I lifted my eyes toward the sun; its rays shone down on me as I tilted my head toward it to receive its blessing. All seemed right and well - the clouds were gone, darkness melted away, and just as I relaxed and allowed myself to receive its beauty openly, a raven swooped down from the heavens and crapped on my head.
Sonofabitch.
I feel like I have been under a lot of pressure to be the perfect mix of lover and friend, and I think I'm being judged - a lot. I've been walking on egg shells, and I still manage to hurt the people I care most about. Is it that I need to change, or that the climate around me is changing? The things I used to understand to be kosher are now inappropriate, but I need some explanation, some clarity before I can proceed down a different road. That fucking road is bumpy and dusty, and yet it's challenging and fresh. Truth be told, minus the flowers and pomp, I'm scared to death. I'm afraid that I've found something worth fighting for; ghosts, history, fear, walls don't belong in this scenario. But how does one rid herself of these unappealing features, when nobody is gently reminding her that she doesn't need to use them anymore? All that's happening is that the walls are slowly building themselves back up, one shovel full of mortar and one layer of brick at a time. I can almost hear the scrape of it as it grows, stone upon stone. And somehow I feel bound, powerless to stop it like the archetypal maiden in distress. Cinderella didn't have abusive exes, or a history that would instill disgust into any slithering tabloid journalist. I mean, who actually believes that shit? Some days, it's certainly not me who believes - but worse, I know it. I now it because it's been burned white-hot into the very marrow of my bones.
But truth be told, that's my story. My story is on the shelf, too unbelievable to be read seriously. Therefore, I have a lot of baggage, and all I know how to do is be one of the guys. Nobody was ever really interested in getting to know that other side - the one who dreams, and hopes, and plans how she'll fall in love, or come to see a lover as a true life partner. She dreams of romance, and of her love requiting the feeling and embracing every one of her failures, and every one of her shortcomings, just as she would of his. She is the girl who sits in the middle of a field, or in a glade listening to the sounds of nature, oblivious to the fact that I'm even around in their neck of the neighborhood. She is the girl who attempts to write the lyrics to what she hears buzzing around her. She's the girl who finds romance in a touch, the way a blade of grass allows itself to be caressed by her hand as a spring breeze breathes around her. She's the girl with her leather bound notebook empty because she hasn't yet decided which story to tell today. This girl is waiting for her prince to come, but most of the time he's out drinking with his buddies, and fails to see these other qualities. So then she deconstructs, becomes that tough, run of the mill chick who is simply one of the guys.
I feel like every time I reach out to open myself up to the sun, to show it who I really am and what I'm capable of if properly nurtured, I get burned. Cliche, yes. I need nurture. I need nature. I need love, unconditional. I need clarity. I need to hear, and to listen to what he has to say. What is his heart telling him? How far up or down are his walls? Does he feel like I do, that we need to talk things through, and shift gears into something more smooth and less bumpy and unpleasant. To what degree does he want me to change? To what degree do I want to change him? Truth be told, I want to be let in on his little secrets - I want to know why he's been changing on a dime lately. And why everything I do irks him. Everything I do irks him, and that makes me feel like less than someone special. It makes me feel small, unimportant and unworthy. Does he know he's doing that to me? He's been tightly wound, stressed, looking down on me, and then snuggling with me until I think I'm the only person in his world. It's the looking down on me, and not treating me in a romantic way (i.e. having a real date?) When we're together, his attention seems to be all on me, but something is missing. I want to start at square one, then proceed. Right now I feel like I'm focusing every ounce of attention I have, just to keep my head above water, and to stop the smatter, scrape and push of mortar and brick from enveloping me completely.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Rainy days are made for books and coffee . . .
And snuggling. But since I had to be up at the butt crack of 8, snuggling was out of the question. Seriously, who even knew that there was an 8 in the a.m. too?! But all joking aside, I woke up in my new bedroom, which is huge and cavernous, and the sky was overcast and dripping. My room was a little chilly, so I was snuggled under warm blankets while Foster snoozed next to me. What a perfect way to wake up! If only there was time to hunker down for a while and spoon the dog!
If you don't have pets, I suggest you get one just for the snuggle factor. (If there's a hairy man in your bed, you can use him too, but I suggest the dog over the dude in most cases.) Regardless, I had to get up, rip myself out of my warm cocoon, and get ready for an interview. Emali had to be out of the house a few minutes before me, so there was a mad pants-and-bra dash to get dressed and get out the door. I made coffee before we had to go our separate ways, and that seems to be the thing that connects us in the morning. It's sort of our ritual to drink at least one cup of that hot, steaming goodness together before we run our separate ways for the day. The interview lasted 10 minutes, and it took me 20 minutes to get there.
And that's the way things go, I guess. The bright side is that I am now fully awake, and have accomplished many things thus far today, and will have more things done before noon. But right now, I'm sitting at the coffee shop working on my little Mac, sipping on steaming coffee, occasionally gazing out the bank of windows at this gloomy, rainy day. And you know what? It's wonderful! One of the girls who works here is reading Lolita, and I read it for the first time last summer. So of course, we had a mini book discussion, leading into Catcher in the Rye, and how much we love the characters as much as the plots, adding that both books are life and perspective-on-life changers. Books bring strangers together, and now I have two new friends, because we are all reading and drinking coffee on a rainy day in Austin.
Confucius say: Three days of rain makes one really appreciate the sun. Take that little nugget for what you will, but I think that, metaphorically speaking, there's some real truth to it.
If you don't have pets, I suggest you get one just for the snuggle factor. (If there's a hairy man in your bed, you can use him too, but I suggest the dog over the dude in most cases.) Regardless, I had to get up, rip myself out of my warm cocoon, and get ready for an interview. Emali had to be out of the house a few minutes before me, so there was a mad pants-and-bra dash to get dressed and get out the door. I made coffee before we had to go our separate ways, and that seems to be the thing that connects us in the morning. It's sort of our ritual to drink at least one cup of that hot, steaming goodness together before we run our separate ways for the day. The interview lasted 10 minutes, and it took me 20 minutes to get there.
And that's the way things go, I guess. The bright side is that I am now fully awake, and have accomplished many things thus far today, and will have more things done before noon. But right now, I'm sitting at the coffee shop working on my little Mac, sipping on steaming coffee, occasionally gazing out the bank of windows at this gloomy, rainy day. And you know what? It's wonderful! One of the girls who works here is reading Lolita, and I read it for the first time last summer. So of course, we had a mini book discussion, leading into Catcher in the Rye, and how much we love the characters as much as the plots, adding that both books are life and perspective-on-life changers. Books bring strangers together, and now I have two new friends, because we are all reading and drinking coffee on a rainy day in Austin.
Confucius say: Three days of rain makes one really appreciate the sun. Take that little nugget for what you will, but I think that, metaphorically speaking, there's some real truth to it.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Twelve Years and Wondering
I'm sitting at a local coffee shop, working on getting a job, working on moving my things to Austin from Charlotte, thinking about moving my stuff from Indiana to Austin, hoping to get my favorite from Orlando to Austin, and it occurred to me. On February 2, it will be 12 years since I was in a major car accident. Normally, I don't dwell on such things, but I was just contemplating the blessings that I have received since then.
That moment, on a freezing cold, bright and clear February day, I was sixteen, huddled in my letter jacket and heading home from track practice when I pulled out in front of a semi truck. I remember it now, and it's making my palms sweat, and my eyes sting just a little. I saw it coming, I inhaled a sharp breath, and felt with my whole being, the crash, pop, the metal twist, the explosion of glass and the crack of my pelvis as it split into two. I felt myself spin and jerk, and I knew I was going to die. I watched the front of the truck as it penetrated the passenger side, then it miraculously climbed onto the hood and avoided my frail, expendable body. I spun; the truck flipped, spilling tons of grain into a vacant field. My truck spun almost until it his Allison What's-Her-Name's driveway, an eighth of a mile from the intersection.
People rushed toward me as I kicked my way out of my mom's Chevy Blazer, broken pelvis and all, the door covered in bloody scratch marks and debris. I stood up before someone told me not to. Then my world went dark, and I lost my sight. My first thought was that I would never see my dad's smile again. That memory still makes me teary, and I was overcome as someone led me back into my demolished truck. Slowly, as my blood pressure evened out again, my sight came back like a numb limb that has been slept on too long. I sat there, on my mom's leather seat, thinking 'oh boy I'm in trouble', and 'Oh God, I need to tell Emali that I'm okay'. I'm not quite sure which thought took precedence, but they were both in the forefront of my mind.
Eventually, sirens made their presence known, along with the medics I had known since childhood. They laughed with me, and comforted me while we made our way to the hospital. When we wheeled into the trauma bay (I ended up working that the same hospital's ER later on), Bill and Kyle were there waiting for me. Two guys from my high school who knew I was in trouble, and came to help me. I'll never forget that.
My parents showed up; Emali and her parents showed up. I heard her family coming all the way down the hall, and I remember being overwhelmed with sorrow that I had put them through that, again. I miss that closeness. But everybody was there, and three days later, I was released from the hospital, with a broken pelvis and a concussion.
It's been twelve years, and I have never forgotten how lucky I am, and how blessed I am for everything that happened that day. I don't usually wax poetic about such things, but I am so blessed to be here, so blessed to have the opportunity to walk every day (the docs thought I was paralyzed for a bit), I have the opportunity to express myself, to hug my family and friends, to express my love, to chase my dreams, to be thankful for every small thing that comes my way. I am especially thankful for my two guardian angels, and for all the people who were there to catch me when I fell.
All these years later, the overwhelming sense of blessing and awe are as powerful as they were back then. Good God, thanks.
That moment, on a freezing cold, bright and clear February day, I was sixteen, huddled in my letter jacket and heading home from track practice when I pulled out in front of a semi truck. I remember it now, and it's making my palms sweat, and my eyes sting just a little. I saw it coming, I inhaled a sharp breath, and felt with my whole being, the crash, pop, the metal twist, the explosion of glass and the crack of my pelvis as it split into two. I felt myself spin and jerk, and I knew I was going to die. I watched the front of the truck as it penetrated the passenger side, then it miraculously climbed onto the hood and avoided my frail, expendable body. I spun; the truck flipped, spilling tons of grain into a vacant field. My truck spun almost until it his Allison What's-Her-Name's driveway, an eighth of a mile from the intersection.
People rushed toward me as I kicked my way out of my mom's Chevy Blazer, broken pelvis and all, the door covered in bloody scratch marks and debris. I stood up before someone told me not to. Then my world went dark, and I lost my sight. My first thought was that I would never see my dad's smile again. That memory still makes me teary, and I was overcome as someone led me back into my demolished truck. Slowly, as my blood pressure evened out again, my sight came back like a numb limb that has been slept on too long. I sat there, on my mom's leather seat, thinking 'oh boy I'm in trouble', and 'Oh God, I need to tell Emali that I'm okay'. I'm not quite sure which thought took precedence, but they were both in the forefront of my mind.
Eventually, sirens made their presence known, along with the medics I had known since childhood. They laughed with me, and comforted me while we made our way to the hospital. When we wheeled into the trauma bay (I ended up working that the same hospital's ER later on), Bill and Kyle were there waiting for me. Two guys from my high school who knew I was in trouble, and came to help me. I'll never forget that.
My parents showed up; Emali and her parents showed up. I heard her family coming all the way down the hall, and I remember being overwhelmed with sorrow that I had put them through that, again. I miss that closeness. But everybody was there, and three days later, I was released from the hospital, with a broken pelvis and a concussion.
It's been twelve years, and I have never forgotten how lucky I am, and how blessed I am for everything that happened that day. I don't usually wax poetic about such things, but I am so blessed to be here, so blessed to have the opportunity to walk every day (the docs thought I was paralyzed for a bit), I have the opportunity to express myself, to hug my family and friends, to express my love, to chase my dreams, to be thankful for every small thing that comes my way. I am especially thankful for my two guardian angels, and for all the people who were there to catch me when I fell.
All these years later, the overwhelming sense of blessing and awe are as powerful as they were back then. Good God, thanks.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Saturday Night Fever
No, I'm not wearing a polyester suit, and there are definitely no disco balls hanging from my living room ceiling. I do, however, have a different sort of fever this evening.
I left work at my menial, mind numbing job this afternoon with a new resolve to bully my way into a successful position. Today was particularly annoying; people suck, and I am a servant/server to idiots. This isn't just my imagination - people, en masse, are dumb, and it's frustrating when they are bossing me around. What's even more frustrating is when people don't tip. Do they not realize that I get paid two dollars per hour? Do they also realize that I'm being cheerful in order to milk them for a good tip? Hello! This is not rocket science. And I'm a little pissy tonight - there is a silver lining, however.
Every day that I walk into work, tie an apron around my waist, glue a smile onto my face, and pretend that I love everybody (even when they suck), I come that much closer to opening a door - a door to that internship, or to that job, or I meet that person who knows a guy who knows a guy, etc. I hold firm to that hope, even if it smells like baby back ribs.
So tonight, when all of my peers are out having drinks and relaxing away their Saturday nights, I am on my computer, searching and applying for jobs that will open doors. I'm researching small business loans, and I'm setting up appointments for graduate programs. I scheduled two meetings with graduate admissions folks at both UT and St. Edward's here in Austin. I'm just going and going in hopes that next week a door will open. So, come on people! Help a sister out.
I left work at my menial, mind numbing job this afternoon with a new resolve to bully my way into a successful position. Today was particularly annoying; people suck, and I am a servant/server to idiots. This isn't just my imagination - people, en masse, are dumb, and it's frustrating when they are bossing me around. What's even more frustrating is when people don't tip. Do they not realize that I get paid two dollars per hour? Do they also realize that I'm being cheerful in order to milk them for a good tip? Hello! This is not rocket science. And I'm a little pissy tonight - there is a silver lining, however.
Every day that I walk into work, tie an apron around my waist, glue a smile onto my face, and pretend that I love everybody (even when they suck), I come that much closer to opening a door - a door to that internship, or to that job, or I meet that person who knows a guy who knows a guy, etc. I hold firm to that hope, even if it smells like baby back ribs.
So tonight, when all of my peers are out having drinks and relaxing away their Saturday nights, I am on my computer, searching and applying for jobs that will open doors. I'm researching small business loans, and I'm setting up appointments for graduate programs. I scheduled two meetings with graduate admissions folks at both UT and St. Edward's here in Austin. I'm just going and going in hopes that next week a door will open. So, come on people! Help a sister out.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
All I wanted to do is nap!
I wanted to get up this morning and have a productive day of job hunting, following up on internships, and wowing the world with my personality. Instead, I woke up at noon, feeling like absolute crap for the fourth day in a row. I still feel like I have recently been hit by a truck, and a fever has now presented itself into my pajama-wearing life. This sucks.
So in between moping and sneezing, I worked on a band bio and hit a wall. So then I thought to myself, Self, you need a nap before you go to wait tables tonight. So as I lay me down to sleep, pulling my Lambie over my eyes (a blindfold of sorts), I hear someone rap-rap-rapping at my chamber door. No, it was not a raven, but I do quoth that it was my landlord.
The very same landlord who didn't know about Em's puppy Zeke, or my baby Foster. Ooh boy, did my butt cheeks clench when I heard her key turn in the door! I felt like a naughty kiddo who just got busted for coloring a crayon self-portrait on my bedroom wall. I was trapped - and forced to tell the truth to a complete stranger. She's lucky I didn't sneeze on her.
Well, at least now the dog's out of the bag, and I can be free to let the dogs bark at the door, whenever anyone knocks at it. Be it a raven, or a mean landlord.
So in between moping and sneezing, I worked on a band bio and hit a wall. So then I thought to myself, Self, you need a nap before you go to wait tables tonight. So as I lay me down to sleep, pulling my Lambie over my eyes (a blindfold of sorts), I hear someone rap-rap-rapping at my chamber door. No, it was not a raven, but I do quoth that it was my landlord.
The very same landlord who didn't know about Em's puppy Zeke, or my baby Foster. Ooh boy, did my butt cheeks clench when I heard her key turn in the door! I felt like a naughty kiddo who just got busted for coloring a crayon self-portrait on my bedroom wall. I was trapped - and forced to tell the truth to a complete stranger. She's lucky I didn't sneeze on her.
Well, at least now the dog's out of the bag, and I can be free to let the dogs bark at the door, whenever anyone knocks at it. Be it a raven, or a mean landlord.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
And then, it hit me
The other day, I came home from my eleventh straight day of work, and I took a nap. Three hours later (!) I woke up with a raging head cold. I read a study once where the final conclusion was this: the body knows when it can relax and heal, so it suppresses any illness that comes along until that time when it can be dealt with efficiently.
Well played, body, well played.
I had so many errands to run yesterday, including dropping off some serious cash to my future landlord here in Austin. Did I do it? Nah. I slept and drank tea. But do you know what else I did? I ran, and I ran further than I had in a while. Then I lifted weights, and felt so incredibly accomplished. And then when I woke up this morning, I felt like I had gotten hit by a Mack truck. Oh, dear God.
So, guess what I did today? I worked, and then slept through Emali's run, and then I woke up feeling like crap. But after I woke up fully, I dragged my sick ass out the door and took off for a run, and though I really wanted to stop and crawl home, I made it!
Right now you're thinking, 'big effing deal', and that's probably what I would think, were I reading this out of nowhere. But there is a point, I promise.
Point being, I've not pushed my body in years. Even back in high school, I was the first one to stop running, or to say 'fuck it' when things got too tough. I realize that there is a distinct parallelism between body and mind. I need to keep pushing my body, that's true, but what about my mind? I've kind of let things slide since this summer.
I haven't challenged myself, and it's high time that I do. So, as I sit here coughing myself to death after a run I probably shouldn't have taken, I realize it's time to step up my goal game a notch or ten. The question is, where do I go from here?
Well played, body, well played.
I had so many errands to run yesterday, including dropping off some serious cash to my future landlord here in Austin. Did I do it? Nah. I slept and drank tea. But do you know what else I did? I ran, and I ran further than I had in a while. Then I lifted weights, and felt so incredibly accomplished. And then when I woke up this morning, I felt like I had gotten hit by a Mack truck. Oh, dear God.
So, guess what I did today? I worked, and then slept through Emali's run, and then I woke up feeling like crap. But after I woke up fully, I dragged my sick ass out the door and took off for a run, and though I really wanted to stop and crawl home, I made it!
Right now you're thinking, 'big effing deal', and that's probably what I would think, were I reading this out of nowhere. But there is a point, I promise.
Point being, I've not pushed my body in years. Even back in high school, I was the first one to stop running, or to say 'fuck it' when things got too tough. I realize that there is a distinct parallelism between body and mind. I need to keep pushing my body, that's true, but what about my mind? I've kind of let things slide since this summer.
I haven't challenged myself, and it's high time that I do. So, as I sit here coughing myself to death after a run I probably shouldn't have taken, I realize it's time to step up my goal game a notch or ten. The question is, where do I go from here?
Pobriety? Poredom?
Either way, I'm poor. Let's review: Jessie had a good job, Jessie lost her job, Jessie became a nomad for a while, and then Jessie landed back in Austin, TX - quite a ways away from where she began, in Charlotte, NC.
So, now all my worldly dreams have come true: I'm poor as hell and waiting tables at the very same restaurant where I used to work before I left Texas in order to finish my Bachelor's degree. Hmm, now there's a full circle.
To be continued . . .
So, now all my worldly dreams have come true: I'm poor as hell and waiting tables at the very same restaurant where I used to work before I left Texas in order to finish my Bachelor's degree. Hmm, now there's a full circle.
To be continued . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
