Week !

(Disclaimer: I may talk about you. I may talk about a conversation we had. Don't take it personal. (hehe I'll even admit, thats a load of B.S.) Of course you can take it personally. Just talk to me about it and don't be a passive aggressive asshole kthanksbye :) )

I chose to ring in my New Years with just a few close friends and a couple games of Wii. Despite the fact that a 3 and 9 year old have better skills than I, I had a lot of fun. I didn't have to talk about my break up. I didn't have to dish out a bunch of empty promises at midnight. I just relaxed at my friend Ra's with a few vodka and cranberry drinks and some smack talk.
A week before I had imagined I would be in some crowded place, knowing few, drinking more than I should, and kissing my ginger at midnight. It would be a "mental picture"(The Office reference :) ) I could savor through out the rest of the year. But I've learned that things don't always happen the way you imagine.
Thus my new blogging journey begins. I have decided that for 2011 I want to write a weekly blog about what I learn. Little life lessons that some how seem to pop up over and over again. A reminder, if you will, that we shouldn't need to be hit in the head with a shit stick over and over again to realize that what we are doing is NOT working.
I don't plan on addressing details of our break up. I don't plan on playing the pity card either. What happened between us was private. And I want to respect that. What I will say about it is that I still love him and respect his wishes. He was not a bad person, an evil doer, he didn't disrespect me, and he wasn't a sleeze ball.
Instead of sulking and reverting to my hermit ways, bills required me to work. I woke up slightly hung over, slightly cranky, and very much tired last Sunday morning on my parent's couch. Loretta Lynn was blaring on the television. My dad's doing no doubt. I looked at my cell phone and tried to wish back the hands of time. But time nor coffee was on my side.
I trudged into the bathroom and tried to make sense of whatever was going on with my face and hair. I swear I aged 10 years over night. While washing my face I cried a bit into my palms. Something I had been doing the past 2 days. Little bursts of tears would come rushing. As quickly as the need to cry came on, it went away. Crying wasn't going to get me to work. So I compromised and cried on my way to work instead.
As soon as I pulled up to the house, my clients were up and happy to see me. I am greeted by hugs and praises of "Happy New Years" before I am able to get inside. I decide I had to put up a front of peace and just go with the flow of the day. I can't let down my clients. My personal affairs shouldn't affect work. Something my momma always taught me; she is a master of this. So I follow my routine. Pancakes, church, lunch, movies, dinner, cleaning.... home.
While driving home I allow myself to feel. My blanket of numb dissipates the further away from work I get. I listen to Loveline and I relate to all the other pathetic girls who call in. I don't want to be like them. I don't want anyone to be able to categorize me. But like a puzzle piece, I fit. My curves and edges hug my adjacent neighbors with precision.
The next few days I became engulfed by errands. I kept myself busy. Probably the biggest slap in the face is the fact that no one but myself was holding me back. This week was proof of that. And in here lies the lesson. I can only control my actions. I can't will, or want, or give someone into submission. My own hearts desires aren't a currency of free fancy. Just because I have something to give, doesn't mean that the receiver wants it. And I have to move on from that. I can't dwell on the actions of others. I've spent many years dwelling. It's not healthy. Dwelling causes one to become self-centered. I have been so self-centered lately. I feel like no one can relate to me. I want to climb inside a hole and punch the walls in. But LIFE is going on. If I like to participate I need to refrain from jumping in holes. AND I need to stop with this mind warfare. I am constantly putting down myself. If I don't believe in myself, why should anyone else?

peace & blessings
XD

I feel your energy,
I know your thoughts.
You're as transparent as parchment.
You are waiting for the break.
The crack.
The stumble.

weak

I feel blindfolded, hopeful, and dumb.
I feel unsure, indecisive, and weak.
Blaming others would be stupid.
No one but myself is responsible for my feelings.
I can no longer sit and wait.
I have a life to live and I have goals to fulfill.

Don't let the crazy slip...

My mouth doesn't let me talk sometimes. It restrains my words. I find no voice in myself to get my point across. My body betrays me. I stare blankly at my companion and say nothing.
In later moments, when I am reflecting over conversations, I realize that my opinion and input is valid. What I have to say is worthy for the most attentive audience. It is I who has stage fright.
There are many things I would have liked to have said. I care. With every ounce of my beating heart I care!
I want to be able to be candid. I want to express pure unfiltered emotion. Because that is what saturates my being. I don't know if it can be boiled down to such a rationale as that I am just being a woman. I think it goes beyond any gender stereotypes.
I am often alone. I have nothing but reflection of past moments to keep my mind occupied. There are some moments that I wish I can interject. I wish to say things that may be difficult for me to say. But they should have been said.
I am going on and on as if what I wanted to say was negative. I am just so afraid of asking questions and hearing answers I may not like. Or making things difficult by pushing things beyond their comfort level.
My quiet moments are far too many. So I apologize for the heaviness of this blog.

Cheers Darlin'

When does an idea become an out of control obsession?
It sneaks up on you. The focus in your life becomes askew.
Close your eyes.
Who is there?
The fabric of our lives is made up of one emotion.
Love
Even in extreme Hate we are loving.
For Hate is Love turned inside out.

I feel like I am lost in a jello mold. I am neither above nor below the surface. Normally I know exactly how I feel. I am either on the top of the world; or I am scratching away at the bottom of a black hole. Right now I am floating between emotions.

I hate uncertainty. I know I will wake up tomorrow and be uncertain. About everything.

I am my own worst enemy. Because the love I am speaking of is not the love you share with someone else. It is the love that must exist inside of yourself. I tend to question it all the time. And the uncertainty that I mentioned, that is the uncertainty of my own abilities. Some days I am able to think my way out of a bad situation. These situations start out as seeds of doubt in my own head. These seeds nourish themselves by my own insecurities. When they grow they weave themselves into moments of otherwise happy memories.

Laughing with my sister.

Sitting with my parents and talking.

Nights out with my friends.

Quiet times when Jimmy just looks at me and smiles.

All of these moments become tainted when I start to question the love I have for myself. But now I am faced with losing a matriarch in my family. My Nana. Other than the loss I will feel from losing her because she is my grandmother, I fear I am going to mourn more over love lost.

My Nana grew up in dire conditions. Her mother was cold and distant towards her. So was her father. The only man she ever 'knew' took even more of her spirit away. I was never close to her growing up. She was always hard on me. She always put me down about my weight. She was never happy to see me.

But through all of that I found a lost soul. I mourn for the potential. She could of lived epically. She could have loved enormously. But she didn't. She loved in vain. She criticized. She could never be pleased. She was always indifferent.

So why do I cry for her loss? Because I am afraid it will become my own loss. I am afraid I will lose the ability to love myself. What if I can't think my way out of another situation? I do not want to become calloused. I want love to flow through me freely. I want to filled to the brim with emotion. Whether they be good or bad. Because without the emotional connection to this life, indifference seem to be the only option. If that were to be so, then my understanding of my Nana's life will have become unimportant.

It's a new dawn...

Last night I had a strange dream.

I raided my mom's closet for something to wear. I was searching feverishly. I needed something, ANYTHING. This was quite a task because my mother is the tiniest little woman. I know you wouldn't think so looking at me. But my mother is like 5 foot and maybe an inch or two. She forgets to eat. REALLY. she forgets to eat for like 2 or 3 days at a time. I feel like I am leaving a lil puppy who can't fend for itself when I leave her. I know she will become stressed and not have the will to eat. Thank God for her Mochas. I believe that is the only thing with caloric value that keeps her lil heart a'beatin.

back to my strange dream....

She was throwing everything off the hangers in her closet and randomly tossing them onto the bed. I don't know what I was thinking, in reality there is NOTHING she owns that I would fit into. I picked dress after dress after dress. So a dress it is. Which is also something I never wear. I stretched the material over my bodice and they all fit. One right after another. I started hugging my curves. I would twirl about in front of the mirror. Every dress hugged me in the right places. I felt sultry and comfortable in my own skin. I kept searching for the right dress to match my mood. Getting frustrated with the endless selections of floral pansy summer dresses I threw them up in the air. There lost underneath the fluff of the former was my dress. A corsetted bodice, purple and black. I slide into the velvety material and goose bumps form on my smooth legs. My mother laces up the back and pulls it snug into my waist. I turn to look in the mirror and find someone else. Someone who looks nothing like me. Except for the smile, my smile remained.

I wake up shortly after.
In this dream I was also taking charge of a class of children and we were stuck in a museum. The mannequins all came to life and we were all enchanted by their charm. The children grew into adults. I remained young. We drank brandy, danced to jazz, and we felt good.

Today, Nina Simone is carrying on this feeling of nostalgia. Listen...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJA69C6SlRk&list=QL&playnext=9
(copy & paste)

Bubba Ho-Tep

I have never been let into someone's inner dialogue before. Especially an inner dialogue that resides in a member of the opposite sex. So it was all too special for me when my boyfriend asked me to watch his second favorite movie of all time.

How does one get used to being let in?

So there I was, watching the movie...
wrapped up in *his* arms.
(I know this sounds mildly gushy)
((read anyways))

The movie was not what I expected.
It was funny on the surface.
Crude in appropriate ways.
And unexpectedly deep.



This movie in three words... regret, perseverance, and courage. These are my words. His words were many. His words were insightful. His words were deeply felt. In his words I felt like I was able to know him so much more.

We can always explain our life away. We can give facts, details, brief histories. But nothing is as effective as sharing a moment. In these moments we find the meaning to someone's words. These words that were so one deminsional before have taken on new life.


(((Thank You Jimmy)))