I'm ready to walk this damn year right on out.
20 Reasons why 2006 needs to get the boot.
1. My grandma died RIP GMA.
2. My great aunt died, RIP Clementine.
3. My great uncle died, RIP Wilbur.
4. My uncle died, RIP KEE.
5. James Brown died.
6. Babe and I were hit by a dump truck, we are thankfully o.k.
7. The job I had the first part of the year sucked ass.
8. My apartment floor erupted and I had to evacuate within 48 hours.
9. My brain has been so loopy I did a suck ass job at teaching.
10. My teaching job is running out.
11. I didn't go to school.
12. My grandma died.
13. My grandma died.
14. Poverty.
15. War.
16. My grandma died.
17. My grandma died.
18. My grandma died.
19. My grandma died.
20. And last, because my grandma died I lost me.
***
***
But with all of that said, I know that out of this pain and hurt I felt in 2006 I also saw some very beautiful things that I think, or rather I hope I can learn from.
1. My beautiful daughter was born.
2. A 15 hour labor that resulted in a complication free c-section taught me patience and how to let go of worry.
3. Watching my grandma with cancer taught me compassion and patience, and a faith that withstands all. She was beautiful.
4. Seeing family members around me loose so many taught me that we really don't have much to hold on to beside our family.
5. Having my babe taught me that work really does not matter nearly as much as I thought it did.
6. Babe also taught me that if I do have to work, I want to make sure I'm doing something outside of the home that is worthwhile and helping others, in the same spirit my grandma lived in.
7. Not having a home and being displaced for 2-3 months taught me that its the small things that matter, late night tea drinking, walking from the bedroom to the bathroom in just your roos.
8. Being hit and in the accident taught me how much material objects just really don't matter.
9. Having a home now taught me how important it is to make roots where-ever you are.
10. Not going to school this year was the best thing that could have happened to me. I learned that I really didn't know what in the hell I wanted to study, nor did I understand the importance of balancing theory and practice. Orthopraxy. There's that word again.
11. With so many of my plans moved and cancelled I've learned that while you have to make some goals for yourself you also have to make room for God to step in as well.
12. I've also learned that writing is important for me. I avoided blogging and journaling for quite some time, but not writing my problems or writing about what I was feeling did not make things better or make things go away as I'd thought.
13. X (because there is still so much unknown and I'm welcoming that).
I'm going to try to welcome 2007 even if it means letting go of so much I held on tightly to in 2006. I'm also thinking about going back to the old way of doing things, because I seemed to get so much more done that way.
Think. Paper. Ink.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Membering
Last night my bro reminded me of an old TV show I used to watch, Bananas in Pajamas. This show came on in the US about 10 or 11 years ago. I remember that I watched it when I was a senior in high school and the summer after I graduated I bought the stuffed toys. That fall, of 1996, my granny went into the hospital with colon cancer and I gave her one of my stuffed banana to keep her company. He went to the hospital with her and came home and had a semi-permanent place on her bed for quite sometime. I have no idea whatever happened to that cartoon or to the stuffed toys. I'm quite sure my mom or granny might have thrown them away if they got too dirty and weren't washable.
***
When I was a kid I would want to pack my own lunch for school. I'd study the way sandwiches looked in advertisements on TV and in my mom's Women's Day magazines and try to recreate them for my own lunch box. Of course I had no idea at age six or seven that they spray paint and glue those sandwiches for the photos or TV commercials. All I cared about was the image and having that image to give to others at school, that I, _______ ________ __________ had the PERFECT motha-otha sandwich.
I would beg my mom to buy good white bread (because usually dad would get us wheat bread from the thrift store that was only like an hour away from being molded and ready to make penicillin). Then I'd get her to buy a head of lettuce amidst much protest on her part because she'd proclaim I wasn't gonna eat it. I might be able to get her to buy a tomato, then American cheese, and ham or turkey. The night before I would artfully construct my sandwich. Planning the layers, standing back from the kitchen table looking at my creation, patiently creating layers of tomato, lettuce, mayo, meat, and cheese, sculpting so the sandwich would stand tall and pretty.
Then my mom would come in and tell me how I should pack everything separate. Put the tomatoes in a separate thing of aluminum foil, put the bread separate from the meat and cheese, lettuce she thought should be wrapped in paper towels and then aluminium foil to keep it fresh. Her theory was that this would make the sandwich actually edible, instead of the soggy mess I'd end up with.
But who the fuck had enough time to sculpt a sandwich during a thirty minute lunch break, one that would be pretty and perfect enough for the entire lunch table to see and want. Or one that would make them think my mom made the best sandwiches.
***
Its funny how you can't force memories. Or at least I can't. Sometimes I struggle so hard to try to remember something from childhood, or from my granny, or just from last week and I can't. Its like the harder you try to grab for it, the further away it moves. So I'm just trying to commit them to this thing call the Internet so that they can float in another space until I can figure out what to do with them all in my head.
And isn't it lovely that we can have labels for them as well. To keep them neat and ordered. Wish I had that for my head.
***
When I was a kid I would want to pack my own lunch for school. I'd study the way sandwiches looked in advertisements on TV and in my mom's Women's Day magazines and try to recreate them for my own lunch box. Of course I had no idea at age six or seven that they spray paint and glue those sandwiches for the photos or TV commercials. All I cared about was the image and having that image to give to others at school, that I, _______ ________ __________ had the PERFECT motha-otha sandwich.
I would beg my mom to buy good white bread (because usually dad would get us wheat bread from the thrift store that was only like an hour away from being molded and ready to make penicillin). Then I'd get her to buy a head of lettuce amidst much protest on her part because she'd proclaim I wasn't gonna eat it. I might be able to get her to buy a tomato, then American cheese, and ham or turkey. The night before I would artfully construct my sandwich. Planning the layers, standing back from the kitchen table looking at my creation, patiently creating layers of tomato, lettuce, mayo, meat, and cheese, sculpting so the sandwich would stand tall and pretty.
Then my mom would come in and tell me how I should pack everything separate. Put the tomatoes in a separate thing of aluminum foil, put the bread separate from the meat and cheese, lettuce she thought should be wrapped in paper towels and then aluminium foil to keep it fresh. Her theory was that this would make the sandwich actually edible, instead of the soggy mess I'd end up with.
But who the fuck had enough time to sculpt a sandwich during a thirty minute lunch break, one that would be pretty and perfect enough for the entire lunch table to see and want. Or one that would make them think my mom made the best sandwiches.
***
Its funny how you can't force memories. Or at least I can't. Sometimes I struggle so hard to try to remember something from childhood, or from my granny, or just from last week and I can't. Its like the harder you try to grab for it, the further away it moves. So I'm just trying to commit them to this thing call the Internet so that they can float in another space until I can figure out what to do with them all in my head.
And isn't it lovely that we can have labels for them as well. To keep them neat and ordered. Wish I had that for my head.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
To those who might ask: What pray tell is a Black name? My reply:
When I was in high school people would say, "You so don't have a black name." I guess because my name doesn't sound like the typical (or maybe stereotypical-because what is typical?) African-American name people would have a hard time with me. Its like, you had to have a certain name or certain persona in my high school to be considered 'black'. I know it sounds silly and believe me it is. But anyways, I used to think that I should change my name to reflect my African-American culture, but the older and wiser I got, the more I realized that my name didn't have to the kind of name that others saw as being reflective of African-American culture, all that mattered was that I knew who I am and where I'm coming from.
I do however see the significance in changing your name or taking on additional names, people do that all the time when they are trying to rebirth themselves or recreate a new role for themselves, and from time to time I have gone by different nick names or had different circles of friends call me different things. Its like once I had babe I became mum at home and DH became dad and we just kind of refer to one another like that now. But in some circles I'm called x and some circles y. I like that, I like the fluidity of taking on another name as I move through and am around different people.
My family, my dad's family in particular is big on names, I guess that's why I have such a long one. One first name, a middle name, another name I got when I was baptized, a name I took when I was confirmed, another name I adopted when I starting to actually practice a religion by choice, and then my maiden name + my husband's last name. No, they aren't all on my birth certificate, but I like having them in my pocket.
Now I have Tinkerbell too.
I do however see the significance in changing your name or taking on additional names, people do that all the time when they are trying to rebirth themselves or recreate a new role for themselves, and from time to time I have gone by different nick names or had different circles of friends call me different things. Its like once I had babe I became mum at home and DH became dad and we just kind of refer to one another like that now. But in some circles I'm called x and some circles y. I like that, I like the fluidity of taking on another name as I move through and am around different people.
My family, my dad's family in particular is big on names, I guess that's why I have such a long one. One first name, a middle name, another name I got when I was baptized, a name I took when I was confirmed, another name I adopted when I starting to actually practice a religion by choice, and then my maiden name + my husband's last name. No, they aren't all on my birth certificate, but I like having them in my pocket.
Now I have Tinkerbell too.
Your Black name is Tinkerbell
When DH and I were dating, for the first 3-4 years at least, my MIL didn't speak to me. She didn't agree with the fact that DH and I were together because I'm brown and he's kinda creamy. Ok, to put it bluntly, I'm Black, and he's White. Yup, can you believe it? Two people who happen to be different shades fell in love and wanted to just love one another and be together and hug each other and just be together. But anyways, I digress.
So one time MIL went to an old friend's store and the following conversation ensued:
ol friend: Hey, your _____'s mom. How's it going? He goes out with my friend _____.
mil: Um, hello.
ol friend: Yeah, they really get along great.
mil: I don't know who your talking about.
ol friend: But you are ________'s mom right? I recognize the last name, and his name is on your check here too.
mil: Yes, I'm his mother.
ol friend: So, you know _______, they've been together for like two years now.
mil: I don't know her.
See, mil pretended I didn't exist, kinda like how you ignore or try to ignore a toothache until its pounding through your gums. (Does that mean I just equated myself to being a toothache?)
But anyways, she ignored me until she figured out I wasn't going anywhere. And sometimes when I look back on it, I'm angry but other times I laugh, and last night I laughed because DH and I were talking about it and how I could have introduced myself to her and she could have called my Tinkerbell, because as far as she was concerned she didn't want anyone to believe that I existed and that I dated her son. Actually, she probably would have been happier with her son going out with a fairy or a Tinkerbell type. She probably would have found it easier to explain to her friends the wings than the brown skin.
But, all is well and my Black name now is Tinkerbell.
So one time MIL went to an old friend's store and the following conversation ensued:
ol friend: Hey, your _____'s mom. How's it going? He goes out with my friend _____.
mil: Um, hello.
ol friend: Yeah, they really get along great.
mil: I don't know who your talking about.
ol friend: But you are ________'s mom right? I recognize the last name, and his name is on your check here too.
mil: Yes, I'm his mother.
ol friend: So, you know _______, they've been together for like two years now.
mil: I don't know her.
See, mil pretended I didn't exist, kinda like how you ignore or try to ignore a toothache until its pounding through your gums. (Does that mean I just equated myself to being a toothache?)
But anyways, she ignored me until she figured out I wasn't going anywhere. And sometimes when I look back on it, I'm angry but other times I laugh, and last night I laughed because DH and I were talking about it and how I could have introduced myself to her and she could have called my Tinkerbell, because as far as she was concerned she didn't want anyone to believe that I existed and that I dated her son. Actually, she probably would have been happier with her son going out with a fairy or a Tinkerbell type. She probably would have found it easier to explain to her friends the wings than the brown skin.
But, all is well and my Black name now is Tinkerbell.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Reason #39 2006 needs to move on out
It has been quite a week, or end to a week, as technically Sunday starts a new week, I think.
Babe and I were in an accident on friday afternoon, trying to get home with cleaning supplies and stuff, as we're trying to still move in county house. County house is still not ready and we now have to deal with the accident stuff.
But what I have realized during the past 48 hours is that nothing really matters as much as I once thought it did. Or rather things matter in a different way than what I once thought.
I am so glad the semester is over now and that we are moving soon (I hope, we've had 3 or 4 different move-in dates now) because I'm really charged with starting afresh.
My head is still cluttered but at least now I feel like I know how I might begin the decluttering process.
The accident plus a call from a far-away friend on Thursday helped me to realize what kind of thinking I need to have and more important want kind of practice I need to have.
orthopraxy is my new word. not just right speech but right action.
Babe and I were in an accident on friday afternoon, trying to get home with cleaning supplies and stuff, as we're trying to still move in county house. County house is still not ready and we now have to deal with the accident stuff.
But what I have realized during the past 48 hours is that nothing really matters as much as I once thought it did. Or rather things matter in a different way than what I once thought.
I am so glad the semester is over now and that we are moving soon (I hope, we've had 3 or 4 different move-in dates now) because I'm really charged with starting afresh.
My head is still cluttered but at least now I feel like I know how I might begin the decluttering process.
The accident plus a call from a far-away friend on Thursday helped me to realize what kind of thinking I need to have and more important want kind of practice I need to have.
orthopraxy is my new word. not just right speech but right action.
Friday, December 15, 2006
a moment of clarity
Mm. Ok.
So in all this chaos of moving and trying to start afresh in county house, I was feeling really bummed out tonight because I've not done any 'school' work so I started reading on my dear friend Kenneth Burke and realized something. I totally could have used his dramatist theory to write my thesis.
How could I have missed this?
Tired me: Ok so here's the deal, Burke felt that we are symbol using creatures, right?
School me: Right.
Tired me: So like, he also had this theory about the study of rhetoric. That if we used rhetoric we could ultimately understand human behavior. Why we do what we do.
School me: What we do, what we do. Yup, that's correct.
Tired me: So he thought that we really were like performing on a stage. That's the whole idea behind the pentad. Its like this drama thing.
School me: Everybody plays the fool. No exception to the rule.
Tired me: So, what I could have looked at with my thesis, instead of the whole terministic screen thing (that I don't think I used in the way I should have, or could have done it differently), but anyways, what I could look at how relationships amongst audiences are created to divide the audiences.
School me: Your pretty smart.
Tired me: Well, no, see I was feeling guilty for not having read anything 'school' related and just reading blogs and stuff. So I forced myself to look at some Kenneth Burke articles. I've also found that not many people have looked at
School me: Maybe you should go to school
Tired me: Maybe sleep deprivation is the key.
School me: Lets go to bed.
Tired me: Agreed.
So in all this chaos of moving and trying to start afresh in county house, I was feeling really bummed out tonight because I've not done any 'school' work so I started reading on my dear friend Kenneth Burke and realized something. I totally could have used his dramatist theory to write my thesis.
How could I have missed this?
Conversation I'm having in my head with tired me and school me.
School me: Right.
Tired me: So like, he also had this theory about the study of rhetoric. That if we used rhetoric we could ultimately understand human behavior. Why we do what we do.
School me: What we do, what we do. Yup, that's correct.
Tired me: So he thought that we really were like performing on a stage. That's the whole idea behind the pentad. Its like this drama thing.
School me: Everybody plays the fool. No exception to the rule.
Tired me: So, what I could have looked at with my thesis, instead of the whole terministic screen thing (that I don't think I used in the way I should have, or could have done it differently), but anyways, what I could look at how relationships amongst audiences are created to divide the audiences.
School me: Your pretty smart.
Tired me: Well, no, see I was feeling guilty for not having read anything 'school' related and just reading blogs and stuff. So I forced myself to look at some Kenneth Burke articles. I've also found that not many people have looked at
School me: Maybe you should go to school
Tired me: Maybe sleep deprivation is the key.
School me: Lets go to bed.
Tired me: Agreed.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Monday, December 11, 2006
a Mum moment
Babe discovered her right hand yesterday. She's been using it all along, but it was like she just woke up on Sunday morning and looked at it like, "Wow, fancy meeting you here. I think I control thee."
So all day she would be playing or eating or doing whatever and then at certain moments she'd stop and notice that hand again.
I learn something new from babe everyday and today she taught me to stop and notice the small things.
"Hello right hand, how art thou?"
Babe has a very nice old English accent. No idea where she got that from.
So all day she would be playing or eating or doing whatever and then at certain moments she'd stop and notice that hand again.
I learn something new from babe everyday and today she taught me to stop and notice the small things.
"Hello right hand, how art thou?"
Babe has a very nice old English accent. No idea where she got that from.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
much to say
I've actually got some writing that I really need to get done during the next few weeks. I've got a Xmas memories piece I'm supposed to be doing for my family's gathering and I've got some work things I need to do and something else that I can't remember. Hum.
Last night I was gonna try to get some work done but opted not to when I was given the chance to take a nap. Now, I've got to try to force myself to do work tonight, when I'd rather be playing with babe. Maybe I'll work on some stuff for about an hour or so after I get babe's bath and then call it a night.
I don't know.
I need to make a writing list:
Last night I was gonna try to get some work done but opted not to when I was given the chance to take a nap. Now, I've got to try to force myself to do work tonight, when I'd rather be playing with babe. Maybe I'll work on some stuff for about an hour or so after I get babe's bath and then call it a night.
I don't know.
I need to make a writing list:
- Christmas Memories piece
- CV
- Philosophy de la me teaching
- RSA application
- Paulo Friere paper
My goal: to have most of this stuff completed by the end of the week, so that I can at least have the writing out there and then I can work on touch ups after that.
Babe is calling.
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Treat a Woman Right
Just a few years ago, a fun Saturday night for me would have included dinner and a late movie at the cool little old school movie theatre. Afterwards, we might have gotten Slurpee's or donuts or something and then headed home to watch weird shows that only come on super late at night (stuff about aliens, conspiracy theories, etc, the fun stuff). But now things have changed. Do you know what I got tonight and I'm just flipping thrilled? A nap! I got to sleep in the bed for like 1 and 1/2 hours.
I think all the stress and strain from the week just finally caught up with me. I had my last week of class, papers to read, folks to meet with, house stuff to do, babe to love and take care of, and all the other stuff that goes along with being a wife, mom, teacher, and er-thing else.
More progress on the county house...plumbing is done and now the walls are all up, thank God. Just painting and other small finishing touches to make. We are hoping to clean up next week and start the move in process next weekend. It'll be weird to have a house. Even weirder because we've been in flux for such a while now and I really do hope and believe that being there will help to set a foundation for us.
More on the progress front, I have actually started to work on a teaching philosophy statement. I'm trying to spend good time on it so that it can actually be good and not poop. Any suggestions from all you teaching folk out there? Cause a sista wants to get back in the giz-game with school and working.
I think all the stress and strain from the week just finally caught up with me. I had my last week of class, papers to read, folks to meet with, house stuff to do, babe to love and take care of, and all the other stuff that goes along with being a wife, mom, teacher, and er-thing else.
More progress on the county house...plumbing is done and now the walls are all up, thank God. Just painting and other small finishing touches to make. We are hoping to clean up next week and start the move in process next weekend. It'll be weird to have a house. Even weirder because we've been in flux for such a while now and I really do hope and believe that being there will help to set a foundation for us.
More on the progress front, I have actually started to work on a teaching philosophy statement. I'm trying to spend good time on it so that it can actually be good and not poop. Any suggestions from all you teaching folk out there? Cause a sista wants to get back in the giz-game with school and working.
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
1+1=2
Interesing to look at the two posts that I've had today. One seems to infer that I know where I'm suppused to be. The other that I need to move from that space. And this is why I really like my blog or blogging. Being able to see these two pieces of writing together on one page (screen) forces me to read what I've written and to think about what I'm thinking, really think, something I don't normally like to do with my journal.
So let me 'splain because the irony between the two posts has actually lead me to some new knowledge. For quite some time I dealt with issues of regret and anger about not going to school, about my granny's death, about relationships. But what I'm learning, through babe and my new role as a mom, is that I really do have a lot to learn from all of the experiences that I'm going through now. Its not that I am not happy as a mother, but more that I'm unhappy with myself in the space where I just float with along with the 'whatever'. I don't want to be a controlling planning freak anymore (ugh, gulps as she thinks about her new organizer) but I don't want to just 'be' either. There is a balance. And for me, it means putting my role as a woman into perspective. I am a mother but I am also a person who wants to continue to write, research, teach and work with students. So what I'm learning is that I need to make some decisions about what I do with my time and how I ask for help.
I've reached another wave of murky water and I want to poke my head out from under. I know I've hit points like this before and been sucked back with the waves, but I'm tired of the dirt and grit in my mouth. I wouldn't mind it so much if I were actually getting to the shore, but its just something else to weight me down, so I need to learn and progress.
So let me 'splain because the irony between the two posts has actually lead me to some new knowledge. For quite some time I dealt with issues of regret and anger about not going to school, about my granny's death, about relationships. But what I'm learning, through babe and my new role as a mom, is that I really do have a lot to learn from all of the experiences that I'm going through now. Its not that I am not happy as a mother, but more that I'm unhappy with myself in the space where I just float with along with the 'whatever'. I don't want to be a controlling planning freak anymore (ugh, gulps as she thinks about her new organizer) but I don't want to just 'be' either. There is a balance. And for me, it means putting my role as a woman into perspective. I am a mother but I am also a person who wants to continue to write, research, teach and work with students. So what I'm learning is that I need to make some decisions about what I do with my time and how I ask for help.
I've reached another wave of murky water and I want to poke my head out from under. I know I've hit points like this before and been sucked back with the waves, but I'm tired of the dirt and grit in my mouth. I wouldn't mind it so much if I were actually getting to the shore, but its just something else to weight me down, so I need to learn and progress.
Lonely People
"All the lonely people, Where do they all come from?
All the lonely poeple, Where do they all belong?"
Sometimes you feel loneliest when you are surrounding by people, things, motion.
I think that its out of brokenness/lonliness that you can learn and move. There is a real chance that I won't have a job, the job I love after next Summer. But I'm not even stressed about it. Like normally I'd be freaking out and trying to make plans upon plans. But I'm not feeling that way at all. I think this was the last push I needed to make some real changes to my life that I've been afraid of.
I tend to be so afraid of failure that I don't move at all. But inside all of this motion, this chaos, I'm finding that standing still is even more scary than if I were to try to move. So I'm choosing motion.
All the lonely poeple, Where do they all belong?"
Sometimes you feel loneliest when you are surrounding by people, things, motion.
I think that its out of brokenness/lonliness that you can learn and move. There is a real chance that I won't have a job, the job I love after next Summer. But I'm not even stressed about it. Like normally I'd be freaking out and trying to make plans upon plans. But I'm not feeling that way at all. I think this was the last push I needed to make some real changes to my life that I've been afraid of.
I tend to be so afraid of failure that I don't move at all. But inside all of this motion, this chaos, I'm finding that standing still is even more scary than if I were to try to move. So I'm choosing motion.
Wee Babe
Babe is now 7 months old. I can't believe that much time has passed, some times when I look at her I feel like I just brought her home. Its amazing all the stuff she can do now: pick her toes, take socks off, roll over, sit up on her own, put fingers in her mouth, eat baby food (hot favs right now are sweet potatoes and oatmeal), make poop with form, laugh, smile, and grunt. Last year at this time I was just about to find out the sex of babe and now she's here and I feel like I've known her forever. Its amazing to watch her develop and as my dad says, "settle in her ways."
I complain a lot about not being where others are, career or school wise, but most days I know exactly where I'm supposed to be and babe helps me to remember that.
I complain a lot about not being where others are, career or school wise, but most days I know exactly where I'm supposed to be and babe helps me to remember that.
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Carving out Time
I have been sucked into more technology. After having three separate paper calendars, I've gone ahead and taken the plunge and purchased one of these. DH thingk that I'm just fascinated with small tech gadgets, and truth be told I am. I got my first ipod, the nano, this summer and I got my first laptop, a mac book. There is just something sleek and comforting about them, which is strange for me because I used to be a totally pencil paper type of person. For me, I didn't think it was actually 'good' and in my 'head' or out of it, unless I had the ability to physically write it down. Now its different, with so much going on I find it bothersome to have tons of notes and reciepts cluttering my bag, so I guess I was looking to go as paperless as possible.
I always thought that I'd want to stick with the old fashioned calendar, and who knows, maybe some day I'll go back, but for now, I needed a change.
And I like the ability to color-code my calendar.
Now, lets see if the pretty little gizmos will help me get through all the work I've got tonite!
I always thought that I'd want to stick with the old fashioned calendar, and who knows, maybe some day I'll go back, but for now, I needed a change.
And I like the ability to color-code my calendar.
Now, lets see if the pretty little gizmos will help me get through all the work I've got tonite!
Sunday, December 3, 2006
New Week.
Sundays were sad as a kid. I guess it was just the realization that a new week was upon me, back to school, back to bedtimes, back to chores. As I've gotten older though, I see Sundays in a different light, now I do see it as the start of a new week, a chance to reorganize and try again to get things in order, to start fresh. I hope that the toilets and sinks get put in this week, the plumber seems to have a bit of a problem with doing what we want, instead he likes to do what he wants. I also hope that I can at least get my last week of class finished up without much hassle. I've got a group meeting this week and then its all done, grades should be turned in and I can breathe a bit easier until January. I also need to shop around with DH for another car. Living so far out in county house will mean that we have to have two vehicles now, not something I'm particularly happy about, but it has to be done.
I also hope that we can start to move things in bit by bit. Because of all the shish that has gone on with getting this house in order I don't really feel like its home, I hope that changes. I think that because of all the history that house contains I've been feeling a little unsettled, I keep reminding myself that we have to create new history in this space.
I remember the first time I ever saw the house. DH's mom had gone to the beach with some family members and so she needed him to go and get the mail, check things out, feed the cats. So DH (then my boyfriend) asked me to ride along with him, because his mom didn't care for me being brown and being with her nice cream-coloured son, she never spoke with me, nor wanted to meet me. So driving through the neighborhood and looking at her house made me feel like I was a spy. We drove around the block so I could get a good view of the house and see where DH grew up, and where I was not welcomed.
Fast forward now, 8 years later and I'm fuckin moving in. Its amazing. That house didn't have nae a brown person to come in there, and now there are going to be brown folks living there. I'm just amazed at how things can change. I would have never guessed that I'd live there. I am happy that we have made so many changes to the place, new colors, new walls, even new floors and siding and windows. I think DH and I both needed the place to be visibly different. Maybe I don't feel like its home just yet because I'm not there. Its also in quite a different location, I taint be no suburban girl, so this will take me some time.
I need to learn to be patient with myself, just tonight I was joking with DH that we could go ahead and sell the house now and move to Maryland. I like being on the Eastern shore. I like even more that its not Virginia. Since my granny passed my ties to this place are different. I'm happy that I have family here, but with very few (read 0) real prospects for school or work, I just don't wanna be here any more. But I don't have any real plans just yet, a few things I'm thinking about, but no real plans, so its probably best for us to be settled for the babe while we regroup and think things over.
New Week. New drink.
I also hope that we can start to move things in bit by bit. Because of all the shish that has gone on with getting this house in order I don't really feel like its home, I hope that changes. I think that because of all the history that house contains I've been feeling a little unsettled, I keep reminding myself that we have to create new history in this space.
I remember the first time I ever saw the house. DH's mom had gone to the beach with some family members and so she needed him to go and get the mail, check things out, feed the cats. So DH (then my boyfriend) asked me to ride along with him, because his mom didn't care for me being brown and being with her nice cream-coloured son, she never spoke with me, nor wanted to meet me. So driving through the neighborhood and looking at her house made me feel like I was a spy. We drove around the block so I could get a good view of the house and see where DH grew up, and where I was not welcomed.
Fast forward now, 8 years later and I'm fuckin moving in. Its amazing. That house didn't have nae a brown person to come in there, and now there are going to be brown folks living there. I'm just amazed at how things can change. I would have never guessed that I'd live there. I am happy that we have made so many changes to the place, new colors, new walls, even new floors and siding and windows. I think DH and I both needed the place to be visibly different. Maybe I don't feel like its home just yet because I'm not there. Its also in quite a different location, I taint be no suburban girl, so this will take me some time.
I need to learn to be patient with myself, just tonight I was joking with DH that we could go ahead and sell the house now and move to Maryland. I like being on the Eastern shore. I like even more that its not Virginia. Since my granny passed my ties to this place are different. I'm happy that I have family here, but with very few (read 0) real prospects for school or work, I just don't wanna be here any more. But I don't have any real plans just yet, a few things I'm thinking about, but no real plans, so its probably best for us to be settled for the babe while we regroup and think things over.
New Week. New drink.
Reading something good
DH went to New York this weekend. New York, New York, city so nice they had to name it twice. eh.
But anyways, because he knew I'd miss him and need something to occpy my free time, eh, he went out and got me a book. [I am very proud to say that I'm starting to read non-babe related books again.] He got a book by William Henry Lewis, a Penn Falulkner Finalist, and a damn good writer if I can add my own .3 cent worth.
One of his short stories is called, "I Got Somebody in Staunton," and he's got this line that I just love:
"I'm back to feeling like a twenty-eight-year-old history professor, stuck in another situation where graduate degrees, pedagogical discourse, and academic distinctinction don't mean shit."
Its one of the best reads I've had in a long time. I wish I could scribe shit like that, where your voice just comes out like smooth butter on warm bread. Not like chunky ass govment peanut butter on .50 cent bread.
But anyways, because he knew I'd miss him and need something to occpy my free time, eh, he went out and got me a book. [I am very proud to say that I'm starting to read non-babe related books again.] He got a book by William Henry Lewis, a Penn Falulkner Finalist, and a damn good writer if I can add my own .3 cent worth.
One of his short stories is called, "I Got Somebody in Staunton," and he's got this line that I just love:
"I'm back to feeling like a twenty-eight-year-old history professor, stuck in another situation where graduate degrees, pedagogical discourse, and academic distinctinction don't mean shit."
Its one of the best reads I've had in a long time. I wish I could scribe shit like that, where your voice just comes out like smooth butter on warm bread. Not like chunky ass govment peanut butter on .50 cent bread.
Random shit on eyes
When I was about eight or nine, or maybe ten, but young, young enough to still play with dolls and not care what others thought, I had a friend from school spend the night. Her family actually knew my family, our grandmas were friends or old neighbors, or something. Well, this girl's father died right before she was born. It was a sudden death, he was found drowned in his car in a ravine. I don't think anyone knew how it happened exactly. But she had been told stories about her father and his death, and the fact that her grandma never got over it, and I don't know how you could, now that my grandma has passed I understand what its like to loose someone and actually have a visceral reaction. But this girl would say really odd things, like she could see ghosts, around us. Needless to say, I was a bit spooked out.
So anyways, she came over one Saturday night to spend the night and we played with my dolls and stuffed animals in my room. Things would be fine and then she would proclaim she could see something or feel somebody. Later I went back and told my mom and grandma this and my granny remarked that the girl, "just won't right, she'd been marked by the death of her father." I thought something was odd about her, I mean I'd always liked playing dolls and enjoyed a scary story, but there was just something about her that made me feel uneasy. We were up in my room and playing with a huge stuffed animal that I had, it was like a pink dog or something loud and big. I tossed the animal up in the air and stretched out on my back on the floor to catch it with my feet (the acrobat in me). When it came down, something small from it, dust, dirt, I dunno, scratched the cornea of my eye.I rubbed my eye hard and turned my face over, shaking my head, hoping to get it out. She stood up beside me and got real upset when I started tearing up. I wasn't crying out of pain, my eye was just watering because there was something in it. We went downstairs to tell my mom what happened and she helped me to rinse my eye out with water. It felt better, but I still felt like my vision was blurry. My mom's answer for most anything sick related is to get some rest, so we went to bed early at that slumber party.
The next day, my eye still wasn't any better so we went to a patient first or some shit like that and they put this dye into my eye and shined a special light over it to show if there were any tears or ruptures. Sure enough whatever had fallen off that bear had torn a spot on my cornea. They gave me drops and had me wear an eye patch. Like a pirate. A real black patch.
It was a Sunday when that happened, and I remember my mom needed to go to the mall afterwards. I feel unsure now when I think back to how old I was, because I know damn sure that I was quite embarrassed to walk around that mall with that patch. So I guess I was old enough to have some awareness and care, but not too old to play with toys, or pretend I was a pirate.
I never had that girl over my house again. Her stories scared me and the fact that she saw things in my room that I couldn't bothered me even more. My vision didn't stay blurred for long and I got rid of the patch after a couple of days. I wonder what she sees now.
So anyways, she came over one Saturday night to spend the night and we played with my dolls and stuffed animals in my room. Things would be fine and then she would proclaim she could see something or feel somebody. Later I went back and told my mom and grandma this and my granny remarked that the girl, "just won't right, she'd been marked by the death of her father." I thought something was odd about her, I mean I'd always liked playing dolls and enjoyed a scary story, but there was just something about her that made me feel uneasy. We were up in my room and playing with a huge stuffed animal that I had, it was like a pink dog or something loud and big. I tossed the animal up in the air and stretched out on my back on the floor to catch it with my feet (the acrobat in me). When it came down, something small from it, dust, dirt, I dunno, scratched the cornea of my eye.I rubbed my eye hard and turned my face over, shaking my head, hoping to get it out. She stood up beside me and got real upset when I started tearing up. I wasn't crying out of pain, my eye was just watering because there was something in it. We went downstairs to tell my mom what happened and she helped me to rinse my eye out with water. It felt better, but I still felt like my vision was blurry. My mom's answer for most anything sick related is to get some rest, so we went to bed early at that slumber party.
The next day, my eye still wasn't any better so we went to a patient first or some shit like that and they put this dye into my eye and shined a special light over it to show if there were any tears or ruptures. Sure enough whatever had fallen off that bear had torn a spot on my cornea. They gave me drops and had me wear an eye patch. Like a pirate. A real black patch.
It was a Sunday when that happened, and I remember my mom needed to go to the mall afterwards. I feel unsure now when I think back to how old I was, because I know damn sure that I was quite embarrassed to walk around that mall with that patch. So I guess I was old enough to have some awareness and care, but not too old to play with toys, or pretend I was a pirate.
I never had that girl over my house again. Her stories scared me and the fact that she saw things in my room that I couldn't bothered me even more. My vision didn't stay blurred for long and I got rid of the patch after a couple of days. I wonder what she sees now.
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