Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Random Tidbit Tuesday

My last tag inspired me so much I decided to make it a regular feature. Today's random fact:
I have no pinkie toe nail on each foot.

Well, that's not completely true. They just tend to grow only to break in half on occassion. I contribute this mostly to the pointe shoes and jazz sneakers that I wore day in and day out when I was dancing heavily. Anyone that's ever danced knows that just about any style of dance is murder on your feet. I did just about everything; ballet, jazz, horton, african, hip hop, graham, limon, salsa. But my major concentrations were horton (a strenuous form of modern based on manipulating the body into angles) and ballet (mostly Russian and contemporary, 2 of the more demanding genres). In my hay day (haha) I spent between 6 to 8 hours a day dancing and the combination of how much I was dancing and being in and out of ballet slippers, pointe shoes, 4 inch character shoes, jazz sneakers or just dancing with my bare feet on the marley (special kinda flooring dancers use) was just too much for my poor pinkie toes. For a dancer, I still have pretty cute feet, but at some point, it's a possibility that I've only got half a nail on my little toe, lol


*written a couple weeks ago*

Everything is gray.
It's raining outside so the sky is the color of wet cement. It stretches on for miles, a white-ish expanse of nothing that looks like I feel; dull, cloudy, lifeless. It's raining but I don't care. I'm dressed down, my favorite sweats and a Howard hoodie. No makeup. I could care less about my hair. Come to think of it, there are many things I could care less about today.

The house is empty and quiet and I find myself tiptoeing through its rooms, careful not to disturb the stillness, as if I am somehow intruding in my own home. I guess I could be.

I sit on my bed for the longest, tugging at the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling it, twisting it around my fingers, yanking it loose from the low ponytail gathered at my hairline. I feel so heavy, my limbs deadened. I can't seem to move.

I finally make it to my truck, I say hello to it like I do every morning, my keys in my hand and my eyes to the ground. I sit in my car awhile before I start it up. I feel outside of myself, like I'm floating above my head watching this life I'm trapped under. I don't even remember where I'm supposed to go. Where am I going?

My brain is fuzzy. I barely remember the drive. Somewhere on 10 a Dodge Nitro falls in front of me. I remember considering one before I got my truck. It's pretty nice, I note, with the exception of the Hampton plates on the tag. Everyone makes mistakes I guess.

By now I've switched lanes as the traffic slows up ahead. I find myself beside the Nitro on the passenger side. There's a little boy in the passenger seat, big curly hair taking up most of the window, reaching and straining to make himself taller to see what was causing the traffic to stop up ahead. He catches my eye and waves, mouthing the word hi. I wave back and hope it doesn't look as pitiful as it felt. He drops his hand and cocks his head to the side looking at me curiously. At that moment, the man in the driver seat catches my eye. I give a half smile and put my eyes back on the road.

It's a blur the rest of the way to the mall, the edges of my vision blurry with unshed tears that I refuse to allow to fall. I've been counting the days since I last cried and I've got a good streak going. I won't lose it. I get out of my car and hurry into the low roar of the busy mall, hoping it'll silence my head.

Everyone walks in pairs or groups. Heads thrown back in laughter, all smiles and touches, conversations mixing together and floating over my head.

Today I feel alone in the world.

I sit in an oversized chair and watch the people walk by. I sink back into the green cushions until I feel invisible. I remember what it was like to been seen, to be called. I remember being touched, to share laughter. Now most days I feel like an apparition, a ghost of my former self, floating right past people but never seen, no one even bothering to reach out and touch me and see if I'm real.

Something gets tangled around my legs. I look down and it's the little boy from traffic, smiling up at me, one tooth missing from the front.
"Youretheladyfromthegraycar!!!!" he says in one breathless tumble of words. His daddy (I can tell from the resemblance) catches up with him.
"I'm so sorry," he says at me, flushing deep with embarassment right up to his gray eyes.
"It's ok," I reply and I realize that it's probably the first time I've smiled genuinely in a month, maybe more.
"Hey!" the little one breaks in. "Can you help us? My daddy gotta buy a present for my Auntie Jackie and he don't know WHAT he's doing."
"Hush lil boy. I got it under control," this second part directed at me.
"But dadd-eeee this is the THIRD mall we've been to and you still haven't bought NOTHIN'!" The father looks at me sheepishly.
"Well, that part is true," he replies and I giggle as the little one tries to pull me in his direction.
"Comeonpleasehelpusplease," he says his words falling over each other.
"Let her go J. I'm sure she has people she needs to go meet."
"Actually," I reply, "I'm-" ahem- "alone."
"Oh." And he sees something in my eyes I think that makes the muscles in his face go a little slack. "Well, I really could use the help if you don't mind."
And just like that I'm recruited to help pick out Auntie Jackie's present.

We walk, J between us talking a mile a minute, his father, D, keeping up with his conversation. I know if I closed my eyes I wouldn't be able to figure out who's the kid and who's the parent. They're sweet together, like a commercial or a Hallmark card. Except they're real, and they make me smile.

I find myself falling into all the sales questions I ask at work; how old is she? What does she like? Is she outgoing or conservative? Price range? Before long we narrow it down to jewelry. After having me chime in and model a few pieces, we decide on a simple diamond necklace. After it's wrapped up we decide that we should reward ourselves with food. We wind up at CPK, J sitting next to me talking happily to himself and enteraining himself with some crayons. D and I are talking, the usual surface banter people share when they've just met. He loves sports, naturally because he has a penis, so we turn our attention to the TV. Before long the convo drifts into topics a little more personal. I give him the highlights of my life, careful not to give away too much emotion either way about any particular topic I touch. He asks me if I'm single and a part of me bristles at the thought that he might be hitting on me, but the thick platinum wedding band on his finger says otherwise. And D doesn't seem like the kind of man who cheats. And certainly not in front of his son. I tell him about Psuedo, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite myself. He chuckles at my story of how we came to be. When I tell him why I call him Psuedo, his chuckles turn into all out laughter.
"That is so hilarious," he says. "I don't think I've ever met a woman with commitment issues."
"Well," I reply, "to be fair, you've probably never met anyone like me."

The conversation continues on, us eating, me stopping every couple forkfuls to inspect what new markings J has made on his 5 year old masterpiece. The plates are cleared, and D orders us another round of drinks. J has caught the itis and curls up underneath my arm yawing and stretching and I'm pretty sure he'll be asleep before 5 minutes pass. I rub his back like my mama used to do me, and before long I hear him snoring lightly below me.

"You're good with him," says D to me, watching his son with so much love in his eyes that I suddenly long for a camera.
"Well I love kids. He reminds me of my brother when he was younger."
"You got any?"
"Um... I dunno how you Hamptonians do it, but I'm not popping out babies just for the sake of having another baby daddy." We laugh so loud the other patrons turn and glare. All day we've been finding off key and interesting ways to insult the others choice of school. Gotta love that rivalry.

"So," I start, still chuckling, "why isn't your wife helping you pick out Aunt Jackie's present?" The muscles in his face go slack. He suddenly looks so sad. I try to back peddle because I think I've said the wrong thing and the expression on his face is about to break my heart. I start to stammer out an apology and he cuts me off.
"It's ok," he murmurs and his whole voice, his whole body language has changed. He starts to tell me about her, Y, about their lives together. How they met in high school, were inseperable, went to Hampton together where he proposed. How she had J unexpectedly but still got through med school. How they waited til after she got an internship at Memorial Herman to be near her family to get married. How they were married only a month before she died. He chokes up as he tells me about some coked up teenager stabbing her repeatedly with a pocket knife, and her bleeding to death on the floor of her own hospital, all because she stepped in to stop a fight between he and his girlfriend and he was too high to comprehend that she wasn't attacking him. Without even realizing, somewhere along the way I've started crying.

I'm fidgiting in my seat cuz I can't stand to see someone in so much pain. He tells me how after she died, he pretty much lost it for awhile, and I can certainly relate to his temporary insanity.

"How are you still upright and walking and... breathing?!?" He chuckles lightly.
"My grandma locked me in her house for 2 days," he replies.
He goes on to tell me about his fiesty grandmother who took it upon herself to snap him out of his downward spiral so she kept him at her house for 2 days, cooking for him, and making him talk, giving him encouragement and advice... telling him he was being an ass. We laugh out loud at that once again drawing the looks of other tables.
He says, "I remember the last conversation we had. That's what really turned it around for me. It was a little before midnight and we were sitting outside on her back porch. I was asking her why all this stuff was happening to me, what I did to deserve to lose Y. She turned to me and said, "You're on fire right now. You always were hard, like metal, never did really bend at just regular old bangs and scrapes. You're being molded. When you set metal on fire, it becomes pliable, the parts that are weak fall away, but everything else joins together, becomes one cohesive force that can be molded into whatever it's gonna be. You're on fire right now. But soon you'll find yourself cooling down, settling into what you are supposed to become." I never forgot that," he continues, looking off into space as if he's watching the moment play back on air. "It made me feel less hopeless. Everytime it got so hard that I thought I couldn't bear it I'd remind myself of what she said. Right at midnight she turned to me and said, "Its a brand new day. How will you walk it?" and then she left me alone on the porch. I stayed up for awhile, making promises to myself, to God, to Y, that I haven't broken since and intend never to. The next morning I woke up and Grandma was gone. She left me a note telling me to close the gate behind me when I left. In red lipstick on the mirror of course." We laugh. After the laughter subsides he looks at me intently for a moment. I feel naked under his glare.

"You look like you're on fire right now," he says.

And I start to cry.

In a breathless mumble, everything pours out of me, everything going on, everything that's happening, that has happened to me the last few years. I'm crying at a table with a stranger and giving up information I barely tell a soul. He lets me talk myself silent.
"You're on fire right now," he says gently, "let the weak parts fall away."

I nod, embarrassed that I've said so much, that I've cried, maybe that I'm even in pain. J stirs underneath me and I turn my head to wipe my eyes.

"Daddy I dreamed about ice cream!!!" We burst out laughing. Since he had a dream, we have to get him ice cream.

In the parking lot we say our goodbyes and I get in my truck, distracted and feeling off center. Once I get onto 10 I realize this is the strangest day I've ever had, bonding so much with a stranger and not even bothering to exchange contact info. Airplane talk I guess.

It's still raining and I struggle to focus on the road. Before I know what's happened, the eighteen wheeler in the lane to my right is coming over on me because a small red car has cut him off and he doesn't have time to stop before he runs it over. I swerve hard into the emergency lane which is luckily very wide at this point of the highway and hit the gas to pass the rest of the length of the truck in case he decides to keep coming over. When I hit the gas my tires hit a puddle and my car starts to spin. I take my foot off the gas and turn the wheel into the direction of the spin. I start to pray.

When the car finally stops, I regain my composure enough to survey the scene around me. I've hit nothing. But the emergency lane has narrowed a bit so if my car were a foot to the right, I would've been hit head on by oncoming traffic. Several feet behind me, I see that the truck did in fact hit the little red car as well as the black car that was in the lane behind me. It looks like a crushed soda can. I feel queasy when I realize that had I not sped up to spin out, that would've been me.

Today could have been the day I died.

I lean against my car until I notice a Dodge Nitro reversing in the emergency lane back to where I am. D jumps out a few feet away and runs the rest of the length that seperates us.
"You ok?" he screams at me and all I can do it point to the black car, where I should have been. He hugs me tightly and I realize I'm shivering, but I don't feel cold. I feel like maybe I'm unthawing. He turns me loose and looks me square in the eyes.
"Today is a new day La. How will you walk it?"

I get it.

I nod and turn to climb in my car. I merge back into the lane, giving my eyes to the rearview mirror only once to acknowledge D is there and smile. I drive away, my eyes focused on the road ahead.

Friday, February 16, 2007

On the Verge

For the last few months I've been feeling like a scream has been building in the back of my throat. It's like a pressure mounting on my vocal cords. Everyday I'm choking it back. I feel like I just wanna scream at the top of my lungs.

I'm so damn IRRITABLE, you know? It's just like, so much SHIT going on and I'm just angry so much. Things that didn't used to bother me drive me absofuckinlutely outside of my mind. I feel like I'm losing it. My ability to cope has whittled down to nearly zero. I'm not just rolling with the punches, going with the flow anymore. I feel tightly wound, each offense turning me a little tighter, small strings starting to unravel and curl.

I wanna just fall out in the floor and kick and scream and cry like a child. I need an old fashioned temper tantrum.

I have far too much pride to do that of course.

But I'm choking on it. It's strangling me.

Everything is shit right now.

Thursday, February 15, 2007


So I was in Atlanta this weekend. It was grand. I'd love to tell you about it.

But I'm surely the most miserable person on earth right now.

My best friend is still in Atl.
I am not.

My daddy is still in Atl.
I am not.

I never go out here. I know no one but my co-workers. All my friends are hundreds of miles away. I feel so isolated from everything and everyone I know and love.

Everytime I have to leave Psuedo it gets harder. Hate knowing how good we are together but circumstances are keeping us apart. I know that soon the time is gonna come where we're gonna have to make some hard choices, but I don't want to face that right now. Don't feel like I can handle being that adult at this moment.

I don't feel like I can handle anything. I feel like I'm coming apart. And I don't know why.

Please comiserate. I can't handle you telling me how pitiful and sad I'm being.

Monday, February 5, 2007

I am

I am cute.
I am silly.
I am sexy.
I am beautiful.
I am thought about.
I am missed.

But never loved.

That is all.
Stace inspired me to write about something I seldom discuss.

My relationship with my mother.

My mama and I... well...
It's hard to say. So... yeah.

I can't imagine I was an easy child to raise. I've never really been any trouble, I've just always been particularly stubborn, bullheaded, prideful, willfull and rude. I've always been much older than my age. Partially I guess just because it was in my nature but mostly because I had to be. I've always been independant, fiercely so, so much so that over the years I've developed the attitude that I am all I need. I'm reliable. I take care of myself. I am an island unto myself that is pretty much self sufficient. I couldn't imagine trying to find room to parent that child.

I guess I can't say I was always a good child. But with the exception of 2 or 3 months during and immediately following my senior year in high school, I haven't given anyone too much trouble. During that time, I lost my mind in a major way. Do I wish that the events that unfolded occurred differently? Sometimes. Am I ashamed? Hell no. I went through things at 18 that most women double my age would have bent and folded under. It was a painful time for me, probably the most painful time in my life, but I walked out the other side clearer, focused, more driven, a battle tested warrior who navigated a sea of land mines only to walk through unscathed. I am a fighter. The year I turned 18, I learned that. That year tested my resolve and I passed. I'm damn proud of myself.

But it still hurt me. And she never lets me forget it.

Everytime I seem like I even might misstep, she throws that year in my face. The one time in 22 years I've ever been anything less than pristine and I'll never hear the end of it. Ever.

And what kinda person takes your greatest pain and cuts you open with it at their own discretion?

I know things. Things I'll probably never admit, words I'll probably never speak into existence. But I know. No matter what, I'll always know.
And that governs everything.

In the end, I'd like to be the bigger person. The one who can gracefully forgive and forget. But I'm not that woman. I am still stubborn, bullheaded, prideful, willfull and rude.
And honest.

I know things.

And that governs everything.

Friday, February 2, 2007

I'm Only Writing Because Joy Tagged Me

So here's 5 facts about me you may not know. And maybe you do. And maybe you're psychic and knew them before I told you. Maybe you knew already that I was gonna write this post. Maybe you already have answers prepared...

Really I could go on all night.

Anywho, here goes it.

1. I am deathly afraid of bridges over water.
No really. I don't understand how they work. Am I the only one aware of the fact that the ocean floor shifts and falls to lower depths all the time? Am I the only one concerned that this might happen one peaceful Sunday when I just so happen to be driving my car over a bridge? Really. Seriously. Anyone? They just freak me out. My heart pounds, my mouth goes dry, it's a lil hard to breathe, I can't stop tapping my foot. Fucked up all around.

2. I am super self conscious about my teeth.
They've been crooked all my life. When I was younger, I had a gap wide enough to stick a stiletto in. Now, they're crowded and crooked right in the front. Can't hide them. I hate my teeth. I always have. Many years ago, I was supposed to get braces but that was one of many parental promises that fell through. Objectively speaking, I know they're not HORRIBLE but I'm insecure about them. They're the 1st thing I notice in pictures. They're the 1st thing I notice on others. I have creepy dreams where all my teeth turn sideways and fall out. I'd like to get braces this year but I dunno how I feel about being a 23 year old with metal mouth. Maybe invisalign?

3. I wanna have 3 kids. All boys.
Ok that's not entirely true. I wanna have 5. Still all boys though. Yes, I know, you think I'm crazy, but I wanna have 5 loud, ripping, running, climbing up things, jumping off things, playing in the dirt, pushing, yelling, wrestling, fighting, video game addicted, pet bugs having, little league playing little boys. My own basketball starting 5. That being said...

4. I'm have a pretty strong fear that I'm sterile.
Unlike many of my irrational fears, this one is actually grounded in medical fact. I've had some serious health issues as well as some hereditary geneology that might very well cause me problems. So, I worry. If I am, I know it'll break my heart.

5. I'm completely nuerotic.
And by nuerotic, I mean I'm pretty sure I have OCD. I have little rituals I do, a certain order everything must go in. Everything has it's place. All of my beauty products are arranged from front to back by height, from left to right according to the order I use them in, all labels facing front, all arranged in right angles. My planner is color coordinated. The furniture in my room is arranged just so. My shoes are aligned by height and type. My clothes are color blocked and arranged my length in my closet, and by width (board folded no less) in my drawers. Yeah. It's bad.

Now that I started I can think of at least 70 more. Maybe I'll make it a regular feature. Anywho, I tag Cnel, So Wise, and X. Go!!!!

Hey Duck! This is Just for You!!!

Since you, much like Jameil, have repeatedly denied my requests to turn off word verification on your blogs, I am not able to leave you comments on your posts. However, I wanted to leave you a lil cheer you up.

Also... turn off word verification this instant!!! *ahem* That is all.

Ok! I got 2..

I live in the 'burbs and went to starbucks to get some crack in a cup. A petite little blond w/blue eyes rings me up. When I leave, I check her name on the receipt...
No bullshit.

Personal story...
It's been raining for the last 17 years in Houston b/c Texas is actually Hebrew for 'cursed w/floods'. I'm running to my car yesterday (in flip flops no less), slip, fall, FLY into the air COMPLETELY AIRBORNE, and then land flat on my back in a puddle at least a foot deep. To add insult to injury, then I had to crawl around looking for my flip flops under parked cars, lol.

Thought that might help.

Thursday, February 1, 2007