May all your storms be weathered and all that's good get better. Bleeding inside my chest. Must sleep to make it go away. Must surrender unto sleep. Sleep.
It's never good when you see Maggie Smith in Hook or any other role other than Professor McGonagall and start crying because you miss somebody who reminds you of her in that role. That's not what you want.
You know, I don't know that I'm being asked this question, but I thought I'd answer it anyway. When choosing a college, you have to decide what your major is going to be. If you think it will be something generic like psych, you can go just about anywhere. If it's more specialized, you might look into a specific program at a specific school. If money is an issue, you ought to go to the school that's going to be the cheapest -- whether they are offering you money or not. In other words, if a school offers you a bunch in scholarships and that brings the out of pocket cost way down compared to other schools, go there. And if you have to get student loans, you might as well go to the cheap school. My decision was actually based on being given a full scholarship and the location. My dog was aging and I didn't want to be too far away from her when she died, so I went to a state school about three hours from home. My major was generic, but my education turned out to be A+. I went away to graduate school and found I was competing with people from Rutgers, Vanderbilt, and Duke. Yet, here I was from this rinky dink school in the midwest just blowing them all out of the water. So, me? I'd go with the cheapest. It wasn't the closest to home that accepted me, but it was the cheapest.
Should I smell like nail polish remover? Blasted Shaggy Snacks are oozing from every orifice. And my hair hurts, too.
My new pink and black Pumas and my Forest sweatshirt are going to be on POINT today!
You know what I been thinking about all day? And I write this knowing there is a possibility what I will say is likely to be distorted or misconstrued later. But, when I told the wise one about the monkey's behavior, I did it so the wise one would have an opportunity to apply the proper control or parenting -- forgetting she often is quite emotionally unresponsive. So, I may have sent the monkey back in her direction and the monkey still won't get the physical affection she needs and has been trying to compensate for. And as much as I care about the wise one, that shit pisses me off to no end. If the monkey had gotten the hugs and cuddling she needed from the wise one or another parental figure in the first place, she probably wouldn't have sought affection in the places she did. I truly hope that gets worked out. I mean, I don't think it's my place to comment on the wise one's parenting style, but that junk there was crucial. I can see, though, how the monkey's behavior would make one want to push her away. (said in a baby voice) Her just needs hugs and kisses. She needs to be told everything will be all right. And I'd honestly still like to provide that for her, but it has to be done without the presence of others who acted like they were trying to help but were actually hurting her. And man, if I see ANY of them bitches . . . . I'll be singing old negro spirituals from a jail cell. I promise. That goes for Landon, too.
And the wise one's unresponsivene
Kids, the time came to let go. So, I did. I E-mailed the wise one to let her know of the monkey's mischief and it was curtains. It was one of the toughest things I've ever had to do. I mean, I've realized that the wise one and I have had our share of conflict, but we've always been able to work through it; especially if one or the other of us created it. But if a third party was involved, it was just that much harder to communicate with each other. She and I do fine together. Maybe at least the absence or minimization of the monkey will help us to develop a more collegial relationship. I really care about her. And I want her to be a part of my life. But, I can't have all the drama anymore. And, again, I'm pretty sure if it is mostly just the two of us we'll be just fine. It's time for rainbows and ice cream. Hopefully she remembers what that means. I wish all the happiness in the world for the monkey, but the drama has created quite a struggle for me. Bye, Nanna! I ruv you! I already miss you. You'll always have a very, very special place in my heart.
And just an hour after I sent the E-mail, Dr. Spaulding, an African-Americ
E-flat, D, C, F, A-flat, G, F.
Five! 1-2-3-4-Fiiiii
Crazy night at the psych hospital! Sweet Jesus!
I really don't appreciate being taken for stupid. I mean, sometimes it's nice. People leave you alone when they think you're stupid. But, when you have a 145 IQ or are acting all smart, they never leave you alone. But, uh, when I have a 145 IQ and people take me for stupid by telling me one thing when I know it's another, that just pisses me off. It's annoying as shit.
However, for the sake of potential arguments, I will say that it's possible one might be growing and maturing rather than continuing to make the mistakes they made before. Hell, reading diary entries may have made the difference. Still, I notice it's always necessary for me to apologize. I'm not going to do that anymore. She rarely has apologized to me if ever. And believe me, there's A LOT to apologize for. I'm going to try to leave that stuff in the past though. Just won't be apologizing from here on out.
Doing the "I GOT A RESIDENCY, BITCHES!!!" dance.
Awwwww! It's my nigga's birthday in the Elftown world! Happy 20th Birthday, Kathy! Stay outta jail! Go shawty! It's ya berfday! We gon' pawty like it's ya berfday!
These khaki pants are damn cute on me! Hhhhwhat?!
Wow. I never explained why the monkey on the shampoo bottle was significant. Let me explain about the monkey on the shampoo bottle.
During the summer of 2004, a debacle was created when my dean's daughter asked me what other students thought of her. So, as a friend and someone who really cared about her, I decided I'd tell her. I mean, some of the things were legitimate things she could be working on while others were just weird. And like the whole time I was telling her stuff, she was like, "Whatever. You're just projecting." Yeah, she always tryna play junior psychologist when she ain't had nahnatta psychology class. She think just cuz her momma is a psychologist she know everything about psychology. Boo!
Anyway, so she tells me she's cool or whatever, and then she goes home and tells her moms (my dean) what I said. I don't know how she relayed the information to her mother, but it must've just been distorted. That very night, I go home and I'm thinking about why her mom seems so elusive to me. Maybe not so much elusive, but I felt like I couldn't please her. So, I let my head flood with memories and I was taken back to being like 5 years old. My family had moved to a predominantly white neighborhood and we weren't very welcomed. In fact, a bomb detonated in our front yard because whitey was tryna kill us. Anyway, I was never really accepted by the white parents. Here was this precocious black child who had an opinion about everything. They didn't want me in their house, let alone playing with their children. So, I wondered if I was projecting those feelings onto the dean. I mean, I'd see her in the hallway and I would literally cower. She hadn't really ever done anything to me other than just kind of maintain this sour facial expression. I took it personal.
Anyway, back to the damn monkey. So, the dean's daughter goes home and tells her mom what I said to her in confidence. I had just come from my therapist's office and had relayed the above story about my childhood to her. I thought the time had come to share this information with my dean and for us to work through it together. Sigh. Instead, I get to school and check my E-mail and there's a message from the dean. It says her daughter told her what I said, she didn't think it was any of my business, and to direct people to her if they had questions about her personal life. She actually CC'd it to the president of the school and the associate dean of student affairs.
So, my ass is devastated. I didn't know what I did to warrant her sending a letter to the president of the school when the words I shared truly weren't mine; they were those of other students. So, I'm being wrongfully accused, she's avoiding me, and I'm just like, "What the fuck?!"
Like two days later, she finally sat down with me to talk it out and said CCing the letter was standard procedure and she thought we could still be cool or whatever. And I said there was something I needed to share with her, but was unsure if I should because I was afraid she wouldn't respond the way I wanted her to. I was talking about the childhood story. So, I just left it alone and went home to KC for the weekend.
Over the weekend, I thought about it some more and decided I'd tell her anyway. So, I came to her office on like Monday or Tuesday. At the time, I was enrolled in her sandplay therapy class. I was also Student Council President and had to ask her a question about an administrative issue. So, I asked her that question first and it got her all riled up. I told her I wanted to move on to another topic and told her I wanted to share the childhood story with her but wasn't sure if I should wait until the class was over. Her response was, "I'd just as soon not invest any more energy into a relationship with you."
Wow.
I seriously cried like everyday for like 47 days or something. I mean, here was somebody I truly idolized, wanted to be just like her as far as my career was concerned, and she would say some shit like that to me. I talked to her about it on like the 48th day and she apologized, but she didn't remember saying it. Wow. That shit bothers me to this day. It was just so painful and so friggin' unwarranted. All cuz her daughter wanted to triangulate and manipulate. I was like, "UNreal."
So, those 47 days were absolutely miserable. And I was still enrolled in that class -- having a hard time participating or making eye contact with her for that matter. She had given us the assignment to complete two sandtrays and write about our experience. Since she didn't seem willing (until that 48th day) to talk to me about what was happening between us, I decided I'd use my sandtray to communicate with her about how I was feeling. I mean, we were getting along well on the surface -- laughing at and supporting one another during administrative meetings and whatnot. But, deep down, I was an emotional wreck.
So, I make some obvious choices regarding the tray. I had a little black cabbage patch kid for me and for her I chose an old wise man (there wasn't a woman available). I also had a donkey (the Democratic Party) serving as a companion and support. So, I'm looking at this shelf that's just got hundreds maybe even thousands of little figures I can use in my tray. But, for some ungodly reason, I kept being drawn to this monkey that was mounted on a circle. The monkey had its legs spread apart as though it was maybe jumping or leaping over something. Since I just kept looking at the damn thing, I decided to go ahead and use it in my tray in spite of the fact I had decided on what figures I'd use at least two weeks prior.
So, I collected most of the sand and piled it on one side of the tray to serve as a mountain. I put the wise person on top. I put me and the donkey in the opposite corner of the tray and we were supposed to be looking up at the mountain. The monkey was placed on the mountain as well. The story unfolded to be about this girl whose objective it was to reach the top of the mountain (go through graduate school and earn a doctorate). She had the donkey (my closest friends) to help her along the way in case she stumbled. Part of her objective was to reach the wise person so that he (she) could help her reach the goal of finishing graduate school. But, the monkey was acting as a sentry. The monkey had magical powers and could just appear out of no where. If it touched you, it killed you. Therefore, if the monkey touched the girl, she would not reach the top of the mountain, reach the wise person, become a doctor, etc. So, part of the donkey's job was also to fall for the girl should the monkey appear. The crazy part was the wise one had control of the monkey, but didn't seem to want to stop it from harming the girl. The story was complicated by the wise person having turned their back on the girl for reasons the girl could not understand. All the while, the monkey is standing back and laughing and dancing around and trying to prevent her from getting to the top.
Of course, my dean read this and stated to me she didn't like the story, but had a feeling the person at the top was her. Very perceptive she is. But did she pick up on the fact the monkey was her daughter? Shortly after completing the tray, I went to a close friend and shared the contents of the tray with him. His response was, "Holy shit! You, Parks, and Anna!" Damn skippy. Or maybe the dean knew it was her daughter and just didn't say anything about it because it made her uncomfortable. My thing was I knew the situation would be a whole lot easier if the monkey wasn't there, but I chose to include it anyway. And when I chose to include it, I didn't think I was shooting myself in the foot. I thought I was doing good. When putting the contents of the tray away, I put the monkey away first and felt an overwhelming sense of relief about the sum total of the tray. I knew the girl would have no problem reaching the top. It felt really good and I wished things could be that way. But, I knew they wouldn't be. And from the little girl's vantage point, the old wise one was just huge in size. But, when I placed it back in the cubby hole after the tray was completed, it was the smallest thing in there. The other figures towered over it. It really helped to put things into perspective.
So, now here we are a year and a half later. Things with the old wise one and the monkey aren't good. The wise one only responds to me about once every two months -- even if I have a professional development concern I'd like for her to help me with. I'm not placing full blame on the monkey. In fact, I think I'd take about 40% of the blame and let them split the remaining 60% how they see fit. And it's crazy to me. I truly feel deep in my heart like things could be perfectly fine. But, for whatever reason, there's this need to create drama and I don't get it. Like, I really want us to be chillin', but I don't know what to do to make that happen. I'm tremendously saddened over it, but not crying daily as I was before. Seriously, at this point, I don't know what do so I'm doing nothing. I can see how one might have negative feelings about that, but I also have to consider my doing nothing prevents something bad from happening. And at least if it happens, it won't be my fault. Don't get me wrong, I love that goofy little monkey (I really care about the wise one, too.) and that's how I was so drawn to it in the first place. But, I don't know what to do with her.
So, the fact the little Latina girl on the shampoo bottle is holding a monkey is all too appropriate. They are one and the same.
For the rest of my days, I will attempt to slip a line from the Color Purple into everyday conversation. "Sistah! You been on my mind!" "Speak Lord! Speak to me!" I cain't watch the part where the sisters reunite, though. That junk makes me boohoo like a small child. "Cain't no ocean, cain't no sea! Ma ke da da! Keep my sistah 'way from me! Me ke da da!"
Family is an interesting thing. Here are a bunch of people who are related to you, some of them look like you, and most of them have the same blood coursing through their veins. My family, as is the case with typical African-Americ
There's a fine line between close friends and family. Some of our close friends we consider family. For instance, my mom's friend Lucille, my cousin Brandy's friend, Trini, Aunt Pat's friend Candace. You mention their names, everybody knows who the hell it is. But, when you have someone that close to your family and therefore to your heart, it's sometimes difficult to know where to draw the line. But, somtimes it has to be drawn. Even with family, I suppose. But, I guess what I'm saying is sometimes the people you aren't related to that you may have referred to as family (or they may have even referred to you as family) will cut you off in ways that can be quite scary. You were once very close, then suddenly you're not. Unlike family, close friends don't have to take you back. You don't have the common bond of having the same relatives or being Type O Negative. So, I guess that makes it a concept that's very hard for me to grasp when applied to someone outside of my family. In my family, I have been placed in a position where I am challenged to accept people no matter what. But have also placed myself in a position with close friends where I can be cut off and it won't matter because their value system is different from mine.
I don't know that you kids will understand what I'm saying. It's a painful process -- one that I wouldn't wish upon anyone. But it's just bizarre to be like family one day, and then ostracized the next. My family doesn't do this. Most Black families don't. At my great grandmother's funeral last week, stories were told of how my cousins could like go out and beat somebody up or rob a store or something, but she'd stick up for them until she was blue in the face to everybody that came to the door inquiring about it. Now, behind closed doors, she'd beat their asses, but nobody outside the family needed to know about all that. You belonged to her. That's what family is to me. You protect one another, but you also tell people when they do wrong. That's hardly the business of anyone outside the family. But, again, with close family friends, that shit gets blurred and it's unfortunate. I don't know how you white people take it.
And you know what? Maybe that's just the thing. If they truly were like family, things wouldn't get all blurred. If they were something else, it allows room for the chaos to be created. So, maybe it was with this particular couple of people I'm talking about, they were never really like family even though I considered them as such. Hmmmmm. Hard lessons to learn.
Oh. And my entry on the 10th mentions my not being sure of whether to continue to hold on or to let go. I think I'd like to let go now.
You know what I just thought about? Of course you damn don't. That's why I'm finna tell you. When I was sixteen, I worked at KMart. Okay, shut up! Quit laughin'! It was close to my house and if my car broke down, I could just walk and get there in like 10 minutes.
Anyway, I worked as a cashier at the pharmacy for a while and one of the pharmacist's name was Jamie. Jamie had to be in his 50s or early 60s. And he was single. I never heard him mention a wife, but he frequently mentioned a girlfriend. But, I really wanted him. Like I wanted us to have a physical relationship. He was a pharmacist, which would suggest he had some level of intellect. But, he seemed a few french fries short of a happy meal. I can remember sitting on a stool quite seductively and wearing short skirts so I could flash my underwear every once in a while. I also remember making sexually suggestive comments. Eventually, Jamie made sure I only worked out on the floor instead of up on the pharmacy platform with him. I don't know how he felt about my trying to seduce him, but it seems like he did what he could to stop it. I remember going home and fantasizing about being with Jamie sexually for hours. Imagining how my parents would freak when they learned of my being with a man a good 40 years my senior.
My junior year, I developed an intense crush on my math teacher. His name was Mr. Carmichael and I swear he was the biggest geek on the planet. He reminds me of that one really geeky teacher on Saved by the Bell. The one with the glasses and the curly blonde hair. Anyway, I fantasized extensively about Mr. Carmichael. I imagined us getting married, the sons I'd give him. He was married, though. And he didn't want kids. He was a good 30 years older than me. He ended up becoming my arch nemesis. Fucking Calculus and Physics! Damn! I got an F and a D respectively. It's hard to explain how our relationship soured. I started acting out because I didn't get the subject matter and he just responded. I don't think I've spoken to him since the last day of class my senior year. But, I thought about him last week. I took a picture of him during my sophomore year. He was suddenly quite intrigued by the word 'celibacy' and wanted to look it up in the dictionary. A bunch of students crowded around him as he did it. He must have been a closet freak. But, yeah. So many times I could just see myself running my hand along his chest and then closing in for the french kiss. Way too young for all that.
And there was this one time when I went to my father's church. There was this old man who was like 70 who sat next to me. And I was being all friendly or whatever. I forget where my dad was. I think he was ushering or something. Anyway, I think he saw me write my name down on a visitors card and also made note of my home church (my mother's church). The very next Sunday, he came sauntering in to my mother's church and plopped himself down right next to me. I made my mother aware of the situation and she positioned herself between the two of us and informed him I was only 16. He seemed to understand and was very embarrassed. I was a shapely 16 and had long braids down my back. I suppose that made me look older. But, for a brief period, I considered what it would be like to have been with him sexually as well. I thought I'd let him hit it once and then shove his old ass away.
Looking back, I'm glad I didn't actually continue to pursue any of these relationships and these men had the good sense to back off because I was so young. Plus, the thought of having a penis that old inside of me makes me want to hurl. (running to the bathroom) All I'm saying is, I think I can understand where someone this age might have similar feelings and think they make all the sense in the world. But, they just don't.
My mom is truly convinced the money I make with my postdoc next year will go toward her new Jaguar. I feel bad for how mistaken she is.
All I did was ask a question about certification and she was all like, "I don't think this issue warrants further attention." ?!?!???? Uh, yeah it does if I'm confused. But, I guess it just means it's important to me, but helping me develop professionally isn't all that important to her. Good to know. I know to leave her alone now. But, really, I'm not even sure if I should even interpret what she said that way. I hate people who make you have to guess at what the hell they're talking about. It's tiring, bitches! Why do I continue to bother?! I'm actually going to wait a few days before I respond to her. I'll be proud of myself if I can make it that long. It'll be a good lesson in discipline. Wow. I'm starting to feel like I'll NEVER find a mentor. I've been looking for one since 1999. I must suck or something. People don't want to see me do well. I don't know. Again, I probably need to pay more attention to the people I paid the least attention to. They probably really like me. Off to find someone else with this certification!
Wow! The Bitchtasticnes
Okay, so I didn't really ditch work. I've been planning this weekend for some time and actually asked for the day off. The Mall was the bomb! No Camp Snoopy anymore, though. That's crap! But, I still had a fantastic time! I hope to get away again real soon!