Goodbye Self

I am only writing this post because it is some sort of way of procrastinating for me. I have had good intentions of writing, but those intentions have fallen to the wayside. I could offer up an excuse or two, but I honestly don't have one. I have been dealing with so much. The newness of my move has worn away, and schedules and routines have started to wear grooves in the wood. As much as I came here to get away and find something shiny and new, I never considered the new battles that would be waged. I can't say that people didn't try to warn me; Oh, how they tried. I will admit there is some smug satisfaction in that what I heard people say would happen, didn't happen. But alongside that arrogance, I am ashamed at how I didn't prepare myself emotionally.

I have mentioned my stubborn nature a time or two, but dealing with yourself can be very painful at times. My new job has me in a strange client relationship that I only briefly questioned in my interview. There have been some days where I have been so angry that I wished I could just cry. The job is so much harder than what I expected. I worried myself over the technical issues that I would face coming here. I assured myself that, that would be the issue, but alas, I was so dead wrong. To date, the technical issues haven't been something to blink at; however, the concept of what I do--what I am responsible for--has had me reeling.

I come from Memphis. I come from parents that consistently "taught me better." I came from college where I majored in the art of communication. I am supposed to be naturally good at communicating. But not once have I ever learned how to deal with negative energy, with drama, with people who think nothing of dropping tone or insinuating that you're an idiot. I bend over backwards to turn situations around. I am typically good at manipulating or even messaging a situation into what I need it to be. Granted, some people intimidate me so much that I can't string two coherent words together, but most of time, I can hold my own.

Dare I say it? It hurts. It hurts really fucking bad. Actually, it doesn't even feel like hurt, but God does it make me angry. So angry, that my thoughts spin out of control; so angry, that I want to walk off and never come back; so angry that the only words I can muster are, "Okay, let me see what I can do," as my mouth fills with blood, and I fight every ounce of the governing Taurus that wants to charge.

I'm trying to step back and look at this as growing pains. There are always things about yourself that you will discover are unsightly. I'm trying to face that side of myself, to control it, and I am quite certain I can relate to multiple-personality disorders now.

It's hard letting go, but I am going to master it, even if it kills me.


Truly Touched

I fell in love with the concept of a blog when I met Mary Forrest. I found her site by googling "fonts" of all things on the web, and she had a list of places to go to find freeware (fonts that you can download and use for free). I started reading her blog some time in probably 2002. I wrote to her, and she quickly responded, and it was like I had gotten an email from God, herself. I was captivated by her language, her wit, and her creative talents. A lot of what she writes goes far beyond my head, but I have never gotten the sense that she is arrogant with her knowledge, but it is obvious that she was a precocious child.

I don't read a ton of blogs because I am not usually charmed by them. I get the sense that a lot of people just want to be "known," and I kind of find that writing to be empty. I don't necessarily want to read someone's online diary just so they can be famous. When I started my blog, I didn't tell a soul for probably a few years. I kept it just like a diary, with the slight fear that someone could still be reading what I wrote. I have always had countless journals, and then hung my head in shame because I wouldn't continue to write in them. I struggled with this process over and over again. If you are at all a perfectionist, you can possibly understand that writing can be cumbersome. There is no cutting and pasting, no delete button, or backspace key. Your errors are kind of frozen on the page, and even with the help of Liquid Paper®, the mistake is still noticeable.

All this to say, there aren't too many blogs that I follow religiously, but Mary Forrest is one of them. She wrote this post the other day:

"I have this faint memory of a phone call and a sinking feeling. Of suspicion and fear. And impatience and resentment. I remember arguing about bottles of wine and who they belonged to. I remember not really being angry about the wine. The wine was a scapegoat. It lives out in the desert now. Never to return.

You come into a person's life where you come in. There's no changing it. You know them when you know them, where they are and when they are. You know what there is. And when more is added, and when more is stripped away, you continue to know the shadow of what was there. Paper doll fashions leave their silhouettes. You learn the absence of the image better than the presence of it. The absence persists.

Even longing begets focus. Even the kind that promotes flailing and frenzy. But this other thing. It's like a problem with my eyes. I can't seem to just look at one thing for even a second. I am everywhere and all over the place. And all the while, I'm nowhere. I ceased to exist some time ago. No matter how much space I take up.

Died in the church and was buried along with her name. Nobody came."

So, so beautiful, I just couldn't help but put it here.


As If I Weren't Already Happy Enough

I have:
(a) Successfully installed internet onto the laptop
(b) Managed to change the belt on the vacuum cleaner
(c) Changed out the head to the mop

It's almost like God is telling me that I could actually be equipped to be a mom or something.

I said almost.


My Weekend, My Night

I took a quick trip home this weekend back to Memphis. My main purpose in doing so was to host a baby shower for my best friend. Another reason was to get the VACUUM CLEANER. Talk about having to suppress every urge you ever had. Whew.

When I was hosting the shower, I continually had to answer the question, "But aren't you lonely?" and there was such a look of utter sympathy on each individual's face. I felt like the conversation was something like, "We heard you had leukemia, you poor thing. How are you coping?" There was just that much concern on everyone's face. I had to continually reassure everyone that I am OKAY. I haven't been lonely for even a fraction of a second. In fact, I kind of keep wondering how other people manage to keep a household afloat because I struggle with just myself. I am jamming things into about every minute of the day, so much so, I haven't really soaked it all in just yet. I haven't even blogged about it. Proof, I would say.

In other news of my weekend, I had my going away party from some of my closer friends at my part-time job. There were even some gifts presented to me, and before I opened each one, I would carefully nose around the contents and then ask with a raised brow, "Is it dirty? Am I gonna be embarrassed?" After the third time, Tiffany said, "If you wanted it to be dirty, girl, you just should have told us. We could have gotten you some motor oil and a box of condoms."

There was also CAKE, which if you've never read my blog, I am like, The Queen of Cake. I could be woken from a coma if someone said the word, "Cake." I was presented with the biggest cake I have ever seen. It was from Costco's and OH MY GOD, it was the BEST CAKE. [Please refer to evidence below and let's all salivate over that mother-load of icing.]

I left the restaurant with more than half of the cake. When I arrived in Atlanta a mere two days later with the leftovers, I had received only four pieces of it. Talk about getting the shaft.

This is Michael, who previously, was rekindling a lost love with Billy Idol's hair. Here, he makes me ponder what that shirt is really suggesting since he's gay. I whispered to one girl, Lindsey, "Okay, I wanna wear that shirt. It would give it a whole, new meaning."

Michael is also signing my card. Shhhh!

Bill wanted to hold these plates like he had breasts, so we let him because we're a cool group like that. Tiffany had shown off her talent with icing from a tube. I wonder where she has practiced that before.

The closest of my friends....

[Wipes tear] Me, Tiffany (Tiff), Bill, & Lindsey

*Lindsey, should you ever see this picture, I'm know I'm going to get a stern talking to about this shot & your facial expression, but it's the only one where I looked good, and that was way more important. And when I say good, I totally mean not as bad as the rest of shots.