Ten Minutes

"You are not unwanted."

"I wanted to use the drumsticks. I was looking forward to playing with you."

"My head was is the wrong place. Normally, I push through, but I already had three off scenes."

"If we had played, it wouldn't have been how we normally are. It would have been bad."

"We care about your feelings."

"You have to talk to us, tell us when something crosses the line for you."

"I'm sorry."

I feel better now.

Little Things

I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but he did.

At first, I tried to push down the pain, swallowing it like a bumpy pill; no good.

I retreated to the bathroom, closed the door, and quietly wailed, silently screamed my pain. Still, no good. Soft, high pitched screams forced themselves out of me. I punched and punched and punched my thighs. It wasn't enough.

I needed to feel physically what I was going through emotionally. I needed to find someone to punch me. I found Ryan.

Somehow, magically, he stood on the stairs leading up from the lower level, chatting with some ladies. I was barely polite, uttering only, "I need you to punch me." I think he saw it in my eyes. He said a sweet adieu and followed me back downstairs.

We somehow ended up on a couch. He told me to sit. He began punching my chest, my ribs. I told him I was going to cry, but don't stop. He leaned me forward and began working on my back.

Then, the sobs came. Loud, guttural, full bodied wails of sorrow. Tears streamed down my face. I was in pain, but I barely felt Ryan's touch. I let go, let my pain wash over me. I was allowed to be in my sadness. Once, he motioned as if he were about to stop. "I said 'Don't stop,'" I yelled. He began again, harder. And still, it barely registered.

I don't remember how we ended up stopping. I just know at some point I stopped sobbing and he stopped hitting.

He rubbed my back, helped me to breathe slowly. He got me a paper towel for my snot and sat beside me. I rambled on, vaguely talking about why I was so upset, without actually saying it. He listened, but then gave me the best advice. "You have a 24 hour reprieve. Do whatever you have to to feel better. Let yourself step back and look at the situation without the emotional turmoil. Then, talk it out with them."

So now I'm waiting, trying not to be angry, trying not to cry. But, most importantly, not allowing myself to brush it under the rug. Not falling on my sword for others, letting my heart hurt without comfort.

We will talk and I will say my peace. How things move forward is up in the air, but I refuse to feel like shit and not call him on it. I refuse to feel like the tossed aside rag doll and not voice my strong opinion on the fucked up nature of events.

I am not a fucking after thought.

Remind Yourself You're Awesome

Cause if you don't, you could end up like I was tonight: swimming in a pool of jealousy, self doubt, worry, and general crapitude.

The only things that kept me from running home, curling up into a ball, and crying myself into an uneasy sleep were the four Margarita's I drank. As I attempted to sober up, my drunken giddiness kept me talking, kept me engaged, and helped me fight my little hater.

I find my life is really hard during this time of year. With my job, it's feast or famine. Since the feast has officially started, I've thrown myself into gigs, working over a week without a day off. But, as I'm making good money, it always feels like I'm loosing out on time with the people that matter most to me. If I don't schedule it, I can go a month or more without seeing anyone outside work. I start to doubt my connections, my confidence wanes, and the little hater inside me is pleased as punch.

Of course, it doesn't help that I'm single. Don't get me wrong; I will not run into a relationship just because sometimes I'm a little lonely. But I must acknowledge the fact that my unease tonight would not have been as severe if I had someone to go home to. Having said that, there is no one, NO ONE, in my life currently who I can imagine filling that role. So, for the foreseeable future, I've gotta figure this shit out on my own.

Thankfully, I didn't run away. In the end, I had a good time. And I've had confirmation of my awesomeness over and over again, including tonight. For now, that's enough.

Fun Find

Subtitle: It pays to Google yourself.

So, randomly, I decided to stick my name in my search engine of choice. I already knew there was a woman on BlackPlanet with my name who, sorry folks, is not me. And I discovered there is a PoeticDesire; the 's' counts folks, a lot.

But, lo and behold, I found this gem of awesomeness: Pop Five - poeticdesires' top movie freakouts.

I sent in this list quite a while ago, as evidence by the fact I reference my Ex who, at the time of this posting, had been such for six months. But delays be damned; I loved this list and am happy to be acknowledged, even if it took me this long to realize it.

So geektastic.

Random Thoughts

- Today I watched last night's The Rachel Maddow Show and, once again, regretted not becoming a doctor.  My father is a doctor.  I'd thought about it growing up.  If I could wave a magic wand, and change my life all together, I would've gone to medical school and become an abortionist.  But I can't, so I sit here in the library, typing on my computer.  (I got sick of blogging with my iPhone, long and tedious.)

- I watched the third installment of The Black List on HBO.  I'd seen it before, but I always like the experience of listening to successful African Americans just talk.  When Hill Harper and Whoopi Goldberg spoke, I again wondered what would have happened if I'd taken performance classes with my tech classes in college. I wonder a lot about the path I've taken in my life, probably too much.

- I haven't attended my writers' group since November.  I knew work was going to dry up, so I passed on the meeting in December.  I keep getting the emails, because I haven't officially left the group.  Each time I read that someone else is submitting, I feel a twang more of doubt in my stories, in my writing style, in my dreams.

- So I know I waited til the last minute to write this post because that's what I do.  I put off just about everything until I must do it.  I know they call this procrastination, but, in truth, it's closer to laziness.  On that point, I recently wondered what my life would be like if I gave up television all together.  Without cable, I would be free to do all the things I say I'm going to: my multiple novels I've started but yet to finish, my multiple knit & crochet projects, all the books I want to read but are currently sitting on the floor in front of my bookshelf.  How much better would my life be if I had the will power to turn off the box?

- My meter is about to run out, so I'll end with a poem I wrote last month during the latest iteration of Snowpocalypse:

Frustration is

Hearing about the snow that's started to fall outside

Getting off work at 6:30pm only to be greeted by three and a half hours of accumulation

Seeing two of your buses parked on the side of the road, surrounded by cars

Learning neither bus will be moving any time soon because another one is stuck on the hill ahead

Walking to the Metro stop, three blocks away, snow flakes whipping against your face, fogged and iced over glasses barely showing the way

The long trek down the stopped escalator into the station, one foot after another, just trying not to fall

Riding the train from one end to the other with the knowledge, on any other day, your bus ride would have taken ten minutes

Trudging up and down hills, from the station to home, seeing yet still more buses, and a salt truck, stuck in the snow

Green lightning streaking through the air, signaling impending doom

Conformation of your fears when you see you indeed don't have power

Soggy socks, heavy boots, and a pile of wet coat, jacket, and pants

No hot water, no heat, not being able to open your refrigerator

A dinner of pineapple slices and a Nutrigrain bar

Waking up to the low battery beep of a smoke detector

Going to work out of boredom and the desire to be warm

Clearing off your car and, in the process, cracking the windshield

Driving to a friend's home just to take a shower

Three days later, still no power, with little hope of that changing

The possibility of more snow in a few days

~ 1/28/11

VD, or My Distorted Views On Feb. 14th

I am a late bloomer. I didn't loose my virginity, or have my first relationship, til I was 22. So, for the majority of my life, February 14th was not a welcome day.

In grade school, I received cards from all my classmates, but was then picked on when I created a card for a boy I liked. Everyone else made theirs for a parent. His name was Noel. I don't remember anything about him, except for that incident.

In middle school, it was all about being chosen to receive a card. In my class of twenty, I got about five.

Because I went to an all girls Catholic high school, somehow it was less painful. I don't even remember cards, but there was candy and heart decorations.

I can't remember VD at all in college. Then again, with classes, two jobs, and shows, most of my days were a blur.

Now, as an adult, my experiences haven't improved. Stores push you to buy things. Television shoves the love narrative on you. And, if you're single, the general thought is you're to be pitied or there must be something wrong with you.

Frankly, I call bullshit on the entire notion of VD.

Even when I was in a relationship, I never liked VD. My Ex didn't believe in gift giving, nor did he ever say he loved me. (I know, what a dick.) I thought things would be different because I finally had someone. And they were: I felt worse. What was the point in celebrating our love when he couldn't even say the words?

Now that I'm single again, I had planned to hang out with friends. But life is a son-of-a-bitch and my plans were cancelled. So I'm stuck alone on a Monday with nothing to do, except resent the world for about 24hrs.

Happy VD; hope you don't choke on your candy.

Chemically Balanced

Recently I began taking the pill again. I was on it before summer camp, but stopped taking it when I returned. I worried my libido would crash, and, having just freed the slut inside me, I wanted none of that. But another event is approaching, and the idea of loosing a sexually dynamic weekend to Aunt Flow just would not do.

So I'm into my third week on the medication, and, to be perfectly honest, my initial concerns were partially correct. For the first two weeks, I hated who I was on the pill. Moody, depressed, irritable, sad, bitchy. All of the possible negative attributes I've ever had bubbled up. Worst of all, my libido dropped to nothing. Not even Katie Morgan could stir me.

I spoke about my misfortune to a friend, who wisely suggested, "Just give it time. Your body needs to adjust again." So I waited. And miracle of all miracles, life no longer sucks sweaty furry balls. My libido is back up. My mood has lifted. I feel like me again, mostly.

My sex drive is up, but not nearly as high as before. I'm content, but not as bubbly as I was. It is my sincere hope, next month, I will be back to who I was/am. Otherwise, the pill will be reserved only for pre-event assurance. Because if I can't be horny, if I can't giggle at the most random things, I'd rather just live with a little more risk.