Bucket of Legos

I have MIA for a while now. I'm sorry and it's sad that I haven't been writing. I have a good excuse, I've been in my own world studying Hinduism and learning how to medidate. I'm feel much more centered now-not sure why I didn't do this years ago, but that subject is a whole other blog I'll write about another time.

Tonight, I'm reflecting on my recent discovery of legos!
Being a girl, well woman now, I didn't get to play with them as a kid. My daughter was never interested in them either so I was excited when my son wanted some for his birthday.
However, I didn't quite think this one through... I have already felt the piercing pain of stepping on legos in the middle of the night. I have already survived the mini meltdown when he couldn't find the tiny helmet for the lego Iron Man. Don't even ask me how many cuss words I said as I sat with my son for an hour putting together the stinking boat that the lego Avengers ride in...WTF, an hour sorting through tiny blocks. I thought I would never get done, but I was so proud of myself when it was complete. Then it occurred to me that legos are sort of like my life right now.

Right out of the box, I'm a complete mess. Pieces of this and that all over the place. At first, it looks like the possibilities and combinations are endless. Peice by piece, trying to build something, I get frustrated and want to give up. In the process I don't see how what I'm doing could ever look like the object shown on the box. Although it seems to take forever, when I'm done, I'm so proud and I just want to tackle another project.

So that's my life right now. Evaluating all the pieces to see what to build next. Although lately, I'm not hoping it turns out like the image on the box-I want to create something totally different with my life.

Now I've confessed my new fascination with legos as I sit here playing with them like a big kid. Tell me, what childhood game is similar to your life right now?

Ruby slippers

What is it about a super cute pair of new shoes that makes a girl feel all gittty and pretty? I don't know but I loooooove me some heels. Don't you?

Being only 5 feet tall (there I admitted it for all the world to know) sometimes heels are a neccessity for certain outfits. Ever had the issues of not being able to find the right height heels for you pants or vice versa?  Having options is not optional, right?

I think I became obsessed with heels when I first saw Wizard of Oz and Dorothy had on those ruby red glitter heels...Yeah baby-I have been searching for the perfect replica ever since ya'll. I love heels.

My daughter thinks I have an addiction but as a mother there aren't many things I can buy for myself that I can keep all to myself. My laptop gets used for school paper and games and netflix marathons of superhero cartoons and power rangers so all I have left is my heels. What's so bad about that?

Any how the point of my rant this week is because I saw something on the Today's show about what's an approperate age to let little girls wear heels... With the things they make for little girls to wear, the least of my concerns forcing them to grow up too fast would be heels.

I wore heels to church as a little girl-no big deal. I allowed my daughter to have a pair of sandals or dress shoes with a little heel-no big deal. Even if they want to wear them all the time, trust me they will soon decide to put them away. While they are oh so freaking cute they can hurt like a mutha- $#!%^&. Even as an experienced heel wearer I have to give my feet a break during the day.

So here are some of the benefits, that I have found, to wearing heels.
They make you look taller.
They make your legs and butt look awesome.
You develop great posture and balance.
You look sexy (unless you go the rachet route then that's just a waste of a good shoe)

Now done wrong you can jack up your calf muscles and hips not to mention if you slip or fall it's a done one for your ankle. They definately are not for everyone, even if you can find them in your size. However, when you find that perfect pair that just calls your name from across the store you feel like you have found your sole mate! Hello there lover-where have you been all my life....

Me and my fav glitter heels on Beale St.
Great night with  my fam!

So ya'll I can't be alone. As I'm up late shopping for my next new lovely pair, tell me about your favorite pair of heels and why you love them. And do you think there is an appropriate age to allow your daughter to begin wearing heels? Think on that and be sure to share...I'll be browsing on zappos and amazon while I wait on your responses. :)

Not my closet but I'm working on getting here.

When I grow up I want to be...

Didn't we all have dreams of grandure growing up. We knew we were going to do great things with our lives. I laid in bed thinking about my life. I suddenly felt disappointed in my accomplishments. So as the kids lay asleep, I lay crying about the life I thought I lost.

Days later  I realized why I was crying. Why it hurt me so much feel like I have more do with my life. Different dramatic events had taken place that had exhausted me emotionally. I don't vent to anyone except my laptop and I was so upset that I couldn't get out a single word let alone string together a sentence or two. There were a shit-load of things that needed to be done around the house. I was freaking broke and my significant other was doing his usual complaining about this and that and the kids seemed to need everything all at once and.... I was ready to explode!

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

This is the short story of the realization I have come to: As a Black woman, a teen mom, an unwed mother, somebody's girlfriend-not wife and a self-repressed writer, there aren't many options I gave myself. I could blame society, sure. Racism, sexism, but I'm more than qualified for any job I apply for but at the tender age of 28 (plus 2-almost 3). I find myself, again, reevaluating my career move. Sure I make a decent living in a promising industry but failing to complete college as planned has left me holding the short straw when it comes to looking for a new job. That's my fault.

I choose to stay with a guy for over 11 years and allow the relationship to exist with no final destination of marriage in the travel plans. I'm hurt when I'm treated like the girlfriend despite assuming the role of wife. I didn't let him get the milk for free, I freely handed over the whole damn cow. That's my fault.

As a adolescent I indulged in a relationship with a controlling, manipulative person and despite getting out of an abusive relationship with my daughter in hand, it still haunts me. Control and manipulation is sill poising my life as he does this through my daughter and the court system and my emotional link to the pain of what I failed to provide for my daughter. While I can't control the actions of an idiotic man, I can control my reaction and it's effect on my life. I have not and that's my fault.

There are 24 hours in a day and that's not nearly enough time to do all the things that need to be done to run a home and devote a decent slot of time to writing. No matter how many different techniques and schedules I employ, I can't squeeze anymore hours out of the day. I tell myself I write just write on the weekends, then that's bumped for this or that. I will write for an hour in the mornings and then I'm running late each day. I will write at night, but there is no place to sit void of everyone else's mess and it's loud and after everyone is sleep I fall asleep in whatever spot I'm in because I'm so damn exhausted. Other writers can do. Other writers have the same 24 hours I do-so why can't I seem to get it done? The fact that I can't is my fault.

I had plenty of chances for success and many more stumbles and failures and this is what I needed to stand naked in front of and stare at. I did not make the most of every opportunity I was given. I didn't make the most of each day I was living. I fucked up-and the sight of it was so painful that I couldn't get out of bed for nearly the whole weekend.

Of course there are things I was proud of that I've accomplished. But there are even more things I'm regretful of, ashamed of (one being starting this sentence with 'but'-I am resisting not deleting it but then  I'm going to delete the whole blog post because I will rethink putting this out into the universe and then I will regret not having done so because I really have needed to get this out of my system). I don't like to show this side of myself or admit it exists-I'm the tough lil' chick-but the feel is deep ya'll. Bone deep.

What do you do when you feel you aren't good enough? Like you don't measure up as an adult.

I tell my daughter that we are all work in progress and as long as there is life left in you there is life left to be better and accomplish more. I have been telling myself that a lot lately. Time to be the woman I aspired to be.  There is still time to write the things I made excuses not to write. Time to finish college-change careers. Do the things I love doing so well that others can't take their eyes off me and wait for the tangible rewards to follow as a result (Maya Angelou). It's hard to decide what to do when you grow up when you feel like you've wasted so much of your grown up years waiting on life to begin. It's hard to let go of the life you thought you'd have and embrace the one you have been avoiding.

That weekend I mourned that life I thought I was supposed to have-the woman I thought I was supposed to be. I should have mourned her longer but the kids needed to be fed and the laundry needed to be done and they didn't care that I wasn't what I wanted to be-all they cared about was that I am there for them when it matters the most. Right now...

Do I have to get out bed today......

Last night I couldn't sleep, well for the past few months I haven't been able to sleep much. I could blame it on any number of things but the down and dirty reason is writers block....

 

Yea that's is pretty much how I have been feeling. I usually go through seasons where I write feverishly in consecutive all night stints for months, then in slow trickles of notes here and there, some revision of old stuff, then, nothing-literally nothing. I have to force myself to sit and just write something, anything becasue when I don't write the crazy comes out. Ya'll I mean really crazy-bad dreams, night sweats, shitty attitude, crying, overly emotional, can't eat, don't want to get out of bed kind of crazy. Even my kids know, 'ok, let's leave mommy alone so she can write the crazy away'. It's sad.

This blog was supposed to be a way to force me to write when I feel the block weighing down, but, well, it's a challenge. I'm always in search of methods and routines to try to keep myself from falling to that dark, dingy place writers go when they are blocked.

Go for long walks or runs....

Caffine...Alcohol....Junk food...Healthy food....

Cook...Bake...Clean...Paint...Draw...

Read a good book....Watch a good movie....Play a video game......Listen to music...

Take a nap...Take notes....Keep a journal...People watch......

Meditate...Have sex...Don't have sex...

I could go on and on. 

If you've never experienced writers block it's kind of like...the feeling of always having the word or phrase you're in search of on the tip of your tounge. Like trying to sit and write but a huge burning hole is in the place where your thoughts are-if you reach in just the right way you may be able to pull a thing or two out but what if you get burned and what if you grab the wrong thing and what if you make the fire worse and...it's like standing on the end of a cliff you've jumped off many times before, you know you can make it down but what if this one time you bust your head on the rocks or break your neck on the way down and become paralyzed and land on the bottom bleeding and wild animals come from nowhere and begin eating away at you lifeless body and you are awake watching them but you can't feel anything because you are paralyzed and all you can think about is why did I jump and try to write this stupid book that no one, not even your own mother even likes anyhow...ok that's a little dramatic but I think you get the point.

The scary part about writers block, well an artistic block of any kind, is learning about how painful it can be. I thought I was alone and insane until my boyfiriend got me a poetry book by Anne Sexton and I read about her blocks and demons and how eventually, in my opinion, that killed her via her taking her own life. Another one of my favorite poets and another poetry book my honey got for me was of Sylvia Plath. Yet, another amazing poet suffering from an emotional life with her own demons that led her to the same tragic suicidal end. (there seems to be a theme here, I think) I am terrified of this place. Even more afraid of the block then death itself. I mean, death is final, but bad writing or never having written anything worthwhile, is eternal. Feeling like you have something to say but nothing to say at the same time is pretty maddening. 

There is a tug of war between the intense emotions it takes to write and the burden of the build up of emotions when you can't find a way to get it out. It's soul searing at times. Manic and mellow, depressing and daring, euphoric and exhausting-all at the same time.

Sometimes I wish I could run from it-the urge to write-but other days I'm sure I couldn't live with out being able to do this. I wouldn't want to live if I couldn't write. So, writers block or writers bliss, I will take the seasons as they come and try to remind myself to look forward to the days when it flows through me as effortlessly as the stars twinkle...because tomorrow I must get out of bed and give it another try. 

Now that I've vented a lil' about my blocks-tell me your thoughts on writers block. What do you find helps you clear your mind when you feel stuck? 

Hold on...am I an emotional hoarder

So I spent the weekend organizing and cleaning. I was fussing at everyone in the house for holding on to junk that they didn't need anymore. Books, clothes, toys, anything that they think they may possibly be able to find a use for in the future. Reminds me of the folks on that show Hoarders. Shameful.

Then I came across a few rubbermaid storage containers I have in the basement-damn-I may be a hoarder. Ya'll, I have possibly everything I have ever written since I was in the fourth grade. But in my defense, everything I write is like my baby, so it's hard to throw away my thoughts and feelings. I have every card and letter anyone has every given me. But I don't get many letters and the ones I have especially from one of my fav cousins in Arkansas help me remember good times. Ok so I may have have an hoarding issue-specifically tied to emotions.

I didn't have an issue throwing thing away at all but I didn't have a few moments thinking about what used to be and what I thought things would be at this point in my life. It was the emotional attachment-good emotions- that made me stash those things away. I didn't keep the things that held bad emotional memories, but that didn't keep my mind from wandering to the sad places that ended the good times. Why do we do that-hoard things that remind us of good memories and immediately burn the things that have bad memories?

Would we be more emotionally rounded people of we give both the good and bad equal space in our hoard? It doesn't mean we need to roll around in the emotional flashbacks but keep them near and handy to peak at may not be a bad idea. This is why we let certain people constantly come back in our lives and hurt us again, we have tossed out all the bad emotions tied to the situation and only held on to the good. I heard that's why women have babies again and again-because we forget labor pains and turn around and do it again. We hold on to the beauty of the birth, not the screaming in pain and not knowing if when you push are you pooping or peeing-ewwww.

So after the kids went to bed, I allowed myself to sit and have my moments with my hoard. Good and bad-happy and sad. Then I prioritized and threw a bunch of junk away!

I can't be the only one thinking and feeling like this. Tell me, what things do you hoard- physically and emotionally? And how do you think we can clean up our own emotional clutter?