Three years ago, my truth was, I was lost. I was laid off and I’d just closed on my condo. I had no idea where I wanted to go career wise. Without the daily grind of a full time job, I got lots of  time alone with my thoughts. I was lonely, so lonely. And at the same time I found being around other people to be exhausting. I didn’t want to smile and nod. I didn’t want to talk about the weather, movies, sports, love or any other subject polite small talk volleys around.  I began to go numb.  My truth became invisibility. I just wanted to disappear, to fade away. I couldn’t see it getting better. I’d cry and cry. I’d beg God for help, because I entertained thoughts of going to sleep and never waking up.  It didn’t scare me, mostly I just felt relieved.

And somehow, in the far recesses of my mind, I knew this wasn’t right. Like, putting your shoes on the wrong feet or something. And that part of me knew I needed help.
And God wasn’t getting back to me fast enough. I figured meds would be my life raft. And they were. But, there was something I remained ignorant of for a very long time. I went to church and prayed and read, looking for God. And the whole time God was in me, the part of me that said, maybe you need help.

I saved myself. 

We can save ourselves.

You can spend months, years trying to find ‘your way back’.   Being lost is part of being found. Once you figure that out,  you’ll know you are exactly where you are supposed to be.   So, how could you ever be lost?

When someone from the past comes back into your life and wherever you last saw them, or knew them, is where they’ve stayed, in your mind anyway.  My seventh grade gym teacher, Mr. Kappa, is probably not stalking around Paul Revere Middle School, in too short shorts, a mustache akin to that of a walrus and a whistle, seemingly glued to his lips. But, this is how he appears to me when I look back.

I ran into this guy I went to elementary school with. Actually he found me on Facebook.  Social Networking websites are the double edged swords of the 21st century.  I was a little excited. He looked good (according to his fb picture). I’d a MAJOR crush on this kid in 3rd grade. It’s weird, I’m in my 30s but I remember 3rd grade clearly. We sat across from each other in Ms. Redway’s class. Me and my bff, Cydney  teased him every chance we got. How else was he supposed to know I liked him?

It was crazy that he found me when he did. My girlfriends and I were planning a trip to Miami. He’d just moved to Miami…………  At the time I thought, it must mean something.  In hindsight, I go back and forth between resigning to the randomness of life and insisting it all happens for a reason.  The older I get I find myself subscribing to the ‘random’ theory.   I wonder if I’m growing more cynical and bitter or just rejecting the happy ending  that romantic comedies try to convince us is in our imminent future. 

We hung out the second to last day of our trip.  When I saw him, it was weird? I remembered this gray and white striped t shirt he wore. I think it was an Ocean Pacific shirt. (Don’t be alarmed, I’m not some obsessed stalker.)   I just have a involuntary capacity for random and mostly useless information. I’ve been called a human tape recorder. I know commercial jingles, the latest Top 40, movie quotes and all kinds of trivia.   I am a beast when it comes to Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon. Ask my co-workers. From time to time they try to stump me.  I’ve got IMDB etched on my brain..

We hung out, literally, up to the time I had to leave. In total, we saw each other for 40 hours.  I had to race to the airport so I wouldn’t miss my flight home.   We kept in touch for a while. I even went back to visit. I hadn’t seen this kid in over 11 years, before that day on the beach.   Yet, I hopped my happy ass on an airplane, and went to spend 4 days with him.  He could have grown up to be completely psychotic, but was having a fairly lucid day when we, um, re-met a few months before. But I thought  it was okay, all based on a boy who didn’t exist anymore, and that damn gray and white striped t-shirt.

 There were phone calls every other day, and cute text messages and IMS, then one day, like it usually happens in long distance relationships.    He went incog-negro on me.

That boy wouldn’t have faded away like he did.  It’s one thing to know I’ll see your retreating back.  It’s another, when I’m not prepared. 

Several weeks later, he reappeared via text.  He was thinking about me.  He wondered how I was.   He wanted to tell me he missed me.  

I didn’t reply.  I didn’t really know who this guy was.

I’m supposed to be full of anger.

to roll my eyes and neck, suck my teeth and stare down any woman, who’s not a sista, with a brotha

to have 1, maybe 2 children at my age

have an attitude that stinks miles away

have hair bone straight and weaved down my back

to be able to dance.  this skill should be inate

love the shit out of some r&b and hip hop

to talk with a certain twang

Lauryn said, ‘I’ll get out’

And I do.  We do. 

Some are certain they have black defined

Enlighten me, unless it sounds like the first few lines of this 

I’ve. heard. that. before.

It was a day like any other day in the basement, pissed off jurors, phones ringing off the hook, and my corner of the office trading juror anecdotes.  This job has afforded me tons of writing material.  Please believe me.  However, that day our banter was stifled by anticipation.  We had a meeting last week. The department head announced that there would be lay-offs.  Of course, we were all nervous. 

Could she have been more vague?  Immediately everybody with less than 3 years on the job began to speculate. There were so many rumors.  The pink slip would be inside your next paycheck.  It’s based on seniority.  Nobody would actually be laid off, just demoted or you’d be notified via mail.

If I describe my state as anxious it feels inadequate. (I can’t think of another word now.)  I couldn’t talk to people.  I could only stare at my computer monitor as if it were the most interesting thing I’d ever seen.  One of the administrators came down.  He escorted a girl who’d started a few months after me.  I quickly calculated why she would go first…  Oh…  Her last name starts with ‘a’.  I created a mental checklist of everyone hired after me.  The list is not long, 4 people to be exact.  I am sweating, like a hooker in church.  If they were going in alphabetical order, I’d be the last one to go.  As I’d predicted, my co-workers were escorted upstairs.  

And then there’s just me and one other person.  I start packing.   I didn’t want to have to come back to the office and face everyone.  I’d have rather eaten glass… 11:30 rolls around and I’m at my desk swiping at tears rolling down my face. I’m not hungry, but I gotta get out of the office. I walk outside to the loading docks, and one by one they exit the building, with large manilla envelopes in their hands.  We’re all crying now. 

The last person to be called upstairs starts laughing. 

‘What’s up?’ I ask. 

‘I think you’re safe,’, she says.  ‘I doubt they’d go to lunch if they weren’t through, right?’ 

Right.  I start crying even harder. 

‘You’re safe! What the hell?’ 

‘I know, and I’m relieved and I feel shitty for being relieved because all of you are going.’ 

We group hug.  A couple of other people come out of the office to commiserate. My boss walks up, ‘I hate to break up the party but you all have to go back to work.’  

Witch?  Yep.

The office is eerily quiet when I return.  I rub my face with a paper towel and  start unpacking my desk.

When you’re sober your friends become suspicious of you. Everybody whispers behind their glasses. They stare at you as if you were an anomaly. Or worse. They make a big show of how you’re not drinking and how cool they are with it. As if you needed validation or something. You might start to frequent the bar scene less and less, not because you have trouble with keeping your sobriety but because you are tired of smiling till your cheeks hurt at the awkwardness of the situation. People do drink at bars, but it’s also a social place. People, like, talk there and everything. Apparently you can’t do one without the other, or it’s frowned upon. Imagine ordering a cheeseburger with no cheese. Right.

Honestly, I didn’t set out to make anyone uncomfortable or think that I was wagging my finger at them. It was a choice I made after careful evaluation of a few incidents.

I was out with my friend Charlie when I met C-. We were more then a few drinks in, but without my girlfriends there to counteract my drunk goggles vision, I decided I wanted to meet him. I steadied myself against the bar and winked at him. He was hesitant at first, but soon enough I had reeled him in.

‘Why are you looking at me like that, when your dude is standing there?’

I shoved Charlie away from me. ‘he’s not my boyfriend.’

Charlie, ever the socialite extended one hand and gave him a hearty slap on the back. ‘Hey!’ Apparently he had morphed into the ‘Fonz’ when I wasn’t looking.
.
C- shakes his hand staring at me the whole time.

Charlie takes a long look at me, assessing if I’m able to make decisions. He nods his head once, shakes his hand again. It’s like my dad watching me leave for my first date.

C-’s a good guy. He let’s me ride piggyback back to his place.
He tried to give me a tour, but I was only interested in the bed. I knew if I didn’t lay down and be still I was going to vomit the tequila shots I’d had earlier. In retrospect, I can see how he thought I was being frisky. The last thing I remember is falling onto the bed.

When I wake up, I panic for a second wondering where I am. I can hear a shower running, and someone singing. I sit up, too fast.Ay yi yi . I want to get out of here. Where are my clothes? More importantly where is my car? I hear the shower stop and next thing I know the covers are being snatched off of the bed and C- is on top of me. My thoughts were, I’m still drunk, and the movement is making me SICK. Is that Axe body spray? Oh hell no! Abso-fucking-lutely not! It’s all I can do to keep from projectile vomiting across his back. After a few moments he realizes he’s the only person ‘involved’.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

I yawned my hot tequila morning breath in his face. Where do I begin? ‘Can you take me to my car?’

He looks confused, but he gets up to throw clothes on. I wonder around the room, piecing my outfit together. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like the friggin ‘Hamburglar’. Mascara and eyeshadow smeared around my eyes. My hair is greasy and alternates with curly and straight pieces. I dig in my purse and slide on my big sunglasses. The big sunglasses pull this look together.

He is quiet on the walk to my car. We hug an awkward goodbye. He waits, until I’ve started my car and then he drives off.

Driving home I had a thought: I’m too old to be living a real-life  After School Special. I don’t even know what category to file what happened earlier.



I had a job interview scheduled the morning after my 29th birthday party. I’d been laid off for 3 months. My birthday and an interview meant one thing; twice the celebrating. I remember dancing on this huge, circular, wooden coffee table surrounded by people. I was the only one on the table, rightfully so as it was my birthday. I insisted the bartender put Kanye West, Stronger on repeat. Next thing I know, someone totally tried to tarnish my shine and grabbed me off of the table.  Kanye was no more. Everything after that is a blur. I woke up the next morning and it felt like my head had been run over by a mack truck. Repeatedly.

I’d celebrated myself into one of the worst hangovers of my life. I slept through my interview…. I spent the day face down on my couch watching bad daytime television. How bad? Dallas re-runs bad and avoiding my roomie’s mother who had volunteered herself as my job coach. I was supposed to apply to a minimum of 10 jobs per day, and report back after interviews. We didn’t have anything to discuss that day. She thought otherwise. She was persistent, alternating between my cell (which mercifully died, as I hadn’t charged it the night before) and the house phone, which I finally picked up and left off the hook. She talked for a few minutes before hanging up.


If it’s a social faux pas to frequent happy hour when you’re unemployed, call me guilty. I wasn’t known like any of the Cheers regulars, at the local bar I’d dubbed ‘the regal beagle’ aka the bar where I had a dance solo on top of the table, but they knew me well enough to call out my drink order whenever I dropped in. ‘Kettle and soda, extra lime?’

Initially, I’d balanced going out and job hunting. I’d meet the mail carrier almost everyday, hoping for some sort of correspondence regarding a job I’d applied too. And most days, there would be a letter or two. Dear S-, Thank you for your interest, blah blah blah blah.

I fell into a deep depression. It was gradual, and by the time I really noticed, I was in bed everyday trapped under a cast iron blanket. Or at least that was how I felt. I was exhausted but had trouble sleeping. Or I’d fall asleep and wake up in the middle of the night unable to go back to sleep. I thought about my mortgage, my depleted savings, my mounting visa bills, student loans, cobra, the fact that I was single, my unemployment running out, the war,Darfur, global warming…. My mind was a revolving door for any problem.

My therapist asked me, when drinking changed for me. I can’t pinpoint an exact moment. I just know I  went from wanting to feel something else to  needing to feel something else.

12/16/09

Sometimes at work, I take bathroom breaks out of boredom. I’ll accompany co-workers even when I don’t have to go. Sometimes we gossip about other people in our department. We’ll talk about dating. The latter actually is the most frequent topic of discussion. My work BFF, M- would argue and break up with her boyfriend. A lot. It was any number of things, she planned all of their dates, she drove because his car was unreliable, and she felt he took her for granted. Valid arguments. My question is always, well did you talk to him about it? Her answer is always, no. She thought he should just know.

A year ago, I’d agree with her, however my dating experiences have taught me one thing: Whatever signifigance we deem any gesture, words, facial expression, etc.,etc., is about 90% less important than we, as women, believe they are. I realized this after a recent conversation with a guy I used to date. A few weeks ago I decided that I would go into 2010 clutter free. I have been cleaning house. I went through my cd collection, my books, clothes and shoes. I’ve probably donated at least 8 bags of clothing to the Goodwill. I’ve also made a few trips to Crossroads and Ameoba. The last leg of ‘clutter free in 2010 tour’ is ridding myself of all emotional opaqueness regarding the past. (Emotional opaqueness? Yeah, I said it.)

If my life were a movie, Erykah Badu’s Bag Lady would be on the soundtrack. In the last year there have been 3 situations that I still had questions about. In the spirit of that bane, I asked the dreaded question ‘Why didn’t this work out?’, the other night when I was hanging out with a friend (we dated the latter part of last year). It wasn’t because I wanted a redux. I just wanted to know what his take on why we went belly up. It happened. We didn’t talk for a while and then we were friends (strictly platonic) again, like nothing ever happened. My girlfriends were more puzzled by this, than I was. It was like their Rubik’s Cube or something. You’re friends? Really? How does that work? What happened? Huh? And I didn’t have an explanation, it just was.

I’d prepared for, ‘I met someone else’, or, ‘I just didn’t see a future.’ His answer? He didn’t like that I e-mailed him when I was pissed, and that he felt like I got mad at him for being him (he runs off to be a real life Indiana Jones about 4 weeks out of the year).

I HATE when people are upset and just let whatever comes to mind, come flying out of their mouths, so yes, I preferred to compose my thoughts before confronting people. What can I say, I grew up in a house where people didn’t yell. If my mom and I were upset with each other, we had a ‘cooling off period’ before we discussed whatever the issue was. Ok, fine I can see how that would be an issue. If the roles were reversed that would be something to discuss and work on. Not, as Hath says,’ pack up your toys and go home’. As far as him leaving, bon voyage, it was when he was out of town for a wedding for 5 days and he went incognegro on me, that I got upset. No carrier pigeon, not a smoke signal, nothing. Do I still sound upset? Cause I’m not. I’m just saying, is all.

In hindsight, as my friend Charles bluntly put it, he didn’t care as much as I did.

Right.

I guess I was excited to meet someone that got my sense of humor, who I didn’t have to have radio wars with, because we liked a lot of the same music, who made me laugh and who I could talk to about anything. Anything? Anything.

I thought about my past relationships. I felt pretty confident that everyone was clear regarding why it ended.
As I listened to his explanation, I realized we could’ve continued the discussion into the next morning but we’d never be talking about the same thing. Had we been in the same relationship?

It was a little discombobulating, so, much so that he wondered if I was still listening.

Yes. Yes I was.

I wished him a good trip. I asked him to e-mail me when he arrived at his first destination, (just so I would know he at least made it safely) knowing he probably wouldn’t.  (However, he surprised me a few days later with an e-mail.)

As he turned to leave, he’d asked if I would have any other questions for him. I said I wouldn’t.

I’d joked at dinner earlier that evening, that I was done looking back, not even to check out how great my ass looked in whatever it was I was wearing.

The latter was a lie.

It was everything I wanted to hear, too late. I look back at how miserable I was, and how much I was hurt by the situation. If I’d heard it then…. Ah, well, I guess it couldn’t have happened any other way……. Because it did.

I love a good love story. Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Romeo and Juliet are a few of my favorite movies off the top of my head.

I watched Before Sunrise, for the jillionth time today. As I watched the scene where they’re lying in the cemetery at night, I had a thought.  Look at at them. Is there anything better than being in the presence of love? Suddenly, the record skipped, and I had another thought:  Jesse and Celine don’t exist. This isn’t real. Have I allowed love to pass me by because I didn’t know what it looked like.  Really looked like?

I’m not saying that I don’t believe in love… Of course I’m not.  I’ve stopped trying to make my love life look like some ‘shit straight out the movies’.

I’ve been hurt.  I’ve hurt someone. There have been times when I was convinced that I  hated my boyfriend (not you D, I’m talking about before, okay sugar spot?).  It hasn’t been perfect. I think it’s about really knowing yourself and knowing that you could live without this person, but you’d rather be with them. Honestly, I’ve just settled into my skin in the last couple of years….

I hate meeting new people, almost as much as I hate the Trump combover. As far as I’m concerned both are ridiculous and unnecessary. I’ve had the same friends since high school, and a few since elementary. It’s not that I’m shy. I’m just leery of strangers. Period. There are at least two reasons I can think of off the top of my head. The first being, my mother.

When I was about 7 or 8 there was a string of kidnappings in our neighborhood. My mother would test my ‘stranger mode’. We might be riding in the car and she’d say ‘I’m a stranger, I pass you on the street and stop to ask you someting. What do you say?’

’ I’d tell them what they needed to know because I’d want them to help me if I needed it.’

‘Wrong! I’m a stranger. You don’t talk to me. You keep moving. Understand?’

I nodded my head yes.

‘I can’t hear you.’

‘But you said not to talk to you.’


Or, it could be because of my frist day of kindergarden. I was on my own on the playground. My teacher walked over and suggested I try and make friends. I begrudgingly walked over to the nearest kid to ask if he wanted to play. Hector responded by punching me in the stomach. I doubled over in pain, as Hector got scolded by the teacher.

I don’t know why I don’t like meeting people…..