Who's It Gonna Be

Chris began to question the wisdom of this trip as she blew a twister of cigarette smoke into the polluted air of Saint Mech’s Bar and Grill. Within her thoughts, she sat alone on the farthest stool of twelve with her back turned to the other eleven lined up toward the bar‘s entrance. She nursed a Georgia Peach and puffed a pack of Virginia Slims where her Newports ran short in a crumbled box near her ashtray. Her long dark locks surfed down her backless rose-printed bell sleeve dress, and the buttered coloring of her long legs were crossed, facing an ill-repaired jukebox. She wore a pair of black stiletto sandals, clockwise twisting a dangling foot each time her thoughts of planning murder bricked against a possible obstacle. Her foot went counterclockwise as she plotted a way around these foreseen obstructions. And while her black designer bag rested unassumingly before her on the bar, a closer look would reveal that there was more inside of its deep pockets than checks, cards, and body spray. Look deep enough and someone would find the aluminum pistol case she had stashed beneath her requisites, including her lipstick.

She needed to reach inside her bag for that lipstick, considering she tasted most of it on her tongue after gnawing her lip for the past thirty minutes.

Chris’s purple eyes glanced at the zipped and buckled bag and, reconsidering applying more lipstick, she reached to stub out her cigarette instead. Another stream of smoke spilled from her faded cherry-pink lips. She didn’t have time to think about lipstick when she wondered if she could do this? If she could shoot her ex, Darien, in the face.

Chris heard the crunch of weight over the stool behind her and gave a profiled eye towards its occupant. It was Hal. Not another drunk that needed a kick in the balls to leave her in peace.

“It’s about time,” Chris murmured as she reached for another cigarette and her lighter. She offered the two, knowing Hal didn’t smoke Virginia Slims.

Hal waved her offer away as he dug into his chest pocket for a pack of Marlboros reds, flagged the bartender down with a simple finger, and ordered a Bud Light to go with his cowboy killers. Once all was in order he reached for Chris’s lighter, instead of his own, and tried to fire up on the remaining fluid as she swiveled to face him fully.

Smoke and a blaze clouded the study Chris was trying to gather off Hal’s face. She smirked just a little as she managed to take in her best friend of ten years. He looked less hampered since his introduction to the marriage life began five months ago. The Hal Chris knew always had his ass too tight financially to even dream of getting his ratty hair trimmed. Now, she noticed the difference in his easy part and moist ends. It didn’t change the channels of lines crossing his worn, heavy face, but it was an improvement.

“You look clean, Hal. Wifey must be treating your fat ass real good?” Chris said. She tucked away a single slip of Hal’s hair as she leaned into him, thankful that he didn‘t draw back. “Is she still the American pie you wanted over me? She a fiber bar goodness in high heels and pearls kind of woman? No summer strawberry pie to help with that cholesterol problem you got going on?”

Chris titled her head to catch Hal in a defensive flinch underneath the shade of smoke she cast. Yet, there wasn’t one.

The clicking of her lighter subsided as Hal slid it back on the bar, his lit cigarette a success. He pulled into his first take, his attention steady on the blinking Corona light above the bar instead of on Chris.

“You mad?” Chris asked, voice low and sweet. “Did I go to far?”

“No, but unlike some people,” Hal said, “Delilah’s character remains consistent. If she does get off track and decide to come after me in any kind of way, whether it be shooting the shit out of me or poisoning my food, I‘ll make sure she doesn‘t succeed. You feel me?”

Chris shrugged, drawing herself back onto her stool as her sugary pink nails tapped lightly on her lighter. “I have a reason for asking you to help me kill Darien, Hal.” She grinned just a little. “I would say him sleeping with my sister sounds pretty damn consistent on my behave. You’re the one with the change of heart. Once upon a time you liked your girls tougher than you. I‘m a little concern now. Especially after I got all dressed up. Now you‘re about to flake on my proposition.”

Hal cut his eyes toward her with a bare grin. “Don’t give me that, Chris. You know what I am capable of so cut the cute shit and talk to me. I didn‘t come here to listen to you act like you belong in the eighth grade.”

“Hey, I was just wondering if marrying your lady made you soft?” Chris provided an innocent gesture. “That’s how serious this situation is to me. Do or die, Hal. Like it used to be.”

For the first time, Hal turned to his old friend. Old girlfriend. And when he felt his body calling for hers, he quickly looked away. Those calls lead somewhere dangerous with Chris. He knew this first hand after years of dealing with the queen of ambition. Yet, here he was sitting at the bar with the woman he both loved and found repulsive. Whether it was her body or her mind, he had no way of resisting. His wife lay at home in bed under his lies because of his need to both love and save Chris.

“Get to the point, Chris,” Hal said, strumming the thoughts of Delilah home alone waiting for him to return as she slept.

“If it’ll get you in the mood to help me drive Darien out and put a bullet in his ugly head, then yes, I‘ll get to the point.”

Chris reached for her Georgia Peach as the bartender slid Hal his beer then proceeded to toss a towel onto a stack of phonebooks as other patrons signaled his service. Once more, Hal and Chris were alone at the end of the bar, far from the entrance, tables, and drunkards. No one could hear their banter and mummers of murder.

Hal wrapped his thick fingers around his beer and took a swallow, hoping it would chock down that flit Chris’s body was calling toward his. “I learned my lesson dealing with toothpick broads like you, Chris. You in particular. So I want to hear this right out so I can find where you‘re going to screw me over at.”

“Whatever, Halard.” Chris sighed. Her eyes cut away for a moment then back. “You question my consistency when you know I’ve always been one to pick a fight. If a little blood shed is needed, I’m down for that too. Now‘s the time. You wanna get paid, right?”

Hal gave his head a small, reasoning tilt. “So how you wanna do it?”

Chris sat up on her stool, pulling in closer to Hal. “Like this…”
　

A Sky

I took this picture with my cell phone a couple of days ago. I was standing outside my car waiting on my grandmother to come out the house so that I could drive her to the grocery store. I had just gotten off work in the early afternoon, excited that I was going to have some days off where anything was possible. Including the opportunity to do absolutely nothing for a day.

I think in many ways the picture represents how minutiae we can appear to be as people in this uncontrollable, measureless Universe, but also how it is true that what we believe forms into tangible possibilities. Added to that is why it is important to keep believing, because when you think about it, what else is there to do but look up at the sky and believe that your hopes and wishes will fall upon you. Each of us has that little seed of prayer and faith that fuels the unforeseen. So what is our purpose other than watering it with hope and chasing it down into reality?

I think of this with so many negative things in the media concerning social and civil issues. So much disparity, misunderstandings and hate. Things that I keep tuning out of in moments when I feel the need to respond. However, I constantly decide not to. Why would I want to attract those things into my life when I am trying to save it?



Tar Baby

Toni Morrison’s Tar Baby was an amazing book. However, I first must admit that it took me about 150 pages before I finally, finally really got into the book. After that it took me a single day to swallow it down with a satisfying gulp. I also can’t believe it took me years to even get the book, after having read many of her novels with finger-licking happiness. I read a range of books by different authors of different ethnic backgrounds, but I love Morrison’s books mostly because I love reading about black people, or in essence, people sharper in my range of background familiarity and social positioning.  People who think and have the same thoughts and anxieties as I.  People that devise recipes and share folkloric stories that heed about the tragedies of being black in America.  I find much of that and more resonating without a whimper in Morrison's stories, therefore she has always been a clear choice on days when I want to explore these kernels of meaning.  

Now, I must add that I am much more of a Toni Morrison fan pre her Jazz novel. Though I enjoy her novels (as we know now) she is not always easy to read.  Sometimes it takes a minute to get into the gears of her novels, but once there it's a gently rocking sailboat ride to the end.  However, something about her works from the 90’s forward takes a little more work for me to find the coherency between her poetic syntax of her storytelling.  A Mercy is one example where I opened the book and had no idea where the hell I was and was going because of the overload of poetic passages.  Sometimes, I just need a character in a setting saying what he/she has to say to another to get me loaded and invested.

But I digress...

I wanted to write this blog not to get into a review of Tar Baby, because it would be terrible for me to start book reviews with material by someone as complex a writer as Toni Morrison.  Besides, who am I to review books when I read them for emotion.  I really just wanted to express my rounding thoughts about what the book left me with.  As well as how I reverberated (though it took me a minute) with Jadine Childs’ point of view toward the end of one of the material's many disputes against disowning your race and so on.

Now, there are a thousand reviews and analysis on the book, especially considering its initial 1981 release (two years before I was born). So people have already spoken about the gender role complexities of the novel. Not to mention the civil/uncivil race relations between blacks and whites.  Entitlements and suffering.  The haves and have nots. Themes in the novel range from removing and finding one’s African roots.  As well as incorporating into white society; necessary or not for an affluent lifestyle? Definitions of beauty and acceptance are also thrown in the thematic mix, and so much more in your classic Toni Morrison eye-opening fashion.  So it's all been picked over in peer essays and research papers across the globe.  Why even attempt to do any more?

However, I just want to talk about what I walked away from the novel feeling, because the closer I got to the end, the more I felt like I had to choose sides between the two main characters: Jadine and Son.

Tar Baby’s main character is a motherless woman named Jadine Childs. She is an African-American fashion model who spends much of the novel in the Caribbean where her aunt and uncle work as the help to two wealthy Caucasian individuals (husband and wife) with their own, dark back-story that unfolds throughout the novel. Nonetheless, these wealthy individuals provided Jadine with an education throughout her years, as well as a pedigree of sorts. With this upbringing, and her strong interest in art, Jadine aspires to own her own business and continue to explore the world with a near privileged perspective of her life removed from her black roots.

Then there is a fugitive named, Son. Son is an African-American man who comes from the South. He’s on the run after finding his wife in bed with a teenage boy, thus driving his car through the house killing his wife whereas the boy lived. So in the proceeding off-stage events, Son becomes a stowaway on a boat that makes its way to the Caribbean, eventually finding himself in the presence of Jadine and her white patrons. Morrison reveals much of Son’s tired journey from a lurker of the wealthy Caribbean-dwelling family, to an intruder, then eventually to a prized guest (exclusively to the patriarch) of the family.  With this Morrison sets the stage for the dynamics between Son and Jadine as they both began to butt heads concerning ethnic responsibilities as well as tango with their desire for one another.

Not to spoil or give away much of the book, but the story leads us readers to Manhattan where Son and Jadine began their sort of committed courtship with one another. During this period Jadine is constantly nudging Son to go to college and find himself a real job--a career.  She also shares ideas of traveling and starting a business together with him.  This nudging spoke to me that Jadine wanted to "save" Son's future with a “proper” education, and being aware of his Southern background, save his cultural outlook as well. To Jadine, this can be done with financial assistance from her own white patron and somewhat friend to Son.  This white patron is, of course, the patriarch from the wealthy Caribbean family the two left to purse life in New York.  So while Jadine is falling in love with Son, she, quiet frankly, looks down on him.  Or better yet, she can't get pass certain aspects that make up his mentality and directions with life.  However, the same can be said from Son’s perspective of her. Here, Son wants to "save" Jadine from what he perceives is her sort of “whitewashed” world of thinking, believing that Jadine should stop trying to fit into that world and accept that she is not only black, but not as privileged as she believes.

This is where I started to understand the novel, even in regards to the many other elements happening between Son and Jadine as well as the other characters.  I started to feel like I was suppose to pick a side between Jadine or Son. Do I take root in one concept over the other? Or is there a gray area?

When Son took Jadine to this hometown in the South, Eloe, did I sympathize with Jadine’s point-of-view because it beat against something inside of me on an idiosyncratic level. In Eloe, Jadine was introduced to women and men who more or less “represented” the sort of dominated position that African-American’s faced in America. In retrospect I see that the visit was going to be too much for Jadine when her first words upon entering the town was: “This is a town… It looks like a block. A city block. In Queens” (244). Eloe is too small for Jadine. It is too narrow. Yet… recognizably familiar, or not too distant for her fancy sensibilities.  Now, that doesn't mean she put on airs about entering Eloe, she just knew that despite her reluctance, there will be a way out of there.  Therefore, Jadine was willing to continue along with the journey. However, the more Jadine explores and confronts what she sees in Eloe, the more she is ready to take Son (her lover and "prodigy") and escape. It is particularly the women of Eloe that causes Jadine to panic, so much so that she sees the “spirits,” or reflections, of these women within the people of Eloe.  The passage I favored in my decision to become somewhat Team Jadine reads:

“The women had looked awful to her: onion heels, potbellies, hair surrendered to rags and braids. And the breasts they thrust at her like weapons were soft, loose bags closed at the tips with a brunette eye. Then the slithery black arm of the woman in yellow, stretching twelve feet, fifteen, toward her and the fingers that fingered eggs. It hurt, and part of the hurt was in having the vision at all--at being the helpless victim of a dream that chose you. Some was the frontal sorrow of being publicly humiliated by those you had loved or thought kindly toward. A little bitty hurt that was always gleaming when you looked at it. So you covered it over with a lid until the next time. But most of the hurt was dread. The night women were not merely against her (and her alone--not him), not merely looking superior over their sagging breasts and folded stomachs, they seemed somehow in agreement with each other about her, and were all out to get her, tie her, bind her. Grab the person she had worked hard to become and choke it off with their soft loose tits.” (262)

Beyond the amazingly poetic syntax, this passage is amazing to me because Morrison caused me--the reader--to feel the swell of panic inside of her character, Jadine.  This is where I began to realize that I was in fear of Jadine just as well as myself. Now, I most certainly do not have the prestigious background that a character such as Jadine has. No white man directly took care of my educational and cultural needs. I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon, and I am from and currently remain in my home city in the South.  Which isn‘t so bad only that I know my potential lies in other cities and countries just as I dreamt to be free to explore them with my talents. However, I know what it’s like to see your surroundings and fear that you will become and remain one with it, even if you are proud of where you come from. So in that respect I acknowledge that I am different than the character of Jadine, and we certainly don’t see/view our race and others the same.

However, her anxiety at seeing the women of Eloe translated within me my anxiety of being stuck in my own surroundings.  And I believe this sort of anxiety applies to anyone with racial circumstances far removed. 

When Jadine asked for better out of Son I felt both her urgency and a reemerging of feeling for someone to ask for better out of myself.  Other readers may see it differently and disagree. Maybe see it from a layer so conceptual and complex that even I might change my mind. But I still felt and understood Jadine’s desires because I grew up feeling  pieces of that way.  I mean, let's be honest.  It didn't mean I wanted to run and disown my background, it just meant I wanted to stretch myself as an individual.  My biggest fear in life is not necessarily snakes, rats, or even being murdered on the streets, while they all are fear inducing.  No, my biggest fear is failure to reach my potential. Now, with all of the self-help and inner work I’ve been doing, I’ve learned to accept that there is no such thing as such. That life always gives us what we need. That our thoughts are things and therefore it is important to think and speak in an enlightening and positive manner.

So I am in no way siding with Morrison's purpose for Jadine to disregard one's cultural background.  But I do know that tension, that panic, that swell of anxiety that comes across me when I want so much more for my life and the people surrounding me.  When I look at my surroundings and all the things I don't particularly want and believe is "right" for me, I pray for me to recognize that I deserve more and to realize how to find such for myself.  Maybe the one thing I believe Jadine doesn't know that I know is what it is like to scream day-after-day for the opportunity to simply shine, feeling as if no one prepared or groomed me to do it so it comes from within in another form.

At the end of the day, I just want this blog post to express how I know what it's like to want to escape.  To want more for yourself than what is immediately before you even if it is a part of you and your make up as a person, but not necessarily an individual.

Morrison, Toni. Tar Baby. New York: Vintage International, 2004. Print.

Check Him Out

While it is Wednesday (6/19/2013), and I haven't started on my goal of two drawings per week yet, I must finish revealing my wins and fails of last week. Also, flipping through my portfolio I found an additional drawing that I (for whatever reason) did not add in my initial plans.

Let’s start with the win from last week, besides the cherry blossom drawing I posted previous.  You see, I had to quickly make up for a fail that happened, so I drew the drawing below as quickly as possible while I was off from work last Friday.  I just wanted to make a quick sketch of a cute guy, and while it is summer, I have fall-like leaf stickers to help elaborate his use of sipping a hot mocha.  I've been itching to use some of the prints I bought over the past month and that is where the color lies in his hair, shirt and earring.  The reason I added it to his hair was because I loved the color so much, and the drawing was such a quick shot, that I absolutely refused to waste any more of the paper.  Plus, I just like to try something different.  I am already away from the "traditional" sense of doing anything.  So why not continue to do it my way.  Anyway, after a couple of hours I was finished and had to scan the drawing a couple of times to get the scope that I felt I needed.  I walked around for a week with the drawing on my phone trying to figure out why I didn't like the scope before I changed it.  Any any regard, I love the turnout.  It is simple; a cute guy with nice skin and colorful hair that match his shirt.

I named him Kay (or Kei), after recently watching the Korean drama Nail Shop Paris.

 The drawing above was an emergency drawing to replace the picture below: my fail for the week.  The pseudo-shades must be excused because I royally screwed up the drawing below up and tried to fix it only to screw it up again.  I clearly messed up on the eyes, and the more I drew and colored, the more I realized it was going to be too late to fix them.  Still, I tried and made it worst.  I only use computers to revive color or add filters to my drawings, but here, I added these awful Paint program shades to disguise my screw up for this particular blog post.  Needless, to say, she will not be featured in anything but this blog post.  The idea I had was nice, though.  I wanted to combine felt with sticker jewels as a hat and purse.  Sort of like street and grimy.  In many ways, I have to relearn some of the methods I used in my past drawings to keep from making this mistake again.

  

The last drawing was done in 2008.  It is of the character Jiremi giving us curly mo hawk and easy eyes.  As mentioned, I wasn't sure why I never added this picture to the original collection I started with.  However, I am happy I've rediscovered my love of it.  As always, I need color and this has it.  There is a person this drawing was inspired by, yet those details are saved for another day. (^. ~)







  

While I haven't produced a drawing yet to fulfill my weekly challenge, I have to say that that's okay.  It's only Wednesday.  I'll get to it.  Quite honestly I have been wrapped up in using Hulu to watch Korean Dramas, playing The Last of Us, and reading Toni Morrison's Tar Baby.  These are all slight distractions, and like many things, fueled with upcoming inspiration.

Thanks for reading, everyone.  Have a blessed day.

Oh, and a link to my DeviantART page where you can see a full on collision of my drawings from lower skills to growth: http://troitowel17.deviantart.com/

Quit or Get Fired...?

As I sit here and write this, I’m wondering what is the difference between wanting to walk out of your job and wanting to get fired from you job. Which is worst? Which is more “beneficial” than the other? See, I’m in circumstances that ask whether I want to do one or the other. As I stand there and take what this circumstance forces me to take, I try to layer my frustration with the honest realization that I should be (and am) grateful to have a job in the first place. Therefore, I chew over how grateful I am and continued to push forward doing the work.

It isn’t an extravagant coporate desk job. And for what it is I am severely underpaid, even with my abundance of experience. I think it really boils down to my frustration toward wanting something else--something more. Something of my own. Something I have been working toward by taking steps each day. Little steps. Baby steps. Hopeful steps. While working on matching my vision with my emotions so that the Universe can provide the reality.

Yet… that damn job is still there.

So I am happy when I am getting paid the little bit of “change” I get each week. With that money I can put a little more into buying the services and products I need to continue on my baby steps toward my bigger vision. However, that doesn’t always change that nagging desire for me to turn my back on my “day job” when in my heart and soul I keep feeling like there is something else trying to get my concentration. Trying to open me up to a fantastic new experience. Something along the proverbs of a person having to throw away the old to make room for the new comes to mind.

I could go into deep details, but I suppose I will reserve them just to get my expressions and feelings out about the situation. I realize I am lucky and that I have nothing to complain about. Perhaps if I were a little younger, and with a lot less direction, this wouldn’t faze me as much. But still, I am hungry for my future and its possibilities. And I can not shake the feeling that one day I have to learn to not be the hard working responsible employee and just walk away trusting that the God/the Universe has my Truth right around the corner waiting on me to catch up to it. Or that being jobless will force me to take those other leaps and risks to forward my vision within faith.

If anyone reading this understands what I am feeling, say ‘I’.

Sweet Nothings...

Trying to get back into the swing of matters, I drew a quick "out-of-practice-on-a-whelm" drawing to test myself.  Maybe I need to be a little more patient with my angles, and I must regather my sense of blending colors for skin tone.  Overall, I am not totally disappointed.  I'm more upset that I just spent $20 on a 3-pack of Copic markers.  I spent all of Sunday looking for the ones I owned, bitching at the house.  It wasn't until I needed my crafts glue that I opened the toolbox I use as a sitting bench.  And there they were.

Just Do You!

I remember a time when I was attending the Art Institute of Atlanta where a drawing teacher discouraged all of his students from manga-style art. His words didn’t bother me so much because I like art in general, particularly cartooning.  I chose this style of drawing after my childhood exposure to animes such as Project A-Ko and Sailor Moon.  However, what did nudge at me about this teacher's discouraging words was whether or not what I loved would ever even matter to another. Then I realized that it does. It matters to me.  And that became the most important reason to keep doing what I love to eventually connect with others.  You, the individual, are your own best friend.  Ultimately, all we have is ourselves to guide us.  So why should we not be honest and truthful with ourselves to the utmost degree of awareness of our bliss? Especially if it creates an inner happiness within us while doing no harm to others. After all, the more people are happy with themselves on the planet, the better for us all. So if someone likes to decorate his/her room with azalea flowers, why should someone tell him/her that it is “meaningless” or “purposeless” when those azalea flowers are the one thing that calls to that individual’s spirit (interchange this word as needed)? The same can be asked concerning what a person chooses to draw and illustrate, especially when you consider what stories art tells others about the individuals who produce it. So why question someone else’s reasons instead of questioning why we do what we do ourselves? I say this to be less than psychological, as I try to keep my writing and ideas simple. Still, it is always something to think about on a surface level.  Because how else are some of us going to tell or relate our stories to others without some kind of connection or conduit? So I added a couple of new drawings to my pseudo “pre-web store” as a part of my growing dream for connectivity. Here in my blog I included my words on what inspired me to draw them as I share pieces of my personal story.  My purpose for doing this is to remind people to JUST DO YOU no matter what people say.  If you can find the strength to stand on what you believe about yourself and your abilities, then that is enough.  The rest will most certainly follow and fall in place.

--------------------------------------------------

2001

My time working for my high school newspaper was fun. Of course I joined just to draw comics, but I wrote articles too.  I was pretty damn brave for putting myself out there, considering I was somewhat of a shy student. Only a select few of people really knew the extent of my outgoing personality. I learned through middle school and the early years of high school that not everyone is going to appreciate the parts that make you. So I shut that part of me down. Still, my senior year was approaching, and filled with dreams (drawing, singing, acting, writing) I decided I needed to do something memorable.  After much contemplation, what finally encouraged my decision to do comics was reading an article in an old Smile magazine by Tokyo Pop. The article was about a group of high school students who did something similiar, eventually starting their own run of comics. To me that was amazing, as I’ve always had hopes of being discovered in some part of the world. So I did the comics and became somewhat popular toward my last year of high school. People (including teachers) would pass the word on who was doing the artwork and suddenly folks would ask me about it in the hallways and classrooms.  These two examples were my first attempt at applying screenings to my work. They weren’t official screens (I laugh at the process I used), but I liked the results.  Eventually I moved on from drawing manga panels. Something about my need for color and my love of Naoko Takeuchi's dramatic character portraits. Nonetheless, I did the best I could with what I had on hand. Nothing fancy. Just the ambition for greatness and the will to be taught. My newspaper gave me themes to work with.  The two here are about the prohibition period teachers were facing back then, as well as one on high school graduation. I wonder if I can do manga panels now? I must say that what I realized about myself back then was that I was super, super hungry for an opportunity. I was willing to work my ass off just for a chance, especially growing up in a household that didn’t encourage anything out of me.  Putting myself out there was an attempt to find someone who could help me be the person I dreamt of being. That was all I truly wanted.

 

2003

While I volunteered at our public library, as well as worked for Habitat for Humanity, my first paying job was doing fast food. Should I mention where? Of course. KFC. Five days after my high school graduation I was stuffing fried chicken pieces into boxes. It was an eye-opening experience when I think back on it.  One that I do treasure proudly. However, the reason I think it was so eye-opening was because that’s where reality began to set in. All those dreams I had in high school were being pushed somewhere. It didn’t mean it was a time to give up on them. Not at all when you consider I kept drawing, making singing demos, and going to model scoutings in the hopes for that breakthrough. But at the same time that fire and passion being stifled in my work environment began to lead me down some very, and I mean very, dark roads. Perhaps that is a bit dramatic. I wasn’t on drugs or anything, it was more like battles with depression and an anxious fever for my start. I did start college at my local community college, though.  While I absolutely enjoyed the experience, despite my ill-readiness for it, I never understood exactly what I was in college for.  I didn’t have a mentor or any guidance. I just had mostly myself. My parents didn’t give two shakes about anything but me getting a job--which I did.  I think it’s funny that I mention this now when just this past weekend my mother and I went out to eat and began talking about school and my ten year struggle to earn a degree. The conversation turned toward my current progress, which is actually pretty dire, I must admit. Nevertheless, that stale look she gave her plate was something I will never forget. I think then she got that I needed lots of support in the past. This is part of the reason why I want to own my own business.  From there I can create programs that support kids’ dreams and educational pursuits with encouraging couselers and leaders.

These drawings were inspired by Christina Aguilera during her “Dirrty” phase. I was twenty when I drew them, and much like Christina, I was anxious to explore what all life had available for me. But stuck at a job I didn’t want to be at was hurting me, and helping me in many ways. Still, it was here that I continued to draw, channeling my confusion into colorful drawings

2005

These next drawings are what I did while at work and outside. I finally jumped out of fast food and moved into working inside a call center (there‘s a story about that). This eventually brought about a slew of further dark days, thankfully ensconced by reconnecting with my childhood friends and starting to share our adult lives together. While this call center job paid me well, the price was anxiety and depression. Here I was, locked to a chair for eight hours taking back-to-back phone calls from angry individuals who were enraged because their satellite cable equipment wasn’t working properly. Great. I was so enthused to help them. This job persisted, so I began to bring my bliss to work with me. I tugged my book bag along every morning and throughout my shift I would lay all of my notebooks and tools out and draw. Colored pencils, pens, markers, I didn’t care who saw me. I would take those goddamn phone calls and draw!  One of my team leaders gave me an evaluation, stating that everything looked good on my scores but she thought I was distracted while sitting at my desk writing "poetry." I ignored that.  Lots of ideas and characters came out of this place/period, but by the summer of 2005 I was seeking therapeutic help (and a psychic I might add). By winter, I took the opportunity to move to another city. So driven to do the “right thing” and be responsible, I walked away from another job.  Many didn’t see this move coming.

   

2006

So I moved. My cousin was staying in the state of Georgia with a roommate who was a friend of hers from high school. They both moved to Georgia with the intentions of going to school for fashion design, while I just wanted a change and a way out.  What I didn't fully grasp was that this change included a package of: my cousin's friend's then pregnancy, two others kids by her, and her current boyfriend.  So essentially my cousin was alone, and since we were close, I was the perfect fit. Nevertheless, I did not know what I was getting myself in to. All I knew was that I had to make a change. I had to feel life. So when they were in preparations to move closer to Atlanta, I asked could I come aboard. Putting my half of the money down, I made it happen. What a journey, all requiring a separate blog post I must say.

By January of 2006 I had finally nailed a job working in a bookstore [Borders]. Great experience, despite days where my bloodsugar was so low my head went swimming.  I even met a few celebrities during my period there.  However, the best part was being surrounded by thousands upon thousands of books. I used to think I was a great reader before, but wow did that experience really open my eyes and mind. I learned a lot in my two years working and living in Georgia. I truly could write a blog straight from my journals about my experience. Nevertheless, in focusing on the picture underneath the heading, this photo was inspired by a photograph of a swimmer preparing to dive while in the nude. I loved the use of shadows in the original photograph so I wanted to make it strong and heavy in my translation. I wanted to give the face a clear, almost emotionless glare. It was sort of my attempt to let the drawing interpret itself.  I also love skin-tone colors and did some extra blending to create his.  Because I had to start over making friends and getting out to do things, I sought comfort in drawing, as usual. This is one example of those days I spent alone with my dreams and thoughts, building on the hopes that this new city would open up the opportunities I left my hometown to seek.  I remember listening to a lot of Marcos Hernandez during this time. (^_^)  Though that information is irrelevant.

   

 2007

At the tail end of 2007 I decided, after much debate because of discouraging circumstances, to move back home.  It all sort of happened right when I was getting the hang of living in Georgia. My cousin and I promptly separated ourselves from our previous roommates, as they became the roommates from hell, and got a place of our own. The details of that ordeal are intriguing, should I get the urge to rehash them. Nonetheless, that separation was such a relief that I began to truly open up to the relocation experience, instead of living with one foot ready to haul back home. After much frustration and tears, I started school for Illustrations and Designs.  This expanded the ideas of my drawings where I started to experiment a lot more with the backdrops of my drawings.  I also learned to accept my particular style of drawing, as it was better that I stick with traditional coloring instead of computer based.  I love my pastel chalks and water colors.  How could I trade those in for computer coloring taught at my new school?  But I digress.

I also made friends, spending many weekends at Six Flags and driving out and about the city of Atlanta. I even took to several dates.  I still spent time alone, too. I remember going to the bookstore in Midtown and reading Harry Potter for hours just to feel apart of my new city. Slowly I began to get comfortable there. In retrospect, “comfortable” might be an understatement. Except for some of the pigheaded managers at my bookstore job, things were truly looking up. Without getting into the details as to what caused me to move back home, I had finally had enough of one single situation that effected my home. As I don’t allow people to take advantage of me should I feel such, it is even harder for me to watch someone I love be clearly taken advantage of. It was so sudden and frustrating that either I could fight my way out of another living situation from hell, or just let it all go. 

 

I decided to let it go, and without regrets.  I've always made it a point to try not to have regrets because the truth is that we never have all the information in the moments that we need to make sudden decisions.  Or an emotional based decision.  I believe the hardest part was letting go of the friends I’d made. I found it amazing that the friends I made in Georgia were far more interested and interesting than the ones I made back home (outside of my childhood friends). It really is a curious feeling. I was immediately accepted there, with all of my quirky ways. One particular friend that I miss dearly was named Jamier. Toward the end of my experience there her and I became close. I remember when I was super broke, sitting at a restaurant with an appetizer before me. We were in a party of four, and to save me from embarrassment, she paid my way. She hung around my apartment a lot during that time. It was as if we were both seeking an honest friendship and found that in each other. The night before I left, her and another close friend of mine went out to eat, laughing before I said goodbye. Jamier spent more time than any friend of mine looking through my drawings and commenting on them. Her favorite was one that I had drew shown here in yellow and plaid. Two years ago I found out Jamier had died. I have no idea what happened to her, only the roaming speculation that it was a brain aneurysm. All I can remember is her calling and texting me even after I’d moved. Always wanting to know how I was doing while we were apart.

After two years I was back home.  Far more advanced emotionally and spiritually.  I felt like I had on a fresh pair of glasses, seeing my life situation differently.  After spending those years working around books, I decided I wanted to change my major to English Literature.  I've always loved writing and drawing pictures based on my characters.  Even as a child I wanted to write stories and illustrate the covers.  Since my hometown isn't exactly art-based, English Literature was the perfect alternative.

At least at this point I had a direction.  That was good enough for me.  I proved that I could do much more than I thought I was capable of and grew to be stronger as a result.

2008

It took waiting out a semester and summer before I started at my new--and tough as hell--school. I remember during that wait I was working for a temp agency doing assembly work.  As we were working down the line, one of my co-workers told me about all the degrees she had and how she retired from teaching. I told her my story and the singuliar thing she had to say in return was to “just do it.” She told me not to worry about anything else but my future. When jobs go, they go.  But following and believing in your passion is something you should fight to keep running.  She inspired me, and as usual, I took leaps and prayed for the best. This picture is one of the characters in that story I wrote during my time in Georgia.  I consider it a "power shot."  I love experimenting with beads and jewels so I used those to sort of accentuate the drawing. Unfortunately, this was also the period where my drawings began to slow down in favor for my love of writing. Besides the new school kicking my ass, I began to divulge myself in writing another story. I put my best efforts into studying the craft of writing then. Reading even more reference books. It was here that I also tried to focus more on my main writing interest, which was mystery writing. Because this was a transitional period where I was a lot stronger in my thinking and emotions, I began to learn to let things that weren’t good for me go. I think I started to become a little more selfish in my desire to make a positive change for myself. I hurt some people unintentionally in the process, but I was back home with a new attitude and new direction--an actual direction. Soon school took over much of my life, and I stopped drawing more.  There came a day where I was looking over my profilio of drawings from over the years and saw that I had nothing I could do with them.  So I stopped, feeling as if I hit a brick wall as I had already changed directions.  However, because my personal stories are journalized, I did have the idea of using my drawings to start my own line of journals.  That idea stuck with me. Putting all of my eggs into finishing school and thinking my life was going to get better with a degree was actually faulty thinking.  I remember reading a horoscope that told me not to do this exact thing, even encourging me not to go to school anymore because it'll only "slow" me down.  I didn't invest in the horoscope, but now I see its truth as my direction is branching once more.  While I did enjoy school, I do sometimes feel that it was a crutch of some sort.  But life is life.  

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So do you. No matter your circumstances, believe in something and keep pushing toward it. Whether you run across roadblocks, shut doors, lies, and half-truths, keeping being honest with yourself and others as you move forward. That honesty will reflect in the Universe, allowing things to happen.  Something even as subtle as taking an inspired thought will create a world of difference in your future. People will not always get why you do what you do, and they will not always understand your perspectives and philosophies, as they are too involved with their own. Nevertheless, the important thing is that you grow to understand what really works for you. What is going to make you comfortable enough to face life’s circumstances that you can still give faith into working toward the things you desire? What is going to make you comfortable enough to move out of your own way, enough so that when things began to blossom, you’ll be too excited to be uncomfortable, allowing you to take a leap into your opportunities. And most of all, be brave where it counts, but remember stillness is also a state of allowing things to manifest. Lastly, remember that it is okay to not know what you are doing... so long as you do something.  

 

 

 

Zazzle, Cafepress, and Vistaprint Goes to Work!

Zazzle, Cafepress, and Vistaprint. I’ve used all three to speak to the Universe and God about what efforts I will take to make my vision come to pass, including creating a pseudo web store to get me started. It’s a learning process, after all. Because I have no background, and am mostly just made up of talent, it’s a good place for me. According to my mentor (thanks for keeping up with me Mr. Malkus), it’s best that I start off slow and easy. In essence, getting my name and goal out there. So I made a video and just now remembered to post it on my blog. Here’s a sneak peek into my little offerings until I finish editing my next--and long--post.

Thanks for those who watched!  And remember to keep moving!  Move!  Move!  Move!

 

Farewell, Sookie Stackhouse!

Recently Charlaine Harris released the 13th and final Sookie Stackhouse novel, Dead Ever After, and I am sad that Sookie’s journey is ending.  The funny thing is that I started out almost missing out on the series because of my dislike of the first book.  So in reminiscence of one of my most loved series/characters, I’ve dedicated this blog entry to how I fell for Sookie Stackhouse, the good and the bad.  I worked at a bookstore in Atlanta and would see the series all the time, without the faintest desire to look through them.  This was until a customer threw her excitement for the release of All Together Dead at me.  At the time I was within the “safe” zone of the Anita Blake series (or books 1-9).  So I wasn’t particularly ready to jump into another vampire-themed series.  However, like the J.D. Robb In Death series a then co-worker suggested, I kept Sookie in the back of my mind. 

A couple of months later I moved back home.  During this period, where I was spending my days working for a temp service, I had enough downtime to get into some new books.  I happened across Dead Until Dark at a used bookstore and decided to finally give it a go.  Why not?  By that time I’d made it to book 10 of the Anita Blake series and was about ready to blow my head off from the neurotic sexual melodrama.  Meanwhile, Kim Harrison was thrilling me to pieces, but not quite enough.

So I read Dead Until Dark in a couple of nights.  I can remember closing the book late one evening and being put off about it.  It wasn’t the writing style that put me or the story.  It was more of the sub-texting delivery of racism and homophobia that got to me, much of it directed around the black gay character/cook, Lafayette.  Maybe only someone who has dealt with both would notice such tiny expressions, and like me, decide not to go on reading.  Nonetheless, I did notice them--or felt them.  So I tried to separate Sookie’s voice from Harris’s, while also trying to gather whether or not what I kept “seeing” was true.  I asked myself on multiple occasions was it just me “seeing” things?  However, this issue wasn’t the only one.  I also almost stopped reading the book when Gran was killed!  

Anyway, I don’t remember feeling much of anything else after reading the book.  I do remember reading Dead Until Dark and J.D. Robb’s Naked in Death a couple of months apart and not feeling a thing for either of them, only to find myself obsessed with both series later (though I’ve recently ditched J. D. Robb’s In Death series, but that’s for another post). It was when a mall bookstore in town was having a “Blowout Closing Sale” that I ran across Living Dead in Dallas, the second Sookie Stackhouse book.  It was a few months after I read the first book and, still trying to find some sort of taste for the series, I bought it.  It sat on my shelf for an entire year and between that year I became obsessed with another of Harris’s series/character, Lily Bard (who in my opinion is superior to the Sookie Stackhouse’s series). 

It wasn’t until I ended up with reduced hours at my then job (at another bookstore) that I decided to pick up Living Dead in Dallas off my book shelf.  Big money wasn’t coming in and I had books on the shelf that needed to be read.  Plus, tie-in covers featuring True Blood started to circulate around the store.  So I read it and it was then that I became obsessed with the Sookie Stackhouse story. 

What Living Dead in Dallas did that Dead Until Dark didn’t do for me was click with exactly what I wanted to see in Sookie Stackhouse: resourcefulness and wits.  Or maybe it was all about the mental timing of things, or the Universe at play.  Nevertheless, the second book had me cheering out loud for Sookie, unlike the first.  It was in that moment where Sookie was locked in the basement of the Fellowship of the Sun’s church, talking smack to everyone who gave her crap, that I was hooked.  A gun was on her and she charged against it.  She was called “bitch” multiple times and still proceeded to fight back against her assailant by using sarcasm as well as physical moves.  And she used her telepathic powers to communicate with Barry, the Bellboy (another telepath) to bring her vampire boyfriend Bill to her rescue.  I loved it all!  Every bit of her fighting back rained on me my nostalgia for Buffy. 

So with little money, I proceed to buy, buy, buy the rest of the books in the series.  One book after the other begged to be read.  I was working only one or two days at my then job, but they were easily within reach with my employee discount.  

It was closing in on June, the summer months.  I had nowhere special to go but into Sookie’s world.  I remember one summer week I read the books by lamp light because of electrical problems in the house, an extension cord drawn into my room.  I remember popping one of my friend’s sleep aides because staying up late at night to read the books rewired my sleeping pattern.  I remember running my debit card as credit praying for approval so that the next three books were in my grasp.  I simply just needed more, more, and more.  The adventures were too addictive.  I loved the small town Southern setting that was slightly similar to my own, but not really.  The vampire and werewolf politics.  The power plays over Sookie’s loyalty and special abilities.  Incidents of Sookie finding herself in unusual and strange circumstances, including being shot at returning library books as well as fleeing bad guys through a swamp.  She even road a vampire’s coffin out of a window, and let’s not forget her day-to-day activities working at Merlotte’s.  Call me wacko, but I used to get excited for her day when she would take the chairs down from the tables during an opening shift. 

Eventually I caught up with the books and their current releases after binge reading on the previous released titles.  And I will admit that some of the books didn’t quite catch me as well as others, and that’s usually when Sookie is being brattier than usual concerning her various relationships.  Nonetheless, by then I’d also watched and enjoyed the first season of True Blood and had a new fascination to keep up with. 

So it was an eerie feeling one day last year when I woke up from a nap feeling sad as I thought about Sookie’s stories ending.  It almost seemed like a friend saying good-bye.  It was that surreal. 

I finished Dead Ever After a day after its release and am glad to say that I did not follow the series to find peace in Sookie’s love life (while at one point it was tiring to read about).  Therefore, unlike many other fans, I wasn’t up in arms by her final choice in a suitor.  However, I would have been deeply upset if she did become a vampire.  Lucky for me Charlaine Harris considered that an injustice to her character.  So instead I just wanted to see Sookie finally grow, putting aside all of her adventures for a quieter, stronger life.  See, to me it’s all relatable.  I understood how Sookie felt feeling un-allowed and somewhat of an oddball who just wanted an opportunity to find something within her life to call her own.  To feel like life is always playing a cruel trick on you by dangling carrots and popping your balloon.  To know that you are different, but still desire the support of another.  Especially when you see other people finding it so easily.  And most of all, to experience life without settling.  Sookie asked for these things when Vampire Bill walked into her life in the first book, and now that she’s lived it she seems to have caught up with the girl she once was for the better.  

So despite my tizzy with the first book in the series (worth re-reading now), I am left feeling that both Sookie and I know what it’s like to be just plain ole different than other people.  And as she stated in the final line of the last book: 

“I am Sookie Stackhouse.  I belong here.” 

That was good enough for me. In the meantime, True Blood season 6 starts next month and a Sookie Stackhouse coda book called After Dead comes out in October!  WHOOT!

The Best Attitude is One of Gratitude

I don’t claim “bad news.” Nothing can top the death of a loved one, so I try to remain grateful for what is. So with the news I came across last week, I won’t claim it as “bad.” Instead, it will be known as an “opportunity,” like many small stumbles and bumps in our road. Sure, it has completely knocked aside the dream and goal I had set for myself with twelve years in the making. And yes, I only had less than a few months left to finally relish in my years of hard work. However, as of now, it is not happening.

The fact is that I probably attracted this opportunity--but in a necessary way. As I began to focus on trying to build a brand around myself, some things seem to take up more time than I wanted. Subsequently, the Universe moved it out of the way. I wanted to write more, now I can. I wanted to put more support in my Towel & Cornbread venture, now I can. It still stings a little, but I believe I have finally arrived at what is true to me.

I know this because I was offered a job promotion at my new job. Without much hesitation, I turned it down. I didn’t want it. I wanted to focus on the things I really wanted. I have been working since I was seventeen and have finally grasped some direction within myself. Besides that, I didn’t want to be responsible for my co-workers. I didn’t want to work night shifts five days straight, including weekends. I require the flexibility to follow my own dreams and goals--especially now that I‘m 30. It was great that my co-workers, managers, and even corporate, commended my dedication and work. However, I felt tested by the Universe when I was asked to take a promotion. I could limit the value of my time to settle for a $1 raise, and more responsibilities in a place that was meant to be temporary. Or I can decline the offer and keep putting my valued time into staying in my Truth.

So I declined. Now suddenly I see that other things appear to be moving out of my way, even the one thing I relied upon for years to service my life in the end. Nevertheless, both of these situations made me realize two important things: trust my instincts and keep the faith. I have moments of cloudy thoughts telling me things I don’t need to hear. And I manage to brush them away every time because there is a stronger impulse telling me that everything is so, so right. That I know like I know like I know what is happening to me is making perfect sense. My faith is so steadfast that I ask for answers and stay receptive to them as I act on inspired thoughts. I don’t have all the answers. Still, I know it only takes a moment for prospects to take off, and that God, the Universe, Source is on my side. All is well in my world.

So when we have set backs, even ones that seem to cut so deeply, the best attitude could be one of gratitude. As corny as that sounds.

On another note, Spring is finally here. Dear God in Heaven does Spring give me so much spirit. My favorite month is April and I hope it last forever this year.

She's Who Detects

The thing is that I love detective fiction, cozies and mysteries. However, I always found it hard (at one point) to find African-American mystery writers who wrote African-American protagonists.  Don't get me wrong, though.  I die for Kinsey Millhone and Kay Scarpetta.  Not to mention Eve Dallas, who I have recently decided to give up on (that‘s another story). Anyway, like most people who attempt to write, I wrote what I wanted to read. So I wanted to write about a young, black detective before she reaches professional status. She’s a secretary/assistant on her way to becoming a protégé, to be clear.  Maybe somewhere in the future she will take ownership of the agency she works for, much like P.D. James’s Cordelia Gray did when her boss committed suicide leaving her ownership of his agency.

So I wrote this sort of sketch piece for a Gotham Writer's Workshop class...

"Although it is Night"

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At the time before Zadie Jones's entrance I knew nothing about the murder of Dorrie Jean Suggs, or either woman. I didn’t know Dorrie Jean was a Bishop’s wife. I also didn’t know she had a background so ugly and dark that one can only wonder where she got the resolve to ask God for mercy. And I certainly didn’t know she was murdered not even a mile outside of my neighbor. I didn’t care whether her spirit was disturbed because I was too caught up in my own personal disturbances, like many of us roaming this earth with blinders on as we attempt to find our way.

Nonetheless, at the time of Zadie's entrance I was sitting at my secretarial--or administrative assistant--desk struggling to put together a 1,400 word paper on determinism versus free will.  It was for my Theories of Personality course. Dividing my attention between typing up clients’ final reports for my boss, Jiremi, and rearranging my thesis statement for the umpteenth time, I finally decided my eyes had enough of swirling over separate documents.

These days my life remained divided between school assignments and my job as the assistant of Hemlocke Investigations. In more than one aspect, I was always juggling my attention between the two. One night I’m chewing my pen’s cap while writing course papers in long hand (good for the creative flow); next I’m typing up FD 302 reports without a hiccup in the exchange. Then there are those occasions where I’m caught sneaking out of a class after receiving a text concerning the whereabouts of transcripts I’ve typed. Sometimes I’m out with my friends getting reprimanded for checking my phone, in case I’ve missed a message from my boss. I don’t argue with the divide in my responsibilities much, if anything I take pride in being enough of a damn good typist to handle the split. So whether it is course papers or client reports, my material is always tidy and presented timely. I find it difficult to walk away from responsibilities that are within my means to handle, and most certainly control. Once something is on my hands, I’ll see it scrubbed clean off. Incidentally, Zadie’s case would test my subscription to that form of thought.

With all that I had going on, an impulsive break seemed required to manage my pace. I gave the vacant, blinking cursor one last sucking of my teeth before swiveling around in my chair to grab my purse off the filing cabinet. I kept drinks in the kitchenette’s refrigerator, located across from the sitting area. I would grab one on my way out, check the coffee carafe (despite business being slow), and pursue my burst of inspiration to stroll to the second-hand bookstore across the street. I checked the bookstore weekly for illustrations, and fashion design books; my current inspiration being anything Katharine Asher-ish. This sounded much more appealing than beating my brains against my laptop for words to pop up.

My boss, and owner of the agency, Jiremi, remained shut up in his office for the past hour. I could hear him speaking to someone on the phone, making now the perfect time to dip out the office for a spell. It was early April, after all. How could I resist not giving God his due for creating such a beautiful day by not engaging in the sunlight and shadows of maple trees?

I became moved by the glint of sunlight waving through the windows. My chair banged against the small bookshelf as I stood up, unplugging my cell from its charger with one jerk of the cord. I glided my stocking feet into the pair of agonizing, black Nine West that my grandma bought me. She wanted me to look well-garbed for my first secretarial job, which translated to a decent and approachable black woman of twenty-seven. According to my family, my success as a socially functional human being was riding off my new position, after having failed at my previous job as a customer service cashier and representative because of my “attitude problem.” Evidently, my family didn't understand that any semblance of an attitude problem derived from them, particularly my mother’s side.

My father and his family lives two states away in Louisiana (too far to judge my behavior), and it was his side of the family that hooked me up with a position at Hemlocke Investigations. See, my mom rang my dad up once she found out I was fired from my previous job, as she takes absolute delight in sharing my business the second I display my knack for reckless conduct. Exhausted by my mother’s worn histrionics, my dad backed me up as dads will often do their grown daughters. My dad had the connection that I needed. He went to high school with Jiremi’s father, who later passed the business to his son. Turned out it all happened right on time, considering Jiremi’s last assistant walked out on him because of what he quoted her stating were “religious discrepancies.” Whatever the hell that meant because the checks I earned from Jiremi hardly make me give a damn about any discrepancies.

Bending to scribble a note just in case Jiremi stepped out of the office to find me missing; I heard the outer door open when the hum of traffic and singing robins slipped over the bellow of the office’s air conditioner unit.

Pen poised in my hand, my voice got caught somewhere in the slack of my jaw at the sight of Zadie Jones’s fraught arrival.

She stood in the open doorway looking as if she’d just stepped out of an Alice Walker novel, dressed in a dated, lime-colored church ensemble of suit (with nice envelop folds and banded tier), hat and clutch purse. She glared at me with a face beat with foundation, counterbalancing the natural coloring of her neck and hands. Her haircut curled with touches of gray, falling out of her swollen hat to dust her shoulders. She had to be about 60-ish, that much I could tell over her botched makeup attempt. And while it took me a second to absorb the brightness of her ensemble, what truly arrested my sensibilities was the flaring of her breath as she gripped the door handle with a slight arch in her back. Her nostrils were wide enough to swallow quarters, and I could imagine myself doing so at arm’s length. If that’s what it took to remedy what looked like a woman hanging around Death’s door in the gripes of a heart attack, I would do so with the spare change in my pocket.

Lord, please don’t let this woman fall down dead in front of me, was all I thought. Evidently, I was useless in emergency situations, as all I felt my body capable of achieving was an anxious stare. I was frozen in place, watching her stained, yellow cigarette eyes crease up at me. All I felt I could do was wait on her dirty eyes to roll back into her head as she crumbled to the floor. Only then would I felt capable of running to her side. Only then would I know for sure whether this was an emergency situation or something else completely.

Like many, I had a funny way of mentally checking out during emergency situations.

Nevertheless, my visitor did not fall over dead, nor did a pursing madman come trailing behind her. Yet, I felt little relief in my hush.

“Well, what’cha looking at, gal? Ain’t you ‘posed to offer me a seat or something?” Drawn between hard breaths, her questions came out of a pair of glossed lips that sneered at my uselessness.



The child you once were.

I can easily picture the child I once were. I can almost go back in time to each of my ages before 29 and remember large chunks of what took place each year. Hell, I remember when I used to go down the line of every teacher I’ve had from college to kindergarten. So I flex my memory--always have. I keep junk in my trunk dated back to many yester-years. Things that I cannot throw away because I am afraid that I won’t remember the memories they possess, as if I won’t remember me. See, there comes a time when you don’t feel like anyone else will keep up with your life and how special you feel about yourself. So you, as a friend to yourself, do so. You begin to hold on to everything that you feel makes you you. You hope that one day everyone else will see it.

So I can remember how I reacted to some past events and, when I think even deeper, what I learned from them that affect me today. I can trace some of the negative and positive influences that have grown in me. And some I absolutely can not.

Some memories are stronger than others. So while I can remember the child I once were, I also see that I haven’t changed too much at the core. Nevertheless, as I sit here and ponder this question even further, it only leads me deeper into certain regrets and anger-inducing issues that I have been fighting over the years. Things I wish were said and done to assist me in being who I want to be, who I hoped to be at the current stage of my life. However, we have to let all of that go and just focus on the future. The past is the past. And time truly is short. When two years ago feel like two months ago you start to feel as if there hasn’t been any growth in your life. But there has. If you can recognize this feeling then you just have to trust that you’re getting closer to who you want to be, because you’ve taken an assessment and are seeking modifications. Some people let years go by before they look back and realize that they ignored those moments that asks them to look back and make modifications.

For one day I was in a class teaching something to the degree of being a successful college student. My teacher was a Tony Robbins kind of guy. The kind of guy I needed so badly in my life that it hurts to think about the void. He spoke real life facts and motiviated us to understand the importance of a college education. At the end of the class he went around the room and asked each of us what did we take from class that day. When he came to me I knew exactly what it was that I wanted to say. It had stuck with me during the entire class. When I spoke it the teacher's eyes lit up. It was extremely simple and true...

"Life is about memories."