Blog Archives

I MISS HIM DAMN IT!

Writing use to make things easier…today it doesn’t.

I’m reminded of all of the things he and I won’t get to experience and I remember all of the things that we did. It was tough being his daughter, but it was a privilege that I’ll never forget and a want that I’d love to experience again. I know he’s in heaven, and yes, that’s where he is, although he gave us and the world all sorts of hell, and that in spite of him not being physically here, I’m still his daughter. I just wish that I could physically see him and have him tell me. His last words were that he loved me—words that will never mean the same coming from anyone else. I’ll appreciate them from anyone and I’ll believe them from everyone, but the meaning that his last words to me meant…well, it just won’t compare. He spent his life saving others. I spent my life admiring him, sometimes resenting him, for reasons unknown, but I also spent my life appreciating him and loving him more than I ever knew. I miss him, I’m mad as hell that he’s gone. I knew he would leave, had time to prepare, but he was the strongest man on earth…I never believed that he would leave.

He left.

He was supposed to stick around, but he left— I believe of his own freewill because he’d suffered quite enough. This, this, does not erase the pain, this does not bring on a restful night’s sleep, this does not stop the tears from flowing as a type this…but it’s a start.

 

I love you, Pop. Rest well my dear…protect me.

~ Boo

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Evolving. Revolving. (Happy Birthday, Baby)

I’m writing in an opened space.

Feels good.

I got the clarity that I was seeking; the moment that I so strongly wanted all last week, and so much more. I was afforded the thoughts that were jumbled or willed away by the happenings of life.

Here goes:

Today my little baby is a whopping sixteen-years-old.Babe Little

The thought of this seems weird. At 10:16 tonight, it’ll be more than a notion.

I was just holding her on my hip.

Hell, I was just carrying in her my womb.

I was just taking her off to her first day of school.

I just bought her Junior Debutante dress.

I was just explaining the intricacies of being a female and all the weight that, that carries.

And now, my little, semi-sweet, chocolate, pudding is suddenly at the age where independence is hers for the taking.

Life will seem grand through her newly freed eyes. She’ll enjoy it on levels that mommy no longer will be able to supply.

That frightens me.

That makes me happy.

It was during the sixteenth year of my own life, when she came to existence and I pray, preach, and scream for her not to have to write this same post at thirty-two-years old.

Though now, I can count her as a blessing because having another child is nearly medically impossible for me, but who knows things could happen…but it won’t bother me any if they don’t. Because of her early presence in my life, I was afforded something that many women with my disorder won’t be. I got to experience childbirth.

Then it didn’t seem all that fantastic.

Now, I’m thankful.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!

 

Babe 16My pretty, little, darling, will be off to college soon and I’ll be—for the first time—an uninhibited woman free to do the things that being a young mother hadn’t afforded me to do. You know the stuff like just up and moving when I please, kind of just do whatever the heck I want to do without being considerate of someone else’s feelings.

I don’t think any mom can do that…so I digress, but at least I’ll get the chance to live alone.

The thought? At one time sexy to me.

Now? It’s scary.

I’ve lived my life for her and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

She is my everything. EVERYTHING.

The reason to breathe, the reason to love, the reason to believe, the reason to keep going…when I’ve wanted to stop.

I miss her already.

I want to hold her tight and not allow her the freedoms that she deserves.

I want to protect her from the world that she’ll now see through new eyes.

I want to keep her the little baby that held on to me for dear life when strangers were around.

I want to keep her the little one that said, “Don’t worry, mommy. We’ll be okay, huh?” with bright-eyed optimism that said I could and would fix everything for her with just a simple band-aid.

I want to protect her from the heartbreak she’ll experience.

I want to protect her from the failures that she’ll take personally.

I want to protect her from the mistakes that she’ll make and more importantly, I’d like to protect her from herself.

She’s wonderful, adventurous and has no care in the world about being herself.

She calls herself the Black-Hippie. Which, yes. All complete yes.

She’s awesome, dope.

And really, those of us born in the 80s know that being dope is a very important part of life.

She’s dope.

But, that’s scary to a mom that wants her to be the same little one that thought that a band-aid could fix everything.

I’ll have to let go.

I don’t like this idea.

I’ll adhere to the rules.

She’ll be off to live her own life very soon and I’ll have to begin…again.

Yeah, I miss her.

 Evolving. Revolving.

Happy Birthday, Baby.

I love you, lights out!

XO

~Mommy

My Funny Valentine…and other shit that hurt

So, today is a day of love, of wonderfulness, of kindness, of sexy thoughts and naughty parts, and I’m here for it. Every drop of it. However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t take the time to jot this down; the time to allow my present self to chastise my former self…and to also be thankful for her as well. There are a few posts here about a guy that I spent too many years of my youth (listen, my early youth, because I’m still young. Thank you kindly. Shit.*stares at you and dares you to refute*) and there’s a lot about him in those post that don’t necessarily paint him in a good light. Trust me it was well deserved. Okay, okay, it wasn’t all bad. The times that I didn’t spend crying, or angry, or pissed, or worn, or battle weary, I spent laughing, smiling…loving him. I’m not angry that it happened; I’m angry at how everything happened. It was hard losing a best-friend, a lover, a partner, a confidant, just…a what was once a wonderful human being, but I’m thankful that I opened my eyes and saw what really needed to happen. The first year, (three years ago) after our break up on a day like today, I thought that I’d never laugh, smile, even love again because I was a woman scorned. I was hurt, I was angry, and I felt foolish. Foolish? Yes, foolish. Why? Because I, from a family of WELL educated African-American, strong, independent (yet dependent when warranted) women, raised by a father that said take no shit and give lots of hell, had succumbed to what amounted to an unhealthy relationship. There was no violence, (that I’ll admit to now, because…well, I want you to come back and read more whenever I decide to open my heart up and write part three or four –I can’t remember and I ain’t going back to fact check, so shut up—of the saga of that crazy relationship in which I speak.)  (I was going to type “speak of” right there, but the prepositional ending got me, so I changed it. You’re welcome, critics.) There was no mental abuse, none of that stuff (or was it…stay tuned. o_O) Anyway, the point is it wasn’t all gravy and I should’ve known better. I was warned, I’d been told, I’d even given advice to friends and some family members to stay away from the exact situation I was in, but I didn’t listen to myself or anyone else.  So, yeah, on days like today, three years ago, I was puke-gut sick. Like for real y’all, sick. Sick, because I reminisced about all of the good dudes that I had maybe passed up to stay with this one guy that deep down in the pit of my spirit I knew was never any good for me, but for whatever stupid reason that I may have had, I stayed. I was sick because I remembered on days like today, what I wanted to remember. I remembered the flowers he brought me, the candy he brought, the envious and jealous looks that I received from co-workers, the wowed eyes that I got from the students in my class, the jittery feeling that I got when I knew those roses, those candies, those cards were from me, and they expressed how he felt. I didn’t remember the next night sending silly messages of “Where are you?” I didn’t remember calling too many times, never getting an answer, but listening to that stupid voice message over and over and each time getting excited that this might be the time that he might pick up and tell me the current lie of the day.. I didn’t remember feeling puke-gut sick when I found out that those cards, those roses, those candies, those sexy pieces of lingerie were all just tangible items that held me over until the next heart break and brake. But on today, three-years-later, as I prepare to have a wonderful evening—something that I never thought I’d be able to do, because as stated, I was battle wearied, I was hurt, broken, confused, angry—I’m glad to remember it all. The good, the bad, the worst, because without it, I wouldn’t know how to be thankful, I wouldn’t know what a real relationship was, and I wouldn’t have had fodder for my soul. Damn the chicken soup.

 

The point, ladies and gentlemen, is that no matter how bleak it looks right now, no matter how bad being alone (if you’re alone) right now may hurt (what you think hurts), absorb this feeling. Enjoy it; be thankful for it, because there’s a lesson there somewhere. There’s a story there somewhere, there’s a reason there somewhere. Instead of crying or being angry, or wondering…just try figuring it out…or you know, don’t. What the hell do I know, I’m just out here tryna make money to feed muh daughta, it’s all good baebe babaee (RIP Biggie Smalls…you hip hop heads will get that that, for the rest of you, who the hell cares?) Anyway, if no one else has said this to you today, then let me be the first. I love you and I mean it…you know as much as I can without knowing who the hell you are. Whatever to your faces! 🙂

 

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Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

 

As for the other shit that hurt. Y’all, I’ve got a brand new pair of Spanx and I promise you nothing has ever been more uncomfortable (sans childbirth) but damn it, I’m kicking ass in this shape hugging dress. Suck it universe and society that are trying to make me lose weight. No way. No way! I laugh at you, because these Spanx are doing the trick. Never mind I can feel all of this chubby pushing against my bladder. Never mind it, I say!

 Note: I legit didn’t edit this, this time, becuase I’m fixinta go *virginia drawl*. I mean, I caught what I could, but I didn’t go back and proof, so if there’s something out of place, grammatically incorrect, or misspelled… keep it to your damned self, you judgemental shrews. No, seriously, though, I love you. Really. Whateves.

 

 

 

Enough

I waited for a while

Nothing happened.

I listened for a while

Nothing happened.

I hoped for a while

Nothing happened.

I prayed for a while

Nothing happened.

I still believe

Nothing happened.

I’m tired

Nothing happened.

I’m fed up, I’ve had enough

Something happened.

And that’ll be enough.

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

Seriously Detrimental…and Other Flippant Shit

So, here’s the thing…this year I’m making NO resolutions. Why?  ‘Cause every time I-do, I break ’em. (Read that in southern and you’ll laugh)

i.e. I tried to psych myself out and  make an end of the year resolution that would just carry over to this year, it was fairly easy, one that said I would blog every day. Totally attempted to for three days. Went strong. Rocked. Day four? It all went to pot. Not the drugs, stupid. That’s a saying from the ultra southern (read country) women in my family.

So yeah, no resolutions. Why? Because I’m tired of lying to myself and I’m tired of silly internal failures.

I take those things to heart.

This year, I win life. No resolutions. No failures.

Only took me thirty-two years but I got it. Got it good, too. And with no hands. Damn right, I did. Thanks. (Insert sassy head nod and long eye-blink)

Digression

I get the whole new-skin of it. New year. New chances. Different outcomes. Etcetera, Etcetera.

Sidebar: Listen, was that a little pretentious of me to spell it out? Yes. Who cares.

Anyhoooo, like I said I get it. I get that we all revel in the chance to start over, but here’s the thing, do we really ever start over? Do we really ever completely begin again? You know, brand spanking new? I do NOT think so. Unless one of you bastards have crawled back into the uterus and demanded a do over, let’s move along. So yeah, no, no starting over. We can try again, yes. We’re always welcomed to try again, give it another shot, whatever “it” may be. And I will, I will continue to try until there’s no tries left.

i.e. If like I’m on world 8-4 or 8 and that’s the last world in the game (read life) and Jesus is all like, “Well, you didn’t slay the dragon, so you’re done now.” (Read that in a sanctimonious Jesus voice and you’ll laugh and get it) then I guess all my tries are over. I imagine I’ll be okay with that. But then, satisfied is something that I’m no longer willing to be or accept so I also imagine that there will be some sort of Jesus-Me debate…not saying that I’m going to win, but like for real, I think I could give it a good go. Is this sacrilegious, smite-worthy, and/or blasphemous? Yes. You sure? Yikes. *commences to rectify*

Side bar: Jesus, listen, I’m a writer, I’m colorful. No harm, no foul. K? Thanks…oh yeah and Amen. *looks around for determined lightening rods”

Digression.

No resolutions was what we were talking about, right? Yes. Good.

So yeah, no resolutions, only a very resolute promise to myself to continue to try. After all, that’s all we can ever do…right? (I think you get it.)

Happy New Year!

 thCA7PH73W

 

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

Note: Refer to the unedited part of this blog.

Note again: Soon I’ll stop giving a damn and let you correct me all willy nilly, you pretentious, good spelling, grammar having, no-editor-needing, no-proofreader-needing, snobs.

Note again, again: And I’ll still love you just the same.  

 

Accommodating (Mine Are)

Mine are waiting.
Where are you going?
Mine are welcoming.
Won’t you come in?
Mine are soft.
You know that quite well.
Mine are thick?
Never ever to thin.
Mine are warm.
I’ll provide you heat.
Mine are always opened.
…where could you be?

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist

Naked. Honest.

Naked. Honest.

I’m not who you think I am.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I’m not who I think I am either.
                         …
I’m not what you want me to be.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I’m not who I want to be either.
                         …
I’m not where you thought I am.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I’m not sure how I got here.
                         …
I’m not going where you think I’m going.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I got lost.
                         …
I’m not going back to being who you thought I was.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, I wasn’t happy there, so I had to leave.
                         …
I’m not the smile you see on my face.
                         …
Don’t feel bad, it was faux anyway.

                       You’re bare.
I know.
                       You’re lost.
I know.
                       You’re drifting.
I know.
                       You’re scared.
I know.
                       You’re here.
I know.
                       You’re leaving.
I know.
                       Will you stay?
I can’t.
                       Why?
I’m cold.
                       Why?
I’m naked.
                       Why?
I’m honest.
                         …
I’m free.
                         …Ok.

~Vive Sine Paententia~

 

Res Ipsa Loquitur
~Uncaught Recidivist

Faux Excuberance…and other stuff I wasn’t honest about…

So….

I’ve been cooped up sick for the last three days. I’ve spent a lot of time tweeting, texting, no talking because I sound like  a damn fog horn, but communicating with the outside world nonetheless. In this brief moment of quarantine, I’ve learned a lot, but the most important thing was that, I’m a pretty good liar. When asked the question of “How are you?” casually by anyone during these last few days, my response has been, “Great! How are you?”

Wait!

Didn’t I say I was just home sick for the last few days? Yes, and that’s the truth, so why was it that I couldn’t just say to these cats that have asked a simple question, “Dude, I’m ridiculously ill at the moment.”

What’s so hard about being honest with that?

My initial response would be nothing. The analytical response would be, because you’ve been so use to telling people what they want to hear, you’ve never spent the time or thought telling them what was real.

This is a problem.

Why?tumblr_lzb6ktR7Ui1r2mytio1_500

Cool your jets, I’m getting there.

It’s a problem because, I pride myself on being a straight shooter. A shooter that pulls the proverbial gun from the holster and shoots straight from the hip, but with the aforesaid realization, it turns out that I’m completely wrong. I think I lift the gun with my none stable hand, aim it off to the side, and hope to miss. I’ve done no one a service by this, if anything a grave disservice.

I should’ve said “Hey, idiot, that hurt me.” when it hurt.

I should’ve said, “No, I don’t like this.” when I didn’t like it.

I should’ve said, “You’re wrong,” when I knew you were wrong.

I didn’t, thus the disservice.

My answers were, “No, I’m okay.” when I wasn’t. My answers were, “Oh, I think it’s all right.” when it wasn’t. Lastly, my answers were, “Maybe you’re right.” when clearly you weren’t.

That sounds a bit like a sickness.

I read a tweet recently by a young woman who I follow, and I have no idea who she is, I caught a quote of hers by a retweet and curiosity led me to follow her to see if there was more witty banter where that came from. Anyway, the basis of the quote was “be yourself and not who you think they want you to be.” It wasn’t until about the middle of this post that I realized the reason for that little phrase hitting me so hard, and that was because, I absolutely needed to read that. I’ve been too busy pleasing you, that I haven’t spent enough time pleasing me. So long trying to do what I thought you wanted me to do, not enough time doing what I wanted to do.

When, in the process of living, had I decided that my feelings, wants, needs, didn’t matter? Well, I suppose that during this exploration of all that I am, I’ll gain the answer. In the meantime, however, that’s a bit to chew on. Plus, I need to wrap this up, because the Bugs Bunny with the red hairy monster thing is on, and that’s my favorite, and that’s the truth!

Until then…

Vive Sine Paenitentia

Res Ipsa Loquitur

~Uncaught Recidivist

Oh yeah…have any of you found yourself in a similar situation, if so, I’d love to hear it…and I promise you won’t find yourself in one of my future stories….well maybe not yourself, but I can’t promise I won’t liken a character after you! Just saying! *Shrugs shoulder*