Dust

My aunt died last week, losing her battle with cancer.

I’m devastated.

For the obvious reasons and the not-so-obvious reasons.

I grew up with her when we lived in Trinidad, and when I saw her this past February, she was a thin, frail shadow of a woman I used to know. We had a few talks about what was to come, choking through the painful words, and I held her bony hand in mine every time I sat next to her. She was too weak for chemo. It was a matter of waiting it out.

I am grateful I got to see her again.

All I can remember, though, is our last conversation. As weak as she was, she insisted on coming along to say goodbye at the airport. When she hugged me she said, “I know I won’t ever see you again,” and I was all tsk tsk. I didn’t know what else to say, so I just hugged her back in silence, squeezing my eyes extra tight to barricade the tears under my lids.

That is what keeps playing through my head, like a broken movie reel. As much as you know these things are coming, it doesn’t hurt any less.

But then… then I am reminded of how my family is so divided. My dad and his siblings. My mom and her siblings. My mom hasn’t spoken to her sisters since 2006. I am completely on her side, not just because of being biased but because they were truly nasty human beings toward my mother and she stood up for herself and they ganged up against her and so on and so on. Stupid fucking family drama — who doesn’t have it, right? And now we are all getting this terrible news… and it kills me that we can’t even fucking call each other to talk and console ourselves. Even if I/we DID want to reconnect, I don’t want it to be for reasons like this. I just don’t.

It all makes me so sad. My mom alone in Florida, everyone alone somehow, period.

And then… my dad. He and my brother were just in Trinidad and spent a week with his sister, a diabetic, but a very strong-willed, independent diabetic (she’s pretty much blind but does every single thing for herself still).

She had a heart attack the day before my aunt died.

It was just too much for two days.

I talked to my cousin Ronnie the day it happened. He confided to me while in Trinidad that he was so heartbroken, that he absolutely dreaded this day and would lay awake for nights thinking about it. His sister had to get pills for the stress. Ronnie did everything for his mother. Everything. Cleaned up her vomit, got her meds, cooked for her. He lived with her. I know it’s going to hit him the hardest. He sounded so lost on the phone. It makes me cry just to think about it.

And it really, really hurts to know people you love are in pain and there’s nothing you can do but wait for time to try to ease the sting, if ever.

Before I got the news, I was bitching about how I hate money right now because it’s stressing me out: In three weeks, I will have spent $450 on my car, $1200 at the dentist, $1100 for a condo deposit/pet deposit, the first month’s rent is due aug 1, and last week we learned my husband’s radiator in his car is shit and needs other work to the tune of $700.

I’d rather be alive and stressed out. THIS, this I can get through, the money shit. The other stuff? My cousins? My family?

We left for Knoxville the day I got the news and I told my husband not to stress when he let me know he was upset about having to work late that night. I didn’t care how late he was as long as he walked in that goddamn door when his shift was over.

My uncle found her. She had throat cancer and had a huge swollen lump in her neck, and it burst, apparently. He had just spoken to her a few minutes before when she got out of bed, and when they checked on her later, she was dead. I hope it wasn’t painful. The temporary relief of first assuming she died in her sleep was yanked away and replaced with a bitter sorrow.

My uncle said she seemed happy, though. She seemed to be at peace that morning.

She never complained. Ever.

Ronnie said she said she knew she was dying the night before. I feel saddest for him. He lived with her. All his siblings, all four of them, are married with kids and their own family. And while I know they will support each other, what is he supposed to do now, all alone?

God, it breaks my heart.

This will sound funny and cheesy and stupid but I was listening to my iPod while I showered because I needed something other than my own voices in my head, and out of almost 4,000 songs, what comes on in the first five random tunes? ”Dust in the Wind.” I chuckled, I did. Might’ve even rolled my eyes. And then I cried. And I felt pathetic crying to that damn song in that damn moment, but holy hell if it didn’t fit.

My poor uncle. His mother died in that house. His brothers died in that house. His sister-in-law died in that house. And he will die in that house. He drinks too much; I don’t know how his body hasn’t betrayed him just yet. I’m thankful it hasn’t, don’t get me wrong, but it’s still a mystery. Some can power through what others would break under.

But that’s how life goes. You get cancer and you die and it’s sometimes really, really unfair.

Falling Foward

This afternoon, in the clean blue pool, I floated. I let my arms and legs drift out to my sides as my body became a buoyant mass, and I felt the water fill up between my fingers like air, soft and weightless. The sun overhead cast a bright light through my closed eyelids. The world was soundless, sucked into a space I couldn’t touch, an abysmal amplitude of white noise that went on forever.

That is exactly how I feel these days.

Floating.

Weightless.

Drifting.

Eyes closed because I’m not sure what’s ahead.

It’s not good and it’s not bad. It just is what it is.

*

The past year of my life, up until a month or two ago, was filled with so much pain and emotional surgeries, and while most of those cuts have healed, I am left with scars that remind me of the wars. One touch, one press, one poke, and it all comes back to me and I hold my breath as a montage of memories flicker by like a movie playing over my head.

My marriage is probably better than it’s ever been.

We made it through the storm and are gearing up for new adventures.

Our love is not a conventional one. It never was but we tried to fit inside that mold because we thought it was the easy way. Hindsight is bittersweet; turns out it was the hardest way. We’d have saved ourselves a lot of heartache if we’d given into what we needed and not what society needed from us a long time ago.

Never go against the grain of who you really are, what you really desire. You’ll be left with two choices if you do: breaking through the glass into a new day where you raise some eyebrows, but you’re living your life for you, so who cares about the whispers? Or, if you do care about the whispers, you can submit to a life of pleasing other people, of feeling stunted and stifled, and maybe even convincing yourself that everything you have is everything you want. And then you’ll die and what would it have mattered anyway?

*

He and I have been trying to find our way, too. It’s harder now these days for various reasons. We always go through this, these ebbs and flows, so this shouldn’t be a surprise, but the ebbs are becoming harder to recover from. My heart feels weaker even though my love feels stronger.

It is a love that haunts me, a constant reminder of all my heart is capable of and all my heart can lose.

*

I live inside my head these days and that’s okay. That’s where I need to be before the next chapter opens. I’m definitely in a transition. I need to get my feet on the ground sometime soon but for now, there’s plenty of reflection. I’m working through the muck — or, I guess you could say, cleaning up after the battles, picking up the trash and sweeping and tidying up.

I’m trying to create a space for myself. Some days are harder than others because I’m not sure what my space should look like.

And, yet, I could never go back.

I watched some middle schoolers get off the bus the other day. They were so uncertain of themselves, so awkward and unsure, grasping for a place to belong to inside their friends, or inside themselves. I remember those days. Laughing when it hurt. Burying words that nicked my feelings. Feeling ungraceful. Dreading walking off the bus alone. No idea of what the world had in store for me.

No matter how bad things get today, I will never be without my wit and my sense of self. Ever again. That will always be on my side.

Bonjour!

So, I went to Paris for the first time.

Um, it was uuhhhhhmazing. Easily one of the best trips I’ve ever taken in my life, and I’ve taken plenty!

It was never on my must-see list. However, it’s not a destination I’d turn my nose up at so when my friend Debbie suggested it (seriously, the conversation went like this: ”I’m thinking of going to Paris. You should come with me.” “Okay!”), I was in. It’s part of my whole resolution from the start of this year to saying “yes” a whole lot more. Plus, going to Paris on a girl’s trip just sound so lovely and luxurious and fun.

And fuuuuuun it was.

Our little rented flat was adorable and small, and it served its purpose. We walked and walked and walked — seriously, Cybil had a pedometer and on one day alone we tracked over 18,000 steps. We ate banana and Nutella street crepes. We saw the Eiffel Tower light up at night and giggled at how magical it felt. We took photos under the glowing lamps on Lover’s Bridge. We ooohed and ahhhhed over gorgeous sculptures at Musée Rodin. We ate amazing pizza and lingered in a sidewalk café for over four hours. We posed with the newly debuted Abercrombie and Fitch boys in Champ Elysees. We marveled over the Arc de Triomphe. We drank hot chocolate in Jardin des Tuileries. We shopped for gifts for friends and for ourselves, and we roamed the streets of St. Michel and the 5th District and Monmarte. I ate a delicious dessert while sitting on the lawn of the Sacre Coeur with the view of Paris in front of me. We drank Rosé wines with lunch. We were overwhelmed at Versailles. We saw a beautiful show at the Moulin Rouge and got tipsy on three bottles of champagne. We were stunned into silence by beautiful cathedrals: Notre Dame, St. Germain Des Pres, and St. Chapelle. We made numerous stops for pastries and coffee whenever we felt like it. We were impressed by architecture over and over and over and over. We gushed over raspberry and wheat beers. We felt somber when we saw the tunnel that Princess Di never made it out of alive. We had a picnic on the campus grounds of the University of Paris with new friends, complete with French cheeses and desserts and baguettes. We had very little sleep and water.. and it was so worth it.

I also tried escargot. It tasted like seafood.

I also had a marriage proposal and two men ask me out. I’m married but I was tempted to say yes.  Um, Parisian men are goooorrrrrhhhhjus. The women ain’t too bad, either.

They’re so chic, so effortless, so stylish without being overdone. The men wear pants that fit. There are endless cafés and coffee shops and bakeries, and the chairs face the streets. We didn’t have one single problem with someone being rude. At all. American friends had scared us into expecting the worst and we had only the best. People spoke English and if they didn’t, they made every attempt to try. We had our French book handy with us at all times and made it a point to learn key phrases. Getting around was not a problem at all.

I love city life. I really do. How did I not think I would love Paris? I fall in love with cities all the time. I love Atlanta, but it’s not a mobile city; you still need a damn car to get around. I want to live in a pedestrian city, a place where I can walk to the grocery store on the way home, a place where I don’t need a car because I have public transportation readily available. I’d move to Chicago or back to NYC in a heartbeat if it weren’t for the cold weather.

Annnnyway, know what really made the trip so magical?

Maria.

Maria was the girl cleaning out flat when we arrived. Maria is one of the most beautiful human beings I’ve met in a long, long time. Maria is kind and giving and expects nothing in return. Maria is smart and funny and full of grace and love.

Right away, I felt an attachment to her. Something about her was so open and warm and I fell right into it, or rather, we fell into each other. By the end of the week, “I love yous” were exchanged. We talked about how we truly felt we’d been friends in another life. Within hours of meeting her, I joked that she should be our guide for the week, and she agreed, and the rest was history. She spent so much time with us, showing us around, taking us to the best places, telling us about Parisian life. It was wonderful. On our second day there, she introduced us to her two friends, a couple, Darrell and Alexander, and they were just as wonderful as she was. They spent all of Sunday with us, lounging around during that four-hour lunch mentioned above, eating ice cream under the Eiffel Tower, taking photos, sharing their lives. Darrell would meet up with Kathryn and I later in the week to have hot chocolate. Maria is just.. amazing. She has very little. Her story is a bit sad. But she is strong-willed and grateful. I am humbled by meeting her. Kathryn, Debbie and I treated her to Moulin Rogue; she’d never been, and even when I suggested it, she insisted it was too much and said no. We did it anyway, buying the tickets and then telling her she had no choice. She had a blast that night, as did we!

She came over and made us Chinese food and sangria on our last night. I was sad to see her go. I feel like I’ve heard her voice in my head for a long time. I will miss her, but I plan to keep in touch.

Because of her, we also had a picnic in Paris! How fun! It was with her and four of her friends. It was an amazing, brilliant, magical time. We drank wine and ate cookies stuffed with Nutella. Just divine.

There are so many things I loved about Paris. Men, for one, seem much more involved with their kids. I saw many men out and about with their children, way more than I ever do here. Natural boobies everywhere. Unless they have amazing plastic surgeons over there, we didn’t see a single fake pair, and Maria said they implants not very common in their world. Many women were braless, too. They also have a great comfortableness with nudity. It’s not an issue. Not that they blaze every corner with photos of tits and ass, but if you do happen to see something, it’s not a big deal. Neither is PDA. Couples all over were very okay with sharing their affection for each other, with kissing and hugging and holding hands. I loved it. It’s beautiful. It makes me feel like America is sexually repressed. They’re not freaks about people bumping into them on trains and on the sidewalks. They just go about their business. I remember getting on the train once and there were two American girls going on and on about, “God, that was sooo fucking awkward, she was right up against me!” Hello, it was a CROWDED train at rush over. Get over yourselves. We’re so afraid of touching each other in this country. Also, no cell phones. They are not glued to them at all. I don’t remember seeing anyone at dinner having conversations on their phones. Everyone spoke to each other, shared words and wine. Even on the streets, we didn’t hear many conversations taking place on cell phones. What’s really cute is that they’ll find anywhere to sit and relax or play soccer. Anywhere. Green grass? They’re in! It’s a daily part of their lives. They don’t wait until July 4th…  And it’s completely normal to go to a bar and sit by yourself and have a drink.

I loved it! I miss it already.

Hide and Seek

Life has been crazy busy.

In the good way.

My friends Ria and Jackie arrived about three weeks ago and our lives feel so full with their presence here. You’d think living with friends is an absolute recipe for disaster, but not in this case. We would have never made the offer to let them live with us while they get on their feet if there had been one single doubt about the chemistry the four of us have together. Not worth it.

I love them both so much, so deeply, I cannot find the words to explain what they mean to me. We are all great about taking time for ourselves, giving each other space, and being together in one room without having to be “on”. We don’t do every single thing together, like running errands and what not. Instead, we spend quality time together. We cook for them, they cook for us, we drink wine and watch tv and laugh and play games and some days we don’t see each other at all. Plus, they don’t take anything for granted.  They help with groceries. They’re not loud and intrusive. They don’t leave dishes piling up in the sink. They also break out into random dances with me — what’s not to love?!

I’m trying to learn as much as I can about photography and my camera and all the other logistics of what dipping my feet into that pool would entail, and that is naturally sucking copious amounts of time into a black hole. Throw in spending time with the girls and other friends, trying to find time for just Hubs and I, going to the gym, cooking (we rarely eat out these days), preparing for Paris and other assorted time wasters, and, well, time flies!

The moments Hubs and I share these days is precious. We have to consciously make the time and when we do get to be together, it’s almost magical. We have date nights on Thursday nights, (he’s off Fridays and Saturdays, so it’s his “Friday”), and every night before bed we spend at least an hour just lying there and talking. When he gets home from work, we hole ourselves off to talk about our days. And, yet, I still don’t mind the girls here, and neither does he. In fact, I might’ve already gotten teary-eyed at the thought of the day they have to move out… but at least they’ll be in our city now!

Lots of things are changing in my marriage, and in my views about marriage. There’ve been lots of interesting conversations in my household, period, about sex and relationships and societal pressures. Things I’ve always held inside as far as my beliefs go are streaming out and I shock myself as soon as I form the words. Same for Hubs. We are growing and changing faster than I can keep up with. So many questions… so many topics.

Two main things: why is it considered “wrong” to not be jealous? The four of us don’t get it. I’m not jealous and neither is Hubs. And I’ve wondered often, “Do I not love him enough because I don’t get jealous about much?” Turns out, he’s had the same exact fears. And really, with so many human beings on this planet, it is not possible to there to be people on all ends of the spectrum without the need to be right or wrong?

This conversation has brought us to the topic of possession and ownership many times. I don’t own Hubs. He is not mine. I am not his. Yet, in society, we operate that way, as though people belong to us. Take any scene where a woman catches her man cheating and you would be guaranteed to hear “he’s MINE!” in that cat fight. No, honey, he’s not. So much more to say on this…

It’s probably why I haven’t been writing — too much in my head — but that’s the kind of thing that’s been happening here, those kinds of talks. With or without the girls. What does it mean to be married? Jealous? To choose to be with someone? How would we operate if we weren’t confined by so many rules and misconceptions that get carried on with each society? Why do we take things so personally? Nature vs. nurture when it comes to weddings and biology and sexual desires and cheating etc etc etc. I feel like we, as human beings, have suffocated so many of our natural instincts and desires for the sake of order, for the sake of a “right” and “wrong” way to live and it’s all complete and utter bullshit. What a disservice we’ve done to ourselves.

Annnnnyway, things are good in a nutshell. Paris is in two weeks. Hubs’ birthday is in a little over a week. I had a photo shoot for a high school senior recently. I’m cooking and reading and growing and expanding my mind. I’m working out. I’m baring myself to my husband. My friends call me their family. We’re seeing Pete Yorn tomorrow night. My fridge is full. My heart is fuller.

Sneak Peek

Oh, so much to share/blog/ramble on and on about…

I went to Trinidad for the first time in 17 years and came back with a suitcase stuffed with souvenirs and a body packed with exhaustion. I came down with a miserable case of the flu that pelted my temps into the 103-degree region (NOT FUN) and now, today, almost two weeks later, I am finally starting to feel human again and get back to my normal life. Phew.

But, first — I had my very first professional photography shoot on Friday. It was for a make-up artist. She had two models all dolled up and ready to go and I spent a couple of hours clicking away. It was a really great first experience; the girls were warm and friendly and took direction well, the day was sunny and blue, and they all gave me oodles of praise. I’m really excited. It would be so great to do this part time…

Anyway, here’s a sneak peek. More to stories/photos to come soon!

A Black Dress And A Song In My Ear

My brain is trying to process emotions my mind cannot articulate. Despite minimal, if any, contact with Him, I’ve been dreaming of him almost every night, even if I barely have time to wonder how he is doing during the day. As dreams sometimes do, latching on to you in the real world with their invisible cords from the other side, mine have been shadowing me all day long, and with these shadows come the fractures in my heart filling their spaces.

The themes have been consistent: letting go.

Last night, there were two of them. I was in an auditorium and I happened to look back at the faces behind me, and there he was, concentrating on clicking the keys of his laptop as he completed an assignment for class instead of watching the stage. I was hit with the beautiful reality of us being in the same room at the same time, that instead of being miles away, we were rows of people away, and I could get up and squeeze through the seated legs in my aisle and walk over to him and touch his face if I wanted to. But I didn’t. I sat there watching him, and he felt it. He looked up at me, smiled, and then went back to working.

The odd part of that dream was that at one point I was aware I was dreaming, and I decided I wanted to change his shirt. Three times. The first one was navy blue with some crazy white pattern at the shoulders; the second was red; and the third, which I settled on, was a plain, black, long-sleeved, button-up shirt. He left the auditorium wearing this shirt, and he didn’t say goodbye to me. I was deflated that we had been in the the same room and not so much as one syllable had been shared between us.

In the second dream, I was walking with two friends on a city street and we passed by the window of his first-floor apartment. I could see his wife sitting on the red Ikea-style couch before she got up to get the door. A group of his friends had arrived, and they were all going to head into the city for a fun night. They walked behind us for a long while, and he and I pretended we didn’t know each other. My friends and I came to stop in front of a fountain where he passed me, and I wordlessly pleaded with him to see the sadness that filled my eyes. He did, and his eyes were sad too, but empty in a way I’d never seen, and he kept on… Moments later, his wife walked past me with the rest of the group, brushing up against me with her long coat, and then they were gone.

I woke up feeling a hollow pocket of ache floating in my chest. I avoided it, diligently working and busying myself — I have far too much to do this week without the added task of trying to talk myself out of an emotional hole — but like I said earlier, it’s been a shadow on my back all morning, all day. I heard the first few notes of a song that took me back to Chicago in October, to how much that song carried me then when we were confessing feelings as my sanity was falling apart, to how it damn near spilt my heart to open the curtains of my hotel room for four mornings knowing he was just five minutes away from my hotel’s front door. Or maybe it all came rushing back because of how the tickle of springtime can remind you of wilting summer days, the way the air feels and tastes the same. In a flash, I went back to all of that, to how my life felt then, to pushing down how much I miss him now, to being simultaneously sad and relieved that I am no longer in the place with him that I was in August and September and October… and I worked in silence for the rest of the day…

We did talk Wednesday evening. We talked about our childhoods, a conversation ignited when my impending trip to Trinidad is brought up. I give him secrets that are too black for the people in my life, and he aks me questions and I ask him questions and we scratch the underbelly of our connection. It is a conversation of painful and awkward confessions, so honest and subterranean that my body literally reacts to the words and I have to take deep breaths and fight through the tension that fills my chest. He tells me we can change the subject if I want to, but I power through, saying no, it feels good to let these skeletons get some air.

And then there are moments like Saturday evening, when I am walking through downtown hand in hand with my magnificent husband and wonderful friends, and the evening is bright with glittering city lights, and the air feels like summer and it wraps itself around my hair and cascades over my shoulders, and in an instant the sense of  loss hits me again like it’s hitting me for the very first time.

And I feel extremely sad and broken and guilty for this.

It was hard to wake up to such a beautiful day — patches of green grass are pushing their way through the dirt, the birds are filling the air with their sweet born-again chirps and fluttering wings, the smell of the warmed Earth is pouring itself into my rooms through open windows, and I feel anxious for the spring that sits around the corner. The promise of spring has always made me a little melancholy, strange as that sounds. We’re almost through the worst of it, and we’re tired as it is, but this time I am also contending with these internal conflicts — a change in a relationship can feel like a death in a relationship. It’s a crazy dimension, to have birth on the outside and what feels like death on the inside. The dichotomy slays me: a new beginning, one that happens every year around this time, and he and I, continuing to slip further and further away from the chance that once sparked years ago. All I could think was this has been the longest emotional funeral I’ve ever attended.

Lemons

Today was shiiiiiiitttaaaaaaaaaaay. I don’t even know why I’m here writing about it because I’m very fuzzy in the head right now, and very restless, but it seemed like a good way to pass the time.

(You know I’m not myself when I use little emoticon thingies.)

Hubs and I got up bright and early for his nine a.m. doctor’s appointment. He’s had this rash on his legs and arms that keeps coming and going and it’s starting to get worse. The doc thinks he might’ve touched something somewhere and had an allergic reaction.  After getting his meds, we were good to start on errands. Last week we had decided that today we would register our cars in GA. Yep, we moved here last May and haven’t done it yet. I had to register my car in April in the previous city riiiight before we moved — I was going to stretch that money out, you know? Hubs’ is due next month. So, we head back home to get the paperwork we needed and to get into our separate vehicles. And that is where shit went doooooown dooooown dooown and fast!

- First, we couldn’t find Hubs’ car title anywhere. It was not with mine like it was supposed to be. We went through everything, including everything in our filing cabinet. Nada. So, we will have to get a new copy.

- I discover that my car insurance card that I’ve been carrying is the expired one. Can’t find the current one anywhere. Hubs has his, though. We figured we’d go ahead and get emissions done anyway, so off we go

- We stop at the insurance office and get proof of my current insurance.

- Then the bank, to withdraw some money. The teller incorrectly inputs our deposit. Catches herself, thankfully.

- Next, emissions. Hubs’ car fails. There’s an issue with a sensor.

- We take it to a shop down the road that’s supposed to be wonderful, and they were! We won’t have the car back until late Saturday afternoon if we’re lucky, but it looks like it’ll be a $40-dollar issue. ::crossing fingers::

- We head to the area the tag office is in, which happens to be near an American Express Travel agency. Great! We can exchange some US dollahs for Trinidadian bills for our upcoming trip! Nope. They have to order it and we’d have to pay expedited fees, blah blah blah. Fine. We’ll do it at the airport in Trinidad instead.

- Tag office. Standing in line, I go through my wallet one more time. Discover that my insurance card was not expired. In my haste, I’d looked at the wrong date, the date it was issued in back in September.

- The clerk rudely and unapologetically informs me that I can’t renew my tag because I need a copy of my marriage certificate (name on the title is my maiden name).

I lose my patience at this point. I’d kept my cool ALL DAY and had been trying, in vain, to remain cheery and positive, and I was doing a good job until THAT. We had called and asked about all the documents we needed to bring — how hard is it to say “And any proof of name change.” I know I could’ve thought of that on my own but I don’t renew my car every day. I forgot.

And aside from all the driving around and wasted gas, as we headed back home to get the copy, I couldn’t help but wonder about how STUPID it all is when you change your name and constantly have to deal with these situations. I mean, I had to present proof of name change for my passport and my driver’s license, both of which I had on me, and yet, that’s not proof enough of a name change to renew my tag. So. Aggravating. Add to all of this that I’m PMSing and am wading through Bloatville and feeling gross and unattractive and moody and ugh.

And, seriously? To top it off? Every idiot driver was out today. People were doing theee dumbest things on the road, like stopping in the middle of a passing lane when traffic is flowing so they could try to squeeze into a turning lane.

So. We get the tag issue sorted out and by now we’re starving, so we decide to head to our favorite Cuban place for a late lunch. We get out of the car, walk up to the door.. and..

- And I shit you not. They went out of business. Gone. Poof. No more.

All I could do at that point was laugh, you know?

We were too tired to care anymore so we went to Cheesecake Factory only because it was right there, and my fish tacos were so flavorless. What else did I expect?

In a moment of self pity, we decided to go to Best Buy. We had coupons and gift cards to burn. I’d orginially intended on getting a tripod but I decided on a new camera lens instead. And Hubs got the X-Box 360 Kinect he’d been eyeing, along with a game.

Camera bag, some polarizers, game, lens, Kinect.

SO THE AMERICAN WAY. GO US.

Came home and I couldn’t muster the energy to stay up. Not happening. So I took a nap from 6:30 to 9:00 and finally peeled myself out of bed to .. do nothing.

Our newly engaged friends were supposed to get here tonight to stay for the weekend but had to postpone until tomorrow morning, which, as my day went on, I became increasingly grateful for because I would’ve been  terribly blah company. So they’ll get here tomorrow and we’ll go downtown and have fun celebrating his birthday and I’ll hopefully feel human again by the end of the night.

Right now, I’m thinking beer and wings sound good.

Peace out.

WW: Silhouette

Blogging FAIL.

Today is Thursday, not Wednesday, but apparently my head and the calender can’t get it together because for the past two weeks I’ve mixed up my days way more than I care to admit. Last week, for example, I spent half the day thinking it was Tuesday and the other half thinking it was Thursday.

It was Wednesday.

And then it all came full circle and behold! Yesterday was Wednesday. Again. And I forgot. Again. See, I’d told myself that I wanted to start a little tradition called Wordless Wednesdays, which is popular in the blogging world. This lil’ segment will be where I post a photo I’ve taken and.. that’s it. No words, which, well, is explanatory.

But then I missed it again and now we are in Thursday’s house.

Wednesday doesn’t like me.

I’m gonna drink my rebel juice and post a photo ANYWAY.

Here you go. Happy Thursday, bitches. Hopefully I’ll get it right next week.

You Say Dealbreaker, I Say We’ll Figure It Out

Dealbreakers.

That one word has the ability to send the minds of coupled-up folks spinning with scenarios, no?

We’ve all heard various examples. Cheating. Lying. Porn addiction. Having another wife in another country. Maybe even finding out your lover enjoys sex with animals.

My husband and I have never talked about what our dealbreakers are. Is this something we’re supposed to do? Should there be a summit at the kitchen table where we list behaviors that would send us running out the door for good?

A couple of weeks ago we went to dinner with a friend and some of her friends. There were all kinds of couples around us: freshly married, engaged, cohabitating for x amount of years with no concrete marital plans in sight, f-buddies — it was a large group. The newly married couple (one year), upon learning we’d tied the knot three years ago, turned to us with bright, inquisitive eyes and started firing off questions: Do you guys fight a lot? What was the hardest part of getting married? Do you shop together, or does that cause problems? What’s something you’ve learned that you think needs to be shared? I was kind of left scratching my head. Three years and three months is just a blip on the marriage radar. Our marital relationship is still a fetus, and we’re certainly in no position to offer any kind of life-changing advice.

It was kind of sweet, really. They were genuinely curious, and they were honest; I admired them for asking real, hard questions, questions I am sure many people have but would never dare utter for fear of seeming weak or like a failure. Before I knew it, the whole table was involved, intently listening to my husband and I as we dispensed what we’ve learned. Hello, Marital Powwow 2011.

There were moments filled with laughter, some laced with wincing, and some stuffed with silence as we pondered relationships. There were embarrassing revelations and sighs of relief. I, personally, wanted to stand up and cheer when the husband of the newly married duo said that what surprised him the most about getting married was that he thought he’d never be attracted to anyone else ever again after walking down the aisle. Getting married would change that. It didn’t. And it might sound funny, but I’m learning that this preconceived notion is quite popular. I myself am guilty of similar thinking: when I got married, some part of me thought my past would fall away, shed it self like old skin, and all the softness I have in my heart for the men I’ve loved and lost would find a hiding place, never to be unlocked again. Not so.

I damn near wanted to leap with joy and hug him for his confession… but considering we’d only met about two hours earlier, I refrained myself and smiled instead.

And then came that one question. What are your dealbreakers?

This is where it became awkward.

“We don’t really know…“

Cue the shock and dropped jaws. How could we not know, right? What about that list up there at the top? Weren’t those possibilities? What about drug addiction or significant financial deceits or finding out your partner was the opposite gender a few years before? It was after this question had been asked that my husband and I realized we were in a group by ourselves. Everyone else had sure and indisputable dealbreakers.

My thinking is so gray when it comes to this stuff. I can’t think in black and white terms when it comes to people and relationships. Okay, take cheating for example: Of course it would shatter my heart, of course I’d lose trust and hope and maybe even the desire to live if I found out my husband put his peen in another woman. But, shit happens. People get drunk. People storm off after terrible arguments and make bad decisions. If it was born out of irrationality, I would want to work things out. If it was pre-mediated for a few weeks, more than the cheating factor, I’d be livid that he lied to my face for a really long time.

I guess I’m trying to say that I really don’t exactly know how I’d react if x, y, and z happened. I’ve already surprised myself many times in this life when I’ve done the complete opposite of what I thought I’d do if a certain situation occurred. So, no, I don’t know what I’d do if he became addicted to drugs or if he had a whole mountain of debt collecting somewhere or if he was obsessed with watching naked women go at it with each other on the Internet every time he had a few minutes to spare. I could very well pack my bags and walk out. Or maybe I’d want to fight for us til the last breath of hope faded away. I just don’t know. And I’m kind of okay with that. I’d rather just take shit as it comes and go from there, you know? Is that crazy? Weird? Apparently, to our table, it was.

(You know, an ex of mine was addicted to World of Warcraft. Like, addicted. He’d play for hours and hours without ever coming up for air, sitting at that damn computer til three and four in the morning. I put up with it for a few years and it definitely drove a wedge between us and ultimately led to our demise. We were very, very different and it was never going to work, but now I wonder: was that a dealbreaker? Did I leave because of the World of Warcraft addiction or because our relationship had deteriorated to an unrecognizable state as a result of the addiction? It was the whole chicken or the egg kind of thing…)

In all honesty, though, the only fer-sure dealbreaker I’ve ever come up with was: lack of safety. This means no kind of abuse — mental, physical, emotional — period, in my home.

And maybe sex with animals, ’cause let’s face it, that shit is just weird, son!

Who I Be, Pt. 2

You can stop waiting by your computers now. I’m back with 50 more random things you never knew you always wanted to know.

51. I came thisclose to editing the previous post and pretending that I had originally intended on spewing just 50 items instead of 100 because of pure and utter laziness. Oh, commitments.
52. I am pretty good about doing what I say I am going to do.
53. I was born in the Caribbean, in Trindad, and lived there until I was almost nine. From there, we went to NYC, and then to West Palm Beach six years later. I flew the nest and headed for Atlanta in 2001, and then went to Knoxville, and am now back in Atlanta.
54. I get bored by my blog layouts pretty easily. Will be interesting to see how long I can keep this one up.
55. My longest relationship was eight years.
56. My shortest relationship was one lunch-break long in 7th grade.
57. I tend to keep every letter and card sent to me. In fact, I still have letters from as far back as 6th grade. It’s not that I can’t let them go; it’s that I like having them because they are a piece of my history and innocence… and, well, they are funny as shit to read.
58. I really like soup. All kinds.
59. I dealt with anorexia in 7th and 8th grade. I was pretty chubby in 6th grade and after enduring the wrath of classmates, I’d had enough and decided junior high was when I’d turn my life around. By starving myself, apparently. I went from being made fun of for being fat to being made fun of for being too skinny. My face was sunken, my ribs poked out, and I once fainted because I was so hungry.
60. I’m terribly afraid of heights. It’s so bad that even escalators at the mall can make my heart race.
61. But, yet, I love to fly.
62. And I love rollercoasters.
63. One of my most favorite books is Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri.
64. My favorite poet is Pablo Neruda.
65. And Paulo Coelho’s writing sends my head spinning. In the good way.
66. I’ve had dreams before that have predicted events that happened the next day. Very creepy stuff. Hard to explain how that feels when it happens.
67. I once had an episode of sleep paralysis so frightening in 2006, that to this very day, I have nightmares about it that are hard for me to wake up from. It was one of the most terrifying nights of my life.
68. (I asked my husband to tell me something about myself for #68 because I was stumped and I should let you know that he said something very R rated.)
69. (Maybe I should’ve asked him about #69 instead.) (That’s what she said.)
70. I have waaaaaaay too many magazine subscriptions. They always, always, always pile up faster than I can get to them.
71. My most favorite TV series to date is Six Feet Under. I felt it had everything: good, realistic characters; dark humor; love and hate; raw truth about life; great plots; fabulous dialogue; and the ability to tug at my heartstrings.
72. I have a little more than 3,700 songs on my iPod.
73. In third grade I was picked to compete in a spelling bee with some of the older kids. Being new to America was nerve-wracking enough, and here I was standing in front of a huge auditorium of expressionless faces while I got ready to compete with the big kids. I was nervous — so nervous. I lost to the word “training.” “T-r-a“—this is where I stare back at the crowd and my mind goes blank and my knees start to knock and I forget where I’d left off and —”i-n-g.” Sigh.
74. In college, I was picked by my Speech professor for a competition and I purposely botched my speech during preliminaries because I didn’t want to go on.
75. I spent two years at my college radio station as a deejay and public affairs director. It was one of the best times of my life despite being newly single, living alone, flat broke, jobless, and trying to finish school. I made some incredible friends during those years.
76. I have owned and sold a house. I never, ever want to sell a house again. STRESS.
77. I am returning to Trinidad at the end of this month for the first time in 17 years. It almost feels like it’s not happening; it’s very surreal.
78. My favorite color is anything in the maroon/burgundy/cranberry family.
79. I lurve me some 80s music. Gimme a cheesy 80s ballad or breakdown anyday and you’ll get a million smiles back. Maybe even a dance or two.
80. I’ve been drinking a lot of echinacea tea all winter. I also haven’t gotten sick once. I’m not sure if they go hand in hand but I’ll pretend they do.
81. A lot of my friends don’t understand mine and my husband’s relationship. We are extremely open with each other — maybe too open — but we believe in that kind of honesty if we want to maintain our marriage. And sometimes it sucks. And sometimes it’s great. And sometimes we talk about past loves and what ifs and regrets. But it feels good to be going through it together, period.
82. I have watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy in one sitting.
83. I sleep like the dead. I have missed many a storm, party, etc. due to my awesome ability to conk out like a mofo.
84. I also have very vivid dreams almost every night. I’ve woken up crying because of my dreams before, and I’ve had dreams affect my mood for days.
85. I think people mistake me for a doormat when they first meet me because I’m afraid it’s the impression I tend to give off: Very silly, giggly, smiley, kind.
86. I believe in forgiveness. This is, of course, conditional, but I believe it’s possible.
87. One of my most favorite quotes: “We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It’s one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it’s another to think that yours is the only path.” – Paulo Coelho
88. One of my favorite memories is walking around the streets of Manhattan just as the sun was coming up with a sweet man I’d met in a bar earlier in the night and had engrossing conversation with. I never saw him again after that.
89. I love singer/songwriter Ryan Adams, but I recently discovered him during a very painful summer (2010) and to even listen to him now just shatters my poor heart. Sucks. . . because I love his music and lyrics, but the wounds are still a little too fresh to indulge in such masochism.
90. One of my most favorite movies is The Prestige.
91. I have a very sweet cat that I rescued in 2002 when I volunteered for the Humane Society. She definitely brightens my days.
92. I used to get migraines a lot. At least twice a month or so. It was very annoying and it punctured my weeks with torture. Then I switched birth control and voilà, no more! Pay attention to your bodies, kids.
93. I enjoy karaoke. Sober.
94. I don’t sleep well if I don’t brush my teeth before bed. Unless I’m drunk.
95. Once, after a painful break up, in an effort to dull the ache, I started going to school full time while working two jobs. It was utterly exhausting but necessary, and it only lasted about five months before I came to my senses.
96. My eyes are as big as dinnerplates.
97. I have a crazy list obsession. I use sticky notes on my computer and I always have about five separate lists going.
98. I’ve been known to put a song on repeat for a while if I fall in love with it. What? I know what I like!
99. I do a great Valley Girl impression, much to even my own chagrin.
100. I really, really miss living near the ocean.