Food 101

Linda says I’m mildly depressed.

For the past week, I’ve unconsciously begun to own that concept and it has slowly ruined the past ninety-six hours of my life. It really doesn’t matter what I do. I’ve been to the gym twice, I’ve been to two happy hours and I’ve partied with high school friends who were in town for the weekend (even cuddled on the couch with one after the evening’s festivities were over). I spent Saturday night at home watching Gossip Girl and crying over the mushy parts. I’ve been to church. I’ve re-gained my appetite. And yet, nothing is wholly cheering me up.

Linda encouraged me to get back to my “normal routine” though I haven’t lately felt motivated to do so. She reminded me that, after any stressful situation, it can be difficult to get back into the full swing of things. So, that’s where the aforementioned events have come into play. I’ve been forcing myself to do the after-work activities that I normally do. I can’t wait until it starts to make a difference.

I’m down. And, it’s not even rooted in the issues surrounding my mom, grandma, that boy, or work. I’m just in an inexplicable funk; a “mild depression.” It troubles me to even say those words aloud. What’s even more troubling is that the life that surrounds me – one that once offered solace and refuge – feels more like a different planet as each day passes. Not only is my parent fighting cancer, but so is everyone else’s! Corinne’s dad. Melanie’s granddad. Denise’s Mom. WTF? Since when is cancer the norm? Why is it so pervasive? And when, for the love of GOD, is everyone going to get better?

No one prepares us for these things. No high school or college courses prepare you for the pains of real life. Going to class and making good grades? Check. Joining student council and working part-time? Check. AP courses, college applications, French club, dance club and graduating with honors? Check, check, check, check, CHECK. Dealing with heartbreak… watching a parent’s health fail… juggling personal and professional trials and tribulations... Um. Good luck! There’s no manual. There are no guidelines. And if you don’t have faith, you’re essentially left with nothing. Luckily my parents provided me with a sound spiritual foundation. I know and believe that God will answer my prayers. Even still, learning to pray, relying on that which cannot be seen, and trusting that everything will turn out as it should is difficult to learn. The Sunday school teachers and pastor can be the best coaches imaginable – but it doesn’t guarantee that any of us will ever be fully equipped with the spiritual playbook we need.

Learning to trust the God within us… and listen to the calm, soothing voice that guides our feet – THAT is what we’re all working towards. Knowing that our peace is not rooted in things or relationships (even the ones we think we can’t let go of), but rests solely in our walk with God – THAT is what we’re all working towards. The world could take away ever THNG we own, and every PERSON we love. Does that mean we stop existing? Does that mean we stop going? Does that mean we give up? No. We place our trust, our faith, and hearts in God’s hands. We leave it to God. And unfortunately, it takes life lessons to reach that point. It requires knowledge acquired inside and outside of the classroom.

Learning how to handle life, in essence, means learning how to live it. Just as toddlers learn to walk – slowly, pacing themselves with one foot in front of the other – we learn to live. We begin slowly. We make mistakes. We encounter obstacles. We fall down, but we get back up. If a toddler stopped trying to walk the first time it encountered defeat, it would crawl forever. Who can imagine a life like that? For that very reason, we must accept the challenges life presents to us and consciously move forward, no matter what new days may bring. We must keep going – though we sometimes feel as though we’re completely unprepared for everything being thrown at us. We must take things in stride. Grieve when we have to. Let go of the things we want and trust that we’ll always have exactly what we need. We’ll have to work; sometimes we’ll have to cry. We will keep trying. We will fall. We’ll stand back up…

Know that everything works out in the end. If it hasn’t

Oh Well

What you did to me
Made me see myself something different
Though I try to talk sense to myself
But I just won't listen

Won't you go away, turn yourself in
You're no good at confession
Before the image that you burned me in
Tries to teach you a lesson

What you did to me
Made me see myself somethin' awful
A voice once stentorian is now again
Meek and muffled

It took me such a long time to get back up the first time you did it
I spent all I had to get it back, and now it seems I've been outbidded

My peace and quiet was stolen from me
When I was looking with calm affection
You were searching out my imperfections

What wasted unconditional love
On somebody who doesn't believe in the stuff

You came upon me like a hypnic jerk
When I was just about settled
And when it counts you recoil
With a cryptic word and leave a love belittled

Oh what a cold and common old way to go
I was feeding on the need for you to know me
Devastated at the rate you fell below me

What wasted unconditional love
On somebodyWho doesn't believe in the stuff
Oh, well

Symptoms of Progress

It's interesting how progress can be so uncomfortable. So... uneasy. So un-easy. And yet, progress is freeing. It's liberating. It's fulfilling.

The drive home is always therapeutic for me. I can zone out, blast my iPod, and breathe easy. Heading home is centering because I know I'll soon be surrounded by people who love me unconditionally. There are no expectations of me, either. No one needs help with anything... except Paris, who needed help moving into her dorm. I don't have to cook - Mom and Dad still do that. No one needs to be taken out - Daddy takes ME out. I don't feel guilty about sitting around the house instead of going out and partying. I go to bed early and I wake up late. The phone doesn't interrupt my thoughts. I don't have to report in to anyone. There are no project deadlines. I can talk about myself endlessly without feeling self-conscious of self-absorbed. I can be honest. I can try and sort out my future with my parents, and know they'll offer guidance with ONLY my best interests at heart. I'm not obligated to say or do anything out of friendship, political correctness or standard networking practices. I'm not compelled to conform. I can be myself - the person I am when no one else is looking - and not feel bad about it. There really is no place like home.

The drive, however, is such a huge portion of the trip, that it takes on a life of it's own. It's as much a part of the trip as my actual destination. I can usually make it in 5 hours from door to door on a good day (with no paroling cops) or a maximum of 7 hours in traffic, with stops, and lots of police officers along the interstate. The music sets the tone. Fiona Apple is a favorite.

This woman is so beautifully intense. I remember in high school feeling a pure and real connection with her words, her music and her style. Even though at the time, I couldn't fully process what she was saying, and I couldn't really relate to her story, I understood. And now that I DO understand, and CAN relate, it feels that much more real. To endure hardships and remain standing really is a powerful and striking feat. Her eloquence amongst heart aching stories is what stands out the most. She captures the rawness of her emotions in heavy, layered, brutal but beautiful poems. Some are silly with a light undertone. Others drench you with tears, disbelief and depression. But she tells the complete story. She speaks of her triumphs and failures. She shakes some off; she carries others with her. Above all, she remains true to herself - unashamed... unabashed... bold. I love her for that.

When I traveled home in June, I couldn't stop crying. Every other song in the shuffle playlist had me in tears. Each song triggered a new pain. Each song triggered a reminder. Each song spoke a new truth. Friday's voyage evoked the same emotions, but solicited no tears. I smiled as I sang my heart out. I felt empowered by the fact that, little by little, I had moved beyond that stage of the grieving process. And, I marvel at the fact that I feel more "whole" because of it. I can empathize with her anguish. I can smile now, though just few months ago I felt incredibly wronged. I can breathe again.

The true test unveiled itself when "Oh Well" began to play. The opening chords stirred something in me as soon as I heard them. I inhaled deeply and began to sing... sans tears... loudly. I made it through the whole song.

I made it through the whole song... to the perfect summation:

What wasted unconditional love,
On somebody who doesn't believe in the stuff
Oh Well

Notes to God, III

Hi God,

::sighs:: I've been given a cumbersome load this summer. And, now that the seasons are changing, I'm reflecting on how I handled everything. I would say I did okay. I grew closer to you. I made some mistakes. I learned. I matured. I moved forward. But this weekend presented a new test... and I'm not sure why I needed to go through it. Perhaps my "street smarts" are not up to par with my "book smarts" but I'm not sure why I needed to be tested on those strengths just now? Not questioning you... just throwing that out there.

Friday was hectic to say the least. I woke up late, which meant I was late for my follow-up appointment with the doctor. I was having blood work done and getting a Tetanus Booster shot. Running late to that appointment made me late to my 9:30 meeting at work. That was just annoying. My manager understood and told me my health came first, which I appreciated. But DAMN. Why couldn't I have just gotten out of bed 30 minutes earlier? SMH.

I needed to go back home during lunch and straighten up my apartment. My cousins were going to be staying at my place while I ventured home to see Mom. The keys that I'd had made at Home Depot didn't work (again!) so they would be using my one and only key. I wanted everything to be perfect when they arrived, so I was exhausting myself to get things in order.

Rushed back to work to finish up a project that was due by EOD. Sped BACK home to meet my cousins, pass along the house key, and get on the road for my 6 hour trek to NC. I stopped at a gas station when a man stopped me to inquire about the dent above my right passenger wheel (from where I got hit a few months back). Interestingly enough, someone had stopped me about a week or so ago to ask about the very same dent, offering immediate assistance & repair... for a mere $400. Right. No thank you. Well this young, non-African American minority wanted to fix the dent as well for only $300! Now, I had just gotten paid, but I knew that was too much money to spend on a repair... especially in the parking lot of a gas station.

So, I pulled over to hear his pitch, and before I knew what was happening, he had jumped out of the car, was spackling little Jada with some green goo, and was hammering, prying and shaping the dent without my formal consent. He put the special goo all over the car really, telling me he'd get all of the smaller scratches/dents out for no extra cost. "I don't have $300," I said. "Whatever you can spare ma'am, God bless you," he replied.

I peered in his back seat and saw a young girl sitting there. His daughter, maybe? And sheesh, it was so hot outside. Was he really this desperate for cash? To stop me at a GAS STATION and perform an odd job on a whim? It was sketchy, I'll admit. But, why had so many men been asking me about this measly dent on my car? It wasn't impairing my driving. Why did they care?

Because I was an easy mark. I called three men in my life to ask what I should REALLY pay for the service this man was providing. He told me the "goo" needed to sit on my car for a few hours... to fully get the scratches out... and to protect the paint. So, I couldn't actually see how well he had repaired my car. My dad told me to pay the dude $50. My brother said $150. My cousin said "as close to $300 as I felt comfortable".

I should have listened to Daddy. I've been trying to get this stupid green gunk off my car for the past two days. After a few minor attempts I could see that the scavenging hustler lied to my face about every single "service" he was doing. The dent above my right passenger wheel is admittedly gone - but it still looks a hot mess. The scratch on the rear drivers side is still there - blatantly. The small scratches haven't disappeared. I'm upset about it. Why was he allowed to take advantage of me like that?

I didn't give him $300 like he asked. But I gave him more than $50! What's disappointing is that the money I spent was a nice chunk of the bonus from the hellish project I labored over this summer. That was MY hard-earned money. Gone. And this is the second time in one season a man has pulled the blinds over my eyes, sold me a dream, and left me with nothing. I'm tired of people taking advantage of me. Why does this keep happening.

I've been trying to process the whole series of events, and have decided I can feel one of two ways: 1. Glad I only spent the amount I did; appreciative of a lesson learned (albeit somewhat pricey); and hopeful that the money I gave him will go towards something worthwhile - like food or school materials for the daughter who was sitting in the backseat. 2. I could be pissed.

Obviously I'm going with the former, though the latter is still lingering in my brain. I'm pissed, man. That money was supposed to go towards my new David Yurman bracelet... or my upcoming GMAT class. Geez. That man got me on the okie-doke. I got "got". And I have no contact information for him... no nothing. I guess I was just so eager to finally have my car fixed... and happy to finally be able to afford it (even if it was in the parking lot of a QuikTrip). Now I'm out of money with nothing to show for it. I hope that man is enjoying his win.

So, I guess, God, I'm just wondering why that was necessary. Maybe he needed the money more than I needed a bracelet? Maybe you wanted to show me that I can't trust everyone. I really wanted to see the good in this guy, you know? I wanted to believe that he was doing something right; something positive. Trying to see the "good" in everyone sometimes gets me in trouble, however. It gets my feelings hurt. I can't always champion that glimmer of "goodness" into a personality trait. A glimpse of goodness does not a "good person" make. And, that makes sense. It sucks. But, it makes sense.

Thanks, God. Love you.

Are You Happy Now?

You know what else gets me? The fact that he's able to be happy without me in his life. That's a little narcissistic, no? But the idea that he could be truly perplexes me. How can he begin a new life without me in it, and honestly be happy? I haven't fully been able to re-start mine without him, and on most days, I'm pretty miserable. I'm confident that one day (soon, I hope) I'll be able to pick up those last pieces and start to march on again. But in the meantime, my only consistent thoughts have been of him. I wonder if he ever thinks of me? I wonder how often. And are they angry thoughts? Or, are they occasionally sad, remorseful, wistful, and/or depressing? I may never know.

How is it that some people are able to move on so quickly? Rapidly jumping from one relationship to another without any room to breathe or process what is happening in the midst of all of it? Can you honestly fall that hard, that fast? How is that possible? And, does it occur to you that you're hurting others in the process? Do you care about that at all? Does it even phase you? ::sighs::

Are you actually happy? Seriously? I'd really like to know.

The Root of All Evil

My last few posts have been angry, but therapeutic. I'm going to keep the momentum going.

I'm very angry. It's like carrying a boulder with me every day. As soon as I wake up in the morning... I groggily strap it onto my back. Some mornings when I wake up - free from all troubling thoughts - I smile to myself, proudly, thinking "see, you're not thinking about you-know-what." And then, the clouds overpower those last glimmers of sunlight, the shower feels a little less cleansing, my smile disappears, I hang my head... Damnit. Another long day.

I met a really nice woman named Linda, who's been helping me out a lot. Our conversations are always very candid, and she's always so supportive. Even she can hear the anger in my voice... sometimes when I don't even intend for (or realize) it to be there. She pushes me to find the source of that anger. I mean, of course anyone in my shoes would be angry. But, there is a root. There is a source. And when I find it, after peeling back all of those "angry layers" I might actually start to make real strides towards healing. That would be nice.

Maybe the source is me choosing to ever deal with him in the first place? Maybe I'm angry that I let him drag me through senior year - feeling the highest of highs, and lowest of lows - especially when all I ever wanted from him was a post-pledging, springtime fling? Yeah. I entertained him when he pursued me thereafter. Why wouldn't I? I had already put my cards on the table. I didn't or need anything else from him at the time. Perhaps that intrigued him. Perhaps it offended him. It likely did both. Regardless, why was I the one who had to pay the price for his frail ego? Where did that become my problem?

Maybe I'm angry that I answered the phone in February of 2008. And talked with him for 5 hours... listening to his problems, helping where I could, laughing to ease the tension, letting my guard down in hopes of getting my friend back. Maybe I shouldn't have done that.

Maybe the source is that I didn't read the signs all along the way.
"Hello. He is no good for you. Leave him alone."
"Yield."
"Please, he's sleeping with someone else now... move on."
"Dummy - he's just not that into you."
"He's being mean again... stop dealing with him."
"This will never work out."
"He lied about that, too."
"He's done this to other girls before."
"STOP."
"STOP."
"STOP."

Linda finds it interesting that I always look inside first. "You always ask yourself what YOU did wrong, first?" she said - half inquiring/half stating a fact. "Yeah," I replied. "Are you able to hold others accountable when they've done something wrong?" she asked. "Yes!" I said. But it is, indeed interesting that I always manage to bear a disproportionate amount of the burden. I wonder how many other people do that?

Maybe HE'S the source; the root. Maybe it's all his fault, and I have nothing to be ashamed of; nothing to apologize for. Because he chooses not to bear a burden does not mean he's not at fault. "It seems to me, that this is more about him, than anything," said Linda. "It seems as though he has trouble in committed relationships. He's always dating someone - never for long - and moving on to the next girl rather quickly. He may just have intimacy issues. And, that does not speak to you one bit," she commented, in her soft, soothing voice. That thought relaxes me. His inability to fully engage in committed, intimate, real relationships has nothing to do with me.

His new relationship which has been built on hollow, superficial ground with an unsteady, rocky foundation, therefore, is bound to fail... which also has nothing to do with me... but that thought relaxes me as well.

"I'm free to let go of this whenever I choose," I say to myself each morning. I say it in the car too. And, at my desk. At the gym. At dinner. When I'm falling asleep to Conan O'Brien.

"Whenever I choose..."

Not an "Option"

I am more than a late-night, creep-through, taboo, kiss-but-don't-tell OPTION.

I am beautiful. I am confident. I have my shit together (for the most part). I'm smart. I'm capable. And, I deserve to be treated that way.

I am TIRED of men living lives where they have their cake and eat it too. If you know I'm in town, and you know you want to see me, and you're considering you might want to have a slumber party, DO NOT have guests over at your house until 3:00 am, and think I'll leave and come back to "kick it". You have lost your mind. You should have thought that through before XBox live became the center of your attention for three hours. You should have thought that through before two other girls walked through your door while I was sitting there. You should have thought that through when I announced, LOUDLY, that I was about to leave at 2:30 am. You should have kicked everyone else out.

But no, you let me leave, and asked if I'd come back in 45 minutes. Two years ago, the answer would have been "yes" hands down, because I was thirsty. I loved attention and affection and I did a lot to get it. If a certain someone had asked me the same question five months ago, I would have obliged because I was blinded by what I thought was love. And, maybe it was love... but I'm not in that place or frame-of-mind anymore. If you want my time, you need to act like it. Regardless of whether or not our relationship is "casual" I am not to be treated casually. When you appeared to be "playing it cool" you were really just playing yourself. Step your game up.

WHEW. If I have learned anything it is this: people will treat you exactly the way you let them. I'm no longer the cute puppy dog salivating at the chance for late night encounters. I have new perspective. I have higher standards. I have learned how to make myself happy when nobody else is around. I don't need this bullshit.

Is it too demanding for me to ask that you end prior engagements at a respectable hour so that we can spend quality time together? No. This is not college, and I am not your groupie. I'm not "hanging out" until everyone leaves or falls asleep on your couch. I am grown, and so are you. Maybe I'm just a little bit farther down the road... I'm not concerned with what you did last night or what you're doing tomorrow. All I know is, if you think something is happening between us tonight, it needs to be made a priority. I'm not some afterthought for when Madden grows old. Get it together.

Bundle of Nerves

I'm a bundle of nerves.

I traveled to NY this weekend with a host of plans on my plate. My linesister was celebrating her engagement Saturday night with a small group of family and friends. I figured if I was going to go up and visit her and see NY friends, I might as well take an additional day or two to visit potential MBA programs.

A week before my scheduled departure, however, something tragic happened. A dear friend of mine from school lost his mother in a car accident. My friend - a grad student studying film - was awaiting his parents' arrival for a film festival the grad program was hosting that weekend. En route, a nearby car caught a flat tire, lost control of the car, swerved and pushed my friend's parents into oncoming traffic... causing his father severe injuries, and his mother... death.

This caused me to re-evaluate my plans. I wanted to be in Virginia for the funeral service. And, judging by the timing, it looked as though I would be able to be. I'd have to miss the engagement party, but I was okay with that. Unfortunately, one grave issue was holding me back. Though relatively insignificant, seeing as how we were dealing with death, I wasn't sure I was emotionally prepared to be in the same room (or same car!) as the boy. Yes. He would surely be there. Our mutual friend happened to be the boy's fraternity linebrother. A friend of ours was driving from NY to VA. There was room in the car. He was definitely going.

::sighs:: That sparks a lot of anger within me. A lot. I'm getting heated just typing this. I was trying to use the month of August as a purge. I was going to divorce myself from there mere mention of his name; divorce myself from the thought of him; divorce myself from social networking sites where I might catch a glimpse of what he was doing. But, I needed advice. Should I go to the funeral and risk my own hurt feelings? Or, proceed with the original plan, and show my friend my support some other way?

The fact that I even need to have this internal debate and external search for answers is troubling. Why is this man STILL dictating how I live my life? Why can't I bear to be around him? Why am I continuing to let him affect my decisions? Enough already!! Ugh. Hearing his name this weekend has been enough to make me crazy. I just want him out of my life forever.

And yet, I find myself hoping I'll see him? I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but he moved to New York to be with his new girlfriend. Evidently, it's that serious. He doesn't have a job. And I know from previous experience that he doesn't have much money... but he has her. And being with her is enough of a reason for him to relocate and build a new life in NYC. How nice.

I had the opportunity to distract myself last night... with Lewis. Lewis lives with the two friends that had driven to VA - with the boy - for the funeral. I knew they would be back in the wee hours of the morning, and that I could have a potentially awkward interaction with them depending upon the hour at which I was coming or going. It could have been blissful - I could have seen the boy, at 4:00 am, and really hurt his feelings. Or, he could have shrugged me off, and hurt mine - again.

See what I mean? Everything I do revolves around him? Annoying. So, I didn't stay... partially because Lewis was playing mad games. I walked over to his house after kicking it with some of my linesisters to find a little video game party at the house. Who invited them? And, there were more girls on the way? Oh, word? I don't have time for this. I ate my McDonald's, chatted with the guests, and by 2:30 am I was ready to peace out. So, while we're sitting together on the couch, and I'm slipping my shoes back on, he starts texting me like "where are you going... you should just stay." More on that later.

I'm angry, and sad, and disappointed that I couldn't go to the funeral. I'm angry that I even still care what that boy is doing with his life. I'm irritated that I want to see him - or moreso that I want HIM to see ME. Get out of my head... Go.

Hopefully these business school visits will be fulfilling tomorrow and Tuesday. I have a bright future to look forward to. A future that does not - by any stretch of the imagination - include him. I'm taking it one day at a time. One foot in front of the other. Slowly but surely. ::tears:: Why the fuck is it taking so. damn. long?

Beyond the World of Coca-Cola

Two weekends ago I took Ruby to the World of Coca-Cola. She was in awe of the enormity of the building, the plethora of Coke products, the interactivity of various rooms/documentaries, and the notion that I’d buy her something at the gift shop. “You’re nice,” she commented. However, throughout our outing, I found myself continuing to correct her grammar, and offer etiquette advice wherever possible. “It’s ‘I went’ not ‘I had went,’” I’d chide. “Say ‘excuse me’ when you bump into someone,” I’d say. I felt like the girl’s mother. But, that’s what I’m here for. You know? This is what I signed up for.

To compel her to really work on correct grammar, I tried to make a game out of it. “If I say ‘I had went to the store when your mom called,’ what’s wrong with that sentence?” I asked. “You should say ‘I had gone,’” Ruby replied. “Good!” I’d exclaim. “You’re getting it!” But once we resumed our normal conversation she’d resort to her old, improper grammatical ways. How frustrating.

Anywho, I drove her home (after having reminded her mother I had plans at 7:00 pm) stopping at Checker’s on the way back. Can I tell you that Checker’s has not ONE mention of a vegetable of ANY KIND on their menu? None. “I want a chili dog and a soda,” she said. ::sighs:: “You know my rule,” I replied, “when you eat with me you have to get a vegetable.” So we drove across the street to Church’s to get her some coleslaw. Now, I know I can be a bit bossy. So I really made an effort to soften my tone as I explained my rationale to her. “Do you know why it’s important to eat healthy?” I asked. “Umm… so you have strong bones?” she replied, meekly. “Why else?” “Um. So you can be strong and live a long time…?” she squeaked.

“Does anyone in your family talk about high blood pressure?” She nodded. “Sugar? Does anybody talk about having ‘sugar’?” Nods again. “Those things are a result of not eating right. I talk to you about what you eat because I care about you. I want you to grow up and be strong and healthy. That’s also why I correct your grammar all the time. I want to you graduate from high school, go to a good college and be successful. But it’s important that you remember these things even when I’m not around, okay? When you’re by yourself, try to choose foods that are good for you. And try to remember what we talked about in terms of grammar. What did you have for breakfast today?”

“Nothing,” she said. Wait a minute. She had to have eaten SOMETHING. “You didn’t eat ANYTHING?” I prod. She shakes her head. Bless her heart. This ten year old girl gets one meal a day from a parent who clearly is not educating her on the importance of a balanced meal. It’s not her fault. She just wants a hot dog! Ten year olds like hot dogs. Maybe it’s a lack of money. Maybe it’s a lack of education. Likely, it’s both. All I can do is my part to help. I’m trying.