She is, indeed, undone.

New blog site

2010-07-02T02:06:00.003-04:00

I've been thinking about switching to a new blog site for awhile now. Today, for some reason I actually did it. I'll no longer be updating this blog. Although I didn't think of this then, it's like a new beginning. I started this blog shattered from the inside out. I'm finishing this blog restored and happy.

I'm still undone. I think that's the best way for me to live life: A skein unraveled for the world to see. Each person taking a piece, telling a story and passing the rest along. In the end, I'm connected through so many people. I'm whole because of the people who hold me.

So please, continue to follow me on my journey, and persuade others to do the same. It won't be the same without you.

sheisindeedundone.wordpress.com

With love,

me

Why do I do these things?

2010-06-28T17:03:00.001-04:00

I have no desire to date the gentleman who just asked for my phone number. He's older than me by a lot and I'm not attracted to him. Then why did I give him my number? Why not? I don't have many friends. It's not like he proposed marriage... If he calls, we'll hangout. I'll let him take me out for a milkshake or ice cream. It's no big deal. I've got to start making friends somehow, right?

In the middle of the niigghht I go walking in my sle-eep.

2010-06-28T10:25:00.002-04:00

I'm doing it again, and I have to stop. I commit myself to the point of mania. At my old job, in my old town, there were no other options. It was work or bust. However, that mentality often left me scrambling for "me" time.

Today, I volunteered to go into work and make some calls to students just to make sure they're coming. If I don’t I'd just sit here on the floor of this apartment watching things on the internet. Or I'd go out into the world of Seattle and spend money that I shouldn't. I figured getting exercise and connecting with people is a much better choice.

Saturday I drove out to the Olympic Peninsula in a school bus to drop off a trip. We passed beautiful lakes, mountains, and hot springs. It reminded me of the islands. It was a 14-hour journey. I wasn't told, but more likely than not, I forgot, that I was spending the night. As a result, I spent the night alright -- shivering.

Once every few hours I would create this odd porous cocoon of warmth. I remember asking myself, "How did you sleep when you had away games in high school?" Combining that eleven-year old knowledge with my WFR training I took off my shoes and put my feet in my waterproof Timbuk2. Whatever heat I created would bounce off the liner and warm my feet. I then did the same with my legs by taking my Mountain Hardwear softshell zipping it around my thighs and calves and tied the sleeves in a knot so tight it might as well have been a tourniquet. Then, my core the most important part to keep warm. I zipped my Mountain Hardwear fleece to my chin, turned my North Face rain jacket around and zipped it backwards so my face was protected by the back of the hood. I was comfortable, for the most part.

As the moon rose, comfort sank. I hopped from the reclining driver's seat to one of the seats with, “the hump.” I'd often roll over onto the hump, bump my head and startle myself awake. At one point I went into the bathroom, and did jumping jacks to get my blood pumping. Upon returning to the bus I realized I couldn't do it any more. I had to start my 7-hour trip home.

Two hours in, I needed a nap. So, I pulled over in the infamous, and desolate Forks, WA for a snooze. Not ignorant to the tales of vampires and werewolves I locked all doors said a prayer and kept my hand on the wooden stake I keep in my backpack. The rest of journey was fine. I was exhausted, but happy. I’ve become an expert at crossing Lake Washington (?) on a ferry.

I’m going to try and keep some of my time for myself during this week off. I leave for my first trip out in the field in early July. Eight days backpacking on the Olympic Coast.

Yesterday I had a long conversation with a friend that made me laugh till I cried and that felt good. I miss intimacy. That cave where it usually sleeps might be my downfall. I don’t want to create false bubbles of familiarity because it’s easy. I don’t want to date someone just because they’re there. I can feel it happening.

Sexless in Seattle

2010-06-25T17:32:00.000-04:00

"Come, you spirits

That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty." -Lady Macbeth

I will never be cast as Lady Macbeth.

Before I could utter a single word of my monologue the director and his minions would sniff out the

biological alterations that occurred as a result of this day and say, "thou aren't a woman... thou art a eunuch -- of sorts. Away you liar and never come again."

When Bob from B3 Bob's Bikes and Boards reassembled my bike he did so with the expertise that a novice such as myself, lacks. As a result, the seat was lifted to it's rightful position: Really Freaking High.

I, and the more tender parts of me spent 11+ Seattle miles being assaulted by the cushionless Nishiki bike seat I inherited from the previous owners. Each bump, jolt, and near miss left my brain screaming, "MY VAGINA!" but my lips played the role of prison guard and uttered nary a word.

As soon as I left my apartment a light mist, which soon turned to a rapid drizzle greeted me on the morning of my virgin ride in this wonderful, yet incessantly moist, city. I set out toward the community center with a enough trepidation to open up a fault line. The ride was, well, interesting. I'm not in shape enough to conquer this geography, but I will be. Well, I'm in ok shape, but not having the slightest clue where I was going didn't exactly help matters. I rode for about 30 minutes arrived at what I thought was my destination, wiped the water from my glasses, and settled down to take a brief rest. Then my boss said, "You know the training is at XYZ facility, right?" "Uh yeah, I just stopped to get directions." Dangit! Here's the thing when he said you have to do this to get there. I, apparently shut him out and imagined that he was sending me to the location with which I was most familiar.

He was not.

About 20 minutes, muddy calves, soaked shoes, and a sopping wet back later, I arrived at the place I thought I was supposed to be. It was, in fact, the wrong location. They gave me instructions, offered me bus fare, and sent me on my way. When I said that I had no clue how to put my bike on the front of the bus they called an avid biker within the company and he helped. I made my way down some crazy hill, carried my bike down to the tunnel and waited. When the bus came all of the directions I'd been given took a little nap and I stood stupidly staring at the contraption. A very nice lady with a baguette sticking out of her bag helped me and then the bus was on it's way. 45 minutes later I got off the bus and arrived where I was supposed to be. The training had already left. Laughing I waited patiently for the group to return.

In the past six hours conquered a few things:

-Riding my bike in Seattle

- Being outside in the rain in Seattle

-Riding my bike outside in the rain in Seattle

-Driving in Seattle

-Driving a minibus

-Driving a minibus in Seattle

How is this my life? Just when you think you've grown enough, more lessons are thrown your way. Hopefully, my womanhood will peek out from its hiding spot and I'll become a lady once more. Til then, I'm just gonna keep asking for help, laugh till my face hurts, and hope for the best.

Sick

2010-06-22T01:18:00.003-04:00

My homesickness is similar to the flank pain of renal failure. Throbbing… walking through my back and abdomen when I’ve lain still just a moment too long. I wonder if I would’ve grown up here if I’d be on the east coast feeling the same thing. I love it out here and want to stay as long as it will have me, but I wish those that I loved were here too. I missed McCai being born and that hurt. I miss Zander calling me Yee-Hee and giving me goodnight hugs, kisses, and expressing his wishes for me to read him a book. I even miss him tiring of my storytelling, shutting it promptly and asking his mommy to take over.

I miss sleeping on a friend’s couch. Not only because she carefully made the bed with borrowed sheets and a loaned pillow. But because she is no more than a room away and raises alarm when she hears me blow my nose in my distinctly violent way.

I miss driving home around dinnertime and stopping by a neighbor’s house to pee and raid their fridge. I miss glasses of wine dipped in the familiarity of years. I’m exhausted with the thought of “putting myself out there” like the possession of some Hollywood madam. I want to sit solidly in the presence of love and know that its kiss is only inches from placement on my skin.

I don’t miss Hershey, or Pennsylvania. I miss my people.

I miss

… understanding the vocabulary of a toddler I’ve known since before his birth

… Middleswarth barbecue chips and all the unhealthy wonderment

… longboarding on familiar roads that didn’t, in the least bit, resemble the death trap hills of now

… remembered breakfasts at The Pantry with a friend who is more like a mother

… a grey haired beast of a puppy who is more needy than any child I’ve ever known

… the accessibility of love

I love

… being so close to the natural world that I love

… the proximity of possibility

… the possibility of tomorrow with my people of now

… the sudden simplicity of my wardrobe

… the passion which bubbles the surface of this city

… the views

… how I feel

… the intellect of Seattleites

… the conversation with coworkers in the tiny moments

… the crisp Seattle air that bites when I breathe

… being here

I want

… nothing more than to acknowledge the juxtaposition of emotions that have graced me with their presence. I wouldn’t change where I am, or how I feel for a world of gold.

Sometimes the only cure for this sickness is being grateful that you have something to miss.

A mistake

2010-06-19T02:59:00.001-04:00

I'm tired. Work was great. I'm the only woman in a pool of men. It's nice, but I can't figure out why. We played frisbee for a bit in the park before we began, and frisbee is not my strength. I was nervous and caught, but mostly dropped, the frisbee like a prissy 8th grade girl. Finally, when we sat down and began a dialogue, my intelligence kicked in, and I was at home. I was given room to speak from the heart and I'm usually good with words. The longer we were together the more at ease I became.

Today, we're all going camping. (How am I going to sleep in a tent with a bunch of dudes? ) I just hope my comfort from yesterday bleeds through today.

It's just camping for one night. Then I leave Monday for a 4 day skill building trip. Friday to drive a group to the Olympic Coast in a minibus (I KNOW) and then return the same day. I leave the next day for a 6 day backpacking trip.

Somewhere in there I have to find the time to finish my Study plan for grad schoo, and prepare for the first semester. Woo-Hoo Masters degree!

Seattle feels like I've made a mistake. Like I've been living on the wrong coast for all these years and I've finally come home.

Birth

2010-06-17T05:05:00.001-04:00

I have at least three friends who are set to give birth today, or in the near future. No matter how scared I am about Seattle, it's so much smaller when compared to expelling a human being from your womb.

In the grand scheme of things, moving to Seattle is ice cream and raindrops.

Terror

2010-06-16T07:49:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I choose to do things that leave me with macabre sense of doom. Moving 3,000+ miles away from familiarity to the unknown is one of those things.

I'm scared.

Today is Garvey's 5th birthday and it's that thought which finally pushes the tears from their eye side waiting room rolling down the surface of my cheek, and finally,soaking into my sweatshirt. He has no idea that I'll be back. That I wouldn't abandon him for the world. I know he's just a dog, but that knowledge doesn't make leaving him any easier.

Terror is an ant that crawls beneath your skin when you have no idea what's next. It crawls from the dermis through the subcutaneous tissue, and settles in an organ or two. Rooting around and kicking up dirt until it chooses to settle somewhere for the night. The next morning the same ant, along with its holographic brethren, wakes up and the fear begins again. Only this time it feels like there's an ant hill throwing a kegger in your digestive system.

No matter how often anyone tells me I'll be okay it won't mean anything until I feel it. "The things we must learn before we do them, we learn by doing them." I just want to be okay. I just want people to like me. I don't want to stand in front of the mirror criticizing every centimeter of myself. I don't want to care about what people will think, but I do.

My dog likes me. Having him would make this so much easier. On an extra scary day I could come home and lay on the floor and fall willing victim to his loving assault. I won't have that safety net. That sucks. How can I remember to be enough of myself in the midst of all this terror and change?

Really?! Really.

2010-06-15T07:38:00.000-04:00

I loved yesterday -- until I went to leave work. Two of my students, who always help me carry my stuff to my car, were performing our usual Monday evening ritual when I saw a post-it note stuck to the window of my car. I walked up recognized the hand-writing and went, “ Are you serious?”

My life is intentional. I prefer relationships and conversations I’ll remember instead of those that discuss the daily migration of the clouds and sun. I’m more likely to ask my students “What sustains you on the inside when all else falls away,” than some random awkward time filler of a question.

My jewelry is intentional. I wear a silver necklace with a star chain. It is the same one I gave one of my favorite (yes, we all have them) students. My bracelets all have stories. The silly bands are from my girls, I bought one in China, one in Thailand, another at place in Chicago, another at the The African Art Museum at the Smithsonian, and yet another is from my trip to Jamaica. My love for stories decorates my body like a Christmas tree.

Yesterday wasn’t difficult for me at all. Well, I did tear up when I drove past the Reese’s plant and the smell of peanut butter and chocolate nestled into my sinus cavities. I almost cried again when a co-worker came in on his day off to give me gluten-free cookies and say goodbye. But, for the most part yesterday was a blast. My kids chased me with water balloons (some of which burst, a lot that didn’t), helped me create a playlist of their favorite songs so I can remember them, I skateboarded like a kid for three hours with shoes and even barefoot. At devotions the girls shared their favorite memory with me. I was kinda surprised that 99% of them were violent i.e. “Ms. Whit remember when I stole your shoes, hid under a van and you drug me out screaming like a crazy woman and then we wrestled?!” When I see myself through the eyes of others I realize I’m a complete maniac. The girls loved it when I was driving a van down Springboard drive, screamed at the top of my lungs, “ROADS ARE FOR PANSIES!” and drove off-road into a baby cornfield with my sweet little cherubs screaming like recently acquired kidnap victims.

That being said…

The past three years of work has been reallllly weird for me. I dated a coworker (...yeah yeah I know don’t shit where you eat…whatever… lesson learned). I also became friends with another coworker. During our relationship for reasons that are drizzled throughout this blog, their relationship became inappropriate. I handled it well. We talked about it in therapy, discussed how he was just reliving the cycle of every other failed relationship, and then we tried to work through it. We broke up, got back together, broke up, got back together, broke up yada yada yada et al infinite.

They started dating 3 months after we broke up. That was hard, not gonna lie. Something like four months later they got engaged. That was hard, not gonna lie. Granted, I did call it like 4 weeks into their relationship, and my coworkers were super sweet. They called me at home so I wasn’t blindsided when I got to work the next day. Even though I shook their hands and offered my congrats things were super weird …like really weird. With the help of friends, my journal, and lots of conversations with myself in my car, I got through it. I got to a really healthy place. There are some things that stung. Like when I had to use a laptop at work, opened the lid and found a note that read, “You are loved,” in her handwriting. It was his computer, oops. I remember leaving that same note and others like it throughout his things for him to find. I was lame.

I’m a big believer in the “Woman code,” or the “Bro code.” Don’t get involved with a friend’s ex, sleep with their significant other, or use their underwear. She violated that and it hurt for a really long time. It hurt more than anything he’d ever said or did to me. She and I sat down and talked about it and I asked her for the space and time to heal. She consistently had a hard time honoring my requests. She’d rub my back, or caress my arm at work. She’d insert herself in my conversations. She’d call me after work and say asinine things in an effort to rebuild our relationship. She would talk to my coworkers about my relationship with him and tell them things he’d said to her. It was weird she was weird. Because she didn’t give me the space to heal and be okay it took three times as long for me to get over it.

So yesterday when I saw this note on my car window I was like Seriously?! I read it and the words were nice, but really? Stop trying to hijack my day.

So I went over to the mailboxes, and wrote a reply that read exactly like this:

*insert her name here*

You don’t get it.

You’ll never get it.

Jéhan

Then I placed her printed oddity into an envelope along with mine and put it in her mailbox. The end.

Seriously? Get out of my life. You’re like the gnat that flies in my face that I can’t swat because PETA will come after me with bloody paintbrushes. When I’m not at work or on campus I don’t think about either of you. When I’m there, your presence permeates my skin like an acidic lotion because you continue to spew yourself down my throat. I’ve been mature. I’ve ignored the angry part of me that wanted to cuss you out, slash your tires, and put sugar in your gas tank. I’ve reminded myself that you’re just naïve and I can’t hold it against you. I’ve remembered that we have to work together and I have to humor your stupidity for the kid’s sake. I’ve kept the lioness behind the electric fence. But I’m not on payroll anymore. Knock it off. If you cross the line again like say I dunno show up at my door in Seattle, send me text messages, or even email me. I will weather the sting of that electric fence. You will see me for who I’m completely capable of being. You will understand boundaries. All bets are off. No holds barred.

Crocodile Tears

2010-06-14T07:13:00.000-04:00

Today is my last day of work, weird.

I saw my girls yesterday and they presented me with a poster of pictures from this year by the dumpster where I was throwing something away. How sentimental. :) They gave it to me and asked me if I was going to cry when I left. I went, "Uhh, probably not? I don't know. Why? That's weird, why do you want me to cry?" Their response, " I dunno...we cried making this."

They want me to cry so they can see how much I care about them. I don't know if I'll cry. I'm not a crier, at least not in that sense. There will probably be a salty oil spill on the plane on the way to Seattle that will terrify those around me. I'll think of them and their poster and my dog and my friends and Middleswarth Barbecue chips and I'll be sure I'm making a big mistake. While dating what's his face we would go to these pre-marriage therapy sessions (seriously, thank God for those) and he would talk about want to see me more vulnerable. How he, in so many words, wanted me to cry more. I remember being totally baffled like, wait, you actually want to see me cry. Both he and the therapist tried to explain that it wasn't about the tears, it was about me needing him. He wanted to feel needed. That never sat right with me.

My goal for today is to write something so the girls will know just how much I care about them. I'll urge them to measure my love, not by the tears on the last day, but through every interaction we've had over the past year. I will miss them. In fact, I already do. I just wish they could understand that this is for me. Me leaving my alma mater to move across the country to a city I've never been is a decision I'm making for myself. I want them to make similar decisions throughout their lives. They should be loving, kind, benevolent, and philanthropic, but at the end of the day they need to make decisions that will benefit them so they can benefit others.

Hopefully, someday, they'll forget about measuring love by crocodile tears. They will, instead, recognize it in the words and actions of those around them.

"Going to the chapel...

2010-06-13T09:15:00.000-04:00

...with no intentions of getting married"

I'm totally at that point in my life where an impressive percentage of my friends are floating into wedded bliss, promising to float into wedded bliss together, or entering into long-term relationships with the hopes of, yup, floating into wedded bliss. To be honest, it's freaking me out. I've gone to two weddings in the past few weeks and they've been good to me. Watching my friends say their vows has been wonderful. Their stories are often stories detailed in comic books and fairy tales.

The thought of getting married literally sends me a bubble guts care package. My stomach urinates acid into my throat, the moisture in my mouth evaporates, and my jaw clenches like a pitbull with a meaty snack. It could have something to do with only recently learning how develop relationships with men that aren't painted with childhood issues stemming from my horrible relationships with my brother and dad. Or maybe it's the fact that my first hardcore relationship showed me that there are men who are completely unrelated to me who are just as, if not more, toxic. But I'll leave that to the experts to figure out.

It's not that I don't want to get married. I do. I think. Just not now.

I can't help but wonder how people got it so right. How they're at a point in their lives where they can say, "I want to be with you and no one else foreva' and eva' Amen." Whaaat?! My grandparents have been married for 56 years. Yahoo! But, there are like three or so illegitimate children sprinkled into the pudding. What? Why? Seriously is it that hard to say, "I promise to love and uphold and yada yada yada insert wedding vows here," and mean it? You married that person. Why would you cheat on them? If something is pissing you off, tell them. If your needs aren't being met emotionally, sexually, board game style or whatever TELL THEM. Don't cheat. That's not fair, it's not nice. I'm not sure I can forgive cheating. It's like unforgivable. You might say, "Well Jéhan, then you're not ready to get married, love is unconditional." Yeah okay. Then you're right. I'm not because, hello, cheating can't be filed under the same unconditional love category.

Maybe that's the crux. I'm not ready to say the things I need to say to have the marriage I want. I'm just not ready. I'll take that over the constant knocking thought that maybe I'm just not the marrying kind.

I wanna go home

2010-06-11T11:50:00.002-04:00

A friend recently wrote on my fb wall, "you have 650 friends...how loved you must be!!" Sidebar: The fact that I deleted 200 “friends" recently and I'm at 650 is a little weird. Nonetheless, I am indeed loved by many. J

The past two and a half weeks have been bananas, in a good way. I've been traveling all over the place to visit friends and family. I'm exhausted. The kind of exhausted that greets you with morning with a vertigo handshake.

I drove to State College to visit an old friend...perhaps one of the oldest and most intimate. She was in my student home when I was in middle school and I chose to go to my high school student home because she was there. She was who I wanted to be when I grew up. She listened to the Doors, and Grateful Dead, and I'm pretty sure she's the reason I developed a crush on Kurt Cobain. Somehow she got our houseparents to allow her to get a bird and keep it in our room. I love(d) her dearly. It's funny how some people just feel like home. I like that. People who feel like warm chocolate chip cookies and milk.

I'm staying with a family who I met through work. She was my co-worker, then my friend, then my boss, then my co-worker, then just my friend. She's pregnant with her 2nd child (I hope labor happens soon because she might just go nuts). She and her husband have introduced me to what it's like to be amazing people and raise a child. Their son is one of my favorite beings on this planet. Here's to hoping that baby number two graces us with his presence before I head out to the Pacific Northwest.

On June 5th two of my friends from college got married. The bride is one of my best friends. I think it's because we both have a similar grasp on the frailty of human relationships. We expect the same kindness from the world that we give, and tend to take it personally when it's a bit stingy giving it back. The wedding was comfortable. It was gorgeous. It was them. Friends and family were in attendance. The music was straight from a playlist on one of their iPods if either of the had one. I met and got to know some of their L.A. friends and it was cool to put names to faces and spend time with the other bridesmaids. It’s the people like that that make me want to live in L.A. But then I remember that the soul of L.A. is cracked and burned and would eat me alive if I spent too much time there.

The wedding in Jamaica was quite an experience as well. I stayed with family and went to the resort in the evenings for the festivities. Capitalism is such an odd experiment. It’s allowed the people of Jamaica to live in poverty while the foreigners with wealth benefit from the countries natural resources and tourism. It’s hard to see. I’m planning on spending a lot more time in Jamaica over the next few years. I have to do something to benefit my country. I’d also like to help reconnect other Afro-Caribbeans in the States to their roots. You’ll have to check out www.19more.org for updates.

I write this to say that even though I’ve been homeless, literally, since May 25, 2010, I haven’t felt that way. Yes, it’s been a little hard to iron my clothes on a friend’s bathroom counter, pack for a three day camping trip from my car, and leave my dog with pretty much everyone I know in Central PA, but I’m still okay. I’ve moved around more often than *insert famous musician here* on a farewell tour. I used to feel lost and empty. But in adulthood I’ve made friends with my lifestyle and have realized that the people who are supposed to be in your life will be in your life regardless of distance. My definition of home transcends the Reaganomics era building surrounded by a white picket fence. Home, for me, is a feeling not a place. For once in my life I get that.

Tell me how long the train's been gone

2010-05-28T10:14:00.000-04:00

It rained yesterday. Unlike any storm I’ve seen of late. The water assaulted our itineraries and sent everyone, but the crabs, inside. You see, there are crabs in my yard. No, that’s not some ill-phrased innuendo. There are literally crabs in my yard where squirrels should be. They dig holes in the ground for cover and bite chunks out of the mangoes that fall from trees.

The house is exactly as I remember it except smaller. Isn’t that how it always is? Our childhood enlarges its memories and our adulthood stomps them down. My uncles showed me how to pick fruit from our mango tree, and how to pick out the ackee when it burst open; if you pick it before it’s ripe it can kill you. Uncle Balla picked me sour cherries from the tree and I spat my seeds into a crab hole. I identified the breadfruit on the ground before they could teach me as a way to show them that my Yankee pickney blood hadn’t completely overtaken the islander in me.

The projects in the states scare me because those housed within know, just as much as I do, that I don’t belong. They can smell me approaching as an anteater sniffs out its prey. It is at their edges that I transform into an innocent island girl. One who is ignorant of their mores, seeking only to observe. Here, I’m tentative for different reasons. I used to belong but that was long ago. My patois flowed effortlessly from my lips and I could cuss you if the need arose. Now, my years have made me hesitate. I can feel home creeping back to my lips. My jaw relaxes and my tendency to smile is even faster. My granma fell and broke her hip and now she is afraid to walk. When I came back to the states I had to fix my words and now I’m afraid to talk. My accent is an awkward half-breed. Some words come out patois, some in broken English and even more are pimp-slapped by the judgment of my lips and they fall short of inquiring ears. After an “Eh?” encouraging me to repeat they fair better, but the nervousness doesn’t disappear.

My cousins Danae, Safiyah (say-fee-ah), and Qadera (Kah-deer-ah) are all gentle with me. After spending a few short hours with them Qadera told me she loved me when we dropped her off and Safiyah clung to my neck and told me she wanted to stay. Is that what it’s like to have blood family? An immediate acceptance? Once they heard the word “cousin” their allegiance was mine, and mine theirs. I wanted to talk to them about the things I hint at with my students. I wanted to make sure they knew how beautiful they were, that being intelligent is wonderful and they should never hide it. I don’t know if it was because of my newly established familial moniker, or because of the internal clock that has begun ticking. Either way, I enjoyed its presence in my system.

I’m tempted to stay here, not because of the beauty sold in magazines and airline commercials. Rather because I feel myself filling up. My cousin listens to me when I say she “muss bade” before we can watch tv. I am introduced as “yay-ahn.” Eric’s daughta legitimizes my existence. I belong. I don’t feel the need to justify my presence as I do in the States. I just exist. My auntie Herma (erma) cooks me breakfast and I am satisfied. My tongue has long craved the bitterness of ackee, sal’fish, green banana, dumplin, and hot tea. The sweetness of sweetened condensed milk satiates my desire for food. I don’t snack. My skin is smooth and soft from its saltwater bath and sandflea exfoliant. I see what is happening in my country and I am hard-pressed to find a solution. That may be why I am enamored with Marcus Garvey.

I am indeed torn between many worlds, which seem better off without my presence. “No man is an island,” or so they say. I was born in the States, raised in Jamaica, brought back to the States, my parents divorced, my mother moved, I went away to school when I was eleven, and have yet to settle down. I don’t know where I belong. Everywhere I go seems right when I am there. Perhaps it’s time to hibernate. I’ll embrace myself in a cocoon of safety where my intellect can rest, my heart can restore and my body will find its place. I am the blank tile in Scrabble that works with any word, but has little value. I don’t understand myself. Not yet, perhaps, not ever.

I think the struggle will be helping others, and myself, find peace with that.

Jamaica Day 1

2010-05-26T09:58:00.003-04:00

Yesterday was tough. I went to bed at 12:00 am and awoke at 4:00 am to leave my apartment for the final time. My bones wore weariness like an invisibility cloak, heavy despite its transparency. Around 4:45 am I left to walk to the airport. It was a nice walk, but I was nervous about catching my plane on time. I got to the long-term parking airport and was able to catch a shuttle. The trip to Atlanta was impressively uneventful. My trip to Mo-Bay was equally so.

When my uncle and I spoke on the phone last he asked me what I would be wearing since he hadn’t seen me in about 20 years. I told him I’d be carrying a pink bag and I look just like my father. I struggled to get through customs because I didn’t know the address. It turns out that the people behind the desk not only knew my uncle, my grandparents, and my aunts, but one of them lived down the street from our house.

Humid air similar to the suffocating thickness of Japan greeted me like an old friend. I drank in the condensation and felt at home. Nervously I looked around for the uncle that I’d practically never seen. A driver asked me if I was Nancy, I told him no and continued to browse the drivers. Finally, a man with eyes like my Uncle José walked up to me. Before I could speak he said, “Yayan?” (That’s how they pronounce my name… I smile every time I hear it). Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me close and said “You look just like ya fadda. “ To spite the heat our embrace was long. To spite us, that embrace left us drenched in sweat. He told me to stand at the corner and wait while he went to get the car. I watched my uncle walk away, and smiled because I knew this Jamaica. The one they were selling on the plane and in airports, the one that greeted the dozens of married or engaged couples as the worked their way through customs was built. This one, the one I remembered was grown. It grew out of the hearts of its people.

We drove, talked, laughed, and it was ordinary. He filled me in on the civil unrest and we talked politics. I found that I cared more about the politics here than in the states, perhaps because this was paralyzing dysfunction, whereas the governmental inadequacy in the States is slightly crippling for some and functional for others. At one point silence settled comfortably.

The closer we got to my parish the land became familiar. Not socially constructed familiar where you pretend you recognize things to be polite. Rather raw familiarity. I recognized a road where I walked barefoot as a toddler. My street brought back memories and I knew the house as we approached. My Uncle Jo sat on the porch and I jumped out to greet him. He’s always full of jokes and smiles. He’s no exception to the adage that the funniest people are often sad inside. The more I’m around him I see it in his actions. He’s an attractive man with a quick wit that got his doctorate in something having to do with Math and Science when he was 26. I grew up with him so he will always be familiar.

I don’t want to spend my whole trip living in words. It’s easiest for me, but I think what’d be best is if I just shut this puppy down, sit on the porch, drink hot tea, read a book, listen to the reggae blasting from someone’s house, and wait for my uncle to pick me up. At some point today, I’m going to plait my hair. It’s nice to look around and see women with their hair in plaits. In the states I always feel so strange doing it, but here? No problem, man!

Here is a picture of my cousin Danae (sp?) she's in grade 1. I think I'm creating another Apple lover.:)

The best day ever

2010-05-24T23:26:00.000-04:00

IF YOU HAD THE BEST DAY EVER IT WOULD END WITH NOT BEING ABLE TO TAKE THE CAPSLO K OFF OF YOUR IPHONE. IT WOULD START WITHAN UNINTENTIONAL 5AM WAKEUP, MOVE ON TO MOVING A COUCH YOU BOUGHT WITH YOUR EX ON YOUR OWN, GRADUATE ROTO CRYING IN THE BASEMENT OF YOUR APARTMENT BUILDING , AND SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN YOU WOULD LEAVE YOUR KEYS IN YOUR CAR FOR 4.5 HOURS AND LEAVE WORK AT 10PM TO FIND YOUR BATTERY IS COMPLETELY DEd. YEAH, IT WOULD GO SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

Moving

2010-05-23T07:29:00.000-04:00

So tired. I feel like the moving will never be done. This monumental task is overwhelming because I'm packing for four places, Jamaica, Pittsburgh, Seattle, and right now.

Some things go into storage, some things are going with me in the car, some are being mailed. I remember when I lived in Pittsburgh and just drove to different places and threw my stuff out at dumpsters. I kinda wanna do that now. Yeesh.

Again

2010-05-21T10:07:00.000-04:00

My mother is INFURIATING. Out of nowhere, and I literally mean nowhere, I receive an email from her that says,

"Hello!

(Insert her first name here, yes, her first name, not 'mom'."

So I respond with,

"Hi..."

It's been about two years, give or take a month, since our last interaction. We'd made plans to come together for lunch. I called to confirm and she forgot. Now, being forgetful is understandable. However, this is the same woman who forgot to show up to my childhood. I would spend entire performances looking for her in the crowd. At one show in particular I even waved to someone in the balcony because I thought it was her. I almost missed the bus back to campus because I looked around for her. I was finally forced on the bus. When I returned to my student home I called her and apologized for not seeing her after the show, we'd had to leave. She told me that she'd forgotten about the show and never showed up.

This is also the woman who, when I was 19, sent me an email saying, "...you're 19 years old I'm sick of walking on eggshells to pacify your attitude....have a good life." That bitch has written me off more times than I can count.

Our last attempt at a relationship ended on my terms. She forgot me, like she had so many times before, and I told her how it made me feel. She interjected some defensive statement of, "I will not be spoken to in this way... blah blah blah." I hung up. Sent her a text message that read, "Fuck you," and that was it.

And now I'm trying so hard to be healthy. Scratch that. I AM healthy. My relationship with what's his face is over and done, I've dated here and there, I have great friends, I don't run and hide when someone makes me angry. I've grown-up, without her. And yet, here she is again.

My mother is the only person that can bring tears to my eyes without being present. It's like there's a switch embedded in my already disgustingly putrid polluted DNA ( my ADPKD was a gift from her). It's like she can flip that switch and make me shrink into a ball whenever she wants. She can cripple 27 years of strengh, and make me fall to my knees like Samson.

I'm sitting here like a fool with tears running down my face because of an email.

The rest of the conversation went like this:

Her- Leaving work. Is it presumptuous or is it ok to say hello sometimes?

Me- That depends on what you're presupposing.

Her - I am seeking permission to say “hello” from time to time.

Me - Why?

Her- Well, now that you have opened a pathway for others to contact you, maybe you will allow me to say “Hello” and by doing so I will know that you are alive. Instead of getting that information from second hand sources.

Me - I didn't open a pathway. You found, or somehow obtained my email address. I've never been in hiding, nor will I ever be. I have a website for crying out loud, anyone can Google me, and as a result, contact me. I'm not some Luddite who spends their life hiding from anyone.

As far as knowing that I'm alive, why do you need to find that out from me? Why aren't your previously sufficient second-hand informants adequate?

I'm perplexed by your initial motivation to reach out. If you merely wanted confirmation that I was alive, my response of "Hi..." would have been enough and this discourse would not exist.

And so I ask again, "Why do you want to say hello from time to time?"

I've kept her out of my life because she breaks my heart. When she's in contact with me I can't help but think about the relationship I've always wanted, but can never have. My thoughts linger on her Freudian obsession with my brother and equally Freudian dismissal of me.

When she's in my life I want to sit in a corner and mope. I weep until my body shakes. A long time ago I made the choice to live a different life. Yet, time and time again she returns. I don't know that I'm strong enough to have her in my life, and live it the way I want.

If this is some sort of test, or game, I don't want to play.

:

The Dream

2010-05-16T06:24:00.001-04:00

I remember it now.

I was in a car with some guy. He looked a lot like the actor who played a shut-in on October Road. I knew he was going to kill me. For some reason I was in love with him… I think he was in love with me too -- I’m almost sure of it. But, he didn’t believe me… he didn’t think that anyone was capable of loving him. So he drove and talked about everything but the murder. He would look at me with the sweetest eyes, but told me I had to die anyway. We arrived at his house and he had a circular saw and was about to saw into my left arm. Coincidentally, that’s where my tattoo is…the one I won’t interpret to anyone.

Then a couple came from nowhere and we were able to fight him off. I was so terrified about him coming after me again I kept saying that we needed to make sure he was dead. So we fought him and I beat him in the face, multiple times, with a rock. Then we ran, and I was in L.A., running down a street. I found a building, ran inside tried to find the elevator but was stuck inside the boys bathroom stall. I remember trying to pee with roller skates on. All-of-the-sudden, I was inside the green room of SNL and actors with wigs were rehearsing their lines and I hid behind a door watching them, but never getting caught. I knew he was coming after me though. It was only a matter of time.

Really?

2010-05-16T06:02:00.000-04:00

I keep having dreams that someone is trying to kill me. I can't even see the person, but I spend the entire night running for my life.

Great.

--

2010-05-14T09:47:00.000-04:00

To complain about an abundance is like spitting in the face of God.

Living

2010-05-04T09:17:00.002-04:00

I’ve always loved the Tim McGraw song, “Live Like You’re Dying.”

When I was kid I desperately wanted a skateboard. My mother never bought me one. I did, however find an old broken one in the woods across from my house. I would roll down the sidewalk on the one half I could find completely oblivious to the lurking dangers of tetanus and its BFFLs.

A few weeks ago I bought a longboard. I’ve been skating on campus sometimes with kids, sometimes without. One of my students skates with me every time I go out. We’ve since developed a following. There are now a total of about 9 girls that have asked to skateboard with me. They’re learning slowly. It’s cute. I’m glad that I can teach them something that I wanted to learn to do.

The undercurrents of adult delivered criticism are good intentions and humor, but it’s amazing just how many people tell me I’m too old to skateboard. Is that it? Am I too old? Is it because I’m a woman? Is it because I’m a woman of color? Either way, that mentality sucks. I don’t ever want to stop myself from doing something I want to do because of age gender, or race.

I saw my mother deteriorate sitting in the lap of her dialysis machine. I don’t want that to be me. I don’t have a choice. A day will come where I have to have my blood slurped from within, cleansed and redeposited. It scares me a bit. It makes angry. But most of all, it makes me sad. I don’t want to acknowledge my impending imprisonment. I want to accomplish things in life slowly, and methodically. I don’t want to be ruled by a genetically imposed timeline. It’s not up to me though.

Mary Catherine’s death floored me. When I think about it, I just want to sit in the corner of my couch and cry. She meant a lot to me. I missed her last time I was in Pittsburgh. I intended to see her on my way to Seattle. I can’t. She died. So much has happened in the last few weeks and it’s overwhelming. Relying on God is overwhelming. Not having a plan for August is scary. What will happen when B.O.L.D is over? I’m trusting God… I’m trying to trust God. It’s hard.

I can’t help but feel alone. Again. As usual.

My 27th birthday was yesterday. It was a good day. The girls at work were sweet. They screamed happy birthday at the top of their lungs. They were kind, wonderful, everything I could’ve wanted for birthday companions. A friend bought me a cake and a card. It was nice. No regrets.

Progress

2010-04-15T20:05:00.000-04:00

Facebook's blocking feature is a miraculous creation. When I broke up with "what's his face" I was assaulted with his regular postings and responses on our mutual friends' pages. As things became more strained at work with both she and he I blocked them both. It hurt too badly to see their profile pictures of projected happiness. It felt like they were taunting me.

So, I blocked them.

The other day I unblocked everyone. I just received an email that he had responded after a comment of mine. When I went to Facebook to see what it was...

I felt nothing.

IT WAS AWESOME.

I'm good. It feels good to be good. :)

The internet's prostitute

2010-04-08T09:28:00.000-04:00

I want so many contradictory things. To change education while remaining a hermit who lives in a yurt. A business that flourishes without pimping myself out to the electronic masses.

I just created a website for my business and I'm exhausted. The minute I thought I could possibly be finished I saw a picture that was out of line, inconsistent text, or wanted to add a new quote. I'm not even using HTML and my brain is fried.

The computer has been my only vision for so long I think my retina is singed. I want this to work, but I don't want it to overwork me. I don't know what I'm doing in the grand scheme of things. I don't have a business degree, and I'm not planning on getting one. I only know my vision and I can work towards that. Step number one? Secure funding. If I thought 19more was time consuming now? What am I going to think when I'm in grad school full-time, writing grant proposals, working full-time, trying to get to know a new city, and launching a business. I have a blog for me -- this is it, a blog for my website, and a blog for 19more. Will I ever run out of things to say? Yes. Has it happened? Maybe, but I don't think so. My inspiration is born of my interactions with others. I haven't truly interacted with others in days. I go back to work tomorrow and I NEED to submit this application for a job today. It has to happen. TODAY.

I'm surrounded by the feeling that I'm not good enough and this is all for naught :(. <-- look, it's smiley face with a dimple.

I will be okay. That is meant as a statement of reassurance rather than a definitive reality.de

Growing apart

2010-03-15T08:17:00.000-04:00

I feel life too intensely. Maybe that's why I love(d) acting. The depth with which I'm allowed to feel and portray emotions is ideal.

Monologues that make my skin tingle and guts vibrate are my coping mechanism.

I was able to lean into that crutch for years. With my most recent position working with youth I had to teach them how to deal with conflict in a socially acceptable, middle-class, way. As a result, I wasn't able to harbor my emotions and use them as fodder for my next prized performance. I learned to address conflict in a healthy and appropriate manner, for that I will always give thanks.

But now, I'm a little too raw for my own liking. When people come to me with their own issues, projecting them as frustration or wrongdoing by me, that hurts me more than I'd like. A friend who is dealing with their own shit hurt me badly and I'm not sure they'll ever care or know just how much. I'm afraid we're growing apart. I'm afraid we were never on the same level.

I'm a little too well-adjusted to losing people I love for my own liking.

Blog Carnival

2010-02-10T03:10:00.000-05:00

I was just asked to participate in a Blog carnival. Nice! I'd never heard of it before, but it involves writing and the outdoors so I'm in!

Now, what to write about?

Mrs. Claus

2010-02-05T09:30:00.000-05:00

I'm making a list and checking it twice. Since I'll be losing my health insurance in a little over 100 days I'm making as many doctor's appointments as I can. That means, the Nephrologist, the OBGYN, primary care physician, hematologist, and anyone who has ever had their hands on both my medical records and my physical body at the same time. Shoot! I forgot the dentist!

I was canceling my gym membership as well as my internet and home phone this morning. The conversation with the woman from the phone company went something like this:

Her: Why are you canceling your subscription?
Me: I'm moving cross -country
Her: WOW GOOD FOR YOU!
ME: Ha ha, thanks.
Her: That's really great! I wish you the best of luck! That sounds like so much fun!!!

I was on the phone with one of my friends the other day and she was trying to explain that a lot of people want get in their cars and go, they just don't. I guess I'm lucky that way. I don't have too many voices discouraging me from living out my insane desires. I must admit a little terror creeps in each day. Is this what I really want? The reality of the situation often sneaks in and takes a nap right next to terror on some days. I'm really making a move without a plan.

What's interesting is that since I've stopped sending out my resume and applying for jobs I've gotten more calls/emails for interviews than before. They're from all over the country. I don't know if that has anything to do with my vocalization of "I'm going to take my steps and let God build the bridge as I walk," or not. All I know, is that it's nice. The not worrying part. Someone is taking care of me. That's all I've ever wanted.

My interview with Seattle went really well. Crap! I have to send a follow-up thank you email. If nothing is set in stone by the time August 1st rolls around I'm just going to get in my little Impreza and drive.

I just wonder where I'm going to shower.

Chloe

2010-01-18T20:24:00.000-05:00

About a year ago a former student of mine passed away. She'd battled leukemia since the eighth grade. When she died she was a senior in high school. I miss her. Last year the school held several fundraising events and brought quite a bit of attention to her life and her story. This year, as with everything, there's not as much light on the issue. I understand, we're human, things fade. They're making bracelets to honor life and struggle. Just thinking about her again is saddening, and I have to fight back the tears. I just remember feeling like it wasn't that big of a deal. She'll fight and she'll win. She didn't.

When I was in the seventh grade a classmate of mine died as a result of leukemia as well. I miss them both.

Blog Pride Day

2010-01-07T08:26:00.002-05:00

I'm coming out of the blog closet-- soon. I've hidden this little puppy from everyone except Amy, Kim, and Barb for many reasons. One, they don't judge me ... ever, at least not to my face. :) Everything I write here is something I've already told them about over the phone, or in Kim's case g-chat. I just need the catharsis of typing/writing it out. I'm choosing now because apart of hiding in the closet was because I was afraid of what people will think. Will they judge me for my anger or my longing? Will they think less of me? They might and that's alright.

I'm moving in seven months, that's actually a nice amount of time, and people will want to know what I'm up to. I'm going to get a prepaid cell phone for emergencies. I'm not going to part the Red Sea trying to find a job. I figure a monthly cell phone bill costs as much as Garvey's dog food from this wonderful establishment and if I have to choose a phone or my best friend, I'm gonna choose le pup.

Going through my old blogs wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. It wasn't hard at all. It didn't feel like anything. I fixed a few glaring grammatical mishaps, deleted one sentence, and that's it. I was proud of myself. I didn't feel the need to hide anything from anyone. When I started this blog with "I saw at sea a great fog bank between two ships that struck and sank..." my heart was crumbling. I felt like life had ended and forgotten to take me with it, gosh was I pitiful. I needed an anonymous outlet. The profile information, the email address, the picture, all faux material. But no more, I've been hiding in the closet because I was used to it; not sharing my story because it involved other people. When I was going to group, it's been like a year since my last visit, one of the women whose husband's behavior had damaged her so severely she lost sight of her self and attempted suicide, told us she's not going to hide because "...it's her story to tell." Those words rang out and resounded in me like a toddler with a musical triangle walking through a cave. My life is my story. I have never, nor will I ever post disparaging remarks about anyone. That would defeat this blog's purpose. I write to reflect. I don't need to mow anyone over for my own self-actualization.

My Icebreaker baselayer pants are coming in the mail today. Yay! I'll wait to go for a run until they arrive. I think my trekking poles will also arrive so I may go to the rails to trails and do a test run. Rasta's front paw is injured. She's not putting any weight on it so she'll probably have to stay here. :( She's so much fun. I think I like her more than I like Garvey. Uh-oh. It's just apart of her charm. I think Garvey loves her more than he loves me. So we're even. She does resemble Buckeye (the SBA three- legged dog) as she runs. That is unfortunate.

While I'm waiting for my Fed-Ex boyfriend I'm going to sit in my down sleeping bag (I turned the heat off last night so I could test it out: A+++) finish some planning for MLK Jr. Day, take packing boxes to the basement, vacuum shards of tile from my carpet and take a shower, maybe. My apartment is freezing and being cold and wet are a combination of my two least favorite states of being.

All-in-all I'm feeling mighty fine. :)

Emancipation Proclamation

2010-01-06T19:33:00.003-05:00

I'm going to attempt to thru hike the 790 mile baby beast that is the Arizona trail (AZT). At this point my departure date is August 18, 2010. Ahhh! Writing it means that others know about it. It's no longer some internal desire. Well, proclaming it here doesn't make it wholly external. There's nothing external that will push me to finish. Except God. And I'm not fully convinced that God is external.

I feel like so much of my life has been future-oriented or past-related. Working full-time has made me wish for time to hike and travel. I'm quitting my job soon enough and the panic that takes residence is evidence that something is wrong. I shouldn't be so worried about something that's happening so far in the future. When I think about moving to AZ my chest palpates and I feel uneasy. When I research the AZT wonder drives me. A bit of trepidation flutters, but mostly wonder and peace. I may not finish. So what. I'm going to try. That's what's important to me.

Right now, I'm deciding if I should sell my belongings... again. I'm leaning toward no because I have really great stuff and I don't want to have to buy it all over again. I don't mind getting rid of the meaningless things, but my oversized chair and mosaic table are two things that signify good things.

My 0 degree down bag came in the mail today. Yay! My Smartwool shirt came yesterday. A bunch of other gear is on its way. My tent (so excited) should be here in a week or so. I'm going to take Garvey on an overnight camping trip so I can see what we're both made of... can we handle the cold? Most of the other things will go into storage till I'm through with grad school.

I'll be fine. The prospect of mountain lions freaks me out a bit, not gonna front. Other than that, I'll be fine. :)

Maternal

2009-12-26T09:03:00.003-05:00

For the first time in my life, I awoke with a feeling of connection. I’d had a dream that I was pregnant and gave birth to a baby girl. Her hair was straight and black; she was part Asian, she looked older than a newborn and she was screaming as they pulled her away from me. Inside I remember feeling calm. Taking solace in the knowledge that no matter where she was, we would be linked.

Then I was in a cafeteria of sorts. I dreamt that there were pictures of the nurses taking her away from me on all of the walls. I asked the people eating lunch if they’d seen her. Initially, they all answered no. Then, after a half an hour I was making rounds again and they all admitted that they’d seen her a half an hour ago. It felt like I was in some sort of time continuum. I wouldn’t stop searching, but no one would help me look for her. No one else was concerned that she was missing.

Just before I woke up a different part of the room appeared. I was on my way to search in that direction when I woke up. I felt sad. I wanted to hold her in my arms, to be her parent, but the opportunity never presented itself.

I want to be a parent. Not now perhaps, but eventually, soon. I had a great Christmas. My phone was off, I cleaned my apartment, hung out with my dog made the largest breakfast I’d make for myself in years. I just learned how to make potato latkes. AMAZING. If I do have a family I want our Christmases to be something similar. Low-key but family oriented. No tree. No lights, no decorations. Just a day where we rejoice that we’re in each other’s lives. I’d like that very much.

Pillar

2009-12-12T08:10:00.000-05:00

Today will be one of the toughest days of my life. There's a lot going on at work. I have papers due for grad school and the weather outside is damn miserable. I'm seriously crossing Minnesota off my list for Ed.D programs because I guarantee I won't be able to handle the effing weather; -30 actual temp is about as desirable as a childhood diagnosis of rheumatoid arthritis and ARPKD.

We're having a reunion of sorts for the girls today. All three years combined. In one place. In this weather. AWESOME.

They're gonna ask me questions about he and I and now she and I and she and he. I don't know if it's better to bring it up myself, and get it over with, or leave it be and take care of it when one of them brings it up.

Today will be difficult not because of one thing, but because of kaleidoscope life I'm living. I want desperately to be held and told "All will be fine." Not good, not great, but fine. That's all I want. I've done the holding and mothering, mentoring, and sistering, but not the partnering. I want to lay in his arms and feel what I'm feeling and not talk about it. Not yet. Lay and laugh, or cry whichever tickles my fancy. I want to know that someone is there. I know God is "there" or "here" or "wherever." That's not enough for me. That's probably blasphemous to say, but it doesn't change how I feel.

I want to weep and cry. I will, trust me. I want to fall and sob, and I will. I'll pick myself up "weary and bruised to the bone," but I want help getting up. A totem-pole of strength on which to brace myself till I can stand fully erect. I need that, but for now, as usual, I will do it on my own.

Arizona

2009-12-06T06:20:00.002-05:00

San Francisco by Brett Dennen

Go if you want to go
But I won't follow
Just so you know
Leave if you need to leave
But I won't be here
I wont be here when you come home

I'm gonna to move to San Francisco
Look up some old friends
I'm gonna get me a navy pea coat
And an old Mercedes Benz

This old town it keeps shrinking
There's too many people in my junk
I'm gonna do a lot of drinking
Cause it don't hurt when I'm drunk

Chorus

I'm gonna rent me an old Victorian
Down in the Lower Haight
I'm gonna find me an old accordion
Play for the tourists on the golden gate

I'm gonna plant a garden
Paint my bathroom blue
I'm gonna try real hard
To get over you

Here in the city life doesn't move so slow
There's plenty of good people I know
Up in north beach they drink spicy Italian liqueur
Down on market there's a lot of hobos and the hustlers

Down in Hayes Valley, there's a lot of real good restaurants
Deep in the tenderloin you can get anything you want
Over in the mission it's always a sunny day
It's a real good baseball town but my team is across the bay

I feel the need to just go.

If I had to write a personal ad this is probably what it would look like a la the Stephanie Klein format:

I hate the ways Chacos look. I think they make your feet look swollen. I'd rather be outdoors climbing a mountain or skiing down a slope, but I need someone to show me how. I enjoy backpacking through difficult terrain because of the journey not the overlook. I don't talk when I hike probably because I'm trying to catch my breath. I have so much of something sleeping inside me and theatre is the only safe conduit for it's electricity when it slips from hibernation. I laugh loud and often, its my favorite thing to do. I'll cook for you and your friends, and your friends friends and their family as long as you look me in the eye after your first bite and tell me that you like it. I want kids... I don't care the order, or how many, but I want the chance to build a family of my own. I blow my nose more often than I breathe and sometimes the tissues don't always make it to the trash can on the first or third try. I don't shower everyday. I enjoy camping because the inaccessibility of a bathroom allows me to be just as dirty as I like being. l have too many pillows on my bed and get frustrated in the middle of the night when they're suffocating me . I have to sleep with something against my back and I'd prefer you over a pillow. I love vodka tonics with orange flavored vodka. I am still amazed at things like sex and alcohol because I was raised to believe that they're wrong and one shouldn't indulge in them without the proper supervision -- or at all.

You would make me feel safe. This world magnifies my personality to make it larger than life and describes it as intimidating , but you understand it's because I've had to create a little bit of everyone I love in myself because my "real" family left a long time ago. You'd let me read in your company. You doing what you do, watching tv, or on the computer or reading , but you'd drape your arm over my shoulder and let me lean against you as I read or solved a crossword puzzle (which I don't do) or Sudoku (which I haven't done in years). But you'd let me do what I do quietly and be okay not being the certain of my attention. You'd lead me through crowds by holding my hand and paving the way...not because I can't walk or lead myself, but because I feel safer when you do. You are well aware of your emotions, feelings and are able and comfortable to express them when the times comes... no matter how ugly or pleasant you're not afraid to let me see who you are. You're comfortable sourcing your life from something that has nothing to do with me. You're aware of a God that created us and define It according to your understanding, not someone else's. You'd laugh with me during the most difficult time in either or both of our lives with the understanding that our journey's are separate, we just choose to bike through them together. You pick up whenever I call if you can. You communicate without me having to walk you through the process. You tell me I'm wrong kindly and gently, but stand your ground if its something you believe and you're unafraid when I challenge that view.

We laugh. We experience life together with knowing looks, smiles and beneath the table knee connections. We are together for a very long time probably till death, but that sounds cliche and has been kidnapped by a faulty selfish institution so I'm afraid to say it...but it's what I mean.

An old friend

2009-11-28T08:38:00.004-05:00

We had lunch yesterday. We arrived at the same time. I was able to see him walking into the restaurant first which was nice. It didn't make my weird feelings go away, but I felt like I'd cheated and gotten a leg up somehow.

I walked in as he was being seated. He saw me, but didn't recognize me at first.... He looked the exact same, just a bit older. No eyebrow ring. His hair was longer, but physically, he looked the same. They sat us at this oddly shaped table and it was like we can sit here and be "that couple" that sits next to each other on a date -- which this was not, or we could be King and Queen enjoying a feast and sit at opposite ends of the table from one another. We chose somewhere in between. Close enough to talk and prop our legs up on the seat, but far enough so physical contact was minimal.

I'd prefer to not do the dissecting thing. Where I overanalyze EVERY aspect of this "meeting." Drive myself nuts, and eventually get disappointed. I want to chock this up to a great reunion with an old friend. Which, I think is what that was. While we were on the ship I had a ridiculous crush on him. Ridiculous. We're in an impossible situation right now... I say that as if there is even a "we" or "situation." I'm just antsy to move on by dating other people. Any single male that I'm around is pretty much fair game at this point.

We talked about who we are now, who we were, and he remembered things about me that I'd forgotten long ago. I realized how much I missed him. I missed how comfortable I felt around him. How it was okay for me to be excited and passionate and silly. He made fun of me for little things, I was nervous at first, but things fell into place. I couldn't ignore that old crush’s second cousin that showed up for a surprise visit. He’s cute and he reminds me of Marty… he still reminds me of Marty.

I’m at a difficult place in my life. I’ve fully moved on from a very serious, crazily unhealthy relationship. I’ve dated other guys who appeared to have potential, but did not. I’m ready for something. When I see babies I do the whole “biological clock is ticking” coo and long for one of my own. But, I’m not there yet. I’m not ready for a heavy-duty relationship. I am, however, ready to be attractive to someone again. To have someone look at me with longing and sincerity… to have someone look at me and see me. It’s been far too long, but that’s my fault. I can be over cautious.

Emotionally, I’m tender and bruised. I can’t help but feel betrayed by two people I cared about. I feel that they could’ve been more mindful of exactly what their decisions would do to me. But, because of how sinister one can be and the naïveté the other tends toward, they’re incapable of understanding exactly why, how much, and what exactly hurt me. As a result, I’m being far too mindful of what others need and how I could possibly hurt someone else. I’m overcompensating by looking too far into far too many nooks and crannies of the future. I want to live my life as carefree and happily as I’d always intended. But I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t think our joys are supposed to be at the expense of others. Is it possible to be in a relationship that doesn’t hurt? Where anger,jealousy, and mistrust aren’t the prevailing sentiments? I’ve only had that with my female friends. It’s an unfamiliar tendency in regards to the opposite sex, hence my over analysis of minutiae. Is it possible for someone to fall in love with me and I them and for no one to lay singed and broken?

Family portrait

2009-11-16T06:36:00.000-05:00

The key to attracting people, either romantically or platonically, is confidence. Making friends is, more often than not, easy for me because I have confidence in my ability to hold a conversation. I'm intellectually curious, high energy, and pretty open-minded. It's not particularly necessary to be confident in your physical beauty when attracting friends. At least not the friends I want to attract.

It is, however, necessary to have a certain amount of confidence in your physical beauty when seeking a relationship.

I look like my parents.

I hate them for what they've done to me and put me through. It's difficult and damn near impossible for me to see beauty in myself when they are all I see when I look in the mirror. I want to scratch out my eyes, claw at my cheeks, and cover my forehead in glass. I can't seem to get over seeing such wretched people daily. They hurt me and to resemble that is torture. I've dealt with the emotional pain. But, how do I forgive them to the degree that I can find my own image attractive? Is that possible?

How can I be confident while portraying the face of the two nastiest people I've ever known?

I guess I'll just have to feign confidence till then.

Ashes to ashes

2009-11-12T00:21:00.001-05:00

Another one bites the dust.

There will be others.

continuing

2009-11-10T17:41:00.000-05:00

It's impossible to start over. Regardless of intent, we enter into situations with prior knowledge. We can't help but approach situations with the clarity or baggage of before.

I'm not naive enough to think that starting over with dating is possible. I've learned what it is about me that's attractive to others. I'm going to highlight those attributes with the hopes of attracting someone. I know what I don't like about men. I'm not going to approach gentlemen who have the characteristics of someone I know I'm not attracted to. I've learned enough about dating to realize that everyone is different and that everything doesn't work out like fairy tales.

Fighting for everything I have has presented me with the, often forgotten, clarity that everything worth having is worth fighting for. Friends have said that love is "easy." It won't be for me. Nothing for me is easy.... Nothing will ever be easy. I'm not the girl who a man notices in a sea or beauty, singles out, and begins to "court." That's just not my story. I would like it to be because I want to feel valued. I feel valued when people pursue me. But its not that easy. Nothing for me is easy.

It's officially depression sans the emotional kickback

2009-11-09T23:09:00.000-05:00

“A recession is when your neighbor loses his job; a depression is when you lose yours.” Reagan/Truman

If that's the case, then I'm truly depressed... but I'm not. My steps are ordered. I will walk in the way I am to walk.

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death, ^[a]
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.

Bring It On.

I've been through so much worse.

Take me or leave me

2009-11-09T06:38:00.001-05:00

Giving it till Thursday and if I don't hear from him by then I will conclude he's not interested. I could rattle off statements which affirm me and belittle him, but I'd be a liar. I like(d) him. He's nice person. It appeared as though he was interested.

A deadline gives my heart permission to stop caring. It's hard when the person you'd like to be in a relationship with, or at least get to know better, doesn't reciprocate your feelings. Especially when your ex is engaged to your friend whom he lusted after during most of your relationship. It kinda messes with your self worth.

When I was with Seth and even Ricardo I didn't think about him. I seldom think about them, but they were the furthest thing from my mind when it appeared that I was going to be involved in something very good in the near future. But now that I feel like a failure -- I know I'm not -- I tend to analyze what I keep getting wrong and they've gotten so right.

Work also exhausted me this weekend. I'm running on low and need to rejuvenate myself. I keep getting up early and it's depleted my life source. I refuse to ignore how I feel today. I will welcome it with a bowed head and open arms. "Here I am world beat me up if you so desire. I will take it like a fat kid takes a punch. I'll play dead for a minute or two, but then I'll get up when I think the danger is gone and hustle home for supper."

even if i never see you again i'm glad tonight happened.

2009-11-05T23:33:00.000-05:00

I felt comfortable with you. Honest laughter squirted from my lips and surprised me more than you. Perhaps feeding your ego whilst releasing me from bondage of one previous. You asked questions about my life and family and shared, briefly information of your own. You hesitated to divulge details but I sensed a desire.

We sat on my couch watching a movie I've seen several times and I love how when our bodies connected you didn't move. I wanted to feel your hand on my back. I wanted to know for sure. I wanted a purposeful position of an appendage but settled for what you offered; refusal to remove whichever body part touched mine. When my head lingered near your shoulder you allowed a relative stranger to invade your space as I did.

You paid indirect and direct compliments. So polite. So kind. So genuine. I thought of only you and no one else. That is an accomplishment in and of itself. I enjoyed your company. You existed without me pulling you from inside yourself. You allowed me to exist as meek as I wanted and as interesting as I could be. I was myself with you tonight. A self that has been hurt and scarred and is wary of those she meets. It felt good to exist with the accomplishments from my own resume and not try and compete with yours. You allowed me to exist. You allowed my effortless self to stand or sit or kneel or lay next to you during the brief time.

This was a success because I'm starting to see and understand that a relationship doesn't have to be built on sex or lust. It's possible for it to be built of friendship and chivalry. You were nice to me and I want(ed) to be nice to you. I enjoyed myself and I'm hoping that you did too. If not, I'm okay with that.... because I've healed enough to know that what I'm feeling is okay on it's own.

I should be sleeping

2009-11-02T05:57:00.000-05:00

It's 5:54 in the morning and I'm awake. I haven't been sleeping well for the past week.

My body has always manifested stress in a way that interrupts my slumber. I have a crush-- it takes away sleep. I'm stressed at work - I get my period and it takes away sleep. There's a bit of a pattern.

I had a dream that I was weird. Once I awoke, I realized that where I'm at is too small for me. I don't mean "I'm so amazing and this place can't hold me." No, eh eh. I have unconventional ideas and beliefs and I haven't found anyone here who I can identify with. As a result, this place is too small for me. I'd like to move out west somewhere. For some reason I feel that's where the people with the big ideas live. Probably not. There probably right here and I just need to find them.

Obsessed: I don't know Mariah, you tell me.

2009-10-30T22:34:00.003-04:00

Really? You think this is productive? I wish he wouldn't have asked for my last name. I wish he wouldn't have given me his. That just leads to unnecessary Google temptation.

I'm home sick from work today. Awesome. NOT. I'm bored as hell. So I'm sitting here with my laptop and phone. That's a dangerous combination. For awhile it was on silent because "...what if he called but didn't leave a message? How would I know?" I'm a moron. I'm obsessed. Queue insane rationalization in 5...4...3...2..1...

I don't "click" with a lot of men. I get along with almost everyone I meet, but when it comes to an emotional and sexual connection it doesn't happen often. When it does, look out. I wish I wasn't this way. Growing up I was never that girl that guys swooned over. I've always been able to attract older men but that's more creepy than it is flattering. I've never had men come up to me and praise me for my good looks and feminine figure. So, when I meet someone who appears to be as into me as I am into them I get excited. I can't help it. It's like asking the villagers from The Gods Must be Crazy not to treat the Coke bottle like the latest Tickle me Elmo during Christmas.

So there, I said it. Or rather hinted at it. Men don't usually find me attractive, and when they do I'm in rare form. I've tried not to sit by the phone, but it's hard. I think I could really like this guy. Also, I've been enduring a dry spell for oh say about a year or so.... :( I wish guys had a bullshit-o-meter. "I'm just asking you for your number so I can feel good about myself," but he didn't feel like that. He felt like he asked to exchange numbers as a result of genuine interest and desire to get to know me. Perhaps I should take solace in that final thought. He was attracted to me enough to flirt and get my number. I should just accept it for the compliment it is and move on. Oy, easier typed than believed.

Update: 11/2/2009

I was too impatient to wait for him to call me so I called him on Saturday. He didn't pick up (Thank God). He called me back later that day. He was at a gig and called me during the break. We're going to get together Thursday (and Wednesday too). I can't say that I'm excited because it's not like roller coaster ride excited. My stomach isn't turning in knots, my hands aren't sweaty. That part is over.

I think I get nervous during the "first" stage because that's when you judge people on the physical aspect and that's not something with which I'm comfortable. However, in this stage the "I wonder if our personalities click" part I'm a bit more confident. I like my personality and if he doesn't well, there's not thing I can do about it. If only I had the confidence to adopt that mentality with every other part of my life.

Nothing but smiles

2009-10-29T01:01:00.000-04:00

Giggling. Yes, I'm giggling.

I went out tonight. Wasn't like other nights just decided to go out. I put make-up on. Wore a cute outfit, put a book in my yoga bag, grabbed my camera and headed for my favorite hangout.

Whaddya know, Seth was there. :)

We like ran into each other and were both caught off-guard. Finally, when he was away from his friends and I was talking to the Open Mic host in a close vicinity to him and I eventually walked over and was like "Sooo, what were you doing in LA?" We started talking. It took a minute for us to remember the familiarity of before, but no longer than that.

We chatted and flirted. He put started playing with my belt....it was cute. He was cute. We were cute.

I'd forgotten the feeling of flirtation...of mutual respect...of intellectual stimulation. He's smart. He has a great relationship with his friend that traveled cross country. Eventually, his friend asked if he wanted to go to their other hangout (he did this like three times and it wasn't until the final time that he acquiesced. Gave me a hug and mentioned that we should exchange numbers.

It didn't feel like exchanging numbers though. It felt normal. Like hey we're going to get together but I need your number for that so let's make it happen. It didn't feel like it did with Ricardo. With him, I felt nervous. With Seth, it felt natural.

I enjoyed tonight. I'm glad it happened. To the forces that allowed it to occur I say thanks.

I'll chalk this up to irony, but this was apart of my horoscope. A bit eerie if you ask me:

"For the unattached Taurus on October 28, with the planet of love in good aspect to the planet of luck, there could be an encounter with someone who holds the key to your future happiness."

Vetting by the Adolescent Relationship Commission

2009-10-27T09:00:00.001-04:00

Allowing myself to experience what I felt yesterday has made today wonderful. I awoke, took a shower, chased silly negative, self-defeating and poisoning thoughts out of my head and went on a search to volunteer. I discovered the Keystone Trail Association and their looking for a director for their summer trail crew program. I think that will give me some experience I need.

While doing research my thoughts went back to things of the past. Kids have been asking questions -- as they so often do-- and I know it's only a matter of time before I'm placed in the uncomfortable situation of having to respond. His response has been evasive. To tell you the truth that's hurtful. He's pretending like we didn't exist. However, when I put myself in his shoes I can empathize. He feels like a failure and it probably seems a bit smarmy that he dated two women at his workplace (make no mistake, it is) but he doesn't want to deal with that so he might as well pretend like we never happened; avoid us and we will go away.

I'm not going to avoid us. That just creates lies and I'd rather face it head on. So, here's my response if it's ever needed:

Yes, we dated briefly during the first year. But that's not the point. I think the point is that Mr. [Blank] and Miss [Blank] discovered their love for one another and now they're happy. So rather than dwell on the past let's just rejoice in the fact that they found each other. Let's just be happy for them.

With that as my response I can already feel heart freedom. It feels light. I'm not going to deny our relationship to students because I think they need to see that not all relationships work out. Now, if my mentees from the first year ask I'll be more specific and honest with them, but still provide them age appropriate knowledge. I will not lie.

I never thought I'd have to do this.

I wrote one of my first blog entries almost a year ago detailing the ensuing demise of our relationship. Honestly, I wish it was the relationship that we wanted it to be. But it wasn't. When you date an addict, you date a selfish emotionally unavailable person. When you date him without his addiction, you date a selfish emotionally unavailable person. Two-fold was too much. I'm happy that I'm free of him. Not happy that I'm single though. I'd like someone to laugh with, cook for, and spend time with. It will come. I just have to be patient and we all know, I'm no good at that. :) However, I'm free to have a healthy relationship, and if you don't know, I'm good at that.

The day's requirings

2009-10-26T09:51:00.000-04:00

I will get out of bed today. I will be grateful for what I have and not envious for what I lack. I will laugh at my dog and his humanesque traits. I will find joy in my students and my job.

I will make myself presentable even though I'd rather not. I will be the woman others need me to be until I can sit in solace and be the woman I need to be.

"Life is a journey, not a destination"

2009-10-25T22:49:00.000-04:00

I wish that forgiveness was a once and done thing, but it's not. It's a choice you have to make daily and somedays are easier than others...some people are easier to forgive than others. It may be a bit selfish to say but, ultimately, the forgivers are the ones who benefit most and that makes all the difference.

Rough day all around. Made a few calls. Sat in my car and cried. Life is the most difficult thing I've ever done. I'm grateful that one day it will be over.

Femininity my ass

2009-10-15T10:40:00.000-04:00

Hold the mutha effin phone. I've been browsing the internet ( I should get my behind out of bed to tell you the truth) when I found this blog. It's a bunch of people talking about how ugly black women with tattoos are. How tattoos make them look unfeminine, unattractive and trashy. What the hell ever. Black man, I haven't been feminine and attractive to you since the day I was born. Why are you allowed to define my femininity?

I'm getting this tattoo, not in rebellion, but in celebration. I have been alone most of my life. Every person who was supposed to love and care for me didn't. The ones who have are a Godsend. I found an amazing artist who is going to help me accomplish something I've wanted for a long time. I seldom do things because they make me more attractive to others. When I have, it has lit my ass on fire like an inflamed hemorrhoid.

I've gotta do me. I will be known as Dr. _____ someday. I will have a beautiful phoenix half sleeve tattoo. I am beautiful. Having these things doesn't not detract from that. Having them does not add to that. They are yet another element of who I am.

Option-less

2009-10-15T09:51:00.000-04:00

Feast and famine are first cousins.

There was Ricardo. We went on one date and I couldn't bring myself to go out again. I just didn't get the right vibe. I felt like it was all staged. Very bootycall-esque. He said the right things did the right things, but when it came down to it, I don't think he came away from it knowing, or wanting to much about me as a person.

Then Seth, I guess I'll never see him again. I'm getting weary of HMAC and I think I'll take a break for a bit. He hasn't been there when I've been there so...I'm kinda over it. Disappointed, but over it nonetheless.

Then there was The Needle Man. I'm getting that awesome tattoo and he was totally flirting with me. However, I'm going to chalk it up to harmless flirting and move on. Why, pray-tell? I did some google stalking and he's taken. Like about to walk down the aisle of doom taken. Oh, well.

Maybe I need to find a new hangout, maybe I need to stop hanging out and work on Ph.D/Ed.D stuff. I figure it's good to work on my essays now even though it's three years down the road. I found a school where the GRE score doesn't count and they're pining for women of color. $$$Caching$$$

There were many, and now there are none. Go figure.

I need to shower, go grocery shopping, and get busy. I'm bored, but what's new.

Be still biznatch

2009-10-08T07:05:00.000-04:00

"No."

That's essentially what I've told God. He's told me be still and I’ve pretty much screamed “No” like a defiant toddler. Occasionally I'll say "Eh, maybe...alright but only this once." But seldom do I say "Sure!"

There are times when I'm at peace with my life and I'm happy to be still and let God do His thang. But that's only when His plan is going according to my plan. Let’s take now for example. About a month ago I met *Dave. He’s a musician and periodically plays open mic nights at my favorite hangout. The last time I saw him, we connected. He’s funny, intelligent, socially conscious and nerdy; I’d like to get to know him better. We left that night with abstract plans (that was my fault) of "See you next week," and "Yeah, you should come hangout at ___ sometime."

For the past week I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I just wanted to see him. So, last night, like I usually do, I went to open mic to do some homework, "run" into him, and give him my number. To my dismay, he wasn’t there...at least when I was. I left early because of the creepy grandfather figures who continued to proposition endless love-making sessions that made my ovaries shrivel up and want to die.

Our conversations were simple and effortless. I can’t force it, but I also can’t force the thought of him out of my mind. Trust me, I’ve tried. This horoscope probably doesn’t help:

"It's time for whispers, Taurus, for secret thoughts and tender, romantic exchanges. Your own planet, loving Venus herself, has a surprise arranged for you, too. You know how much she loves romance, so prepare yourself for quite the week. You'll definitely need some privacy; well, to be honest, you'll need a lot of privacy, thanks to this lovely lady's plans. Someone you've been thinking about has been thinking of you, too. Together with some startling news from Mercury, the master of communication who will enter Libra and your house of intimate moments this week, you two may actually be able to get together and share those thoughts...."

The next time I see him I have to remember that he’s not feeling the same things I am. I can’t behave as if we’re on the same page. That will just lead to disappointment. I have to try and get to know him better. I just want to make sure this doesn’t fall by the wayside. I’m ready for this. But, I just have to trust God and, for the time being, be still.

I am the umpire

2009-09-29T16:28:00.000-04:00

I called it: They're engaged.

My friends all called me to make sure that I knew before I came blindly into work; I'm grateful for my friends.

I feel badly for her. I can't fathom surviving in a marriage such as theirs. But I don't have to, because I won't have one such as theirs.

I'll have my own someday. The thought of that makes me smile.

For now, I'm driving to Carlisle to talk about my Phoenix tattoo.

I'm grateful for every single thing that has happened in my life.

Still

2009-09-08T07:37:00.000-04:00

I haven't thought about him for awhile. He began dating another -- a friend, and that hurt for a long time. But now, I'm at a place where I 1) don't think of him/them often 2) if I do think of him I may long for him for a moment but then I remember his addiction and how it eats at him and the longing and sorrow pass 3) I think of him for who he is and what we stood for and I'm glad we're not a "we" anymore.

I've begun "dating" again. Although good men are such a commodity that they seem to have an upper hand in this itty bitty town (perhaps state) I call home. I also struggle being here. But I struggle leaving. My life was determined by so much movement for awhile it's been nice to sit and be still. But, then I don't want to be stagnant. I've found a home base which is eerily similar to my safety net from the past, and I'm okay for awhile. I'd like to beef up my savings, and be teetering on the positive end of the financial balance beam before I make a move. I think that's what God wants me to do. Get my savings, credit, and general self together and then walk in the way I should go.

Make believe

2009-02-14T20:49:00.003-05:00

I had a great day today. I didn’t do things as a reaction to him. I didn’t long for him and what we had, could’ve had, or should’ve had. I didn’t hate him for what he never gave me. When I talked about him --if I talked about him -- I discussed him as an entity separate from myself. I spoke, I think, objectively, not void of emotion, but without emotional affect. I spoke of him in the past without possibility or hope for a future. He was something that happened to me, no longer something that defined me. Last night and today I had conversations with people who fed the intellectual cravings I’d desired for so long. I got to share my philosophy impart my ideologies, and feel the way I felt without fear of judgment or abuse. I hadn’t had that for quite some time.

Today was growth. I sat in my favorite chair journaling with my dog at my side recalling a conversation that had just occurred and feeling my growth but incapable of acknowledging its need for a name. I felt more satisfied than I had before because satisfaction was born from a moment and not a search. Over the past few months I’ve been searching for happiness, for satisfaction, for peace, for me. But those things are lost in the seeking. They lie quietly in the moments of serenity. They are the spawn of acceptance -- not complacency -- acceptance in the purest form: “the fact of being accepted: approval” I approved of myself today. I stamped a red rubber stamp, sans the bureaucracy, on my flesh. To say that I loved myself would be doing an injustice to what transgressed. I have always “loved myself.” Yet did not approve, at least, as I should have. To approve of oneself, one’s history, reality and response to the preceding is the greatest peace. That was gift to myself.

Thinking of the joy that I hear in Emily’s voice when she speaks of her wife is ecstasy. To think that someone who went through so much has found what they have desired is exhilarating. Not because I hope to find that someday, but because someone already has. I hear in her voice the love that I dreamt existed before I met him, felt as I loved him, and began to forget and as he ignored his love for me. Hearing that truth, that clarity in her voice was a soothing relief to a heart that lay singed and wizened from pain. I’m glad that she has found what she has, because now I know that what I craved as a little girl doesn’t only exist in the land of make believe.

a difference

2009-01-19T04:04:00.000-05:00

I'm at a different place right now. Although the same is true literally, that is not the context in which I speak.

We, he and I, had a conversation last night that scared me. Thinking about it now makes me nervous and fear-filled trembles take refuge in my body. He screamed at me. He was upset at something I said and he screamed until his voice cracked.

Last night, as I lay my head down on my pillow, the last thoughts were those of him -- us. I woke 4 hours after the original positioning to find myself full of fear. Riddled with terror I looked back to times when he would hit things, and slam his head against walls. I awoke very frightened. So frightened I wanted to cry.

He shouldn't treat me this way. I won't let him talk to me like that anymore. It's not fair and it's not nice.

And... she's off

2008-12-21T09:43:00.001-05:00

I feel like I'm suffocating right now.

This town, despite it's open fields and cow manure smell, is strangling me; so I'm taking a road trip. I'm leaving sometime today and going to Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and ending in Chicago. I need my friends.

I have blankets, my two hiking packs, hiking boots, a synced iPod with great music, a broken heart, warm clothing, cluttered mind, food, a little -- very little money, sleeping bags, a cell phone, a credit card, and my dog. I need to do something for me. I've spent so much time doing for him that I can't take it anymore. I have to breathe.
I have a habit of running from things. I know this, if you know me you know this, but I don't see why not. I don't have a family. My friends are all over the place so, when I need to, I run to them. Other people run or call home to receive soothing words and calming advice. I don't have that.

So, I'm taking this trip for me. I don't want to celebrate Christmas (the Jehovah's Witnesses' got something right) I just want to celebrate life. There should be a word between depressed and suicide. Because I was there. That happy little nook where you feel like your life is over, you know you have something to live for but you're not quite sure what, and feel like tomorrow will never come and the tears will never dry. I've been there. I was looking at properties so I could buy a lot and stay awhile. But, I didn't. I called friends, reached out and people reached back. I thank God for that.

My lack of familial ties can be depressing at times. When I sit and think about how if I died tomorrow my family wouldn't find out until it was in the papers and in most cases not even then; I get a little sad. As a result, I have really high expectations for people I let into my life. That can be a bit much for them, and I'm sorry about that. But thanks for sticking around anyway.
So, here I go. I'm driving hundreds of miles in a car whose radiator flipped shit and left me on the side of the road 7 days ago and whose check engine light was just turned off by a mechanic yesterday. It's a dangerous (and probably stupid) trip but I don't care. I'm ready for the adventure. I'm ready for the journey and, if something really bad happens and I die, I'm ready for that too.

I'll be back though. Something tells me I'm going to experience something wonderful and warm and it will send me back to this little corn-filled town with too few people.
until then....

Fictional characters

2008-12-03T12:00:00.001-05:00

I went on a hike with my dog this morning. After my hike I decided I was going to grab breakfast. I pull in and who's there? *Bruno. I see his car so it prepares me. I walk in he's sitting right by the door. He doesn't notice me. I order my food put down my things, he still doesn't notice me. I have to walk by him to pick up my things so (he's furiously writing in his journal) I put my hand on his arm. He looks up (and looks terrified as if he's been caught) and says HEY! almost too excited. I smile, say hi, and walk away. I didn't want us to sit in a restaurant that we both frequented without even saying hi.

I get my things. Sit down and begin to read my mail. He walks over with his jacket on. He says "I have to go meet Poppa Smurf" (an HR guy). I respond with "Uh, okay" why does he feel the need to tell me where he's going? He makes some stupid comment about how my Pumpkin muffin top (the pastry not the disgusting blemish peeking over my jeans) looks like a bagel with a filled in middle (What?! Who says that)? Then repeats "I have to go meet with Poppa Smurf something about my Master's degree." I respond with "Ok..." He's like okay, see ya. By that time I'm not even looking at him. I just want him to go away. Because he's being the Bruno that he was at the River. The awkward Bruno who wants to be intimate but can't be and as a result gets all goofy and ridiculous.

It made me sad.

On my walk with my dog I thought about how this isn't the right time for either of us. I'm not ready to be in a relaionship with him either. I have some shit I need to workout. However, I feel like it needs to be worked out in a relationship -- if that makes any sense. When I'm single I do all the things I need to in order to keep myself healthy. But, when I'm in a relationship I need to find a way to do what I need and get what I need without depending on the person I'm in a relationship with.

I thought about *Mary on my walk too. Well, I thought about her in regards to Bruno. That whole situation makes me sad. The fact that it crippled him is disheartening. I wish he was stronger. It's disheartening in on a global level not just in regards to Bruno and I. I wasn't in the relationship so I don't know her thoughts, but she didn't have the decency to wait. He was hospitalized and alone and she left him. He became an emotional paraplegic instead of rising above. People face harsher events and yet they overcome. He faced this event and dug a tunnel under himself and sought solace.

I don't want someone who's stronger. I want him to be stronger. Is that wrong?

He turns into this person who is the furthest thing from who he is. It's a necessary mask for him to don; I just wish he didn't have to.

*names and faces have been changed because they're unimportant

Eight "I's" and one "When"

2008-11-29T07:01:00.001-05:00

I wish I wasn't crazy. I wish I didn't sit here and think about all the ways this could've gone right. Last night, after a conversation about us, out of nowhere he said "Who did you tell? Who from work did you tell?" I can't help but think he wanted to try it again... I know him. I know he did. He wanted to have another go at the same relationship with the same problems. He wanted to prove to me that it wouldn't work. He's right. It won't work because he keeps doing the same things. You can't fake intimacy. That's what he would try and do. He would say "See, we tried -- again -- and it didn't work. No, we didn't try. You pretended to try. Not until you release your fears of hurt will any relationship stand a chance.

When I told him that the next time we broke up it would be forever, I meant it. ... I think. I hope. I know that right now it would be bad. In all honesty, I think it would be bad regardless of when it happened. But I can't help but romanticize our ending. It will happen like Definitely Maybe. We both move on but the move isn't permanent, more like a rental agreement or a sublet. We find each other in the end. Music plays, fade out on passionate embrace.

I know he's not right for me. I remember sitting in his therapist's chair and asking him "So you want me to be more vulnerable? What happens when I become more vulnerable to you? Will you lose respect and cast me aside as you have others?" His therapist said it was a good question. I don't remember his answer -- if he answered. There's not a doubt in my mind that that is what he did -- subconsciously. He's not an evil person and wouldn't have done it on purpose but he still did it and it still hurt.

I think he viewed my vulnerability to him and his actions as weakness. The action of being vulnerable isn't weakness, it's a strength. The act of closing yourself off to intimacy and humanity is the bosom in which weakness lay. I read an article that says when I a guy is ready to marry he is ready. It's not the with whom but the when. He asked me to wait, to be patient and wait. I was more than happy to wait and be patient, but I wasn't willing to do it and receive nothing in return. I wasn't willing to sit in relationship hiatus whilst he figured himself out.

I have to stop using him as a vessel toward my healing. If we keep having these conversations about us and our past it will kill me. Instead of asking myself "Why." I will just ask myself "Why not," and "Why didn't we?" I need to turn to my journal and reflect there rather than with him. But it still hurts so much. I'm haunted by our possibilities. I have to reflect on the relationship using the light of reason against the mirror of self rather than irrational hope against unrealistic expectations.

I don't want him back. I don't want to deal with his neediness, his illness, his depression, his therapy sessions, his hurtful words, his past, his family issues. I don't want that back. I can't stress that enough. What I wanted was his desire to commit to me the way I committed to him. I'm angry that when he was "ready" he was "ready" with the wrong person. I can't help but wonder what we would be like if he was "ready" with me. However, he said he was ready before and he wasn't that marriage died seven months after its birth.

I may regret this; I believe we could have had a very successful and long-lasting relationship. The forever kind. But there's one big snafu. Him. Yes, I know it's a more like a glaring cancer but it's true: He was in the way of us. When he allowed himself to let go of the crap ..the baggage, we were wonderful together. It was when he sat back and over-thought and took inventory of how his love for me was growing that we plummeted rapidly into failure. He is more comfortable living in fear than in happiness as many are, I hate that I fell in love with one of them. He was afraid of leaving the baggage at the check-in desk, boarding the plane and taking hold of the wonders of love. The flight may have been turbulent at times but glorious nonetheless. It is fear that keeps him stranded in the airport on an emotional layover. It is fear that prevents him from forgiving those that hurt him. It is fear to which he is wed and will never divorce. "Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." He's afraid of letting go and being successful because success isn't safe, its worthwhile.

I don't want that. I want someone who is afraid of love but wants it anyway. Someone who recognizes their circumstances and doesn't succumb to them. Someone who is as resilient as me. I don't want to date my twin -- that would be an atrocious failure; two people who lose their keys, forget their phones, and over pack. I want someone who is equally passionate about something, anything. Someone who wants to experience the world with me, not just talk about it. Someone who isn't afraid fighting for what they believe in, fighting for me, fighting for us. I want someone who sees the good and the bad even when the latter outweighs the former and proceeds (with or without caution) anyway. I want someone who knows fear and doubt but isn't crippled by them.

I don't know if that person exists. But, just because my previous "one" wasn't my final "one" doesn't mean I'm going to love at a lesser volume. I'm not going to go looking for love. I'm not going to go looking for me. I've already found both of those things. I'm not interested in looking for anything. I'm interested in the experience.

Happy Chrismahanakwanzucompletelyunnecessary

2008-11-27T09:55:00.000-05:00

I don't hate the holidays; I just don't see the point.

When I was 14 my mother became a Jehovah's Witness. As a result we stopped celebrating all holidays and birthdays. It sucked. I no longer got gifts on the days of celebration but around instead. My mother gave me a gift box of nail polish on December 23rd as a gift instead of a present. As the years progressed I grew alienated from both my family and holidays. I went to school on the other side of the state and after graduation moved halfway across the U.S.. I've since celebrated holidays 1) alone 2) with friends or 3) with friend's families. It's more painful to sit with family members who don't belong to you and smile and laugh with them as if they do, than it is to rent movies, cook a "non-festive" meal, and do whatever the hell I want. Except his family was different. I felt welcome, wanted, and at home. I'll miss that.

Just yesterday his mom said I could stay at her place whenever I want -- I don't think I can do that.

I don't understand. People earn money, save money, improve their credit score, apply for more credit only to spend that money, damage that credit score, and eat into their savings for "things." Buying gifts they can't afford and they're not quite sure the recipient will like. Things the world can do without. I don't get it.

So, I spent this past holiday watching movies, eating food, and working from the comfort of my own home with le pup at my side. I liked it. I'd love to spend my holidays that way with someone I love. Doing nothing that involves stress or traveling. Just eating, sleeping and doing nothing. Except maybe a hike. Yes, a hike; I'd like that.

If I were a psychologist I would look at my imaginary case file and say "Ahh, zis (apparently I'd be Eastern European) iz unhnt klassik kase of awfwoidance. As child you experienced mush tkrauma. You are awfwoiding celebrations because it reminds you too mush of your troubled past."

Yes, that is damn right. I'm avoiding my troubled past because it sucks ass. I hate that my family sucks. I kinda wish that I had a great family and a well adjusted childhood. But, I don't and so I have to be a peace with my dysfunctions. Whoever loves me also has to be at peace with them. Because more often than not I appear to be completely normal and well-adjusted. But, sometimes, in the privacy of my own home and the intimacy of my own relationships I lose it. I pity myself, cry, wish for a better past, and mourn the one that never was. I go to a very bad place. But, that's just sometimes. Not often.

I'm glad my dysfunctional familial machine created a strange android such as myself. All-in-all, I like me. I'd be lying if I said I love me, but like will do just fine for now. If I could erase some of the things that happened to me I would -- but not at the expense of who I am. I'd only do it If I could be a better version of myself. And, seeing as though I'm not in control of that I'll stick with the me I have and my Eastern European psychologist can take his imaginary case file and shove it.

2008-11-24T22:08:00.001-05:00

Crying is good. My rent is late. Next month's rent will be late. I called my landlord and left this long rambling message about how embarassed I was and I almost cried. Almost. I held in my tears.

He had just walked out the door, and didn't want to cry over him or over us. He got the tv, I got the couch. I didn't watch tv before we were together but I miss it. I wish I had it to fill the space where he once was. To fill my head and heart with thoughts other than my own. Jerry Bruckheimer has good thoughts. I'd like to fill my head with his or even Donald Bellisario's. But, instead, I have my own.

My landlord called back and told me I was being silly. That I didn't have to pay any extra money because I ran short this month. I started to cry. I'd over spent on things I didn't need to compensate for what my relationship wasn't giving me. I sat on the floor and cried because of her kindness. Then I allowed myself to cry over what I really needed to; months and months of bottled tears. Frustrations over us. Frustrations bred by him.

Weary with no time to sleep I sit here craving relief. I am rid of him. I am free. But now, I'm afraid of my potential. "Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." -- Marianne Williamson. I am now free to do whatever I want with my life. The only thing standing in the way is me.

Something new.

2008-11-24T08:15:00.001-05:00

My first real relationship ended yesterday. I live in a small town and can't get my mind off of how quickly the word will spread. I don't want it to spread before I have my chance to heal... on my own. Without the pain of everyone else drudging up the past. I just want to get better before everyone knows. We said we'd keep it to ourselves for awhile and I think we can hold true to that.

I'm embarassed. We should've ended it before, but didn't. We kept fighting for what could never and should never be. I'm just glad it was. I'm glad I got to love for the first time. That I got to experience those feelings for the first time. No one can replace those memories. I loved being in a relationship. I loved being loved. He just couldn't love me more than he loved himself. He is so filled with the past that he can't see anything else.

I can. I'm capable to learning and loving and living. Right now it is so painful, but I have my dog and my job, and my future. I have to look to the future. This is good because it's completely empty. Cliched as it is; I'm the one who will write it.

Right now, I have to take a shower put on clothes and try to get on with my life. Because life exists without him and without us.

"I woke up this morning you were the first thing on my mind, don't know where it came from..." Can I Walk With You by India.Arie.

2008-11-23T08:03:00.000-05:00

It's hard to get out of bed this morning. Last night was rough. Draining. I've always said that we can make our relationship look however we want. Friends have reminded me that you're going through a lot. I've tried to be sympathetic. I've tried to empathize but you've got so much baggage it makes it hard. I'm trying to be the partner you want me to be when, instead, I think I should be the partner you need me to be. After all:

"Love is a commitment. Love that lasts is a commitment of one imperfect person to another imperfect person. It means that no matter what, I am committed to you and to your growth. I will be what you need me to be – not necessarily what you want me to be. If you need me to be loving and affectionate, I will be loving and affectionate. Or, if for your growth you need me to be tough and firm, I will be tough and firm. Within the bounds of my own imperfections I will always strive to do and be what is best for your growth."

I think I've been the partner you've been wanting me to be rather than the partner you need me to be. Or not. Maybe I am being the partner you need me to be and I'm just not happy with that. I have a lot of thinking I need to do today. I've tried so hard to be patient with you. I've tried so hard to be there for you and that has been met with hostility, anger, and indifference. Care and affection have been crushed by 8 months of bad.

I want to be your partner, but right now I can't. I need more than you can give.

"I saw at sea a great fog bank between two ships that struck and sank..."

2008-11-22T22:17:00.000-05:00

My entire life has prepared me for this moment, the moment I've realized failure. Failure in all things. Personal, professional, spiritual, emotional and relational. Everything. I sit here surrounded by the things my mother craves, and currently envies, but none of the things of which I've dreamed. A family. A lover. A child. None of those things are here, nor will they soon come near. I am alone and will be for the forseeable future. Although that future seems bleak.

There is, and has always been a sadness in me...around me. Like a bubble of fog clouding my view of possibilty. I've tried to reach through and others have grasped at my hands but none have stayed connected. I grow weary and let go of their grasp. Its easier to spread my fingers and fall than to clench them and hold on. I have always fought against only to, eventually, succumb to its call. The secession is now.

I've grown tired and need to speak. Not with my lips but, instead, the tips of those outstreached fingers. Hoping that others will hear and feel and share. Hoping. Wanting to no longer be alone.