Category Archives: emotional pain

On Upward Mobility, at 23.

Posted on by
Reply

[this is a really pathetic post. If you’re not in the mood for serious self-pity, please don’t read any further…]

It has been a rough few days. Right now, I feel like the part of me that feels anything but that strange apathetic misery has disappeared.
I’ve been prone to bouts of tears. They come at random times.
Last night, Kevin brought home Chinese food (I’d been camping out on his couch, feeling sorry for myself and watching Mission Impossible) and I cried. So that was awkward. For a man who has no idea how to deal with the waves of feminine emotions, it might have been too much to handle.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked.
Well. About that.

But let’s rewind.
5pm Friday.
I was seriously excited to see Katie, who was in town for the weekend. We were going to meet up, grab drinks, and meet up with her/our friend Mark after he got off work.
I’m driving home. 6th and Colorado (I always get held up at the light.) One of my Gmail accounts dings. Mail. I open it.
UCD rejects me swiftly, before the light changes.
I catch my breath. Humiliation sinks in. Shame.
I had considered many scenarios. Many. None of them included being rejected. Flippantly, I’d been saying that if I didn’t get into grad school, I’d have no idea what to do with my life. But those statements were made with the underlying assumption that I’d get in.
What?!?!? The email said that while they couldn’t tell me why, blah blah blah, something about recommendation letters. I may have ignored one of their requirements that I have two letters of recommendation from former professors. I had one. It was a beautiful letter, but I neglected to get the second, and instead used a family that I babysit for.
Idiotic move, in hindsight.
But regardless of my disregard for the stated process, I am still not good enough for UCD. So, wow.
Of course, I handled it incredibly maturely and proceeded to get absolutely, ridiculously drunk. Classy, I know. Sloppy. And to make matters so much worse, I wore heels.
Now, if you’ll remember the incident in Chicago in mid-2010…the one where upon being denied entry to a club due to my status as a “liability”, I told the bouncer that I wasn’t drunk, I just had double-jointed ankles that prevented me from walking straight. (I actually do have double-jointed ankles, for the record. Should probably stay away from heels any time my BAC is above .08.) It was basically like that.

I’m now a walking failure. Just completely lost. Doomed to pull a tiny salary for the rest of my life. I’m so upset. I can’t even tell you the last time I felt this lack of optimism. (Actually, I can. The last time this happened, I got a cat. So about two years ago. But don’t worry, I have enough cats [one is always enough cats] and I don’t have the cash for anything wild.)

I know that life is a funny place.
I get that.
But watching everyone else around me find contentment and success professionally, personally, romantically, academically…it’s all just too much.

I’m just in a position in my life where nothing is going right. When Heidi Klum and Seal announced their divorce last week, I was uncharacteristically shaken. If they can’t do it, who can? My own relationship is shaky, at best. It’s not meeting my needs, and it’s frustrating. I so badly want it to work. I don’t think he’s willing to meet me halfway. I don’t think he quite understands what I need and I’m not sure how to tell him. My job is fine. I love my company, I really do. But it’s hard to see a future where I still only pull $1800 month after taxes. It’s hard to make a life like that. I want to own a home. My future is uncertain. I hate that uncertainty. That’s the worst part.

And don’t start with the “but you’re young” bullshit. I’m almost 24. I get that I’m young. But when you were 24, did that seem so young? No. It’s that precarious time where the shedding of our adolescent predilections is finalized and our adulthood settles in. I was out with a friend and he started in with the “you’re young” business. Well, I’m not young enough that you can’t take me home with you, so don’t patronize me. I can and will play ball on your level. You just need to realize that your level is the same as everybody else’s.

I get that I’m foolish and full of thoughts. But I don’t think that those stem from my youth. I think that some of us are eternally doomed to steep in our emotions, in our thoughts, in our heads. There are plenty of people at all ages who are just as lost as I am right now. And there are plenty of people at all ages who will never have the qualities that I have. At my core, I am a beautiful person. I know that I’m fiercely intelligent. I’m open to new experiences; I’m polite (situationally, of course); I’m beautiful; I’m funny; I’m kind-hearted; I’m sarcastic; I’m an excellent maker of French toast; yes, I’m hyper-aware of my emotions – it’s the greatest gift and ultimate worst curse. I’m constantly growing and changing, becoming more and more the person that I want to be. But at my core, I’ll always be a little wild. And I like that.

I’ve been making a list of things that I can be instead of a therapist, because the door just got slammed hard on that one. But I won’t list them here, because they’re basically the primetime lineup for A&E and History channel: logger, pawn shop owner, swamp person, etc. (I’m way too much of a girl to be a swamp person, just for the record. And I refuse to eat squirrel.)

And please don’t think that I’m not grateful. I may be wallowing (I need a few days to really embrace the depths of the sadness before I can kick my way out), but I’m still aware of the blessings in my life. Sort of. Mostly. Maybe.

On Death, Eventually

Posted on by
Reply

I fear greatly the answers to the questions surrounding death. It pains me to think too much about any of it. Rather than the belief in something after, I believe solely in attempting to make the best of these precious earth-bound moments. And yet, usually catching me entirely unaware, the thoughts creep back into my brain. What lies after? How can we succinctly tie our own spiritualities with the scientific, with the known, with the cold reality of it all?

I remember the immensity that was the moment – that singular moment – when we put down our beloved golden retriever. His head coming to rest for the last time on my shoe. My jerky response as I stood, smashing into the paper towel dispenser. The nurse (nurse? vet tech? lady in scrubs?) attempting to comfort me and me pushing her away because the tears were coming too fast and I couldn’t wait to break away and be alone, where no one would see me crying. I realize that this is in no way comparable to the deaths of those humans we come to love so much, but then again, I think perhaps that even those mammalian deaths hold the keys to true humanity. The singularity that ties us all together: love.

No matter how it happens, death holds some sort of quiet whisper, a moment in which time stops rushing and instead, lingers for the exhale. It’s not something that will ever leave you. (I do not speak as one wizened by so many experiences, thankfully, although the few that I have had with death have been personally profound.)

I was reading in the bathtub (now that I’m taking baths again, my reading material has multiplied immensely) and I found myself falling in love with the protagonist of the book I’d just started – it’s been languishing in one of my book suitcases (yes, I have those) for ages and I’ve just now gotten around to picking it up. She embodies, for the moment, everything I find wonderful: strength, intelligence, determination, the juxtaposition of masculine and feminine, beauty, courage. And yet, I found myself terrified that she’d die before the end of the book. In that moment, I was certain of her death. I flipped to the last page (a terrible habit, but one I take great comfort in – I even do it with romance novels, and you know from the third page how those are going to end) and sure enough, she dies. It’s a beautiful death, really, her soul personified by birds. But now I’m happier to read about her life. I can take comfort in the fact that I already know how she dies, yet I’ve not at all ruined the book for myself.

This is the point of all of this, I guess: even though you can not know the exactness of your own death, you know that at a certain point, it must come. I look at those yellow feline eyes that I love so much and realize that I can’t keep them forever. I push away the melancholy thoughts, realizing that loving him now is so much better than focusing on the pain I’ll feel when he’s gone. I circle back, from time to time, working myself up thinking about the emptiness that the deaths of those I love will leave. I think it stems from the knowledge that one day, I will be without my mother. In my attempts to soothe myself, I have begun to steel myself against the void I know will exist. Void is inadequate. It will be like a roaring vacuum. It will pull at the edges of my soul.

But it is natural. (I remember this book they got us to teach us about death. I’ll never forget how incredibly mystified I was when I read it. I hated the book and yet something drew me to it. It calmly taught children that everything must die, and yet it horrified me. I hated connecting dead leaves to people. Something resonated somewhere deep inside of me. I often think of that book and wonder what it would be like to read it again now. I wonder if it’s in a box somewhere in a basement.)

Death and taxes, they say. But they’re not wrong. To know the eventuality of it before it happens is to hope that one will be able to fully embrace everything that is life knowing the finality of it all. The chance to struggle and create, to learn and understand, to think, to feel, to be, to love passionately and freely is a gift. Those moments are the footprints we leave behind. To love deeply and live fully are my only goals. If at my funeral, people don’t laugh and tell horrifyingly embarrassing yet endearing stories, I will be incredibly bummed.  Life is a wild adventure. It’s beautiful and bittersweet.

Either way, it is certain. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that everyone has to do it. Someone’s doing it right now. Someone did it yesterday and someone will do it tomorrow. We are all born and we will all die, but what we do in between belongs solely to us. That’s the best part.

On the Celebration of Life

Posted on by
Reply

It’s days like Saturday that make me realize that the human capacity for emotion is much deeper than we could possibly even realize. Necessities like food, water, and shelter are nothing without love.

Brian and I are standing by his golf clubs. I’m asking what the difference between a wood and an iron is. He tells me that woods are made out of wood. Then he pulls out a club. “So that’s an iron?” I ask. (The club is not made of wood.) No, he tells me, it’s a wood. We laugh. I understand the difference now. If you can imagine that it might be made of wood, it’s a wood, even if it’s made of metal. Irons are more like fireplace instruments. Heavier. Deadlier.

Brian is fiddling with the cover. “Grandpa never had the right covers for his clubs,” he says. And that’s when I feel it. His loss is so palpable in that moment. The fact that everything Brian knows and loves about golf, he got from Marshall. The fact that Marshall and Brian used to go golfing and then go get lunch. It was his childhood. He and his grandpa were inseparable, even at the end.

I don’t know how to say I’m sorry. I do know how to learn about something that they both loved, so I ask more golf questions.

“I’m only telling you this because I know you’ll appreciate it,” said Juanita, leaning into me. She introduces me as her adopted granddaughter. I am so happy in that moment. She didn’t want them to bring that picture, she says, but she’s glad they did because it’s one of her favorites. She tells me that on their wedding day 63 years ago, there’s a picture of him looking at her exactly the same way. My eyes were on her sweater, rhinestones at the wrists. I didn’t dare look up. My eyes were already full. She tells me that even though he was a quiet man, he always reminded her that he loved her. “And he really did love me,” she says. I smile. I mean, I really smile. My heart is full of love and a little bit of hurt – the pull of the sadness of a great loss.

(I couldn’t get a picture of the picture without the glare! I’m sorry for the poor quality!)

The speeches are beautiful. There is nothing better than honest memories. Laughter fills the space. When one of my cousins gets up to say something, I feel my eyes start to fill up again. Even though this is sort of the worst part of life, the saying goodbye, it’s also the best. It reminds you how much love you have surrounding you. It reminds you how much every single person can mean to you, how much they can impact you.

My adopted grandparents. My other grandparents. My spare grandparents. My not grandparents. We never could figure out just what to call them. So we threw terms out and tried them on. They mean just as much to me as my actual grandparents. And I mean just as much to them as their grandchildren. Mom tells me that when I was little, we were leaving Grandma Mary’s house and I asked her, “Who are those people?” They’ve been a part of my life since I was little, since before I could figure out how they fit into the scheme of things.

And I’m so grateful for that.

Marshall was a wonderful father, a wonderful husband, and a wonderful grandfather. I am so happy that I got to be a part of it. And I promise to help take good care of Juanita.

On my toes

Posted on by
Reply

Life goes on, whether or not you’re ready to go with it.

The past few weeks have been a blur of wonderful newness, of comfort and bliss. They’ve also been full of stress, cancer, death, uncertainty, and pain. But that’s how life goes. Sometimes it throws everything at you at once, just to make sure you’re on your toes. So that’s where I’ve been. On my toes.

The first funeral was on Friday. I put on the black dress only to find that I had shrunk (or it had somehow stretched two sizes) and it wouldn’t be suitable. So instead, I found another black dress. This one still fits. (I really do need to start with this eating business. I’m a little bit bony.) I wasn’t going to go, and I didn’t tell Dad that I was going until I was on 6th Avenue, headed west, but I feel like I was in some ways obligated to go. It was good. Merrilee was such a funny person, and the last time I saw her was at Jeanie’s graduation party earlier this summer. It was good to meet the people who meant so much to her. They had pairs of nose glasses that she used to wear on a board, along with pictures of people wearing the nose glasses. It was good that I went because that meant that I got to chat with Jeanie while Dad talked to everyone else. On a nearly irrelevant note, they had mini quiches. I am such a fan of any party that has mini quiches.

But mini quiches aren’t the point. (Unless they are? Wouldn’t it be so nice if the entire meaning of life could be reduced to mini quiches? I could get down with that.)

Life doesn’t last forever.

Marshall died late Thursday night. He is now listening to the harp music at the great golf course in the sky. (What? It could totally happen. Maybe my personal heaven is bubble baths and wine.)
I sat next to him at Thanksgiving and watched as Juanita fussed with him about whether or not he was happy and comfortable. I was really touched by the fact that after so many years together, they were still taking care of each other. He was constantly aware of her presence and she always made sure that he had what he needed – although there was that one time when someone was missing a cup of coffee and she just grabbed his and said, “Here, have this one.” That’s the kind of love that everyone should be looking for. It might not always be the most effective, but at least it’s real.  They are seriously the best non-grandparents I could have had. (Although, now it’s our turn to make Juanita cookies just because.)

Cancer cancer cancer cancer. I’ve not got a lot to say about this one. Seriously, every time I turn around, someone else has it. We’ve got two at work, two on one side of the family. I was talking to Mom about this and she reminded me that this is just a bad spell. I warned her that she wasn’t allowed to get any more cancer just because everyone else was doing it. So we go on. I come from a family of tough people, particularly the women. We’ve got this. We’ll tackle it like we tackle anything else. Everyone will help where they’re needed. We’ll cover the gaps and everyone will emerge alright. I promise. And if anyone wants a healing animal, they’re welcome to borrow Carlos for a few weeks. Nothing will make you want to heal like having the very grumpy Carlos around. (He’s currently at the bottom of my bed with his his paws wrapped around my foot. I love him so much. Best worst decision ever.)

Got an email from the other side of the family today. God, I hate holidays so much. When I am ruler of the universe, there will be no family obligations unless, of course, you want to. I am already stressed at the thought of them cornering me. I’m already imagining it happen. And I’m already tense and terrified. Gross.

The grad school application is limping along, coming together bit by bit.

The giant proposal due at work remains unfinished. Tomorrow will be the ultimate race to the finish line.

But those things don’t really matter. I mean, of course they do. I’d be an idiot not to get my application in, since I still have a month left. And I’d be an idiot if I didn’t bust my ass to get that proposal done. But in the larger scope of things, there is so much more that matters, well, so much more.

On the brighter side, guess what’s awesome?

We went up to Keystone yesterday. Day 5 of snowboarding this season. I’m starting to get it. I did a Blue run with the boys then headed back up to find Emily. Spent the rest of the day on some long greens. It was good. Kevin and his brother came down from Vail to meet up with the group. The boys that we went up with are fun – one of them is in town from Boston, and he’ll be on our New Year’s trip. I’m starting to be able to do my toe side stuff, which means I’m actually able to snowboard properly. Pretty soon I’ll be doing sweet jumps! (That’s actually what I dream about.) Mom, best Christmas present ever. Without your insistence, I’d never be doing this. And I think it’s pretty rad. Also, pass is officially paid for now. Be stoked on that.

I have a boyfriend-thing going on. That was unexpected. I blame the Real World for making me question our relationship situation. So I asked him if we were dating. He said yes. Apparently, that was enough of an exclusivity conversation for him. (We later discussed all of this and figured everything out. It was very reminiscent of our first date.)
I am so ridiculously happy. He’s wonderful. He’s smart, funny, sarcastic, sweet. We are different enough that it will continue to be interesting for me. But we are similar enough that we just mesh well. He takes good care of me. The thing that I think I like the most is that he’s up for anything. When I’m like, let’s go to this concert (I’ve done that twice so far), he’s always open to it. He likes the random adventures that I like, which is good.

Broncos game today. I realize that the tickets came to us in the midst of sadness, but on the plus side, Mike and I are sort of going on a double date. I am bringing Kevin, who is awesome and driving back from family vacation in Vail in time for this. Mike’s bringing a girl! I think I’m probably more excited for this than I am anything else.

This is not one of those “live every day like it’s your last” posts, because those are dumb. But seriously, if you’re not doing something awesome, or something that you love, or something that’s wonderful, what are you doing with your life? After babysitting, I slept for nearly twelve hours last night. (that’s the something wonderful I was talking about.) That was exactly what I needed to do after being an idiot and going out with Katie before I went snowboarding. So today is marching forward and if I don’t hurry, I’m going to miss all the excitement.

I almost forgot: I started writing about being on your toes and life and then I looked down and remembered all the bandages on my toes. Yesterday morning, sometime in the pre-dawn hours, while I was frantically searching for snowboard gear in my room, I somehow managed to step into the side of a laundry basket, taking skin off of two of my toes. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw little bloody toe-prints. As it turns out, sometimes being on your toes doesn’t quite work out the way you’d planned.

Have a beautiful day, world, you deserve it.

On Monday

Posted on by
Reply

Spinster, by Sylvia Plath


Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious April walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds’ irregular babel
And the leaves’ litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover’s gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower.
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then!–
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock, each sentiment within border,
And heart’s frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here–a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into vulgar motley–
A treason not to be borne. Let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.












Flights to and from Chicago have been cancelled. 
The future of that adventure is no longer certain.
I finally did what I’ve known I needed to do for a long time. 
And with a heavy heart, it’s been ended.
Of course there are loose ends, the tired scraps that guilt leaves behind. 
Now there will be great stretches of silence. Of misplaced habits. Of euphoria. 
Eventually there will be memories. A city destroyed. 


But on the plus side, I have $200 in plane fares to anywhere Southwest flies. I want to get away. 

The Weekend Wrap Up: Nightmares and Expectations

Posted on by
Reply

The twins that I babysit for always use “sleeps” as a way to countdown to things, like the next time you’ll see someone.

Two sleeps until S comes! I’ve been out of sorts (and in my head) about this whole ordeal for the past few days, and it will be nice to reset all of that.
Ready for last night’s real live nightmare?
I was at G and G’s house – but it was all dark, just like you’d imagine a dungeon. And M, Dad, and I were all sitting stiffly at the table. I had my hands clenched in my lap.
We were talking to G and G and there were Christmas decorations everywhere.
Then, she told us the reason she’d invited us. She spread her arm out, bent at the elbow, sweeping toward the living room.
Our heads turned in unison.
There, in the living room, were the scattered remains of their Christmas celebration. Papers, boxes, plates of food, all glinting under the eerily twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. She’d invited us over to clean it up.
I woke up breathing heavily, convincing myself it wasn’t real.
It’s not real.
It’s oddly telling, though.
I wish my brain could stop chewing on it, though, and just swallow it so I don’t have to taste my own bitterness every day.
*breathes deeply, thinks inner peace*
On a positive note, I went to IKEA this weekend! Emily and I woke up early on Sunday and headed out there before they opened (good call – no lines, parking, etc.). We went into the cafe to have $1.99 breakfast and .50c coffee, then somehow ended up going through IKEA backwards. But it was lovely. I got a new duvet – white with gray flowers on it – and new gray sheets. I also picked up wineglasses so I won’t have to serve guests in my everyday drinking glasses anymore.
It was fun and busy.
I really enjoy all of their odds and ends and kitchen things more than I enjoy anything else.
$5 for 6 wineglasses will get me every time.
I was at Mom’s house yesterday doing my 1800 loads of laundry for the week, and we were chatting. It’s nice to have someone so wizened to bounce ideas off of. I came away from our conversation reminding myself that I’m 23. I think I forget that sometimes. It’s not so much that I’d like to be older, it’s that I measure myself against people who have five or ten years on me and wonder why I don’t match up. So for today, I am trying to embrace 23, however one embraces something intangible like that.
I also came away from our conversation very curious about what other G has to say about S.
But let’s save that for after his visit – I can only imagine how this going to go. He’s meeting Dad and J on Wednesday, and I haven’t told him that yet. And then he’s meeting Mom on Thursday. Ah, well, surprise surprise!

God, give me the strength…

Posted on by
Reply

And so it begins anew.

This is a continuation of previous post, which can be found here. (I got a bit heavy-handed with my use of [Redacted] in that post, and for that I apologize, but also smile a little – I think it’s odd that I attempted to apply such civility to that post. It adds a small element of youth, of naivete, of hope, I guess.)
Again, I share the sentiments that I am entirely confused.
I guess the refrain is this: I cannot understand what I’ve done wrong.
The email came from G on Thursday, and can basically be summed up as saying, “Let’s meet in Washington Park on Sunday night to celebrate the 57th wedding anniversary.”
I was keen.
Friday night, I get a text from Aunt X saying that they’re in town. How about Saturday? I respond that I’m unable to do Saturday as I’ll be babysitting (Barney live, anyone?).

The response comes via email. Here’s my favorite line: (Katie & Mike can’t make it…understandable at it is a Saturday night and they are in their 20’s!)


I am in my 20s. But the implication lying beneath that sentence would have you believe that I was out partying, rather than helping a family with three children attend their first Barney concert. For the record, they loved it. It was a really magical experience for them, and the day went smoothly. I stayed there from 2pm until 8pm. After, I went to Aunt S’s birthday at other G’s house. I arrived in time for lemonade and cake. And then I went home and went to sleep, as I had to babysit another family the next morning.


No partying at all this weekend. Babysitting. (Just so we’re all clear about my priorities.)
I texted Aunt X and asked for a drink/coffee date so that we could have a heart-to-heart. She responded that she’d get back to me, then asked if I could let her know if Dad was going to be coming that night. (It was Saturday) I responded that I hadn’t talked to him.
At this point, I was livid. Fury. I am a passionate person, but I’m slow to anger. Once I’m there, though, is a different story. But don’t think that just because I’m angry doesn’t mean I can’t be rational – I consider myself very logical, rational, even cold, at times.

I will not relinquish a point simply because I feel pressured to do so. I don’t lie. And I’m not fake, so pretending nothing’s wrong isn’t my style, either.
And so Dad, Jeanie, Mike and I had a lovely evening in City Park last night, listening to jazz and playing frisbee. It was non-argumentative. It was light. I gushed about S and blathered on about my exciting news and future plans.
This morning, I woke up happy. Calm. Family is what you make of it, good or bad. And creating your own family is something that’s the most fun to do.
I got a text from Aunt X saying that we were meeting for a picnic at the pool at 6pm tonight. I groaned inwardly. I don’t get off of work until 6 at the earliest. I’m not trying to use that a crutch, I’ve got time quotas to meet.
So I wait, text my brother, see if he’s going. He is. I text back that Mike is in and that I’ll be there as soon as I’m off of work, what can I bring?
I am not by my phone when I get the call.
I listen to the voice mail. My stomach lurches, the hurt crawls back up into my heart. My ears ring. I turn up my music. I gulp for air.
I call her back. We exchange muted pleasantries, and then I say, “First of all, I want you to know that I’m not looking for a food hand-out. I offered to bring something, and I’d be more than happy to bring whatever you’d like. Just let me know what I can bring.”
And suddenly, she’s off on me. Talking about the medical conditions of her hostess, my G, and this and that and how she’ll take care of dinner and she’ll haul it over to the pool by herself. I cut in, “I am well aware (of the medical conditions),” I say. She tells me not to bring anything. Just to show up. The line cuts off.
My hands are shaking.
I’m more confused than ever.
I consider myself a strong woman, not one to back down from something that’s seriously upsetting me. But I’m finding myself unable to find a logical opening on the other side. It’s as though every step I try to take is a misstep.
I guess I’m not sure if this means that it’s time to stop trying so hard to be a part of a family that seems to be making it very clear that I’m not welcome.
My Aunt X once told me not to go to grad school, and then made some joke about “not everyone can be a housewife.” Well, being a housewife isn’t everyone’s dream. I mean, it must be nice. (Don’t for a second think I’m negating the stresses and workload of the domestic spouse – it’s a very necessary and overwhelming experience. The raising of children is a complicated matter.)
But for someone to question why I babysit and who I babysit for – that’s crossing lines I’m not prepared for. I don’t want a running commentary going on about the rich people I babysit for. That’s hardly the case. Sometimes two parents work – it must seem strange to someone so removed from that – but in that case, childcare becomes a very necessary, and expensive, expense.
And that’s where I come in.
I babysit for two reasons: I love it and I need the cash.

I love children. I am not making enough at my day job to sustain myself, and in order to not have terrified tears streaming down my face at the end of every month, I work extra hours to make ends meet. It’s not a new thing, the idea of two jobs has existed forever.
I’m great with children – all of my families love me, have loved me, and continue to love me. I’m engaged, polite, I uphold their disciplinary standards and their values. I’ve sat for Christians, Jews, atheists…and my manner has not wavered. Respect, I believe they call it. I’m not sure if they are teaching that in churches these days or not. (And yes, that comment was derogatory and disrespectful. I’m not turning my other damn cheek – I am no doormat. I wasn’t raised to not stand up for what I believe in and I’m sure as hell not going to back down now, especially because I am the one who has been attacked.)
I find it interesting that the financial element keeps rearing its ugly head. I’ve been told no less than three times this weekend that I’ve got a financial obligation toward my Gs. I wish I could explain that I’ve offered to bring over dinner, that I do offer consistently. I provide my G with a magazine subscription, something that I know he really appreciates. That’s a lot of money for me, and it’s something I do out of love. If I had more money, I’d be more than happy to buy groceries, to treat them to things, but the fact is, I don’t. I could start mailing some small amount every month, if they’d like. It wouldn’t be much, but maybe it would help.
But again, I’d like to reassert that I’m not asking for anything monetary or good-related. I don’t need crackers and chips or snacks or food or cash in an envelope. If that’s who they think I am, then they need to step back and reassess.
From more than one of the U or A’s, I’ve heard that someone or someone else doesn’t want to cook, or entertain, or this and that. I’m not asking to be fed (again, I don’t need a food hand-out). I’m just asking for some face time. I’m not asking for a five-course meal, or for treats, or for anything. I’m not asking for money for holidays, or my birthday.
I just want to see my family.
I want to feel like I matter to them as much as they matter to me.
But it’s clear that it doesn’t work that way.
Being rejected by people who should know you, people who you love, is really hard. And it’s tearing at me. At the very least, I’d like some closure on the subject. I’d like to be able to understand fully what I’ve done that is so reprehensible that they can’t be civil toward me. That’s all I’m asking for.
It’s one thirty now. I have four and a half hours until I leave work. Four and a half hours to decide if I should show up or not.
I’m a proud woman. I am proud of who I am, proud of what I do, proud of what I stand for. I live my life in the best way possible. I try to make sure that my actions have few ripples, and other than a few minor skirmishes with friends (no more than anyone else I know), I maintain a very balanced life. It’s full of love and loyalty, and people who genuinely care about me. I genuinely care about them as well.
I call a friend for advice:
“What are you maintaining, other than this idea of a family?…your mom’s side loves you. It’s not like vindictive and gross and vile as your dad’s side is being to you…It sounds like they can’t even pretend to be decent. Why do you keep trying to make amends? It just doesn’t sound right. If you do have this obligation toward your grandparents, then they’d better start treating you right.”
That friend is right.
I try to explain that I guess I want to stay in it for my Gs and cousins, but at the same time, I wonder if their minds have been poisoned against me as well.
This is where I’m sure that the root cause of all of this must be bigger than me. I honestly can’t believe that I could have done something so egregious as to be excommunicated from my own family.
I really hate to stir up trouble in an otherwise happy family.
So perhaps it’s time for me to back down and back away.
Family. What does that word mean to you?

"That that is just the person that you are."

Posted on by
Reply

There are moments, usually quiet moments in the dead of night, when the world shifts. I found myself relaxed, calm, anxious for my phone to buzz with the continuation of the nightly conversation that I look so forward to.

I sat and heard her start to tell me a story. I wasn’t all there, my mind drifting off to Chicago while maintaining some semblance of concentration.

What she said broke my reverie and brought me swiftly back to my body, sitting on the steps staring across the darkened street.
No, what?
And there it was.
The reasoning, his version of the truth, conveyed to me via her. The nerve of this slimy coward. To later tell a mutual friend that it wasn’t his fight to fight, yet to have never even told me about it.
It.
Allegedly.
Apparently, it – that alleged indiscretion – happened on the fourth of July. Happened when I, the sober driver, was saying goodbye. Well here’s a sweet goodbye for you…
It was an anger I have not felt in some time. My jaw clenched, my eyes narrowed, I was, in that moment, comprised solely of steel and tingling fingertips.
Untruths!
Annoyance filled my steel-skeleton, and I drove home in a concentrated rage. I grabbed my phone and sent a message – abrupt, rude, sharply displaying my acute disapproval.
I did not expect a response, but when I saw it, my anger flared past steel. I am molten iron now, white hot.
I still am. It’s been some hours now, edging toward twenty four, yet I cannot break the script from my mind.
“…everyone conceded that that is just the person that you are.”
What am I?
I have lists of occasions I could reference, all to refute this claim that “that that is just the person that” I am.
But they fall far short of the damage I wish to inflict.
Self-control serves me well, but in all honesty, I am so hurt by this assertion, this accusation, the untruth of it all, that if we come face to face, I won’t hesitate to show him just what kind of person I am.

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Posted on by
Reply

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Posted on by
Reply

Ferocity.

Something I’m learning from Carlos.

Act preemptively and base everything on your gut.

Your past guides you more than you think but shouldn’t affect anyone’s future perceptions of you.

I’m hurt; I’m annoyed; I’m angry.

No one should make me feel like I’m less than a human being, whether it’s intentional or not.

I am Katie Barry and I do what I want.