The best day ever

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

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

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

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?

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.

--

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

Living

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.