Layered Frustrations

I can’t really find the words to articulate the source of my frustration. But I know there are several layers that are interfering with my daily thoughts, feelings and general disposition. To start, MLT has commenced and, while I was initially enthralled with the idea of participating in such a highly competitive program, the very first challenges are proving to be slightly overwhelming. The writing portion of our monthly assignments will get handled. No sweat. But this f-ing GMAT score might be the death of me. I have invested a nice portion of my annual income into a Kaplan course and, for whatever reason, cannot seem to find the time or mental capacity to study. There are 1000 things I’d rather do each night, every weekend, and in any spare moment I may find. What is my problem?

On top of that, after months of counseling, a new boy, and countless “breaths of fresh air” I find myself troubled with thoughts of the Old Boy again. This past three-day Valentine’s Weekend was emotional to say the least. In fact, the months of January and February combined have been a bit tumultuous for me. I’ve been in a constant funk for no reason at all. Perpetual PMS, if you will. I’ve managed to keep it (for the most part) to myself and try to let it pass. But V-Day weekend was kind of a big deal, and for me to be alone while he’s in NY living it up pulled at every heartstring I think I have.

I get that Valentine’s Day is a “Hallmark Holiday” invented by the consumer products industry to gross over 14 billion dollars annually… but so what? What’s wrong with celebrating love and affection once a year? What’s wrong with telling people (be they friends, lovers, parents, etc.) how you feel? What’s wrong with dinner, flowers, or even a movie night to celebrate the warm fuzzy feeling you get when you’re with that special someone? And, if you have no one… what then?

I ended up at a dinner with friends on Sunday night, and it proved to be just what I needed – lighthearted and full of laughter. Even Monday was pretty cool. I ran a few errands and visited with grandma (who’s still hanging in there!). Whatever.

I think that the failed relationship with the Old Boy coupled with the disastrous disappointment named Aaron is weighing on me more than I’d care to acknowledge. And, trying to focus on my future is not proving as helpful (or even as plausible) as others would lead one to believe. It’s like I’m living in my own mini-hell (again) and everyone is just standing around watching. Even my friends from college appear to be gravitating toward the Old Boy and his new girl… quoting them both on Twitter, causally mentioning them in conversations, appearing to enjoy their company overall. It’s annoying. Try as I may, I can’t seem to escape this sociopath. And he appears to have all of my “college friends” clouded with his devilish deceit. Smh. I hate this.

I have got to get out of here.

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..."

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?

Clairvoyance

What the fuck have I been doing for the past four years?

After many internal conversations, much agonizing, countless tears and circling conversations, I have reached a timeless conclusion – one I end at repeatedly – I’m over it. I’m not necessarily “over it” in the sense that I’m over The Boy… because, though I should be, I’m not quite there. And not “over” all relationships… because I feel as though I’m actually pretty close to being ready for a real one. I’m over the grown-up childishness of having a “boo,” or “talking” to someone, or endless “dating” with no real future. I’m over laughing at derogatory jokes about women. I’m over misogynistic hip-hop lyrics. I’m over our over-sexed society. I’m over black men who cannot commit. I’m over black men who CAN commit, and only refuse to do so with “the boo”. I’m over jump-offs. I’m over casual sex (for the most part). I’m over “playing it cool” to score points with someone who probably doesn’t deserve the 15 minutes of time I’m willing to spend.

I’m over late night conversations that won't ever see the dawn of a new day. I’m over cutesy text messages with no real purpose. I’m over men who say one thing and mean another. It’s all so silly. I’m over sucking it up for the sake of “what if” and “maybe later”. I’m over sacrificing my wants and needs for those of others. I’m over the game.

The pain I have endured over the past three months (disproportionately as a result of my dealings with this whore-boy) has taught me so, so much. Not only do I realize what I can put up with versus what I will put up with, but I appreciate that I don’t HAVE to put up with shit. I can do bad all by myself. I can date outside of my race. I can achieve happiness being alone. Purely physical relationships tend to get me in trouble anyway. And for what? What is fulfilling about a casual encounter? Where is the love in any of that? When is the last time I WAS in love? When will I find it again?

Granted, I’m being built into a better me. God is really working some magic this summer. And, while it hurts like hell, I KNOW it is for the best. I do not doubt it for one second. But, I’ve been chastising myself for my “number”. Not in a holier-than-thou religious sense, but in a perfectionist you-know-you-know-better sense. Why did add those worthless “notches”? Who even CARES about some of these dudes?! I get so angry.

I’m not bitter. I’m refreshed, actually.

Clairvoyant.

High.

How sweet is the realization that substantive relationships are attainable, and real, and well-deserved? Hell no, I don’t have to settle for a non-committal sociopath. I could actually meet someone amazing! Someone older. Someone mature. Someone grounded. I could test these fragile and somewhat hardened wings again… soaring over the disgust and contempt I once felt for he who shall forever remain nameless. I will rise above it. There is someone out there with whom I’m more compatible and more equally yoked. Maybe he’s sitting at a corner Starbucks reading today’s Post. Maybe he’s buying a new mixtape at Moods Records in L5P. Maybe he’s working late nights, grinding, just like me. Maybe…

I know it’s not time for me to meet him yet – because, like I said, I’m not there yet. My head is still jumbled with fleeting thoughts of The Boy. My heart is still reeling from the petty, but hurtful email war with the GF. She made me feel small. She chastised me for mistakes I know I should have never made. She gutted me. Yanked me by my roots and tossed me aside. And, though their foundation is unsteady – built upon lies, and backstabbing, and false realities – it doesn’t involve me. Though I cringe as I reflect upon her words, and secretly continue to plot against her… their present does not involve me. I don’t even care about the two of them together. I care that I was and continue to be affected by her sharp and pervasive WORDS. Sticks and stones… I know… but still.

I still have a few more things to learn. I still have a few more miles to go. I still have some rebuilding to do. My mom has some more wisdom to share. My heart has some mending to bear. I have a few more tears, I think. A few more prayers… Some kinks to iron out. I’ll get there. I’m not too worried about it… I’m just disappointed about those four frivolous years: dealing with him, rebounding from him, forgetting about him, remembering him, spiting him, reconnecting with him, believing him, ignoring him, trusting him, and burying him... for good. I used men as tools during the rebound years to make myself feel better. Or, to make him feel worse… To numb college heartache... To satisfy drunken curiosity... None of it seems to have meant anything now. None of it seems relevant. None of it seems useful. So, why’d I do it?! And, why did I let it go this far?

What the fuck have I been doing for the past four years?

My Work E-Mail?

So. Awhile ago I did something silly. I'll admit it was slightly psychotic, but whatever. Sometimes people will push you places. I sent the new GF an email detailing all of the ups and downs of my "relationship" with the boy. The only catch - I sent it from a fake e-mail address. Fun, right? Nice and dramatic.

Time passed, he withdrew his business from my company. He and I exchanged choice words via email, gchat, what have you. I was making progress in my life, learning to live without him, juggling the multiple work stresses and stresses from back at home... I was doing okay.

In a conversation with Dionne the other day, however, she revealed that he had been treating her "weird" in the past months. She didn't know about the email, but once I explained the situation to her, she said things began to make sense. No wonder he had been rude and stand-offish with her in social settings. He thought SHE was the one who sent the cold and somewhat out-of-line email. ::sighs::

Out of loyalty to her, I broke my two-month silence with the boy, notifying him that it was I who sent the email. He needed to keep Dionne out of it. Well, that was a terrible move. Within hours, I received an email from his GF - sent directly to my two google accounts and my work email. MY WORK EMAIL.

Let me tell you something. It doesn't matter what kind of personal drama anyone is EVER going through. You DO NOT play on people's work email. You DO. NOT. PLAY. on people's work email. Ever. No excuse. I was heated. Livid, really. Trembling to the point that I could not think straight.

Now, I guess this is what I get for playing around on email to start off with, but to be perfectly honest, my intentions weren't 100% malicious. I was angry to start off with, but I really felt like she should know what she was getting into. I guess she'll have to learn the hard way. No longer my problem. I can't say I haven't been plotting against her since yesterday though. Trying to figure out the right way to clear my name and erase all of the terrible lies that boy has been tellin her. But why do I even care? He's moving to New York to be with her, and based on her email to all THREE of my accounts, they're "incredibly happy" together. Well isn't that beautiful.

I'm going to try not to dwell on it. I really am. But I know how I get and it will take a minute to get this out of my system. The audacity of BOTH of them. He is a ridiculous person and it's a blessing that he has been removed from my life. She CLEARLY does not see the whole picture, otherwise she wouldn't be so desperate to paint their love story for me. I'm no longer sad about him or pining to have him back in my life. I secretly hope he gets hit by a bus in Harlem, or mugged in broad daylight. Is that bad?

Who cares.

My mom is hilarious. I'm so glad we're getting to the point where I can tell her *practically* anything. I told her tidbits about my current drama - enough to get her perspective without totally outing myself - and she agreed with me. She took my side. So I started telling her more stuff, the stuff I had done wrong, and she said to me "sometimes people just have to get cursed out." Now, my mother does not curse whatsoever. So to hear that comment from her made me laugh out loud. She said "sometimes people just push you to the point that you have to do that. If you can't talk to them in your language, you have to talk to them in theirs." It was nice to hear her say that. To me, it reaffirmed that I had been handling this okay. I couldn't escape blame for what I did, and I'll own up to that. But the fact that this boy has been lying to the GF about me, and she's buying every word is slowly driving me crazy.

It goes back to the control issue, I guess. Clearly I don't have any in this predicament. It's bittersweet to have to "let it go" especially when I have so much else I want/need to say to both of them. It just means the final episode of this soap opera will be epic. Knock down, drag out. Monumental. It's not to say that I thrive off of drama because I typically avoid it at all costs. But, man. He is taking it there, and I'm tired of being trampled by his foolishness. Deep breaths.

What goes around comes around.

Enough Already!

As if I don't have enough on my mind.

This weekend was a full one. I kicked off Friday afternoon (thank God for Summer Fridays!) with a "Bitch Session Happy Hour" with co-workers. It relieved a lot of stress and left me in my happy place - full of chips & salsa and tipsy off of house margaritas. I babysat that night, dozing off to re-runs of TNT original programming.

Saturday began nicely enough. I slept in, then headed to an annual bday pool party for a good friend of mine. After a few hours of basking in the sun, I made my way to a separate bday get-together for one of my linesisters. A lot of our other linesisters had made the voyage down from NYC to help her celebrate, and I wanted to be sure I saw everyone before they left. I arrived to her apartment, tan and tipsy. Pleasantries were exchanged. And man, I was genuinely happy to sit around, sipping beer, with such esteemed ladies. Though we were all around the same age, I admired these women so much for their progress in their professional lives, their fashion sense, their humor, their warmth... I had been anxious to finally chat with my college peers about some of the things going on in my life. I knew they'd each be able to relate to the man-drama, the work-drama, the family-drama... and I was 100% confident that SOMEONE would offer me a little tidbit of advice that would help put things in perspective for me. How did each of them endure hardships and remain fly in the process? How did they make the tough times seem so easy?

But instead, we talked mostly on the superficial level about work and our readiness to move on to the "next phase" in our individual lives - whatever that may be... Slightly disappointed about the lack of depth in our conversation (mind you, they were all getting dressed & ready for the club that night) I took it in stride, and continued the glossed-over convo topics until they were ready to go. Beer in hand, I joked to one linesister about twitter and how she had yet to approve my "follow" request. I still don't quite understand why people protect their updates... but okay. It was at that point she said she had a "bone to pick" with me. WTF? Was she serious?

In typical Michele fashion, I racked my brain trying to figure out exactly what - if anything - she could be upset about. She and I hardly ever kept in touch, and saw each other on rare occasions, such as this one, when lots of sorority sisters happened to be in the same place. Come to find out, she was upset over something I supposedly said to her ex-boyfriend in 2006. This was a time in my life when I was devastated over the boy (much like I am now) and found myself at the gym almost every afternoon. From time to time, Anisa would come with, and we'd jog along my alma mater's track in early evening hours. Of course, there were tons of other students and post grads with the same mentality - running/jogging along the track, and playing soccer on the field. So, summer evenings became somewhat of a skit, with everyone half-working-out, half-socializing after work or after class.

My LS's newly ex-boyfriend noticed Anisa and asked me "what her deal was". Knowing that he had just broken up with my LS, I was in somewhat of an awkward position. In honesty, I told him she was single - nothing more. However, when he translated the story back to my LS, it was I who initiated the hook-up, pushing Anisa onto him in a twisted, malicious attempt to somehow ruin... I don't even know. The shit just doesn't even make sense. Anisa wasn't even FEELING him, which make the story all the more preposterous. Whatever.

As if I don't have enough on my mind.

SHE had a BONE to pick with ME?! Sweetheart - you're three years too late. Why didn't you bring this up then and there? We could have nipped it in the bud, and all would be long forgotten. Second - he's LYING. Now, of course you'll believe your man, or ex-man, or whatever he is, before me. I get that. But please believe that meddling like that it not my style (unless the situation pertains directly to me) and I respect(ed) you way too much to ever do something like that. "Water under the bridge," she called it after she'd gotten that off of her chest. Oh. You have no idea. I'm officially over you, and everyone else who even thinks of bringing added drama into my life. I have no space for it.

::Sighs:: On Sunday I volunteered at my church, had brunch with friends, picked up Ruby for two hours of bonding, and then headed to a bday cookout. The time with Ruby was positive but draining. I watched her splash around my apartment pool (begging me repeatedly to get in with her - but to no avail), then fed her ice cream over a few Hannah Montana episodes. I gave her a mini-manicure and made a deal with her that if she read 10 books over the summer, I'd get her an iPod. See. I'm trying to be a good person. The cookout was fun (even though I was SO exhausted). After a few Bacardi-Pineapples I loosened up and chatted with Melanie about even more weekend drama that I hadn't even been aware of. Whenever too many women (esp. sorority sisters) get around each other, there's like a 24-hour threshold before we start plotting to devour one of our own. Sad but true.

Blah, blah, blah. Watched the SATC Movie last night and cried my eyes out. I'm convinced it was a by product of sleeplessness, PMS, and residual sadness regarding the boy. When will I move past him? When will I stop caring about his every move? His every thought? His bear hugs...? Ufck it, I miss him. Okay? Even though he has hurt me again, and broadcasts his every thought of her via gchat, and plasters love song lyrics on his facebook wall (soliciting "thumbs up" and "likes this" comments from HER in every. single. instance)... I'm still curious to know how he's REALLY doing. Does being "strong" mean I will never talk to him again? That seems as much a disservice to me as it is to him. If I call him, does that make me "weak"? Will I even care this time next Monday when Aunt Flow has come and gone?

And how does any of this compare to the health of my mother or grandmother? It doesn't. Where are my priorities?

Who knows. Who cares.

Whatever.

The Valley

I drove home for Memorial Day weekend to attend a funeral. A friend's brother passed away, and the service commemorating his life was taking place that Sunday. Before I made it home, though, I was alerted that my mother was back in the hospital. She'd been having trouble sleeping, trouble breathing, and overall weakness in her body. Guess the bear hug I needed from her was going to have to wait. This weekend, she needed me more.

I arrived in my hometown too late to visit her that night. She was scheduled for release the next day, and I was prepared to take care of her in any way that she needed. My brother and his future wife made it in town about 30 minutes after I did (close to 1:00 am). Dad was asleep and Paris was busy on her laptop... so I watched a movie to calm my nerves about the next day's events.

I woke up Saturday morning, dialed Mom, and found out she wouldn't be coming home any time soon. The doctors were awaiting test results and, since many of them had the holiday weekend off (!!), she would be spending the next three days cooped up in a hospital room. WTF. So, in eldest child fashion, I began knocking on bedroom doors and rounding up the troops. "Get up!" I said, brushing tears off of my cheeks, "we're going to the hospital."

I headed downstairs for a quick pep talk with Corinne. Both of her parents had just finished rounds of Chemo, and I needed to know what I was in for. Granted, I was jumping to conclusions as no one had mentioned the word "cancer" just yet, but I needed to know what to do. How was I supposed to handle this?

Corinne did her best to reassure me, and I jumped into the shower so that we could leave. Once we arrived to her room, I opened the door surprised and elated to see my grandparents and Aunt seated around the room alongside my father. Sighs of relief. She was not alone. We exchanged warm welcomes and found our places (chairs, window sills, the foot of the bed, etc.). We were going to be there for awhile. The day was passing quietly enough when yet another troubling bit of news came to us by phone. My paternal grandmother, God bless her, was suffering from dementia. Though my dad and his own siblings had moved her to an assisted living home, her health was starting to get the better of her. She had suffered a few mini-strokes over the past weeks (unbeknownst to my aunts and uncles), and wasn't in good shape. She was having trouble recognizing her own children's faces. She was weak....

When it rains it pours.

My siblings and I left around 4:00 to grab dinner, and returned (after a brief nap) to spend the evening with Mom. She was a bit groggy and obviously tired, but she was not defeated. I love that lady. By 11:30, after the Lakers BARELY slid by the Nuggets, it was time to give Mom some rest. Both my little bro and I were too weirded out by the day's events to go straight home - so we headed to a hookah bar. He, his girlfriend and I partook of Watermelon and Blue Ice hookah along with bottomless cocktails that night. After awhile, we began to feel the effects of the smoke and spirits, and had a quiet breakdown at the corner patio table. I started it. We were talking about how great our parents were, and how strong they had been in raising us. The mere thought of anything remotely negative happening to her became too much to bear. Then my bro was in tears. Thinking about Grandma, and our family as a whole, and how devastating it would be for Dad if anything - in either situation - went awry.

Whew.

Sunday, I woke up exhausted but oddly refreshed after some much needed rest. I got dressed and headed to the funeral. For the most part, I was able to stay together, shedding a tear every now and then as thoughts of other potential funerals began to cloud my thoughts. Had to shake those off... Funerals, though tragic, are often beautiful. The poems, testimonies and words that family members used to express their remembrance of the deceased were beautiful. The most poignant statement to me, came from his father. He said that family had to hold on to one another in times like this. Others may try to console you, and express their regret, but their words won't necessarily mean that much when you are grieving. Only those others who have experienced your exact same loss will understand and truly be able to offer comfort. He said "do not take advice from people who have not been in your situation; people cannot give what they don't have." How true. And, I sought to apply that in my own life. While I was worried about my mom, my grandmother, and my now-deceased relationship with the boy (why was I even still thinking about that?!) I could only look to God to truly help me. Friends with parents who had fought cancer would be helpful. Family members or friends with ailing grandparents might offer insights here and there. Any girl with a broken heart knows what it feels like to have someone she loves bite the dust. But, the culmination of these things all at once? Having one's heart and mind stretched to capacity in a matter of hours? Who can advise on that? ::sighs::

Monday was better, but I dreaded having to leave. I had so much on my mind. I had so many questions. I had so much to say. And I needed help! I needed my Mommy to tell me what to do; to help make things right. So, I went alone to visit her. We sat and talked; we watched TV. And, as I was packing up my things to leave, I broke down again. I was crying about so many things that I couldn't even get the words out. Nurses entered and left to change her IV, take her temperature, and offer assistance. I just sat there, cradled in her left arm, waiting for them to leave.

We talked about relationships, and being single until you're thirty. I feel like that's the road I'm on these days. She said to me "I think you're worried about this because you see your brother with his girlfriend all the time. If he didn't bring her to every thing, you probably wouldn't even be focused on it." She was right. And while I didn't mention all of the devastating things that had happened in my own love life lately, her comment did put a few things in perspective. Why was I still trippin' about that estranged young man? Hellooooo. That ship has sailed.

We talked about how she was going to be just fine. Seeing me cry was going to make her cry. We all needed to just keep our spirits up and know that God was going to handle it. Had all of this church-going taught me nothing?! Of course God was going to handle it. Everything was going to be just fine!

24-Hour Rule

Cece has this thing called the 24-Hour Rule. I don’t know how the hell she came up with it, or how she manages to stick to it. The basic premise is this: do not allow yourself to experience any intense emotion for longer than 24 hours. If something exciting happens, you can only be joyous for 24 hours. If you feel like dog poo, you can only cry and sulk for 24 hours.

Thursday was hard. Emotionally, it was the most difficult day I’ve had in a very, very long time. It was hard to concentrate. I found myself blankly staring at my computer screen, going through the motions, just trying to make it shedding as few tears as possible. I took many bathroom breaks. My face was pale. My nose was red. I can only hope my occasional sniffles didn’t bother the cube mate who sits across the aisle from me. Maybe he just thinks I have allergies or something. Who cares.

By the afternoon, I was over my meager attempts at work, and found myself surfing YouTube for ANYTHING that might make the afternoon more bearable. Voila. I found the last five episodes of “The Game” that I had never gotten around to watching. The CW gave them a terrible time slot and wonders why the show doesn’t perform?! When the show is inevitably cancelled, it will be missed. The mixture of drama, comedy and real-life reactions are all too powerful and hit extremely close to home these days. [SPOILER ALERT] In the final episodes, the sexiest character (named Jason) ends up in jail for fighting Kelly’s “beau”. In a touching visitation session, Jason and Kelly have a heart-to-heart and really begin re-connect. All drama aside, it’s clear that these two still care about one another. Kelly pre-maturely develops this idea that she and her ex-husband will reunite and all will be well in the world. She looks at his jail time and trial as a sign that God is ‘bringing them back together’. As soon as he gets off, however, he embraces Kelly and thanks her, then proceeds to run to the arms of his new girlfriend. How fitting.

Brittany Daniel isn’t necessarily the best actress, but I swear she captured real emotion in those last scenes. And, I did appreciate that Derwin and Mel wound up together after all the drama. I mean – that really is what it’s all about. How do you know that you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, for better or worse, until you endure all the triumphs and failures of a relationship? Well, you have to make it through a variety of trying situations and hold steadfast to the person beside you – for better or worse. I know it’s just a show, but watching young black couples make it on television is rare – especially in a manner that I can relate to. It restored in me a tiny bit of faith in relationships. A tiny piece.

Today is a new day. After work (yay for Summer Fridays!) I’m heading home with Anisa to see my parents, attend a funeral, and hopefully get some much needed rest. Rest from work, my personal life, and anything else that’s plaguing me right now. I’m looking forward to mom hugging me. I’m looking forward to dad’s cooking. I’m looking forward to some fresh air.

Since I’m just now subscribing to the “24 Hour Rule,” I might make a slight amendment for the first go-round and grant myself 48. Deep breaths. Everything is going to be okay…

Untitled

Am I being punished?

I had this same thought the summer after I graduated. Had I done something so terribly wrong that I deserved to feel used, betrayed and manipulated? The following summer, in 2007, was slightly better. I had managed to pick myself up and heal most of my wounds. But one fateful evening in February of 2008, my phone rang. It was him. We talked for five hours. FIVE. I was in awe, and shocked, and pleased all at once. Was it possible?! Could I really get my friend back?

Weeks later I visited Dionne and saw him. We re-connected. A few months after that, I visited him alone. I was of sound mind, and fully capable of managing a platonic relationship with him. Even if we did slip up now and then, and regress back into our old non-relationship ways... I was okay with it. I understood the parameters of our friendship and knew that nothing more would ever bloom from seeds sewn so long ago.

But, as we had done before, our friendship began to intensify. In 2008 we were talking twice a week... then three times a week... by autumn it was every day. By winter it was every night, some mornings and gchatting while at work. There was New Years and Valentine's Day. There were our birthdays. He told me he loved me. And, I began to think "what if" and "why not?" It felt nice, and it was going well. And we were only three driving hours apart. And he was being so sweet and paying so much attention to me. And... And... And then, suddenly and without warning, it was over. Just like that. Over. The person he told me he "met" was actually a young woman who had been to visit him before. They had been e-mailing, and talking and building something long before he ever thought to mention it to me. Bits and pieces of an explanation eventually painted a picture of the truth for me. The WHOLE truth; not just the truth he wanted me to see. A nasty email was sent. There were two weeks of silent treatment. I broke the silence. Choice words were exchanged. And finally, there was closure.

But this morning I woke up weeping. I fell to my knees, in a bath towel and shower cap, begging for forgiveness, peace of mind, the ability to move on, the capacity to STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. "Please! Please, please, please, please, please," I rocked back and forth. Never mind I would be late to work. Never mind the extreme highs God had given me in the days immediately following the bad news. I was deep in the valley. I am deep in the valley. It hurts.

And what is it, exactly, that I'm hurt about? Did I think that we really had potential? No. But, I so hoped that we would. I hoped that something magical would happen and make all of our differences manageable. Yes, he's Catholic and I'm Baptist. That's okay, right? No. We have staunch religious beliefs that neither of us are willing to compromise on. Yes, I will venture to New England for grad school, and he will stay in the South. Pah! Did I really think we would be "just friends" for 4+ years without one of us finding intrigue in another person? That's laughable. Honestly. He doesn't believe in pre-nuptial agreements. I do. He wants lots of kids. I don't. I'm a giver. He's a taker. And, would I ever fully be able to let go of the pain I felt so long ago from college? Or, would I always secretly hold him accountable for past mistakes, and leverage said mistakes in any argument of my choosing? That's no way to build a relationship.

He said he wanted to get away from everything that reminded him of his "college self". He said he has bigger and better plans for himself, and he knows that I will do great things as well. He said he handled it the best way he knew how to, and still I'm upset with him. He doesn't know what he could have done differently. I had the freedom to date other people and chose not to. He met someone who inspires him, captivates him, and he has fallen hard for her (quickly, I might add).

Don't I deserve the same thing? Well, I know that I do. One source of my frustration, however, is that he is able to find happiness so quickly with someone else and I have NO IDEA when I will find the same. I know that God has Divine Timing, but where does it say that we must suffer such heartache in the meantime? I'm aching! I feel like something was stolen from me. I feel blindsided and rejected. I feel alone.

About a year ago I wrote that I had "all the answers" for women who were desperate for a man. I knew exactly what to say to women who use the "boo status" as a backdoor to a relationship. Now, I'm looking at myself and I'm starting to feel pathetic. Is that not what I have just spent the past months doing, myself? Telling myself if I just wait it out, and remain patient, and give him what he wants... that he will come around. The truth of the matter is that you cannot settle for less. You have to demand - yes, DEMAND - the respect you deserve. If you want a relationship and he does not, then keep it moving. If he can get "relationship-like" qualities out of you without giving you an appropriate label, then why won't he? Meanwhile, while you're pining for him, and rejecting guys who seek to court you, he's out searching for a wife! He will leave you in the cold! And who will you have to blame?

This is not 100% my fault. He could and should have been more forthright and honest with me about this new girl. By the same token, was I not listening when he said "I love how fluid our relationship is... and that you're cool with it." Yes. I was present for that statement. He did not want what I wanted. No amount of patience was going to fix that. He told me he "wasn't ready for a relationship" which I believed. Somehow, this woman has managed to change his mind. I can't even be mad at that. He and I were not compatible. Maybe they are. Only God knows for sure.

When it occurred to me that I really wanted something more, and it wasn't something that he would be able to provide, then I should have moved on. I should have sacrificed my superficial contentment with our "situation" for the inevitable great relationship that I know God has in store for me. Even if it meant being alone. Especially if it meant being alone. I'm too good for this bullshit. I'm looking forward to the day I can say "I've cried my last tears" over him.

I will ask the Lord to grant me that privilege today, tonight, tomorrow morning... as long as it takes. I'm so over this! So, so, so over this. I can't believe I let myself fall back into this trap. I can't believe I'm obsessing over him like this. I desperately want to move on but can't seem to figure out how. I lean on my friends when I can, and then go home and beat myself up for making the same mistake twice. Anisa thinks I'm so strong, which I love. But, I have a secret. Strength, in my situation, involves: Weeping in the morning, applying my "strong face" with Mac blush, Almay eyeliner and nude lipgloss, praying often, laughing occasionally, heading home, and sleeping in a fetal position - tears streaming down my face - hoping that the night will last just a few hours longer to delay another painful morning. That doesn't feel like strength. It feels average.

Whatever. What. Ever. This is not the end of the world - just the end of a friendship. He was in my life for a season, and it's time to move past it. He already has, so really, there isn't much to even hold on to. I need to get that through my thick skull. This is over. It's over. The end.

God Speaks, Pt. 2

After dinner, I snuck out (leftovers in hand) to head to the Bilal concert. I was meeting a guy friend for the show, and calling it a date to make myself feel better about life. I paid for my own ticket, but he kept the drinks flowing. I felt good about it. The opening act was cool, but when Bilal took the stage - my GOD. A whole new energy poured into the venue. I was on my 4th Vodka Tonic and catching a contact before he even got halfway into the first song. He performed a mixture of songs from his unreleased album "Love for Sale," and the better-known album, "First Born Second." The crowd hooped and hollered with every riff, ad-lib, and solo. But the most triumphant moment of the evening was when everyone detected the opening chords for "Sometimes."

I wish I could find a way to describe the pure euphoria of those ten minutes. I felt something stirring in my soul as I watched Bilal sing, scream, whisper and speak the lyrics of the song. Not one mouth was closed as everyone in the venue sang along. "This is a song that makes me spill out all my guts, sometimes! I wish I wasn't me... sometimes!" brothas yelled. I saw the hands of God tugging at everyone's hearts. He was working in the smoky, sweaty hole-in-the-wall club. "I wish I knew the truth without searching!" I exclaimed. Happy. Hurt. Peaceful. I was in awe of the experience. People weren't just singing - they were releasing. "...Sometimes, you ain't good to me and I am good to you and you don't see my intentions the way that I do, sometimes," we all pleaded. Eyes were closed, sweat was dripping off of foreheads, sistas were rocking back and forth with hands in the air. "Hey Slim, you should be nicer than you are sometimes," I screamed. Yesssss! This is what I'm saying! Yesssss! "You got me wishin' I didn't HAVE HOME TRAINING SOMETIMES." Get out of my head, Bilal.

"I wish I knew life with nooooo pain, sometimes. I wish I held the keys to this game, sometimes," we all cheered. "...I'm sayin' it because I love you, and I wanna grow with you baby. But you wanna run in the other direction, so, I got to stay on my path until I win! I win! I win! I win! I wanna win... I wanna win..." We're jumping up and down now. We're rejoicing. We're releasing. Everyone else knows the words to our favorite song. We all feel the same way. We all have something bottled up inside and right here, right now, in this place, at this moment, with the rest of our beautiful black brothers and sisters, we're getting it out.

I was close to tears. And, I was centered, and peaceful for the rest of the evening. It was like attending an ultra-alternative church service. The Reverend was preaching through song, and the hymns moved through us like holy water. I had called on God. I had begged Him to have mercy on me, and help me through this rough patch. God did just that.

THEEEENNNNNN I met my IDOL - Eric Roberson! I know that idolatry is a sin, but Erro is a genius, and I was elated to meet him. In my drunken stupor, I said to my date "that's Eric! I'm going to go say hi." LOL. I waltzed right up to him and introduced myself. I told him I loved his music, that I come to all of his shows in the city (except for the most recent one due to a prior engagement), and that during one show in particular, when he and Algebra had forgotten the words to a song, I was the one in the audience singing loudly to remind them what the words were. At that time, he had tried to send the mic my way, but I shied away, dodged the mic, and retreated into the audience. He remembered me! I told him I loved the new stuff he had on his blog, and that he should leak more tunes for fans like me. I also commented to him that we had the same alma mater which had him beaming. We produce some talented individuals, I tell ya'. We took a picture together, I told him it was a pleasure to meet him, and then I bounced. How fulfilling.

Sunday morning, I picked up Ruby and headed to church. (Real, conventional church with an ordained pastor and everything). The sermon was about Graduating and respecting the PAUSE that God places in our lives. The metaphor Pastor Olu used was this: after our last final, and before we walk across the stage, every senior has to pause. They have to wait for their grades and pray that those credits add up! It is during that time they should and must reflect. God is about to move them into a new place in their life. By the same token, we don't have to be a student for God to graduate any of us to a new place in our life. There are peaks and there are valleys. In order for God to get us from one mountaintop to another, we have to pause in the valley, assess our relationship with HIM, and sometimes, we have to let some things go. God wishes that we would just TRUST in Him sometimes. Yes, it's painful now to have to let a person in our life go, but if we would just trust in the Lord and believe that He has something better planned for us - we could reach that next mountaintop so much faster! We get so consumed with everyone else. We feel like God has pulled us over on the interstate, and all of our friends are just whizzing past us. Why has God made us pause? Because He as something SO GREAT in store for us... and He needs us to stop for a second, and prepare ourselves, and meditate, and concentrate, and align ourselves with HIM. Amen? Amen.

I'm growing.

I had been trying my hardest to stick with that boy. I had compromised myself a number of times. I had compromised my feelings. I had compromised my heart. I had compromised my health. The only way God was going to get me to wake up was if the boy did something so drastic... so devastating... that I had no other choice but to throw in the towel. I obviously had not learned my lesson the last time. I had manged to overlook so many "little lies" and so many uncomfortable situations. But this was the last straw. I mean, I'm worth so much more. And he was bringing less and less to the table. God had to do something dramatic so that I would pay attention. That doesn't mean it hurts any less. But I see clearly now.

I'm also having to learn to stop beating myself up all the time. Of course I tried hard to make it work. I'm built that way. Giving up is way harder than trying. I didn't do anything wrong. And, females find themselves in the exact same situation as me all the time. I should never apologize for doing my best. And that's all I did. I gave him the best of me, though he did not really deserve it. And, to be honest, the boy is already forgiven. Because this situation is not about him and me. It's about what God wants for our lives. We're better off apart. I will have to learn to love him from a distance. While I will miss our conversations about good music, and good books, and politics, and stupid things we've seen in the media... I will find new outlets for these conversations. I will move forward and (try to) not look back. I have no other choice.

Ruby and I went to a baseball game after church, and while she played in the kids section, I phoned my mom for a quick chat. She could tell by the sound of my voice that I was feeling better. I was. I told her about my weekend, and what I was learning about God. She was proud of me. I'm proud of me. The Lord is working in my life in ways that I don't fully understand just yet. But I'm breathing sighs of relief. I'm thanking the Lord for blessing me in the midst of my trial. I'm overwhelmed and excited to be growing closer to Him. It's been a long time coming...

Clutch Players

"When someone shows you who they are, believe them."
~Maya Angelou

I will say this. My friends, for all of their weaknesses, and even in light of recent events... they come through in the clutch. They're there when it matters. They pick me up when I fall. And, even when I haven't fallen... and just feel deeply disappointed in someone, or something for that matter... they stay down for the cause. Whatever I need. They are there. I'm so, so blessed.

I wish I could say the same for the boy. It's officially over. No more back and forth. No more obsessive blogging. No more denial. No more wishing, dwelling, pleading, or crying. I'm done. And you know, it's not even as emotional of a departure as it could be. I've been through this before. I'm still alive. I have the capacity to keep going, and I will. He's just not that into me. He met someone, and wants to explore what it's about. While his initial statement on Thursday was not as forthcoming as it should have been, it was an attempt (albeit halfhearted and pathetic) at honesty. It took a phone call with Dionne to get the true story. It took a follow up call with the boy to hear him say it himself. He's a tricky little man. He didn't volunteer any information. But, I knew the right questions to ask, and got the information I needed from him. I'm not as mad at him as I am at the situation. The words were hard to hear. But, I'm glad they were said.

He's selfish. Plain and simple. He wanted to reap the benefits of our "thing" and pursue other possibilities at the same time. He thought his "quick chat" on Thursday was the out that he needed, telling himself "at least I was honest with her," when in reality, it was just the tip of the iceberg. He didn't mention that she had been to his hometown in recent weeks to see him. He didn't mention that she lived in New York. He didn't mention he'd be seeing her in DC that weekend. And, when we spoke yesterday, he had NO intentions of telling me how serious their courting actually was. Nope. He was going to keep me in the dark. Until when? ::sighs::

Fool me twice, shame on me.

I'm keeping it together, though. I'm upset, don't get me wrong, but I'm not devastated. I'm not irate. I'm just really, really disappointed. I know this is for the best. I know that I can do better. I know that I WILL do better. I deserve it. I really do. I just wish it hadn't come to this so soon... you know? I was enjoying it. But, it is when we are most uncomfortable that we achieve the most growth. And, boy, this young man is teaching me life lessons and growing me up SO fast. It's hard staying strong. It's hard staying mature. I'd really like to find his social security number and ufck up his credit. I'd like to throw something. I'd like to punch somebody in the face.

In lieu of those fancy ideas, I'm just going to sit here at my work computer, pretending to plow through this ever-mounting pile of work on my desk... and smile. I'll smile, and be polite to others in the hall, and laugh loudly at cubeside jokes, and gchat with my clutch friends, and update my status frequently to show that I'm cool. The constant updates might be a little OD, but it's okay. I deserve at least one recuperation day.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

This is just a bump in the road. I've asked God for "signs I can see" so that I'm clear I'm moving in the right direction. (Sometimes, when I just ask God for "a sign" I manage to overlook it). And, ta-da! God comes through in the clutch too! During drinks last night with Anisa, a guy friend of mine walked in (randomly) and we caught up, which was great. Exchanged numbers and everything. He will surely be a fun friend for the summer. This morning, while driving to work, another guy friend sent me a text to say he saw me driving and just wanted to say "hi". We're going to see Bilal this Saturday in concert, so his text was timely and definitely lifted my spirits. Finally, I reached back out to Lewis (remember dude who lives in NY?) and he'll be visiting me in the weeks to come. :-)

I'm smiling. I'm moving forward. And, I will be okay.







And speaking of the clutch... Go Boston.

Loyalty. Maturity.

I try really hard. Too hard, sometimes. I think.

My weekend was really peaceful, which was great. I did what I said I'd do (for the most part) and separated myself from my best friends. Friday night I went out with a new group of friends, and partied hard. After confiding in one of my platonic male friends about "peaks and valleys" in my life at the moment, he took it upon himself to buy liquor and open his apartment for a pre-game all in my honor. "That's what friends do," he said. Aw.

Saturday was jam-packed. Sorority meeting at 10. Take Ruby to the art museum at 12. Have her back to her mom by 3. Nap until 6. Babysit until 11. Finish gifts for my newest neo for the rest of the night!

Sunday was amazing. Great weather. Great friends. I woke up and went to church, had brunch with a group of Teach for America friends at West Egg, and killed time until a 4:00 movie with yet ANOTHER platonic male friend. Afterwards he treated me to ice cream, and we headed back to his place to watch the playoffs. Melanie stopped by and, of course, spent the entire evening yammering about needing a new job... but I let the Cabernet sink in and successfully ignored her comments regarding work. For the most part, it was quite pleasant. At times, though, it was a bit tedious.

And, in hindsight, it makes me wonder how upset I can really be with the boy - seeing as how I clearly have growing number of "just friends" in my life too. It should go without saying that my curiosity has peaked on more than one occasion, but I've always managed to silence those fleeting thoughts out of loyalty to him.

Loyalty. Hm.

The concept of loyalty (which I believe, in my situation at least, stems from a prevailing influence of maturity) seems to be rearing it's ugly little head in every mildly confusing life scenario I encounter. I'm not dating other men because I want to remain loyal to the boy. Even if I WANTED to explore curiosity with one young man in particular, I wouldn't be able to out of loyalty to a girlfriend of mine... Though they dated years and years ago, crossing that line is taboo and forsaken. I might as well kill myself if I think toying with their history won't end badly.

Loyalty naturally plays a huge role in my ever-complicated friendships as well. I bend over backwards for my best friends out of loyalty to them, though many are so blinded by their own problems that they fail to extend the same courtesy to me.

And perhaps, in all actuality, the bigger issue really is maturity. In a late-night convo with my Mommy yesterday, we discussed the discord in many of my current relationships. I'm emotionally exhausted. The maintenance of these friendships is taking a toll, and leaving me to foot the bill. But, are the problems rooted in personality differences, or just plain maturity? Do I perceive the world differently, and handle stress in a certain manner, because I'm a little wiser than my peers? Does being the oldest child play a role? Do the stars and astrology play a role? Has my upbringing and exposure to various cities, towns and countries have anything to do with it?


Well, of course it does. As an oldest child, I was called upon to help raise Paris and MB. As a Pisces, I'm naturally more sensitive and in-tune with people and things around me. Pisces are said to possess a "natural understanding of things around them" which I thoroughly believe in and agree with. And, sheer exposure to new places and cultures undoubtedly molds individuals for the better - teaching tolerance and the ability to adapt. Truth be told, I think I've always been a bit more mature than my peers. It seems, however, to more of an issue now that I am older.

Indeed, the culmination of all of these factors has created the person I am today. It's a shame that, for all the beauty to be found in this revelation, that said maturity proves to be a help and hindrance simultaneously. I cannot really relate to your extensive indecisiveness, my friend. For a moment - yes; for weeks on end - no. I cannot understand your compulsive need to be the center of attention. If we're performing "Les Sylphides" for an audience - yes; if we're drinking and watching basketball - no. I don't understand your obsessions with shopping or dining out. And, I don't understand why you'd even think to put our friendship in jeopardy. Not now. Not ever.

Loyalty and maturity: lofty to strive for... harder to maintain.

I found myself getting a little jumpy this morning, too. Though I had managed to set my mind at ease over the weekend, I was back to my old self at 9 am. I was busy worrying, contemplating, analyzing, rationalizing, sighing, stressing, and facebook stalking. This huge frenzy - and for what? I can not control him. I cannot control any of the bridesmaids either. All I can do is control how I am affected by them. Taking a step back proved effective for a weekend, but how was I going to sustain that peace of mind? It's impossible, really, because I need to address each of them on an individual basis. But I don't want to... just yet. Well. I do want to address the boy. And I have a laundry list of things to say, questions to ask... overall pleas for understanding. And what if the end result is disappointing? What then? Am I making too big a deal of this? He just said "he met someone" and I'm over here planning their honeymoon. I need to chill.

Ugh. The internal back-and-forth could go on forever. It's time for me to stop sacrificing my happiness for others. It's time to start putting me first. I've been too loyal to others for far too long. Time to be loyal to me.

Time to be loyal to me. It might not sound like a "mature" sentiment... but I assure you that it is.

Right As Rain

Who wants to be right as rain
It's better when something is wrong
You get excitement in your bones
And everything you do's a game
When night comes
And you're on your own
You can say “I chose to be alone”
Who wants to be right as rain
It's harder when you're on top

Cause when hard work don't pay off
And I'm tired
There ain’t no room in my bed
As far as I'm concerned so
Wipe that dirty smile off we
Won't be making up
I've cried my heart out
And now I've had enough of love

Who wants to be riding high
When you'll just crumble back on down
You give up everything you are
And even then you don't get far
They make believe that everything
Is exactly what it seems
But at least when you're at your worst
You know how to feel things

See, when hard work don't pay off
And I'm tired
There ain't no room in my bed
As far as I'm concerned so
Wipe that dirty smile off we
Won't be making upI've cried my heart out
And now I've had enough of love

Go ahead and steal my heart to make me cry again
Cause it will never hurt as much as it did then, when
We were both right and no one had blame
But now I give up on this endless game

Cause who wants to be right as rain
It's better when something is wrong
I get excitement in my bones
Even though everything's a strain
When night comes and I'm on my own
You should know I chose to be alone
So who wants to be right as rain
It's harder when you're on top

Cause when hard work don't pay off
And I'm tired
There ain't no room in my bed
As far as I'm concerned so
Wipe that dirty smile off we
Won't be making up
I've cried my heart out
And now I've had enough of...

No room in my bed
As far as I'm concerned so
Wipe that dirty smile off we
Won't be making up
I've cried my heart out
And now I've had enough of love

Extraordinary Machine

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes
-And-
I certainly haven't been spreading myself around
I still only travel by foot and by foot, it's a slow climb
But I'm good at being uncomfortable
So I can't stop changing all the time

I notice that my opponent is always on the go
-And-
Won't go slow, so's not to focus, and I notice
He'll hitch a ride with any guide
As long as they go fast from whence he came
But he's no good at being uncomfortable, so
He can't stop staying exactly the same

If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine

I seem to you to seek a new disaster every day
You deem me due to clean my view and be at peace and lay
I mean to prove I mean to move in my own way, and say
I've been getting along for long before you came into the play

I am the baby of the family, it happens, so
Everybody cares and wears the sheeps' clothes while they chaperone
Curious, you looking down your nose at me, while you appease
Courteous, to try and help, but let me set your mind at ease

If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine

Do I so worry you, you need to hurry to my side?
It's very kind
But it's to no avail; I don't want the bail
I promise you, everything will be just fine

If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine

If there was a better way to go then it would find me
I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me
Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it...
I'm an extraordinary machine















Amen.

Peaks and Valleys

I’m liable to punch somebody in the face.

If I have learned anything from my mother in the past few weeks, it’s this: do not let people stress you out. Initially, I interpreted this epiphany to mean “do not let co-workers, employers, colleagues stress you out.” Lately, though, I’ve had to amend my interpretation to include friends. In all honesty, I’m finding my friends, collectively, to be some of the neediest, most selfish, least sensitive people I know. Oh yes, they are sensitive to their own needs, but they rarely extend the same genuine sensitivity to the people around them. Each of the bridesmaids has managed to lay at least one of their burdens on my shoulders. One invited herself to my home for a weekend, though I would have much preferred to spend two days alone. Though I enjoy her spirit and humor on most occasions, there are some instances when I just want to be alone. Last weekend was one of those times. When she returned home, she got into a car accident and I was compelled to follow up and ensure that she was physically and mentally well. In days following, she placed me on a party-planning committee for her sister’s line-sister. Why am I helping to plan a party for a person I don’t even know? And why do you assume that I don’t already have enough to do? That’s insensitive. Though I love her dearly, this is the same person who once chastised me for not following up with her when her grandfather’s health was failing. At the time, she would sit and talk with me for hours on end about the man in her life and how he wouldn’t take out the trash. In my mind, I was lead to believe this was the priority in her life. It was only weeks later, when she sent a lengthy e-mail to me about her grandfather did I learn that she was livid that I hadn’t once asked about his health. To me, it seemed as though she would have brought this up at least ONCE in our conversations about garbage duty, if it were actually important. Don’t get me wrong, the health of one’s family is always a priority. But how do I know to inquire when you make no reference to the situation. Ask me how many times she has followed up with me about the health of my mother? Exactly. Insensitive.

Another, God bless her, is moving here for a summer internship with a local law firm. I’m proud of her, and want to be supportive, especially since both of her parents have been in and out of the hospital lately. I’ve taken time out of my day to help research and even visit condos and apartments where she could potentially sublease for the summer months. I’ve calculated the distances from said apartments to her future job to ensure she’s close enough that her commute is not a burden. These are not things that I had to do. But, I did them because I love her and I try really hard to be a good friend. I’m not even angry with her about the situation, because I volunteered myself for it. But it is yet another instance where I’ve extended myself, and bent over backwards for a friend that might not necessarily have done the same for me were she in my position.

A third bridesmaid has been somewhat of an emotional mess lately. I’ve tried as hard as I could to be supportive with phone calls, text messages, and even a casual drive by her apartment just to check on her. Unfortunately, she’s the type to cut the world off when she’s deeply emotional, leaving me to question if she’s truly okay. She picks and chooses when to answer the phone, or even be responsive for that matter. So, when I finally do get a positive response, I feel compelled to oblige her every whim. She wants to come over to chat? Sure! She may need to talk and get some things out. She wants to drink tonight? Okay, let me reorganize my schedule to accommodate her. She’s feeling sad? Let me put down what I’m doing for a sec to console her. But wait, on instances when I need to talk, or want to drink, or want to just sit quietly with a friend – she’s busy. She has plans with her on-again-off-again guy friend. She’s with a co-worker. She’s asleep. Well, what am I to do then? Do I continue to try AS HARD AS I CAN or do I start to let go? It seems as though everyone else is putting themselves first. When will I learn to do that for me?

The final bridesmaid hates her job. Join the club honey, we all do. She hates it so much so, that every conversation she participates in eventually winds up focused on her and how she can change career paths. I helped her review her resume at a happy hour. A HAPPY HOUR. You know, where everyone else is eating, drinking and being merry? Yeah, one of those. That’s how serious it is… to her. And, because it’s serious to her, it MUST be serious to everyone else. After a 20-minute pep talk, she’s usually able to move the conversation along to what’s going on in everyone else’s life, with an occasional mention of her disdain for her job here and there. But the bottom line is that she cannot remove herself far enough from her thoughts about work to enjoy the joys of life that are taking place around her. That’s selfish. I realize that we are all dealing with stress, and handling it differently – but does everyone else realize this same truth? YOU are not the only person going through something. You’re not the only person in a valley. You’re not the only person who is stressed. Allow yourself to listen to others for a change, without consistently redirecting every conversation to a problem that you are having. At the very least, say you’ll give it a try.

Finally, there’s the boy. I had confided in him that I was feeling this way about my friends, and he really took this to heart. He called me last night to reiterate that he loved me, and that he valued our friendship, and that he couldn’t bear to think about us ever “not speaking” or “taking a year off” as we have done in the past. He told me I was “quietly becoming the best friend he had.” He followed that sentiment by telling me he had met someone. He met someone. Nothing has happened between the two of them, and he’s not even sure anything ever will. But, he was intrigued by this girl, and wanted to be upfront and honest with me about it. I could appreciate that. It showed growth from the last time we had been in this situation. And yet, this is just one more burden to me. He is another person in my life who is reaping all the benefits of our friendship, and I’m the one crying myself to sleep at night for having fallen in love again. It’s not his fault. I was the one being patient, and accepting that he didn’t want a girlfriend, and helping him with career moves, and listening to him vent, and trying to cheer him up, and daydreaming about him all day, and talking with him late at night … and for what? I tricked myself into believing that we were building something. I tricked myself into believing that if I could just wait it out… if I could just hold on… that I could finally get what I wanted from him, which was a relationship. But that’s just it! I can’t seem to hold onto him! I’ve never been able to do that. Maybe I never will.

Meanwhile, while I was doing all of this so-called “building”, he too was establishing a strong and stable friendship with me. A friendship that he truly valued and could not see himself without. One that had “perks” that was cool, and enjoyable, and fun, and passionate, and deep. And yet, in all reality, who knew when we would ever live in the same city again? He accepted that I might meet someone else, and did not shy away from the opportunity to do the same. He claims his honesty about “meeting someone” derived from him not wanting to “fuck me over.” He didn’t want to ruin what we have. But, he couldn’t deny that there was someone else who had caught his eye. The end result: he has a best friend whom he loves and doesn’t want to lose… and I have yet another broken heart.

Everyone is so wrapped up in their own problems, and so complacent with the fact that they have my shoulder to lean on, that they’ve neglected to actually be my friend. I need a shoulder too. And I’m pissed about it. I’m livid, really. Perhaps it’s my own fault for not speaking up sooner… but what the fuck? I can’t get a word in edgewise when everyone is whining, complaining, and sobbing about their lives. I can’t get a word in edgewise when people don’t pick up the phone either. So, I’m over it. I’m taking time off from the people I love the most. With tears in my eyes, and a truly heavy heart, I am wiping my hands clean of every burdensome situation that is transpiring with every loved one in my life.

Fuck you.
Goodnight.

Inspirational Haiku

[Preface: Homecoming is quickly approaching. With this in mind, I can't help but reflect on some of my fondest memories as I amp myself for next month's festivities. Homecoming is about more than the game, the Yard, the stepshow... It's about seeing the people who helped you through some of the most trying experiences in your life. It's about those long nights you spent in your BFF's apartment laughing or crying, cramming or drinking... And now, while you may be seperated geographically, should you need your dear friend, they are only a phone call and plane ride away. It's about trying to re-live your college experience in all of three days. ::Smile:: Why isn't it October yet?]

A long, long time ago, a group of college friends sat around after returning from senior year spring break. We were all well-tanned from the Negril sun, and anxiously anticipating our last few weeks as college students. While midterms were finished, and we only had a few finals to complete, our love lives had consumed us. We were intelligent, hard-working, beautiful, successful twenty-three year olds who were focused (with astounding tunnel vision) on the respective objects of our affection. Some of us had recently ended long-term relationships (with ex-beaus who had already acquired new girlfriends), and others of us simply longed for untameable men. All of us, in some form or fashion, were subtly bitter.

But instead of walking around campus as angry black women, we channeled our frustration towards a creative outlet - poetry. Haiku to be specific. Dionne told us that she was writing a book of inspirational poems, and that we should all contribute to it. The book was entitled (drumroll please): B!tch, You Worth Somethin'. Don't Let That N!cka Ufck Up Yo' Life...HO: A Book of Inspirational Haiku.

You have to excuse her sometimes; she's from Memphis. Anyway, I wanted to share a handful of those Haiku with you. While creative expression should never be limited to instances when you're down-and-out, those can really be prime times for creative energy to flow. Using the 5-7-5 guidelines, we poured our hearts, souls and and not-so-subtle jabs at men into a collection of fun poems.

They reek with profanity, but take a gander if you like...



Who is She?
How do you know her?
Why is she always around?
Tell that b!tch to die


That Ho Gone
One day she will die
I know because I killed her
Locked her in the trunk


Just Go
You can go to hell
Mmm, yes. You can go to hell
And take her with you


The Garbage
She looks like pure trash
You know what we do with trash
Throw that b!tch away


Shrek
Your girl looks like Shrek
You must have low self-esteem
Get that b!tch a leash


LOL! Man, in retrospect they sound pretty bad. But, in the moment, when you have a room full of emotionally drained women, a bottle of wine, and a desire to laugh - this is what you get. Fun times! Fun. Times.

The Single Aesthetic: finding ways to creatively express your anger, disappointment and hostility without breaking, punching, slashing, hitting, or smacking something (or somebody). What's better is having a "book" to reminisce over years later. College memories, man. Nothing like 'em.


Look for the Employment Version coming soon!!

Hearts Aren't Made for Sleeves

They can hear it in my voice. I’ve been on the phone with my mother and my former boss, both within the past hour, and they have each said “you sound down”. She could see it in my face. “I can tell you’re anxious about where you’re going to land,” she said in my informational meeting this morning. “It’s that obvious, huh?” I responded. Wow.

It’s like a little parasite that embeds itself in my mind… in my soul. A Virus. I carry it with me every day, it seems. It’s a heavy little burden – seemingly impossible to conceal. I’ve really been working on controlling my thoughts, too. ‘Everything will be okay,’ I try to tell myself. I’ve made some progress… but they’re only baby steps. I so earnestly want to find my perfect fit! But, life is what is happening to me as I search for that unattainable perfection, right? Instead of moping and whining, I should be grateful for the things that I do have, and celebrate them for what they are truly worth.

Well. I’ll rid myself of this debilitating virus with small doses, I suppose. I could start by picking my head up.

Deep Breaths

Everything is going to be okay. Let go of the sadness in your voice. Relax your shoulders. Close your eyes. Clear your thoughts.

Deep Breaths

That “void” in your spirit is really a figment of your imagination. You are fine. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. God is building you; growing you; empowering you.

Deep Breaths
It’s okay. Wipe those tears. Let it go. It’s okay.





It’s okay.

I Blame the Phone

I can't be mad.

If I told him I couldn't talk to him everyday, what do I really expect? People move on. Some, more quickly than others... He moves damn fast. I'm just saying.

It's not that I couldn't "talk" to him everyday, though. I had the physical capability to open my mouth and carry on a conversation. I was actually always very interested in what he had to say. His ability to make me laugh is unparalleled. His insight, buried beneath a slightly cocky facade, is profound. Since college, I could tell he was making strides to better himself and improve his life. I respected that. I respect that.

But, timing is everything. And while I loved talking everyday, and hearing his voice, and laughing with him, something had to give. I mean, how long can you really talk to someone every day before residual emotions begin to evolve? I could not allow myself to slip back in - dare I say it - love. It was hard enough the first time. To fall so deeply... so hard... And to look up only to realize what you thought you were a part of was actually an intense, emotional, painful whirlwind of great conversations and brutal arguments; pure physical attraction and seething disgust; mutual admiration, quiet morning talks, inside jokes, endless texts, jealousy, envy, bickering and betrayal.

And yet, I can't let go.

After one year of apologies, arguments, rebounding and regressing, followed by one year of uninterrupted silence, we finally managed to pick up the pieces - most of them, at least - and try to be friends. It started slowly, and progressed into a comfortable stride. But, all of the talking, and texting, and e-mails just started to confuse me. Do platonic friends talk this often? I don't even talk to the bridesmaids this often... and they are the bridesmaids. I mean, if we're talking this much, and enjoying one another's company, why are we not moving beyond this point? Because I don't want to. I like things the way they are. And you don't want to. You're comfortable as well. Right? Right.

Right?

So he just stopped calling altogether. But that's not what I meant! "Not every day" doesn't mean "never". It - it just means, I need to take a step back and figure some things out! Why am I giddy when I see your name in my inbox "Mr. Platonic Friend"? And, why am I irritated when your "Miss Platonic Friend" is taking up our quality time? Who is she? How do you know her? I had to check myself: Self! Stop it. Chill out. Fall back. And go look up "platonic"...

::sighs::

So, he talks to someone else. Someone less complicated. Someone less consumed with her own thoughts, perfectly able to live in the moment. Someone without endless questions. Someone who doesn't share our messy history. It's fine. It's fine.

And, I can't be mad.

Perfection Breeds Contempt

My real problem is that I hold myself to a standard of perfection that I’m now realizing is unattainable. I am a complete wreck when things beyond my control take place, because it affects my ability to be “perfect”. In college, after participating in a pageant and joining an honors fraternity, I began to receive more attention than normal. After pledging a Greek letter org, that attention grew exponentially. By senior year, I might as well have been a local celebrity. And – that’s not to brag, it was just a reality – I was able to maintain a level of perceived “perfection” in most aspects of my life. Now, my personal life got a bit messy (to say the least), but in hindsight, I didn’t really mind that. I feel like personal lives should be just that – personal. Because, if you take a look into ANYBODY’S personal life, you will see some mess. I’ll leave it at that.

Right now, though, it’s incredibly difficult to maintain that level of perfection. And I won’t say that the standards were low in college – because they weren’t. It was probably harder to be “perfect” at an HBCU than it is at my job. Currently, because I have so little control, and feel the weight of so many of life’s pressures, I must say I’m really beginning to feel the burden. Every time I look up, something else is wrong. My check engine light is on, though I just took my car out of the shop. I’m finding difficulty in sticking to personal calendars I’ve set for longer-term goals (like business school). Every responsibility at my job is “urgent” and I never have enough time to catch up. How am I supposed to impress these people if, in their eyes, things are not getting done “perfectly” in an expedited manner? It’s stressful. My apartment is a mess. I’m not enjoying my roommate situation… but I can’t control that either. I can make strides to change what bothers me, but I can’t control another human being…

I am just finding it difficult to get back in stride with the life I’m accustomed to. I know that bumpy roads are a part of life, but all these pot holes and speed bumps I’m encountering on this long, uphill road are starting to do serious damage. I feel like I’m drifting farther and farther away from the concept of “perfection”. It is disconcerting to say the least.

Thunderstorm Season

I think I’m slipping into a mild depression.

It’s also very cloudy outside. It’s perfect thunderstorm weather. I’m pretty sure Fay has something to do with it. You know Fay? She’s that schizophrenic tropical storm/hurricane/tsunami/apocalypse thing CNN keeps reporting about. She can’t seem to make up her mind (which is really interesting when you stop to think about it; she’s just a typical woman). Whatever the cause, I’m looking forward to a rainy, thundery, dark day. I think it will court my pseudo-depressive state nicely. And, about the depression – it’s not confirmed. I’m in talks with my inner self to determine what the ultimate problem is. I’ve been in an incredible funk for two weeks now. At first, I attributed it to PMS. I’m self-aware enough to recognize and appreciate the effect a surplus of estrogen can have on a girl’s daily life. But, this is something else. Usually my super-emotional state lasts for about three days. But, I’m still super-emotional and Aunt Flow has come and gone. Is this TMI? If you’ve been reading long enough, you should know that this blog is the most therapeutic release I have (aside from the thousands of playlists on my iPod), thus I kinda just have to put things out there sometimes…

Anywho. Nothing is going my way. This job search is a nightmare. It is a pure and total nightmare. Everyone is “pleased to meet me” and “amazed by my resume” but “sorry because they don’t have anything available at the moment.” Then there’s all the emotions. Where did they come from and when are they leaving? I’m kind of lonely. There are two perfectly nice men who have reached out to me in the past to weeks to hang out. I’ve been more than aloof with both of them. Why? I don’t know. I need to stop trippin’ and start dating some nice guys. It’s clear the object of my affection is completely oblivious, or unconcerned, or just plain unwilling to have anything to do with me. Ugh. My roommate situation is dire. We’re barely on speaking terms. A curt “hi” or “bye” is the totality of any exchange. And her BFF, who practically lives with us (grrr!) is not helping. Did she sign the lease too? I don’t recall seeing her signature. And shit, if she wants to move in, let her. More rent money I can keep in my pocket…

I got drunk last weekend with a bunch of college friends and, when leaving the club, assumed my football-statuesque friend could carry all 120 lbs of me. Welp. I was wrong. As I hopped on his back, he playfully (maybe purposely) lunged forward allowing me to completely fall – face first – into the pavement ahead of us. Face first. Now, I have a beautiful scar on my face. And arm. And elbows. And hands. Nice.

We were both drunk, so I can excuse the incident in itself. His reaction, however, was less than cherubic. He laughed and ran away while I was in pain on the ground. In the car ride home he never said a word to me. The next day, there was no call or text to verify that I was okay. When he came over to pick up our mutual friend (Dionne (one of the bridesmaids)) I politely closed my bedroom door to ignore him. I was growing increasingly self-conscious about my face, and didn’t care to interact with scar’s creator.

On top of that, I’ve been doing stupid things to compensate for my weird disposition – like charging Dolce and Gabbana pumps. Granted, I bought them at my favorite consignment boutique, and paid probably one quarter of their store value… but why am I using my “travel credit card” for non-travel expenses?! Stupid. Regardless, I put them on this morning to wear for the first time and I must admit: I feel fabulous.

Whatever.

So, with the job thing (or lack thereof), the loneliness thing, the roommate thing, the drunken facelift-gone-wrong, and the usual “I’m Dead Broke” situation are creating a mildly depressing, but powerful cocktail. Speaking of which… (!!)

I’m just kidding. Alcohol doesn’t fix problems. Apparently, it just creates new ones.

I’m going to pray about it… So much I’ll need some knee pads…










(It happened for a reason one can’t be mad
So know this know that everything’s cool
And yes I will be present on the first day of school
And graduation)





Aaaahhhhh how I digress!!! LOL