Writing Keeps Me Honest

Writing has always been a way for me to express my feelings.  Whenever I’ve been in a situation where I have felt I couldn’t express my emotions verbally, or when I am feeling overwhelmed, angry, pissed, restless, you name it…I write about it.  When my mind is whirling with thoughts, I write.  When I’m feeling emotional, I write.  When I’m mad as hell, I write.  It helps me to achieve clarity.  If I can get it down on paper, I can get it off my mind.  Getting it off my mind and onto paper helps me to take a step back from it, helps me to see what I need to do about it.  Writing can help me to break it all the way down.

This past weekend gave me a LOT to write about.  There was so much going on in my mind and in my heart that I sat down and wrote pages and pages of what was going on inside of me.  Nope, that content won’t be posted here.

I told someone this weekend that I would be completely honest with them.  I have to admit, that is going to be tough.  The last time I was completely honest with someone, when I could and did share everything, was a long time ago.  Since that time there has always been one reason or another for why I didn’t share all of me, didn’t give away all of my thoughts, all of my secrets.  Didn’t (and wouldn’t) give someone that much ammunition that could be used against me.  Not that I truly thought any one I dealt with would do such a thing, it was just something I chose not to do, I guess something I felt I could not do.

This past weekend, I promised someone I would be honest about my thoughts, about my feelings.  That’s a scary thing for me.  Real talk.  For me that means putting full trust in someone to hold my confidences, to keep my secrets safe.  Can I do that again?  The last person I put my trust in hurt me badly.  I took my time to get past all that (wrote about it in these e-pages).  I guess the question really has little meaning then, when I think about the fact that the same person I just promised to be completely honest with is the last person I was fully and completely honest with, way back when.  That requires some thought as to why that is…

I shared this blog with him.  Welp, there goes the neighborhood.  I wrote about him. I’m guessing he will have questions.

Two people know I’m the author of this blog.  I was planning to keep it anonymous.  But then I said I’d be honest…. This damn honesty is taking me out of my comfort zone.

I’d better go grab my pen….I have more writing to do.

Karma and Shiny New Things

I could see his mind working. The car was too big, too shiny, too new.  My daughter stood there smiling up at him and pointing at it, and he stood there looking at it, wondering. I finally said “That’s where we’ve been all day.” He stood there for a moment and then asked, “Is it leased?”  I could tell he was wondering, calculating, trying to figure out if the child support he is paying has been going toward my new toys. The answer is no. That money is used to take care of the household, to take care of our child, to take care of her activities, and everything she needs. I budget wisely, I make sure that everything gets done.

As I stood there, I thought about how karma sure knows how to bite a person in the butt. He had car issues the previous night when leaving my house after visiting with his daughter. His car is old, and in the years since I kicked him out and divorced him I’ve had two new cars. But then again, I’ve always had a plan, I’ve always had a purpose, I’ve always known what I needed to do and gotten it done. See, for me, it’s the long game, not just the what’s happening right now game. I know how to get things done, I know how to make things right, and I believe in karma. I believe the universe is watching and taking notes, and I believe that when we do right, good things happen.

 I love my new vehicle.  I like my life. Sure, there are things that I would like to have different, but I know those things will come. I have some things that I need to do, some things I need to change, some things I need to improve on.  I know without a doubt that God is with me, I know without a doubt that as much as I try to do right, good and right things will happen to me and for me.  I just have to believe.

I believe that good things are coming my way, and I will keep the faith that my life will soon be the way I want it.

If there was ever a question of karma, I just have to look at his situation to see that Karma is a b**ch. And she doesn’t play.

In My Feelings

I read stories about things I do not have, stories about the things I want.  I’m a reader.  I read about the things I desire most, to see how they play out in the lives of others.  I am a hopeless romantic.  No, not hopeless.  I am simply a woman who believes that there is a love out there for me somewhere.  I believe that there is a passion, that there is a man who will love me more than any one else ever has.  One who will want to be with me for the rest of our lives.

I am truly all up in my feelings right about now.  Lately, I been feeling lonely.  Yes, I have my family, my friends, and I stay busy doing a myriad of activities.  And yet, in all that, what I DON’T have, is a person to share my life with, a companion, a lover, a best friend.  I want that.  I don’t deny it.  Hell, I’m a woman, aren’t I.  It is true that years ago, when I pictured my life at my current age, I didn’t see myself as alone, a single parent, and feeling like I need to hit the ground running, literally, because being single isn’t any fun when I have no physical outlet, no chance for, ahem, adult activities.  Eff it….I am in need of that thing Marvin Gaye sang about so long ago.  A song I sing in my head, but can’t play when my seven year old is within ear shot.  She would ask too many questions.  It is a feeling I used to run from, one I use to try to pray away because I didn’t want to feel this desire.  I can feel it like a gentle hum, electricity rising off of my skin.  I am a grown ass woman and dammit, it has been a long time.  Since I don’t do that friends with benefits bullshit, it might be a while longer….and that will just have to be okay.

And so I read.  And at times I get all up in my feelings.  I’m human.  I make no excuses.  I just write about it.  An old friend is coming into town in a few days, and wants to see me.  I’m not so brazen that I’d in any way suggest that he scratch my itch (though he will likely never know that I will remain forever curious about what that might actually be like).

I promised myself that I’d be real about mine as I write this blog.  Thus far I have.  I find that I have tempered some of my writing at times because there is at least one person who knows my identity.  But that’s okay.

I’d really, truly like to find that one man who is meant for me.  I think I’m ready, but the Lord works in mysterious ways and so I will wait (as patiently as I can) for the day to come when I meet him.  And also, I’ll either find the time to run, or get a treadmill…gotta get rid of this “energy” one way or another.  Since my desired way isn’t currently an option, guess I’ll have to lace up my running shoes.  Miles to go before I sleep.

Flashbacks and the Now

I was at an event the other day, helping out a friend.  During the course of our conversation she mentioned a name I hadn’t heard in over twenty years.  It was a name I will never forget.  Though she is my best friend, she doesn’t know my history with this name, with this person.  In passing she said she’d seen him.  Him?  In a flash I felt warm, perhaps I was blushing, I don’t know.  She clarified her statement by giving his last name, but I knew exactly who she was talking about.  Him.  Wow.  I haven’t seen him since 1992.  Why do I remember?  How can I forget?  Does anyone ever really forget the first person they fell in love with?

 

We were never together, though he tried on at least two occasions to get something started.  We were young, I was naive in a lot of ways, but I was (and am) smart enough to know what being with him would have meant for me.  This past Sunday, as I helped out a friend, the music that played was a soundtrack of yesteryear, of high school.  The songs that played, I remember singing them when they came on the radio.  Some I sang when I thought of him.  They reminded me of the love I had for boy I didn’t really know.  They had me replaying parts of my life I hadn’t thought about in a long while.

 

It was interesting, the feeling of having an unspoken question answered.  Over the years, I’ve wondered what ever happened to him.  Now I know, he is still around.  I wonder if he might remember me.  Who knows?  I surely remember him.  It is funny how things seem to come together.

 

I have two “first loves.”  The one I fell in love with at age thirteen, but never really knew, and the one who showed me what love could be (I was seventeen), we were together for about a year.  Interestingly enough, the second knew about the first.  It came up in a conversation we had one day about a previous boyfriend and some of the things that went on in that relationship.  He accepted what I told him, made no demands, and in many ways loved me more than anyone has since that time.  Every so often, like tonight, I get a phone call from him.  Tonight’s call was him letting me know that he’d be in town next month, that he wants to see me.  He is my one.  The only one I’d give a second chance to.  I wonder why he calls, why he wants to come see me, but I think I know.  One of these days, I will ask.  He keeps asking me “so what’s up with you?”  I get the feeling he wants to know if I’m dating anyone right now.  I’m not, but I don’t volunteer that information. He is going to have to ask me directly if he really wants to know.

 

It makes me feel a certain type of way, knowing that when he is in town he makes a point of seeing me.  Years ago, when I was married, my younger sister would tell him that he should “rescue” me.  She has always been his cheerleader.  It’s funny.  I suppose if he lived closer, we might see about the possibilities.

 

In these last few days, I’ve been reminded of my firsts.  I think tomorrow I might dig out the old journals and poetry I used to write.  I don’t write as much any more.  I should.  In fact, I think I will.

That Energy Though…ijs

So…I met a nice guy last weekend.  I was out some friends, and having a good time when we struck up a conversation with a couple of guys standing near us.  I ultimately exchanged numbers with a tall gentleman who seemed nice and had fairly good conversation.  I left the party for home around 12:30am (Cinderella, I know).  When I woke up the next morning, I saw that he had sent a text saying that he hoped I’d made it home okay.  Brownie points for him and that text.  It was a nice gesture and made me smile.

Fast forward a week, and after a couple of texts, he called me this evening.  During the conversation, when speaking of the Women’s March yesterday, he asked if I’d attended.  I told him that my daughter would not have had the most pleasant experience (hey, I KNOW my child).  He was like, “Oh, you have a daughter.”  He then asked me “So, how long were you married?”  He earned more brownie points for asking how long I was married, not IF I had been married (not that there is anything wrong with having children outside of marriage – it just isn’t my thing).  He then went on to say that he “never would have guessed that I’d been married and had a daughter, because my energy on the night we met was so great, so real.  I was out and having a good time….”

So I listened to that part about my energy thinking “WTF?”  He didn’t mean it as a diss, he was just saying that he seems to meet a lot of women who have been in my situation (divorced).  We discussed how some of his friends are on the “marriage is horrible, I’m never doing that shit again” bandwagon.  In my opinion, people who say that are still bitter, still carrying around some hurt and disappointment from that experience and perhaps they need to figure out a way to get past it.

Sure, I’m divorced.  I was pissed at the ex for a long time, but I got over it (well before the divorce papers came).  He’s still an idiot, though.  For real.  I am NOT on that “never getting married again” bandwagon.  Out there is someone who is the right man for me.

The night I met this new guy, I was having a great time.  So yes, my energy was on point.  Why wouldn’t it have been?  I was dressed up, looking gorgeous, and feeling good…how else am I gonna catch the eye of someone I might want to know?

Having made some positive changes in my life within the twenty two days of this year alone, that “energy” is going to be spilling out all over the place.  This year, I’ve got a new attitude….

That energy?  Yep, I’m going to use that “energy” to real them all in.  Starting with this one….maybe.

 

 

There is One

There is one.  There has always been one.  Through all the boyfriends (and one ex-husband) of yesteryear, there is one.  I’ve never, NEVER EVER been one to go backwards.  Never.  A few have tried rekindling something with me.  I cut them off at the knees each and every time.  If it didn’t work the first time, it for damn sure wasn’t gonna work the second time, or any other time.  After the relationships ended, they were lucky if they got a “hello” from me when they saw me.  For the most part, they didn’t see me.  Remember, I don’t go backwards.

But I do have to admit, there is one.  One from my past for whom a call is a source of happiness.  For him, I’d take a step backwards.  Why?  I’m not sure.  Really.  Just. Not. Sure.  I have ideas.  I can guess at whatever feeling it is that has me considering…has me imagining….has me wondering what if, and playing through scenarios of unfinished business that might finally be finished.  Finally.

I imagine that he might be the last.  Then again, my imagination has always been vivid, inventive.  Oh the things my psyche brings up during slumber.  Better than sci-fi.  Better than that Oscar or Emmy winner.  All me.

Back to him.  In his presence I am at my most comfortable.  This guy had seen my highs and my lows in the past.  Now, when I look at him, I am unafraid.  There is absolutely no fear.  No real wondering if he might judge me harshly or think me silly.  No fear, because years ago he knew all my secrets, and loved me anyway.  Perhaps the lack of fear is rooted in knowing that I still hold a place in his heart.  Even after all these years.  Decades have passed, and yet when he comes into town, I am the first person he calls when he gets off the plane.  (That makes a girl feel good….be still my beating heart).

The last time he was in my neck of the woods, he didn’t get a chance to stop by due to a family emergency.  However, I think that perhaps in the grand scheme of things, it was God’s way of saying “Not right now.”

Way back in the mid 1990s, I found myself in New Orleans.  I went to a Voodoo shop and had my fortune told.  The woman traced my lifeline and told me that I would have three loves in my life… one love, one lust, and one “why not.”  I’ve believe I’ve pinpointed two of the three.  I don’t hold much store in fortune telling, but I do find it interesting…she said I’d marry an old friend.  I did.  She was right about that.  In the name of lust I made a choice that was totally the WRONG choice.  I’ve laid those demons to rest as it was a loooonnnngggg time ago.

It is interesting that for this one, I’d take a step back into a realm I left a long time ago.  Perhaps it is a simple curiosity to see just how much I’ve changed over the years.  I’m not the girl I used to be. He isn’t the boy he used to be.  As a barometer of life, it would be interesting to see if the two us as full grown adults might be able to get along.

What will be, will be.

Yes, I Can Be Picky.

I get to be picky.  And judge-y.  I am at a point in my life where I do not feel the need to settle for less than I deserve.  I don’t say that to mean that I am somehow “better than” my peers.  What I am, however, is not about that “settling” life.

I met a nice guy a few months ago.  He was nice.  Not at all attractive, short, not very fit….but he was nice.  I figured he might make an okay friend.  I was somewhat more inclined to talk with him (get to know him), until I found out he has no college degree.  To find out that little tidbit, I actually had to ask….he didn’t offer that information.  He talked about attending college…but didn’t mention he hadn’t finished.  Strike one.  Now, don’t get it twisted, I know there are millions of people in the world today who don’t have college degrees and who are fabulous people…..  For myself, as I go about life in the dating world, a person with a college degree is definitely more desirable…

In speaking to this dude on a few occasions, I got the feeling that he is used to not needing to put much effort into his dealings with women.  I told him from the beginning that I don’t deal in BS.  I’m not the one to keep calling a guy in an effort get to know them, when they are not putting in the same (more) effort to see me.  So after a  phone conversation or two, the guy didn’t call for several days. Strike two.   I call him and we arrange a lunch meeting….he doesn’t show up.  Strike three.  He’s out.

Fast forward to a recent weekend.  We meet for lunch (I’m a nice person…and…free lunch…).  He tries to hug all up on me.  Nope.  He is a messy eater.  Nope.  We walked for a while and he offered to drive me back to my car.  His car was so beat up on the inside…the passenger lock had to be unlocked by reaching through the back door.  Nope.  The seats were dirty and torn.  Nope.  I couldn’t roll down my window because it wasn’t working.  Nope.  The car smelled.  Nope.  And to top it all off, when he pulled over to the curb so I could get out and head to my car, he leaned over like I was going to kiss him.  Oh Heck No!  The minute he pulled over I was getting out the car…I did thank him for lunch…. (remember, I’m a nice person).

He has been calling me and texting me since that day….  I’m not interested.  I will break it to him gently….  Wait, no I won’t.  I will just tell him that we can be friends…. Or, I may just not respond to his texts and phone calls.

I settled once before.  I am NOT about to do that ish again.

I read an article a few weeks ago.  The article spoke of women who settle, who sometimes find their lives changed for the better, but more often find their lives drastically changed for the worse.  As women, we are brought up to cater to men, to be good listeners, to hold up our men, not hurt their feelings, not drag them down.  I would never intentionally hurt another, but as a woman of faith, and one who knows my boundaries, I now refuse to accept less than what I deserve.

So, the next time a person is “nice” I may just keep it pushing.  I don’t owe anyone my number just because they ask. I’ve been single for a while, and I am okay with that.  Yes, I want companionship and I eventually want to get married again, however I’m not so hard up that I will date anyone who asks.  I’m not about that life.

If companionship means dealing with idiots like the one I went out with a few weeks ago…then I’m fine with being single until I meet the right one.

Him I Adored

There are two particular songs in the soundtrack to my teenage life.  One song, ‘I Need Love” by LL Cool J.  The other, “Adore” by Prince.  It is these two songs that remind me of Him.  These songs played out my early teenage years.  They spoke of a need I had, a desire I had, a love I had.  I played these songs, and I thought of him.

Him.  I never really knew him.  Not really.   He wasn’t for me, and yet he was.  The “him” I knew, was the one I had seen in his eyes the day after he found out I cared about him.  That day, he said nothing, but the emotions in his eyes told me a story.  They spoke perhaps of a desire he himself had, one that matched my own.  That day, I looked into his eyes, and I walked right past him, because I was afraid.  I was afraid of my own emotions.  I walked in to another room, and I let the wall be my anchor.  I remember that day.  It was the day I first fell in love. 

LL Cool J played the soundrack to my thirteen year-old beginnings of love.  His song spoke of how he yearned for love, how he realized his mistakes, how he wanted to be the boy (man) he needed to be because he “needed love.”  That song played on the radio, and I thought of Him.  I saw Him in the hallways at school.  I saw Him around at lunchtime.  Other than a brief time during the previous Summer, I did not speak of Him to my sisters, to my friends.  What I felt for Him, I kept inside.  I kept it secret, in my space, because I knew that to announce it to the world was to be questioned.  You see, the Him that I knew wasn’t the one he put forth to the world.  The Him I knew was the one I saw in his eyes that day, the one I saw regularly when he thought no one was watching.  Upon reflection, the him I knew was probably the one of dreams.  But that was okay…..I loved him deeply, from afar, and I stayed away.

Twice in my life I had a chance to get to know him, to be with him.  I adored Him.  The Him I knew.  But each time he asked, I told him no.  One night in our sophomore year, the DJ played Adore, by Prince, at the homecoming dance.  I remember looking across the room at him, somehow meeting his eyes across the expansive, dim space.  Adore was playing, and the feeling hit me again, like it always had, like it would for years to come.  Love. 

Perhaps, years later, it was the thought of love that kept him in the forefront of my mind.  I didn’t dwell on him.  At some point I put the feelings I had aside (for a while, until I’d see him again).  I had an occasion to be in his presence, one year after high school had ended.  I thought that night of casually throwing it in to the conversation.  I thought of saying “I was in love with you in high school.”  And though he and I sat watching television for a while, uninterrupted by any of the other friends at the house that day, I said nothing.   I couldn’t. That was my chance, and I let it pass.  The feeling was somehow, some way, still there.  Still there, strong and burning hot.  Still mine.  Still my almost secret.  I couldn’t say a word.  Two people in this world knew what I felt for him.  Only two.  That was enough.  And so on that day I remained silent.  I didn’t say a thing.  When a friend joked “I love him,”  I thought “me too.”

Prince Rogers Nelson died today.  His songs spoke to so many areas of my life.  Of all the songs, Adore was my absolute favorite.  It was the song that played that one night, at a high school dance, when I looked across the room and saw Him.  In a moment indelibly imprinted on my psyche, I dreamed of that moment for years after that night.  Except, in my dreams, I told Him how I really felt. 

When I think of Prince, when I think of Prince’s music, I think of that first love.

That Thing Called Karma

Perhaps it is because I’ve always cared about how my actions affect others.  Perhaps it is because I’ve have always believed that there are consequences to my actions.  I remember being younger and purposely NOT doing some things I wanted to do, because I was aware of the potential for karma to come back and kick my butt at a point in the future when I least expected it.  Was I a good girl?  For the most part, yes, I was.

One time, in my early twenties, I made a conscious decision to do something I KNEW without a doubt was wrong.  The negative consequence of my actions was immediate.  That was enough for me to make sure I ordered my step in all things as I moved forward in life.

If more people thought about the potential negative consequences of what they are choosing to do, then perhaps they would make different choices.  There is a person mad at me today (he stays mad, actually, but #IDGAD) because he hasn’t been doing something he is supposed to do.  When I ask about it, he gets mad all over again, like I’m supposed to care about his circumstances.

Wait, maybe I AM supposed to care….let me think.  *pause*  Nope, still don’t care.

That karma, she ain’t something to play with.  Nah, son.  But the thing about it is, the people for whom karma is now making an appearance, they don’t recognize it for what it truly is.  They are stuck in their misery, blaming others for the things that are happening, rather than admitting to themselves that they effed up somewhere along the way.

Not one to take joy in another’s unfortunate circumstance, perhaps I feel a bit of pity for the idiot…  Nope.  I do, however, have to admit to the small, minuscule feeling of satisfaction I feel at seeing karma make an appearnce.  That is terrible of me.  I know.  I said the feeling was minuscule…

Remember when you where younger, and your mom or dad told you to do something/not to do something and you didn’t listen, then something bad happened?  Remember how they said “I told you so,” with a shoulder shrug and left you to think about where you went wrong.

Some people need that thinking time.  A lot of it.

 

 

School Children of the Corn

You know what?  When I became a teacher eighteen years ago, it was because I wanted to change the world. I had broad visions of helping kids learn that they are better than their circumstances.  I wanted to teach them to love life, and literature, and the idea of their future.  As the years go by, I have seen that the futures of the students in my charge are at times questionable.  I say that to mean at times it seems that NOTHING I do will ever help that child.  That is a sad feeling.

Increasingly, I am seeing a world in which the children are running the show (and doing a piss-poor job at it).  Any time a parent turns to a student and asks them what THEY want to do about their education, that is a parenting fail.  If a child has been skipping school, failing all subjects, refusing to listen to you when you ask them to do basic chores, and yet they still have an iphone? Fail.

When did our society become such that parents are afraid of their children? Many of the children I meet have learned that they can do whatever the heck they want, and there will be no consequences. They yell at their parents, curse, and even argue with them.

Example: Just the other day I was meeting with a woman and her grandaughter, trying to get the background story so I could determine if she would benefit from attending the school where I work. Well, the young lady didn’t like my queations, so she yelled that she was “f-ing tired of this” and told her grandmother to “f-ing come on, f-ing now,”  all the while slamming a door against a bookshelf repeatedly.  Grandmother tried to explain it away, saying “She has anxiety…”  Mentally I was shaking my head. That’s a little more than anxiety…

Summer break is in ten weeks. I’m counting the days, the hours, the minutes, even the seconds. It won’t come soon enough.

These children of the corn have me tired. Bone weary, sit in a rocker, and listen to the blues, tired.