that San Francisco is entirely its own creature. That’s what so many people like about it. It’s a veritable melting pot of people, home to the beautiful and the bizarre. Despite having grown up in this area, the last five years of my life spent here have been filled with new neighborhoods, restaurants, and people. And while I’m entirely taken with the city, and everything it has to offer, I sometimes find myself wishing that I wasn’t as “lucky” to have grown up here. Most of us have a desire that drives us to start our adult lives elsewhere, away from our parents and the quiet streets we grew up on in the urge to create something entirely our own. I can’t really complain. When I get restless, I have the luxury of getting in my car and driving somewhere entirely new, where no one knows me. There, among the unfamiliar faces, I can act as much of an idiot as I want. If I feel like being the girl in the impossible shoes, teetering around like a baby giraffe, I can. If I feel like having pink hair and thrifting my afternoons away, I can.  If I feel like wearing no makeup and only my favorite Lululemon, I can. I can temporarily reinvent myself as many times as I wish, all I need to do is pick a new city, or a different neighborhood. As much as Bay Area transplants feel as if they belong here, in whatever city they find themselves, with little wiggle room, I feel as if I can belong anywhere. Does that make sense? Or is this just the combination of insomnia and too many Tv Land re-runs?

Just some thoughts.


On Family

Hello everyone.







Today, I would like to write to you about family. Specifically, all the people I consider my family. It’s not a particularly novel subject, I admit, but it’s one that I’ve thought about quite a bit over the years.

It’s been long understood that you have little control over the circumstances you’re born into. A few religious faiths even dictate that your life’s path is ultimately decided, in its entirety, well before you’re born. This is a comforting thought for some people. You’re essentially who you are meant to be, without question, and the people that surround you are exactly who they are supposed to be. There’s little room for thought, and any inner turmoil that comes your way is “destined;” all part of a greater plan you know nothing about. That being said, I’ve always felt a little bit…off. The people who surrounded me while I was growing up, my relatives, were from various backgrounds and walks of life, but were all united by some common language, culture, geographical location. I could wear the same clothes they wore, speak the same language, act as they acted, but it never quite stuck. I physically, mentally, culturally, and  emotionally stuck out, like a conglomeration of recessive genes. The kind of kid who looks like the neighbor from down the street in family photos, the party crasher who isn’t supposed to be there. I was, like I’ve said before, a fabulous imitation of everyone else. I desperately craved an acceptance that I’ve never quite gotten. Whether this is solely a perception of my own making, or one that concretely exists, I may never know. As difficult as it is, I know these people are my family.  I’ll be the first to admit that there are some days where I feel grossly alien, where I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, but I’m somehow all the better for it. A friend of mine once told me that I was meant to be with this family- that I would shake them up, challenge them, and do great things. Sometimes I don’t feel like that person, but it’s a nice reminder every once-in-a-while. I think accepting this will be a lifelong journey, but I’d like to think that I’m up for the challenge.

My “homemade” family (mostly pictured above), the curious patchwork of people that they are, never really asked me to be anything other than myself. They healed me when I thought I was utterly broken, and without knowing it. I feel a ridiculously unshakable bond with these people.  Where my first family shaped me, they filled in the blanks, like a coloring book. They added a sense of “normalcy” and belonging in my life that, for years I didn’t think could exist, and gave me permission to be who I wanted to be without judgement. They are the grandmothers, mothers, and sisters I think I was supposed to have. We may not be related in the traditional sense, but I also like to think that our paths crossed for a reason.

So, if I could tell my ten year-old self one thing, it would be this:

There’s the family you’re born into, and the family you make for yourself. They’re both equally important; don’t let anyone tell you any different.

Oh, and also that boys are stupid. The stupidity tends not to get better as they get older, so go easy on them.

And brace yourself.