I bought Travis Barker’s Can I Say: Living Large, Cheating Death, and Drums, Drums, Drums a few weeks ago and I was so excited to bring it home from the book store. The book jacket is so striking*, but I’ve gotten in the habit of removing the jackets on hardback books.** I took the jacket off and was like, “Damn. Even the spine is dope.”
Almost two weeks ago, I had oral surgery done. From what I counted, it included at least 13 root canals. Yeah. 13. Root canals. When I went to see the dentist for one possible root canal, he told me if I didn’t do something quick, I would lose my top 8 teeth.
Continue reading “I Love My Face”
Whenever we discuss our future children, I end up ready to kick someone’s ass.
Continue reading “Not So Random Thoughts On: My Future Children”
Why is it so hard to take care of myself? Why is my natural inclination to push and push? Is it because I’m a woman? Is it because I’m black? My women people have to keep going. We have to work harder to compete with men and “prove” we are equal, even though we are still constantly told we are not. My black people have to keep fighting. We have to work harder to compete with white privilege, even though we are still constantly told we are nothing.
I am laying here on the couch post serious oral surgery. My mouth is swollen. My gums are sore. And I am crying because I can’t go to work tomorrow*. I didn’t nap today because “I’m stronger than that”. I am exhausted, yet I want to pull out my tablet and work on a project with no deadline.
Why? Why did I continue to work with walking pneumonia until my dad had my sister guilt me into staying home? Why did I have a miscarriage at work and continue working? Why didn’t I take time off from work to mourn the passing of my grandfather?
Why do I equate “work” with my “worth”?
Why is it so hard to just sit… and be still… and just be me?
Why do I feel guilty for spending the day catching up on reality tv shows instead of listening to audio files to enhance my career goals?
Maybe I just feel down because I have 4 more days without work. This should be a vacation. But, I guess I don’t really know how to vacation. Maybe, I should call my sister. Maybe, I just feel isolated**…
|**I received a text right after I finished this, which ended up becoming a phone call. It lifted my spirits a bit.
Reading Janssen’s blog this morning* was exactly what I needed. The message I took away was:
Importance ofVulnerability and Power In Asking for Help and Support When It’s Needed.
This lesson came at me from both sides later in the day.
A few nights ago, I dreamt I was at a reunion. He* came and sat next to me. There was enough space between us to symbolize distance, but he was close enough that I could see him clearly. He looked good. Like, full of life and happy.
We talked indirectly, which was weird, but made sense. At some point, something very important to me went missing. I went searching for it. Some people helped me look for it. I was having a panic attack and announced my anxiety, so everyone would know the state I was in. I don’t remember if I found my important thing.
The reunion was over, but some people were still hanging out. I texted him, asking if he was gone. He replied something contradicting, yet made sense, like, “yes no”. He said he would save my number again. I thought he shouldn’t bother.
I woke up, feeling like I was recalling a memory; not a dream. I understood the symbolism right away. I knew what I was telling myself. I knew right away.
There were other elements in the dream: a highway, the jerk who took my important thing, going inside of a building to look for my important thing… The daylight. His smile. Can I remember a scent?
I thought about texting him… or even calling. It’s been over a year since we’ve really spoken. Usually, when I dream of him so vividly, I reach out and let him know. These dreams are like my Bat Signal. Like, I’m being called and I have to answer. Like, the fate of humanity depends on it.
But, I’d made an agreement with myself last month: No calls. No texts.
‘Cause no one knows your heart like you.
The thing about boundaries is, I sometimes think of them in terms of others coming towards me. The real work, for me, is creating boundaries with regards to me going towards others.
‘Cause no one knows my heart like me.
I know that I’m willing to “bleed it out” for someone. I’m learning that I should probably keep most of the blood for myself…
|*I thought about using a fake name, but “he” works just as well.