Spring Cleaning

As you all know my move to the great state of Texas has brought about many positive changes in my life. Initially deciding what to bring to my new life from my old one was slightly difficult. Having a big heart leaves a lot of room for old favorites and sentimental attachments. I had rekindled some loves IE: books, art, writing, long lost clothing etc...and said good-bye to a lot of junk as well. Having no idea what my interests and persuasions would be in Texas, I brought all of my loves including some guilty pleasures (figuratively speaking) with me.

Some people may agree that I use the word "love" very freely...and maybe some people have forgotten that love is the only thing that is free! Many play games in order to protect or ration their love. Others give it away without meaning and just as swiftly take it when ever or where ever the wind may blow. Speaking from experience as both the giver and the receiver of such love...I am slowly but surely realizing that guilt does not equal love...that nothing is owed for sentiment...and people (just like moths) swarm towards the light. Everyone's motive is different but they all seem to understand that the light is precious and hard to come by. My best friends and family genuinely adore, embrace and cherish my light. There are very few people that have fooled me in my lifetime...and those that have...Man, they were good! Smooth, sexy, cunning light suckers! Subconsciously, I knew that we were madly in love...and I mean MADLY (in every sense of the word). Considering myself a strong person, I would get in way over my head expecting to persevere. Admitting to myself that I had allowed these things to happen somehow made it OK for me to continue allowing the behavior ("his" and mine). One day I realized suddenly that my head was slipping below the water as if I had concrete blocks strapped to my ankles. The worst part was I stopped putting up a fight...there was no splashing...only bubbles rising to the surface where my pierced nose had once been.

Understanding how to give love and to accept love is not easy. A lot of my actions were guilt based. I felt as though things were expected of me even if I, alone, had placed those expectations. If I helped you with your rent/bills/phone/car once...well then I guess I will do it again and again and again and again! There is something in me that wants to do for others...my mom references my soft heart often enough for it to sink in. I'm AWARE! As I mentioned earlier (my guilty pleasures) had traveled with me to Texas. A link to some of the madness that deep down I had craved...that excitement, the thrill of passion and intensity. Forgotten were the moments of despair and anger...the phone throwing and screaming. The nausea and anxiety that eventually led to the sobs and lies. I am now in a healthy relationship with respect, with room to grow, with laughter and consideration...(plus much more) BUT at first I constantly questioned what was normal/healthy and what was not. I guess most of those things are relative but I know for sure that constant fluctuations from one extreme to the other is NOT what I want out of a relationship. It's not boring knowing what to expect from your partner...love, understanding, sharing life, learning and growing together...what's boring about that?!

Every day leads to more perspective, with every move I gain freedom and rid my life of the guilt. Reevaluating the "stuff" I have acquired, separating what's vital from what isn't liberates me from those guilty pleasures that don't seem so pleasurable any longer. 100 self portraits as a going away present? Today I have severed all ties to the drama, every link to the light suckers....GONE! I know it's August...but spring cleaning sure does feel good, no matter the time of year!

Oh my ACHING back...

At 19, I worked at a transitional home for recovering drug addicts and their children. This was not your average half-way house as the women here were court appointed...they had no choice in the matter. It was the only one of its kind in the tri-state area (Pa/Md/Va + DC) where their children could live with them as well.

There was a unique mix of women...a local 40 something, (former) rich, white lady who was a pill addict and had two little boys from two different fathers. The youngest was not acknowledged by her (former) in-laws due to his bastard(ness). They would come visit the eldest and bring him gifts on holidays while the baby just watched him enjoy the new toys. The baby, Jordan, was actually my favorite in the house...blond haired, blue eyed-bobble head little 2 year old who would come running awkwardly towards me every time I arrived to work. Jordan had this little Prince Valiant hair cut that would mat, sticking to his forehead with sweat throughout the day. One day I asked his mom if I could give him a haircut and she said she didn't care (of course not, she tried really hard to be a good mom but it just wasn't in her nature to be patient). Poor lil Jordan cried those huge tears and screamed just at the sound of the clippers...sitting on a changing table in the bathroom, he had eventually worn himself out and fell asleep (still sitting upright) with his forehead resting on my belly as I stood next to him finishing up the cut. It was my very first time tapering a male's hair and in my opinion (and everyone elses') he looked even cuter with his lil man haircut! Her oldest (Alex) was such a little know it all...even at 4 years old...he once said to me "My mommy says I have loose bowels." TMI little kid! When angry he would make this weird hissing noise and tell us he was using his "Dragon Breath" to keep everyone away...he said it with such entitlement/pride/confidence that I feared what he would be capable of as an adult.

There were two African-American women from Baltimore that had one child each. One of them was a bit older, followed the rules but had a few extreme moments of rebellion...it made sense that her daughter was only 2 years old...obviously a mistake. The other was in her early thirties, immensely over-weight and immensely ignorant. I say ignorant because she was capable just not interested in anything other than what she knew...the ghetto, using intimidation as a means to an end and her version of "soul" food which consisted of processed, fake alternatives to anything fresh or nutritious. You couldn't tell her anything! When I first met her I thought she had been crying with a single trickle of mascara running down her cheek. I soon found out that was a scar from a knife fight. Maybe I was naive but my heart was in the right place. This woman's daughter had the worst name I'd ever heard. Two syllables and the second sounding like Queer. I'm not sure what she was going for with this name but for a chubby lil black girl who was all mouth, that name was just begging for hateful school aged ridicule! This woman would pretend to be nice and cooperative but as soon as she was having a bad day or told to do something she didn't want to do..."You stupid bitch! What's a rich lil white girl doin tellin me anythin bout life? You don't know what I been through! You don't know shit lil white girl!" I guess from her perspective that was the easy route to take with me and the two other young (white) women that I worked with on the 2nd shift. She was right, I didn't know what she'd been through except from reading her file. However, she also didn't know what I'd been through...I had the same choices in life as she had...and I chose to do the "right" things to get me to the place I was at the time...and that was: not in jail, not with 3 kids, not an addict...I repeat, NOT AN ADDICT! Her being an addict was the catalyst. Just once, I did feel kinda bad for her. She finally got a steady job, consisting of steady movement/exercise throughout the day and having us apply ointment to the sores developing between her fat rolls must have been extremely humbling. Guess my lil white ass wasn't too good for that!

Not all the residents were living up to the typical crack-head stereotype. There were a couple younger women that had lived similar lives to mine. A few wrong turns and suddenly they went from addict to pregnant to rehab to transitional home...learning how to live a sober life and raise their children to do so as well.

Another local woman who had three kids (the youngest named Morgan...guess why)...all three born addicted to crack and alcohol...all three relatively healthy and normal...I used to ask myself all the time how is it a woman like this can be so lucky to have 3 healthy babies and someone else who follows all the rules has a baby born with cancer (my cousin) or a baby with heart defects (my aunt)? Its crazy to me how this world works. This woman's eldest, a cute 3 year old, demonic, little blond haired boy who wore his heart on his sleeve, would fight, kick and punch as you tried to hug him. Once your arms were securely around him, he would just melt into your body...his inner turmoil, even at a young age was unsettling. One of his finest moments: All the toddler aged kids were playing in the shared living room...they each had one of those cars/trucks that had little handle bars on the back so a small child could use it as an kiddie walker...some of them even had seats so one could sit and the other could push them around. This lil boy was pushing around one of the younger lil girls...both laughing and being sweet. He was so careful not to run her legs or feet into any of the furniture. He stops suddenly and looks at me all hunched over with his hand on his hip and a devious look on his face...he groans "Oh my aching back!"

Almost ten years later, when my back aches I think of this lil boy, that time in my life and how much I learned from the people that were in it...

Just a typical day in the neighborhood

This morning I am awake, lying in bed, (whether I like it or not) getting covered in kisses by a 55lb baby boxer named Coco. She's clumsy, lanky and lovable! Baxter, a Havanese (Google it), is lying on his back in the crook of my armpit looking very sweet and innocent. Bella, my Shih-Tzu/Maltese mix, all five pounds of her, likes the space down at the foot of the bed observing the calamity. TIME TO GET UP! I make my way to the front door wearing a pink tye-died t-shirt that I acquired in high school at one of my many track & field meets and lavender scrub pants. After slipping on my kitchen clogs I hesitate…usually these three monsters go leash-less but today I decide that’s not gonna fly.

Most people that see me walking three dogs say “Boy, you’ve got your hands full there!” and I just smile and nod. What do they know? My lil' monsters are so good for me that I can usually walk with all three leashes in one hand, no problem. I don’t enjoy voluntarily adding stress to my life…these three have learned to just go with my flow.

My (gated) apartment complex is very nice…and very expensive…and that’s why I’m moving out at the end of the month! There are ten total buildings arranged in a huge circle with, on average, 36 apartments to a building. The outside entrances to each apartment are in a sort of tunnel. They are covered but still without complete protection from the elements. The four of us make our way through the tunnel to the rear of my building. Right in front of me is the sand volleyball court surrounded by a lot of grass and that’s where most people on this end of the complex let their dogs take care of business.

I’m happy that mine are leashed as one of the maintence men is driving around the golf cart stopping near by to throw things in the back from a recently vacated unit. My dogs are UBER friendly and will run up to anyone just for some love and affection. The other day an unleashed Coco and Baxter were heading toward my apartment door when a woman and her two children were walking in from the parking lot (the front side of the building). Coco and Baxter took off running, straight for them…of course the kids were freaked because Coco is kinda huge but the best part is watching this fat woman, carrying a fast food bag, talking on her cell phone, turn and run (as fast as SHE could) to the tailgate of a nearby pick up truck and hopped in! She left her two lil ones in her dust! I had to laugh…and of course apologize for MY lil ones scaring them…but I just stood at my door and said “COME” and they did. I’m proud I have that kind of power…

Today while walking back towards my apartment door there is a lady (that I don’t remember seeing before) walking down the steps from the second floor, as it seems, to throw away a bag into the trashcan by the volleyball court. She is short but I’m tall so I doubt that’s helping with her description. She has that body type of huge boobs, round belly but lil bitty skinny legs and arms. You know what I’m talking about? Wearing glasses with her graying black hair piled on top of her head, shorts, a t-shirt and sandals. I can tell she’s excited to see my dogs, especially Bella. Bella looks like a lil teddy bear and she loves people…EVERYONE wants to pick her up! As this lady comes closer she starts making those baby-talking noises and bends down to pet the, at this point, highly excited lil monsters. She’s bending down...she’s bending down...she's bending down...next thing I know she’s on her knees in the grass and then on her face! “Oh my God! Are you ok?” She has literally face-planted with her arms crumpled beneath her! However, it was seamless, graceful and I couldn’t believe it! I am now on my knees in this urine soaked “yard” (the main reason I don’t wear shoes in my apartment) trying to figure out if this lady is ok. The poor thing just lifted her upper body and stayed down on her knees to pet the dogs. I had another OMG moment as I see poor little Bella’s head peaking out from this woman’s crotch! I pull her out gently by the leash and the woman just put her glasses back on and kept petting Coco, not even realizing that she just birthed-a-Bella! Baxter, who is usually just so happy-go-lucky, also had an OMG moment. He stood behind me seeming to want nothing to do with this freak show. She motions to Baxter murmuring something about him being shy…I had to laugh! Baxter? Shy? More like incredibly intuitive! Now realizing, as I noticed one of the lenses to her glasses was lying in the grass (she has been wearing them since she “righted” herself without a clue it had been missing) that this lady is drunk…or high…a little too chunky to be a drug addict (in my opinion) plus she had all her teeth…But WTF is she doing in this state at 11am?
After asking again if she is ok, I finally got back into my apartment and just started laughing!

It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood, A beautiful day for a neighbor, Would you be mine? Could you be mine?
Won't you be my neighbor?

Charles Bukowski "The man with the beautiful eyes"

in the throws of anxiety

If you know me well then you know that, well, I am well. A few things come up from time to time to reinforce that no matter who or where you are in life there are going to be obsticles...even if that includes yourself...or in this case, MYself.

Having a steady hand, steady head and centered spirit 99.9% of the time really doesn't matter when anxiety sets in.

In the Depths of the Night

After reading my blog from last night, I don't feel as if I was able to articulate my thoughts as well as I would have liked. The consumption seems so intense and dramatic in my mind. How do "writers" convey that intensity? Is it because the reader is engrossed? Is it because the reader can relate or wants to so badly?

My best thinking is done at night

I've always done my best thinking at night. As a child I had trouble falling asleep because of the constant obsessive thoughts coursing through my brain. Somehow I needed to expel them and find some peace.
I started writing in a diary as all little girls do...but after reading over my works I came to the realization that I just sounded like a whiney little brat and just ceased writing all together. As u may know, children tend to have selective memories and I would soon enough forget that I didn't like what I wrote the first twelve times and start up another journal...I had graduated from the princess diary with the lock and key...which didn't work very well anyway. Again I stopped writing in the newest journal...my mom will attest, I rarely finish what I start. Haven't figured out if I have ADD or am just too smart to waste my time on things that aren't fulfilling some type of need. Either way, I soon decided that when I do write I will just crumple it up and throw it in a shoe box or my nightstand drawer. to this day I still have the shoe box...I plan on a compilation of my younger works...but that's for another time.
There is something about the night...when all is quiet. its almost as if I am all alone in the world. its just me and my thoughts...they tend to envelope me, consume me. I can't rest until they are documented...I can however rest easy when the fear of "lost thought" subsides. Writing has been my only solution...even if it means lying in bed typing on my phone as I'm doing now.
What could possibly have me so engrossed you might be asking...its really my attempt to truly grasp how unpredictable life can be. Waking up one person and quite literally going to sleep another. How can anyone know what they will feel from one moment to the next? I do sometimes need to remind myself that I'm unique in a lot of ways...I'm not so different but even though people may be able to understand my school of thought doesn't mean they are able to teach at Absorbing Life University. Maybe people aren't inquisitive enough or have stopped asking themselves anything of importance. Have we as a society given up? Satisfied or content with a mundane existence? From the outside looking in things might seem mundane but I can say without any doubt that my mind is never satisfied...it is grateful but not content and I will continue to strive for what I believe in, continue to live my life as I see fit and enjoy every moment of it!