Nature called and said “You better not put me on hold, bitch or things will get ugly”
| S | M | T | W | T | F | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| « Nov | ||||||
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | |
| 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 |
| 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 |
| 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 |
| 28 | ||||||
Reflection on a non-existent life
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair.
Alfred Tennyson (1809 – 1892)
There was a time in my life it seems, when I used to feel something. It seems a weird thing to say, I guess since as humans we all have feelings and they never fail to remind us on a daily basis that they exist. We go through a wealth of emotions every single day ranging from the sublime to the outrageous. I for one, have a very close relationship with my feelings. I’m one of those ultra sensitive persons who can’t help but feel the deepest emotions for the seemingly most trite and unimportant action, statement, situation or event. It’s a curse. It seems I am cursed with my feelings.
If it wasn’t for the way I feel when I experience them, I might actually consider them friends. So dependable they are, so ever ready to envelope you in their presence, they bring a sort of painful comfort, these emotions and yet I could never consider them friends though my list of friends would subsequently be increased with them on it. The underlying factor about friendship…is trust. You have to trust them. And I don’t. How Can I? Emotions are irrational reactions to the hum and buzz or in my case the bore and quiet of every day life. You just can’t trust them!!
As a “post college/ unemployed real world deficient 20+er”, my life is what you would call “not as I expected”. Granted my whole life was not what I expected, why should my raging twenties be any different? Sure to most people, I have a good life, without going into details lets just say that its “comfortable” in comparison to most of the world’s population. But then again…the grass is always greener on the other side, isn’t it? The fact is for the past 5 months, I’ve sent out more resumes than I can count and as the rejections pile up, those written or otherwise (shall we say ignored), lets just say that I don’t really feel all that good about my life.
Now, many people would love to have the privilege of living with their parents rent free right out of college, having your mother cook you dinner and having your father give you an allowance. But to me all of that spells failure. Me. A failure. The girl who pushed through college to get relatively straight A’s. The girl who everybody told was smart and who every body believed, no KNEW would be successful in life. That girl is me!
Did Webster’s change the definition of success? I don’t think so. The funny thing is that for the past five months I don’t really think I felt depressed about my present situation. Sure I felt down sometimes, but I didn’t feel depressed about it. I didn’t cry myself to sleep, beating myself up about what a useless waste of space I am. I didn’t feel all that bad about my inability to get a job, my lack of friends, my perfectly non-existent social life. No. I didn’t. I was numb. Numb.
Do I even know that word? Me who experienced ragingly black, tortured emotions as often as some people drink coffee. Yeah, me. I was numb.
But it seems maybe I wasn’t. It seems there is a conspiracy. My mind and my emotions have plotted against me, made me forget the pain. The pain I’ve felt over these 5 months. Did they do it for my own good or to use as ammunition to mock me later? Should I even ask? Does it even matter?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So this i’s another little entry I found from a while back. I don’t even know if it makes ant sense. Just a rambling of feelings.
Lovin that White Collar
Saw the new USA series “White Collar” this weekend and I must say it is amesome plus Matthew Bomer is my new guilty pleasure. Can you say HOTTTTTTTTT!!!! Yes, I think you can.
Something’s gotta give and it better be my waistline
So I’ve been fat since I was about 5 or 6 years old – don’t ask me how; and during college I put on quite a bit of weight. During the 3 years since, however, I’ve lost quite a bit. But a couple of months ago I began to feel extremely uncomfortable in my own skin. It seemed I put on about 8 pounds which felt like the world because I guess the 8 pounds just spread out and I had some more inches on me.
In any case I decided I was gonna work that weight off. I needed to reach my goal weight and lose 50 pounds. 50 pounds – that’s a lot!!! Soooo I started my new weight loss regime and have been exercising about 3-4 days per week; I even curbed my appetite and I gotta say -I am feeling sooo good.
It’s been two weeks and my clothes have been fitting a little better, so hopefully I can stick with it. Gooooo Meeee!
Where home is…
Tonight while bawling my eyes out (like its an art form or going out of style), I came upon the most profound realization; and though I would like to milk it for all its worth with a couple paragraphs worth of introspection, I find it best to keep it simple. Plus, I’m already too emotionally drained from all the bawling. Here goes…
“Home is not where you’re born, but where you belong”
Make of it what you may.
Good Enough
I sit, while the battle inside me rages. I sit, as the heartache fills my soul. Emotions, like torpedoes crash within me trying to break the facade I’ve spent years trying to build. I close my eyes and block out the images right in front of me. Images that somehow plot against me in this war. Images that with a glance sends more torpedoes my way. Like land mines, they are. I look at them and they seem free from all evil, free from causing me harm, but in a split second, they explode, they hit the spot and I fall to pieces. My graduation picture on the wall. Who knew that the smiling happy face, a memory of times gone by, a reminder of what I have accomplished would be the cause of such sorrow. I try not to hear what seems like simple enough statements and inquiring questions, questions that to anyone else seem innocent and pure, free of innuendo. Questions and statements, which seem to define me and bring my inadequacy to the surface. Questions which remind me of how much I lack.
I’ve closed my eyes. I‘ve blocked my ears – but it seems I’ve lost the battle before I’d even begun. My memories mock me, they laugh in my face, they’ve conspired with reality and flash images that burn to the core. Images that remind me that I have lost the battle this time, just like I’ve lost it all the times before. The wall begins to crack and I can feel myself plummet to the depths of despair. I open my eyes and I am blinded by my tears, my throat begins to constrict and I gasp for air. As I sit in this torture chamber, my parents the enemy. I try to win the final battle. I scream within myself “Don’t let them see you cry, don’t let them see you cry”. Tears escape me and I try to wipe them away, but alas they just keep coming. Did anyone see, I doubt it. After twenty-two years I suppose I should be proud of winning one battle. They’ve never seen me cry, they’ve never seen me cry from the losing battle that rages within me. Score one more for me.
It’s funny though, funny how I still feel like I’ve lost.
What does it take for me to be good enough, to feel good enough?
Good enough to like myself.
Good enough to feel pretty.
Good enough to get a job.
Good enough to find someone who loves me.
Good enough to have true friends.
Good enough to be happy.
Good enough to not cry myself to sleep every night.
Good enough to not feel like a bum.
Good enough to feel like I deserve the things I have.
Good enough to have a life.
Obviously I am not good enough.
Me with my degree from college.
Me with my years on the dean’s list
Me with all my accomplishments.
Me obeying my parents.
Me not doing drugs.
Me not smoking cigarettes.
Me just being their wonderful little girl.
It seems I would be good enough if I was a lot of different things
but essentially I would be good enough…If I wasn’t me!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, I stumbled upon this entry I wrote 3 years ago and I honestly can’t specifically remember what happened to make me feel this way. I had just graduated college, couldn’t find a job, was back to living with my parents and felt inadequate, unaccomplished and like a failure. My parents, I think were badgering me with questions, somehow making me feel bad or maybe I was making myself feel bad (who knows) and I somehow thought - These people don’t know me at all. How could two people not know their only child. I felt like they didn’t appreciate me. I was the most obedient child, never rebellious, did well in school and yet they took all that for granted.
The funny thing is – not much has changed. Deep down I still feel like that girl three years ago. I still feel like I’m not good enough, even though “good” is all I try to be. That’s me – “The good girl”… Go figure.
Things I can’t stand – #2
Gripe # 2 – Waiting on other people.
Growing up, my father used to pick me up from school every day. A lot of people hear this and think it to be a luxury; and it was, except for the fact that from the time I started Kindergarten at 4 years old up until I had left high school, my father almost always picked my up late.
Now when I say late, I don’t mean late enough to have a little more time to play/hang out with friends. Oh no, I mean late enough to watch all those friends go home and be the only one left at school. Not looking like a luxury now is it?
In looking at my present state of being, I realize that I blame a lot of my present condition on things that happened to me as a child. Which from a psychological perspective is perfectly normal, except that I can’t get past them. Such is the case with this.
For a child, an only child at that, having school end at 2 o’ clock and be there all alone until 6 pm almost every day can be quite traumatizing.
Once when I was about 6 or 7, I saw a car which looked like my dad’s – a red Isuzu Gemini pull into the school. As it was pretty early and unexpected, my childish excitement kicked in; I told all my friends goodbye and dashed to the car taking my place in the back seat. Imagine my surprise when a lady (with a very low haircut) turned to me from the passenger seat. Suffice to say, I probably exited the car much faster than I entered. My friends found it absolutely hilarious.
Of all my late pickup experiences, however that’s the only one I can laugh at. All the others aren’t so funny. A couple of years later at 8 or 9 years old, I remember having to wait so long for my father, that the guard who lived on the school property with his family had to take me in to his house and feed me. That’s right, feed me like some homeless dog found on the roadside. Sometimes I got so hungry, I had to go through lunch boxes which kids had forgotten, hoping to find some snack they hadn’t eaten or scour the sandlot hoping to find some coins that had fallen from kids playing on the jungle gym.
In high school, it didn’t get any better. I could have taken the bus, but my parents didn’t want me to. Funny though, how in second form (eighth grade)they used it as punishment for having bad grades and I ended taking it for a whole term. Once though, my dad picked me up at 7:25 pm. Night had fallen and though I wasn’t a child anymore it still hurt. I’m pretty sure I cried my eyes out that night - after all no-one want to be forgotten.
To this day, at 25 years old living under my parents roof, I have sat for hours just waiting for them to be “ready” so I can leave. When I was younger, my dad worked 15 minutes from my school. Now, he works right across the street from my office and nothing has changed. The worst part, if he’s in a rush and he has to wait on me for a minute, it’s a problem.
So there, the source of my peeve. That my friends, is why I can’t stand waiting o other people.
Rant out.
Things I can’t stand – #1
So as of late I have become increasingly annoyed at all the crap that people are doing around me. Maybe because they’ve been doing it for a while and my patience has just been tried. People who know me can tell you that I am pretty easygoing but after a while there’s only much a girl can take.
Gripe #1 – Using my stuff without my permission.
Now let’s get this straight. Generally depending on the item, there’s no problem if someone borrows it without my permission. The problem lies when the borrowed item is “special”. Specially bought, specially received, specially treated. The worst is when that special item is not only used and return but when upon inspection you realised it has been overused, broken or just plain messed up.
Now I don’t usually buy specific types of hair products but when I do it means something. So I went out and bought my set of Herbal Essences Totally Twisted shampoo & conditioner. My mother decides to lend my grandma said shampoo ans if you know herbal essences – a little goes a long way. When I look at the bottle half of the shampoo is gone – I mean literally half!!!! Now its a shampoo and its replaceable but I can’t help the fact that it is seriously affecting me.
Aargh. Why do people have to touch things that don’t belong to them.
Rant out.
What is it to be a christian?
All my life, I’ve been going to church. Twenty five years of just going to church. Not really doing anything much except filling the pews. I never participated in skits or songs or activities, except for mandatory ones tied to being apart of one of the classes. I’ve been through the kindergarten, pre-teen, teen and young adult classes and finally I’ve made it to the big church. Yay.
The fact of the matter is this. I’m not a baptised member and I have no relationship with any one or anything that has to do with that church. Frankly I don’t even like it. At this moment I am totally apathetic to all things churchy, except for good singing.
This post is not about me disliking the church I attend or rebelling against church going in general. This post seeks find an answer to the question. What is it to be a Christian.
Living in the Caribbean, it is assumed that everyone is born a Christian. Everyone is born believing in God, Christ and the Devil and subsequently Heaven and Hell. But does believing in all those things make you a Christian.
I ask the question because as of late I am becoming increasingly annoyed at being as I like to call it “Christian profiled”. People take one look at me and label me a Christian. Maybe its the purity written all over my natural hair, unpierced and untatooed body parts and my simple form of dress. I don’t know. I’ve been in church long enough to know that Christians aren’t supposed to look like the “world”. They’re supposed to look pure – like me. But somehow, I am finding it offensive – if only because I don’t know if I’m a Christian.
Aside from the fact that me being a “Christian” is blindingly obvious to some, I still get people who have the sense to not assume and ask me outright if I am actually a Christian. Sad to say, this annoys me even more. Frankly, I just don’t know. I DON’T KNOW!!!! So I just say yes, ehhh sometimes I say no.
I try to do the right things – like most people. Frankly I have a serious conscience so lying and stealing come pretty hard to me. I am morally just but I have a very open mind to the opinions of others. Where does that leave me.
So, what says you?
What makes a Christian a Christian?
Night out with the girls
One Night + Five Girls + Good Food + Alcohol + Good Music + Lots of Laughing = Good times, Hoarse throat and memories
The morning after and I feel like crap… but it’s worth it.
