Sunday, June 8, 2014


Reunited and It Feels so Good

This weekend my good friend/ Sister Aniece and her Fiancé Carla came to visit with their dog tyler.

I know what you’re thinking, “Dréa speant A whole weekend with people.
I did. And I was Happy to do so. In fact I’m planning to have a girl’s weekend with my best friend Jennifer Really soon.

Here is the thing; as much as I Revel in my hermit-dom, I actually do like “some” people.
And I enjoy spending time with them.  Not all the time!  But sometimes… like once or twice every year or maybe like every three months.

I love to get together with them and share good food and conversation. Catch up on what’s been going on in their lives. Gossip as we are apt to do. Maybe do a little shopping and site seeing, or just split a bottle of wine or a bucket of margaritas.
Yeah, I said a bucket… a really, really Big bucket.

WE laugh and sometimes shed a tear or two. We connect to each other spiritual and reaffirm what words can’t really say.
“I love you.”
“I honor you”
“I trust you”
“I appreciate you”

There is a balm, much like the one in Gilead, in being with my soul sisters.
Jennifer, Tawania, aniece.
There  is a safty in being in the protective
Circle of my brothers
Corey, Jhonathan, Gary, chris.

I am very rarely that close people (particularly females.)

That is a uniqueness to that bond.
Being with the people who know me best and understand… truly understand my need to be separate but together.
To be exactly who I am at all times.
To be silent and moody, loud and juvenile.
Judgemental and unconditional..
A hard ass and a push over.

To have the love and support of people who knew me before I became “ME”.
Who understand the woman beneath the showmanship.

It is so good to be able to touch that point of pure energy and love.
To be grounded to the circle of life and covered in the peace of just being.
To sit in the darkness under the watchful  eye of the late spring moon and count fireflies and shooting stars.

To reconnect, to recharge. To reunite.
To strengthen a bond forged in love and time.

And now I’m done and I can spend some time absorbing it all.
Being all by myself with the sweet smell of rain washed earth.

I spent the weekend Loving and being loved.
Being reminded that I am not alone.
And being happy not only for myself, but for aniece and Carla and their life and family.
 And that has been the best thing.

Being able to see the tangible good in this world.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Holding back the years or the comfort of letting go and moving on

Mood Music.  Simply red…I think my love of all things ginger started with him( yes, I know S.R. is the whole band but HE is who I’m talking about, stop acting new)

So, I've been feeling really whimsical lately.  Stuck in the past in a good way.   Learning to let go of all the things that have hurt over the last few years has been a difficult thing, but as I get better at it, I get to reflect on some of the simple things that made me happy.

I have actually been really happy with some memories.  Content to just look back and be glad of the way things were.  I am able to look back on them without the yearning for them being so strong that it prohibits me from recognizing the whole truth ( I have to make myself take off the rose colored glasses) and living my today.
I miss those times.  As a thirty three year old me I can say that my actions contributed greatly to the demise of those times.  I fully own that I had a role in the way life played out.
I can’t tell the whole story because, again, sometimes when we talk about our lives we inadvertently reveal other’s lives as well.
Life was simpler a decade ago. I was newly engaged and fresh out of a lot of shenanigans.  Really, still a babe in the woods. Everything was fresh and new and exciting. And I met some of the most fantastic people.  People who somehow came to mean so much to me so quickly that when I think of when the last time we spoke my heart breaks and my breath catches.

As with all things life moves on though…some relationships have faded away completely..not for lack of attention but just because that’s the way life is.  Some have stumbled, tripped stuttered, faltered, blown up, crumbled and blown away with the wind.  Some have been mended with the duct tape, super glue and baling wire of time.  Held together by tears and laughter, they have evolved and changed in testament to the people we have become.  The courage and compassion in our hearts. The indomitable spirit that drove us together.
Tonight I got to spend a couple of hours with two of the most important women in my life.  The recent years, life and everything that goes with it had split us.  I have to admit that even though I clung to them as if my very survival depend on it, I didn't honor them or our bond.
didn't respect them enough to say the words that even now are trembling on my finger tips. I feel like a child whose parents are divorcing. How do I fix it, how do it put it back together? Only unlike that child, I know that I have a culpability to answer for. I know that I played a role in the break down. And I know that it can never go back, never be the same and I wouldn't want it to.   Who we are now matters too much to erase it.

Deep breath.

I miss you.  I don’t like that our lives have changed so much. I don’t want all the new people who are there/ here between us, taking up your time and attention. I don’t want to be nice. I don’t want to share. I screwed up a lot. And even now I am still too chicken to say directly to you that I’m scared. I’m afraid of them taking my place. I’m afraid that you don’t need me the way that I need you. I cringe that strangers know more about your everyday than I do. I’m heartbroken that we only speak every fourth month. I’m sorry.  I tried to change and when I realized I couldn't ever change enough I was resentful. I didn't want to change. I didn't want things to need to be different.
But I miss you. I miss us.

In my heart I know its OK. And someday it wont sting as much, but a few hours ago…was probably the happiest I've been in years. To chat with you via im’s and just be us. Reminded me so much of why I was drawn in to begin with.

And now that I've said all that I feel… better.  I feel like I’m me…un-encumbered by hurts and perceived slights and mis(ssed) communications. Not  the same, but not so very different either.  A part of me will always long for Yesterday, but I’m ready for today… and for all my tomorrows.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

I won't give up on us or i'm a raging ball of hormones so excuse the $#!% that comes out of my mouth

don't forget to click on the links for mood music

So I’ve been an emotional wreck. The end of 2013 crept right on into 2014. I had these grand ideas about how I was going to slough off the old skin and shake away the past.  I was going to step right into the future.

That’s a little to grand. The adult me knows that you have to take time in the present to acknowledge your past or it will bit your oversized ass hard in the future.
It’s not so much that the law of attraction doesn’t work, but more so that you have to include “what is forgotten will be repeated.”
Just wanted to put that statement out there. I’m still growing. And some wounds haven’t healed but I am going to be better about positivity. I will wish no one any harm and I will work diligently every day to not be bitter about the ay life has unfolded for me. Ultimately, As an adult, I have to be responsible for the choices I made at every dip, turn and crossroad.  I could have changed course at any given stop light. Could have joined a circus. Could have saved that money I spent on those shoes I wore that one time and lost. Could have said I’m sorry sooner.

But that’s not what this blog is about.

I’ve been open as always about my personal life and as always some would say I’m too open.
This year is particularly hard for me because my sane half and I are 300 plus miles apart.  Twists and turns in the road of life , folks, gotta watch those pot holes. Dodge one hit six bigger ones.
Now, I know that people live like this all the time. Hell, it used to be a cultural thing in recent antiquity.  The husband would have to leave home and travel across the country for work and send home funds to the wife and rugrats and eventually when they’d saved enough he’d send for them all.
Unfortunately, that was a dream for many families that never worked.  Momma got tired of waiting and got a new man that took care of her and her kids. Daddy got to liking being a single man and found a barfly that only wanted to drink smoke and mattress mambo.

You can tell I had many, numerous, copious, a whole fucking lot of misgivings about being separated from my heart for work.
I mean before CWB, I was seriously dating (promised) to a guy who joined the marines ( without telling me he was going to join the marines) and when he came home with his hair cut and his dog tags, I smiled at him and fixed his favorite dinner. Sat across from the table and cried as I told him, I’m not the one for you. I don’t want to be a single married person. I don’t want to worry about you being blown up. I don’t want to move from base to base. I don’t our kids to not know where their home town is. Or to have to make friends over and over and over again three times a year.  We prayed about it and he understood. I was speaking from my heart. I loved him but I didn’t love him enough.  I would have made a shitty military wife. At least, the me that I was then would have.
I had to bite some bullets once I got married. CWB is my own personal hero. He has been in the medical field (a certified emt), has been a firefighter, in law enforcement and in education (yeah, he taught some courses to some juvies when he worked in the boot camp). But this separation, by far, has been the biggest one. 
Ask any “old married” couple you know. There can be times when you never see each other. He works nights, she works days. One of you or both of you work more than one job. One or both of you might be in school.
Or you see each other, but you get into a routine. So you don’t even have to speak. You just do the same or similar things all the time.  Sometimes you have to just break the silence and say “hey, are we ok?  We aren’t fighting are we?”
There is something so comforting in that to me. For an introvert/hermit, I am oddly addicted to his presence.
I truly believe he is my match. We are literal salt and pepper shakers. We just go together.
I’ve done ok with the separation. It was unplanned (for the most part. See we moved in anticipation of his transfer, and then it got delayed and delayed again…and delayed again. ) And supposed to be short term. But I cowgirled up and stuck with the program, besides we can see each other on skype and hangouts and one of us can drive to see the other on days off. *yes, that’s sarcasm people because we all know that hasn’t exactly worked out. This is life not a novel*  Besides a bit of depression * side eyes closest friends, ok ok a lot of depression* and a small amount whining * look, I’m telling this* I’ve weathered the storm.  I’ve drawn complete strength from some great people and mostly from CWB. He is, in all things, my rock.
Tonight though—tonight I probably exhibited why I am an asshole. I’ll blame it on the separation and hormones.

Tonight everything spilled over. I started off trying to feign excitement for what I perceived as another delay. I almost got all the way to enthusiasm.  Then the whole baby situation spiraled out of control. (Maintaining two separate households, hundreds of miles apart, while dealing with infertility and ttc--not conducive for stress free shenanigans).
I tried to count to a million, then go to sleep. I woke up four hours later and still couldn’t keep myself from bubbling over.
It ended with a couple of long vents to amazing friends  and one booger snot slinging melt down of a phone call to CWB. And I’m sorry. Because as scared and freaked out as I am. I know he has to be feeling the same way. I know that he loves me like I love him. Ultimately, he only wants to do what’s going to be good for us. Sometimes its just hard to mesh our two styles of thinking together. Even when we are trying to achieve the same things we come at them from different angles. Its like comparing apples to apples. His are granny smith and mine are honeycrisp. In the end they are still damn apples. Its not like one of them is secretly an orange or a banana. We just, sometimes are reading the same story and even though we are on the same damn page, one of us is still reading and the other is ready to jump ahead to the next. (two guesses which of us is which.) I know CWB is an amazing, stand up guy.  I still think he his pin headed, hard headed and old fashioned curmudgeon.   
In conclusion: I’m probably an asshole.  At least this time I can blame part of it on the hormones and the stress.  One box of Kleenex, two boiled eggs, six pieces of crispy bacon, one piece of burnt bacon, four pieces of toast and a candy bar that I found in the pocket of my winter jacket;  I’m a hormonal asshole.  
I don’t know all the answers.  But what I do know is that we will figure it out together. Because that’s what relationships are about. Good marriages, the ones that last the test of time, aren’t the ones that never went through anything hard. They're the ones that linked hands, stood back to back and stared down the hard times and said “ bring it.”
 I know that I don’t have to be “ a big girl all the time.” Its ok for me to get lost in my hormones and my feelings and have break downs, as long as I don’t stay lost.
This year for our anniversary, I gave CWB a little compass. Its no bigger than a quarter and shaped like a heart. In a child like font its inscribed “ my heart will lead you home.”
I hope he knows that its true for me as well. When I am lost and afraid. When I don’t know how to carry on and I can’t remember how to breath.  It’s the beat of his heart that leads me from the darkness. The scent of him on the pillow that fights off the nightmares. The sound of his voice that soothes me to sleep.
I’m sorry that your wife is a hormonal ass hat CWB.  She doesn’t mean to be. She just misses you like crazy. But she is and has always been 0n this ride with you.
We might have to make a few pitstops and detours. But this is our journey. I wouldn’t take it with anyone but you.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

(don't)Speak @$$ (I know what you're thinking), Mouths' gone on vacation OR My Introversion isn't a reflection of you (it ain't you, its me), OR, Don't sleep on my silence( its not me, it really is you).

Warning, as the titles suggest, this is going to be a fairly long one!

“Speak Ass(hole), Mouths’ Gone On vacation!”

Growing up Black and Southern, I've been privy to a lot of distinct expressions.

Some of my favorites are ones that, as a child I completely misunderstood, but the were so colorful the sent me in to peals of laughter. Now, as an adult, they make a little more since ( some of them) and still often move me to laughter.

My grandmother would bark these lil' gems out randomly in conversation. Some times just trying to get our attention or sometimes they were "pearls of wisdom"  and more often than not character assessments( and soooooooooo accurate.)

One that would come across often is the title of this blog. "Speak ass(hole), Mouths' gone on vacation."
Getting past the shock of having that tossed in the middle of polite conversation or content silence,  which of course means she had spoken to you and was awaiting your response or you'd entered a room with out acknowledging the people already present, you'd do as you'd been bade.  As long as you didn't respond with "huh" or "what", which indicated you'd "lost your mind and your home training." and surely "must want your ass warmed up, today."

It is a simple phrase really and artistic in it's delivery. It's designed to shock you into paying attention and then to trigger a response. You're shocked and confused by someone demanding that your anus talk, as if your mouth literally looked at it in a board meeting of all your body parts and said " so I'm slated for Fiji for the next three weeks, Anus your going to need to take over all vocalizations until I return."  I mean, what does that even look like? Would I need to bend over and my butt cheeks would move?  Would I be flatulent? Was my grandmother fluent in farts? How the heck did that work? ( and as you can see I was always a very imaginative and literal child. The other term that bothered me was similar to this "talking out your ass(hole)". Really, how the hell does that work?))

The purpose of my blog isn't exactly the same, but none the less when I was contemplating recent situations I heard my Mu( grandmother)  clear as a bell.  The thought had actually been swirling in my mind for several weeks, but I'd put off writing it. I  mean last month I was pretty out there with the introspective. I felt like if I put this thought in the universe, I'd undoubtedly be faced with some other thoughts that needed to come out.

And then it happened.  Someone mistook something I said or didn't say and again Mu came to me. This time she hooked me around the waist with her trust cane and spun me to look her in the eye.  "DIDN"T YOU HEAR ME?! WHAT SUDDENLY YOU'RE DEAF AND DUMB?! YOU WHO ALWAYS HAS SOMETHING TO SAY?! SPEAK, I SAID!"

What Mu was urging me to do was more in common with the last blog. Telling people when they'd hurt you. Saying exactly what you think and mean.  As adults we don't speak often enough. We just assume people know what we need. What they mean to us. That we are or are not talking about them when we do speak.

Sometimes when things are bothering me I just don't speak until I'm pushed, but when I'm pushed I say all the things I would never say. I forget to be tactful. I don't see in shades of grey. Or Violet. Or Rose. I only see the colors in my spectrum. In whatever emotion I'm feeling. And people tend to be shocked.  They either are expecting the placid "oh, no nothing is is wrong"  or  a meek " I'm sorry let me get it together and attend to you." But what they get is ...well they often end up hurt. Sometimes I am sorry they are hurt. Most times I'm not, because its likely that I've needed to voice what ever has come out, albeit probably in a more tactful way, for a while.

“My Introversion isn't about you (it ain't you, its most definitely me).”

So If you follow me on FB, you know I tend to have "code blacks". It means I'm off the grid for any number of reasons. Typically if its for a REASON aka someone hurt my feelings and so i'm gonna go pout, or i'm sick  I'll state that reason.   I have said many times that I share... A LOT. But I'm selective about what I share. I share just enough, I share exactly what I want to share. Even when I am sharing something that is seemingly deep. I've calculated the exact risk, and know exactly how much and what level I am going to share.  From my comfortable space in my colorful office, I can still protect the core of me, while sharing "seemingly" everything.

In my mind, I've developed a system. Code Blacks that are triggered by "something" are normally proceeded with inexplicable  outbursts of " you know what's" and/or " emotional revelations".   Those code blacks are really just about me needing to embrace my introversion.  I need to  be away from the world. I need to re-evaluate my place. I need some quiet time. I need to be in my cocoon and only hear the sound of my own heart beat dancing with the sound of two super needy puppies.   In those times even the closest people to me are shut out.  I am truly deaf and blind. I honestly have scare alarm tones that my husband can set off remotely to remind me to check in with him. I have a couple of people who are alerted if I'm going to leave my home and travel  to be alone. ( yeah sometime code black means that i leave the state of Texas and hide away in a place that is OFF the grid).  This people are in place because I do have medical issues and sometimes my introversion is driven by the compounding of those things. And I need to make sure that even in my seclusion I can receive medical attention  should I need it.  In those cases, cases where I am sick, I promise you the people who need to be there for me are! And most likely I'm home in my sleeping bag in my closet with an Alpha approved baby sitter.

But there are so many people close to me that I tend to say, look I'm sick right now. So I'm going to go dark for a while and I'll be back soon.  Because people worry and I understand that.

Other times code black, just means that I am busy. I have two new retail businesses aside from a day job, writing( and all that comes with it) and baking for select customers.
Those code blacks are ...just code blacks.  It just means that I am a busy person just like every other person. But because I make it a point to be so available to so many people all the time I just want you to know that I have to pull back for a minute or two. Nothing is wrong.
Maybe Alpha is home and we have something special planned.
Maybe I have twenty cakes to bake or 20k words to write.  Maybe I just need a moment to sit in my closet with my sleeping bag to decompress before I have a "i hate the world code black".

I am pretty tech savvy...well modestly so. I use a few programs to condense things into one or two dash boards that filter, file and separate so that I can see everything by toggling between to windows. Its complected ( because those more tech savvy than me are like you know you can condense this even more and those not tech savvy are like "wait, what the feck is all this"), But It also suits my needs of introversion, because depending on the level of code black I can easily assign things to be filtered and ignored with out actually logging out of things ( Drives alpha MAD that I am ALWAYS available and logged in to EVERYTHING, even when I am NOT available. Which is another reason I offer code blacks. Because of my dashboard, people think I'm being rude and ignoring them but honestly, your talking to my laptops sitting in random places around my car, house, hiding places and the only persons who could possibly answer you might be my dogs, they don't have  thumbs and they cant type and frankly, if your not in the room to give them treats and belly rubs well they don't care about you.)

This next little bit is about to be harsh and there is no way to say it without being that way.  There is no one that is special enough to me right now that I will ignore code blacks for. Code blacks go across the board. Especially if I leave my home to achieve one.  Don't get me wrong. I love lots of people and they are very special and important to me. There are some built in work arounds for code blacks. But Its all up to me if I feel like responding. That sounds bad right. Or does it only sound bad because I'm saying it. Everyone functions this way. I'm just flat out saying it.

I probably shouldn't have responded. But the compulsion to "speak" as my grandmother thumped her can across the dinning room table louder than that damn heart buried under the floor boards drove me.
Of course I'm sure... more than sure that my response hurt and offended. And while the tender parts of me regrets it. There is a part of me that is showboat-y and callus going "you asked for it. its not like you weren't warned to let sleeping dogs lie."

Don't sleep on my silence (it’s not me, it really is you)

Which brings me to this. Sometimes, I don't speak when I should not because I'm obviously riddled with more issues than the a rabbit shot with a buck shot has holes.  Some times I don't speak because it is you. Not me.

Sometimes my silence is in deference to our relationships. Because despite my anxiety, my need to fight what could be a very cold and uncaring side of me is greater.  I am not so evil that I don't want to be wanted. I just don't want to be clung to.

I know that is hard for some people. They don't understand how someone can be so selfish (and me be honest, I know that my introversion is very selfish. I function on a level that is different than anyone i think I've ever heard of. I've had way to many doctors with lots of letters behind their names to think any differently. Somethings I can't control, but the way I manage is completely self designed and self important no matter what way I spin it). The fee like every code black is a cry for help or attention. And eventually, they let me know they feel that way. I get frustrated with those people, because THEY are the reason code blacks were invented. There was a time I'd just slip away. Stop talking. Cancel accounts change phone numbers and reject all mail.  I walked off the face of the earth for a year once. It was peaceful. But it drove my mother insane. She was royally pissed to be getting random postcards with no return address. Hell, I can't even say they were random. I prepaid for them and there were only three.

In my "need" to be normal, I developed a false meekness. One that forced me to defer to others when I really didn't want to. I want to be loved and accepted, but I understand its hard for people to deal with me and my moods. Other people think they are introverts but they really aren't. They are just regular people who happen to enjoy alone time. Other people think I am not and introvert ( and they'd be correct, introversion is a Part of me, but not the diagnosis as a whole) and that if they stay close to me  they can understand.

Staying close isn't what I need. I'm just like everyone else. I need only to know in my heart that you'll be there when I need you.  My very best friends. Jennifer, Aniece, Tawania , the six Muses, Have all mastered this.  They know the difference in "someone better go check on Drea" and " hey, when's the last time you heard from Drea."  They understand the value in seeing that "available" Icon, next to an online symbol as opposed to " the number you're calling has been disconnect or is no longer available."

Sometimes, when people are too much for me in particular, I shut them out. Systematically. I just develope avoidance skills pertaining to that person until I decided I can handle them.  A lot of times I can't ever handle them again.  I cut them off. Completely. And I find the peace that I was looking for.

Other people mean that much more to me. So I have to have moments where I just can't speak. Because what I want to say is, "You're actually getting on my last damn nerve."
What I mean is " I really love you and I don't want to hurt you but I'm reaching my breaking point and even though it has nothing to do with you, you're too much for me so I need to not talk to you in particular or anyone in general until I decompress."
But people are sensitive. So I can't say either of those things.
I also can't say "Ok, you're really getting on my nerves, and its not me its you. You're doing xyz and the third and it is truly bothering me."

All three of those things can be cutting and cause irreparable damage. But so can be silent.
Because sometimes when you don't speak, people take liberties with you.  Sometimes they are unintentional based on your past actions or reactions or lack or either.
They assumed because you didn't speak before, that you didn't object to their treatment.
Or if they are being intentional they assumed that because you didn't speak you are submitting to their authority over you.

Some people think that because you reacted a certain way with someone else, your reaction with them will be the same way.

Speak out ass(hole), the mouth is afraid. If you don't say something they cycle continues. Every word you don't say is acceptance.

Their are differences between those intentional and unintentional people. You just have to keep your eyes open and listen to what they say in your silence.

With people who unintentionally take liberties, be gentle with them ( yeah I  am actually talking to myself.) They are only dealing with the cards you handed them.  Sometimes you have to snap and then take a breath and say "Ok, wait. Lets get this straight."

I deal with intentional irritants in two ways. I go into silence or I snap. Same way I do with those that i I know or come to know, mean me no harm. But with these people I look for clues to their motivation. and when I discover it I treat them the same as the others. But I know in my heart who they are. And Its not long before they remove themselves from me. One way or the other.

Loose tongues will reveal you.

Don't sleep on my silence, its not me...its totally you.  Don't speak, I already know what you're thinking. Besides, you're always talking out your ass.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014


Just heard Iyanla Vanzant say " a wound needs a witness."   very deep  thought there.

 I was having a conversation with someone about trying very hard to heal from the past few years. The conversation started by her expressing how something pretty terrible had just happened and she was so over the experiences of trying to hold on to this particular relationship.

  I felt her... to my core I hurt for her, because I knew exactly what she was saying.  I will go one step beyond Iyanla and say that some times " the wounded just needs the person who WOUNDED them to acknowledge it"  We don't necessarily need you to apologize or apolo-lie.  We just need you to stop throwing punches and then hiding your fist.  Own up to the fact that you HURT me.  Stop dancing around my pain.  Stop silently poking my wounds, throwing salt.

  There is a fallacy in the saying mind over matter.  Outwardly you can put on an impenetrable facade, but on the inside  the whole structure of your life is crumbling. You are weaker than the levees in New Orleans. You are weaker than a politicians promise.  YOU are waiting for the softest breeze to knock you over. BECAUSE YOU DO MIND. Just stating the words mind over matter, tells the world that you do MIND, you're just trying to find away to cope. To fake it 'till you do make it.  If you didn't mind, if you didn't hurt, you wouldn't even have squeaked. You wouldn't have needed to say " oh i'm not worrying about that".  Truly, when something is so inconsequential to you that you Don't mind, it never even makes a blip on your radar.

  So yes...some times a wound needs a witness. Not just any witness, either. Sometimes you have to be brave enough to say to the abuser "YOU. HURT. ME."  Two things happen then. You make yourself admit that you've been hurt. Accept that it is ok that you've been hurt. And that its not your fault that you've been hurt. And you give that hurt back. You put it back were it came from.  A wound doesn't need reciprocation, just a return to sender stamp.  I don't want to hurt you.. I don't want you to apolo-lie for hurting me . I just want you to acknowledge that you've hurt me.

 I have to be honest right now. What I said just then, about not wanting to hurt you. That's a lie...some times I really want to hurt you back. I want to make you publicly admit that you hurt me and I want to take that hurt and shove it down your throat. Because I'm tired of it choking me to death.

But that's not what adults do is it?  Adults take it on the chin, pack it away in boxes, and carry it until we can forget about it or God forbid, give it to someone else.

  I'm doing my best not to carry it anymore. I can't...i am not brave enough to go to each person and say "you've hurt me"... but I can leave it here... right here in my own little corner of the internet ... I can shout it out.


  And I hope you stumble upon it and you find your hurt right here. I hope it jumps on you like a rabid Capuchin monkey and gnaws at your heart. Rubs itself right into your skin and settles there like the sting a million fire ants. I hope you choke on it. And that it swells up and waters your eyes and you struggle for breath until you truly acknowledge it.
But I'm not going to carry it anymore. I'm going to do my best daily not to come here and check on it like an orphaned kid. I'm not going to keep dialing its number and then hanging up when it answers. I'm not going to drunk text it and then pretend not to remember the next day.

I'm just going to leave it here.And pray for you until I don't need to pray any more.

 If you've read this far... this is my wound and you have been my witness. Thank you.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Return of the Mack


That's about right... I am returning to the race of the rat. The daily grind. The land of the no longer un-employed.  As of tomorrow morning (1/28/2013) I will official punch someone else's clock. Not only am I now a bald, beautiful diva. I am a gainfully employed one!

I have had exactly seven days to shift myself from full time author/house wife, back into the mentality of "career wife" aka "chic that has to get up and go to work to make ends meet like the majority of the population".
First to clarify, this is a joyous occasion. I've been out of work for nearly a year. Now don't get me wrong, there are certain scenarios where not working is extremely appealing to me. If I had children at home to care for ( no I am not talking about babysitting, I mean full fledged mini mes). Or if the economy would allow for us to survive on just one full time income plus what I make as an author ( and trust me, we all know how slowly I write so we can also safely say...that ain't happen).
Other wise, I'm a worker. I've worked in some capacity all my life.
My first job was as my grandmother's personal assistant. She called me her in Miss Anne go do this, go do that, go over there for this, go over yonder for that.
I got paid in starlight peppermints, snickers bars, and days worth chewing tobacco. I also had my own company car ( a shiny dr pepper go cart that my uncle one from mcdonald's).
My primary job was quick grocery runs and running meals/messages to my uncles as the worked on the farm.

But seriously I've worked my entire adult life. I worked through college. I left undergraduate to come home and work. And typically speaking I've never not left one job unless I had another lined up.  Since the summer of 1999 ( 15 years) I've probably only NOT worked ( including sick time and vacation time and this last stint ) for 14 months.  Some times I worked more than one job, often times seven days a week all combined.

So this last ten months has been very interesting to me. Now lets me clear, I wasn't completely out of work. I did a lot of freelance stuff for some publishers and authors. I baby sat and I did some catering. What I didn't do was get up and punch a clock. It was nice to stay in my pj's all day ( i have an extensive collection of pj's that mostly consists of pilfered t shirts and baggy gym shorts and colorful knee high socks). Only having to get dressed when I wanted to. I didn't spend my annual ten dollars on make up, didn't have to tame the fro into socially acceptable coils, curls or coifs.

Didn't have to wake up and the plumbers crack of the high moon ( cuz seriously, I usually would be up  before the donut makers).

Didn't have to answer to anyone. Worked at my own pace for the most part on any projects I had.
Was free to watch cartoons and eat cereal all day.
 But honestly that was only fun for like a month, then i was kinda bored. I like working. I like knowing that I contribute significantly to the financial well being of my house hold. Conversly, I hate owing people money and for a while times were very very hard and I know owe several beautiful people a significant chunk of change.( which i've set up a budget to begin paying back cuz I refuse to be indebt all of 2013).

Anyway thats all a very long intro into the actual reason I decided to blog.
The ish you don't realize you do when you work a day job( or several DAY jobs). For instance shopping. I shop weekly right now, its one of the best ways to take advantage of sales and particularly fresh produce. In the last few months I have very rarely done the sort of "bulk" shopping that I remember us doing before.  This weekend (ending this morning) was the first time in nearly a year. Now you might consider that I could still shop weekly as my new job is Monday through Friday. I say yeah, probably, but it really is more frugal for money and time to purchase certain things in bulk the supplement weekly for fresh and seasonal items.
Plus, who the heck wants to spend a significant portion of their weekend in lines at stores, or in traffic after having worked 40 plus hours a week.

Cleaning... sigh, I hate house cleaning. I really do. I need to get rich so I can hire a maid ( even though I am one of those people that cleans before the maid shows up...yeah there is a story about that).
But having the luxury of being at home meant that I could mostly clean whenever I wanted to.
With exception of the kitchen I could freely let ish just sit. AND I found that even though I hate cleaning, because I was here all day, I tended to get it done and it was no big deal. I am already stressing about when will I find time to vacuum all the carpets and what day is probably going to be best to scrub the toilets and showers now. Will I have to dedicate my weekends to laundry like in the days of yor?

And back to that shopping thing. Meal prep.  As a stay at home wife I can't say I make the hubs breakfast every morning. Heck, I don't even make me breakfast every morning, but I did the majority of the time and dinner every night.  Dinner can get to be kind of a production. Because I was home all day I had time to decide what we were having and prep it. Now not only do I need to think about that in advance, I've also got to coordinate our schedules to figure out who is going to be home first to start dinner. ( Definitely going to need to replace my croc pot now). It looks like we are about to return to those days were I spent the first weekend of every month making and freezing homemade casseroles and oven dishes( you name it I can probably make it..king ranch chicken, chicken spaghetti, dorito , casserole, baked zetti, Shepherd pie, pot pies, lasanga, chicken mexicana, enchiladas) Looks like we might be heading to sam's club to purchase that deep freezer a little earlier than we thought.

and thats just the tip of the ice berg. I'm starting a new business venture with a couple of great friends thats going to need time and attention. Of course I still have many books to write, edit and sell. Oh and we are definitely still TTC.  Yup married and striving for kiddos. And holy poop face we gotta teach our dogs to be outside most of the day ( are you kidding me these mutts are giving me the side eye already. they don't do "outside all day" thats not even in their vocabulary).

Yup, this transition period wasn't long enough... I gonna need a serious shot of coffee each morning and a host of prayers for this first week.

But I am excited, and ready for it.

Friday, January 4, 2013

Snowfall in West Texas....

 I've been putting off blogging because, well I just couldn't put my finger on anything that I wanted to say. I mean, I've been reflecting all year. What was I going to blog about? Reflecting on reflecting? I sat down several times as the year wound down, staring at the blank page and blinking cursor and wondered what words of introspective wisdom could I share. I had nothing. I'd rather be watching netflix and listening to the police scanner. So I put it aside. I did make one promise to a couple of people though.    I swore that my first blog of the new year would be positive. Let's hope I can keep that promise.

  As the end of the year counted down I was in a strange head space. Anxiously optimistic, I guess is the best way to describe it. As is the way of nature, the winter months are both a wonderful time of celebration and mourning. It is a time of refreshing energy and drugging solemness. We celebrate a renewed closeness in our relationships and mourn the passing of times gone by. It is a time of beginnings and endings. Life and death.

When the winter solstice is upon us the earth is cold and barren, it has truly settled into a deep slumber, its fruitful trees, fields and rivers resting, recuperating  from the long year. Winter, December rather is the REM stage of of sleep for the least here in Texas, that is how I imagine it. Its the time when the earth dreams of all that it was and all that it could be.

Life, for me, follows that same cycle. December for me IS WINTER and winter is "into the gloaming".  That mystical, wondrous space of neither life nor death. Beginning nor end. Just a glorious, fantastic, exciting, scary time of simply existing. I am all at once depressed and excited. Happy, yet forlorn.  Hopeful, resentful, peaceful, nervous, resigned and determined.

I've spent the month reflecting on not just my recent year, but the years long escaped. Some memories are so clear the brilliance of them steals my breath and pierces my heart and others have me squinting into the banked flames of the fire place, struggling in my mere thirty two years to recall specific names, dates, actions.  I long for childhood, no not exactly the same childhood nor a better childhood, but those exciting and fresh, untainted by reality fantasies of the childhood of my memories. The parts that were happy and light. I wish to go back there and see, smell, feel old familiar faces.  And I yearn for the future, no not exactly the future that is mine but the future of my childhood imaginings. The flying cars and fantastic colors. Loved ones that in reality can't be there, children that are miniature replicas of me and He but in varying skin tones befitting a world that is free of those pesky ISMs.

In January I am always in a place were the sadness of winter has begun to fade. I've  girded myself with the comforts of family and friends, food, I mention food and wine and great company. And while I long and yearn  I've come through the gloaming. I am more alive, than dead. Not that I was ever dead. Maybe I should say I am more awake. The dream like state is fading and I am ready to add more memories and adventures. By now I am nearing one full month of being thirty two years old and my determination to be even better at thirty two than I was at thirty one is riding high. I don't make new years resolutions because in my mind that's just a challenge to see how  quickly I can break it. But still I am resolved. Things un accomplished, will be refocused on. Goals will be re-prioritized,  relationships pruned, trimmed and sheered until my life as closely resembles that garden of paradise I dreamt of in child hood as humanly possible.

I still have my anniversary to celebrate mid month so the Tree stays up... a little wilted but just as glorious as when we drug it in and wrangled it into its place of honor. Each branch holds the lingering scent of the hidden cinnamon pine cones and dips under the weight of the ribbons, bows and ornaments heaped upon it. Memories, lingering, but ready to be packed away. And deep on a secret bough, nestled close to the trunk is a tiny slip of paper that I hid on Christmas morning.  The prayer a familiar one....1 Samuel 1:11

 11 And she made a vow, saying, “Lord Almighty, if you will only look on your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head.”

My prayer only varies slightly.. I care not for son or daughter but a child. And this year the prayer is actually more praise because in the wee hours of Christmas morning our wish seemed to have been granted.

Our joy was tentative though. We've lived this scenario many times innumerable. So we've been a little slower in jumping into grand plans and adventures in this time of sleepy regeneration. In this cold  desolate time of winter. As each day ticked by I spoke softly to friends here or there. Answering questions about my obvious absence, trying to carry on with cautious but ever building joy. Even when things began to indicate that this time too would not yet be our time: my faith was not wavered, I can't lie, but despite my best efforts  a grin stretched from ear to ear each passing day and I began to day dream of all things tiny and too cute for words.

I used to say I didn't know what was worse in the process, but I've decided  that for me it lies in these times. In the slow decline, when you fear breathing least it jostle something loose.

NOW I know you're sitting there going "Dammit Drea you said positive, and this is positively morbid! WTF how did we get here?"

Ah, dear reader, I did say positive, I didn't promise you light and airy... light and airy is what you get on my facebook page. But bare with me friends...this does end ... and I am fairly certain that it ends positively hopeful and thus I shall have kept my promise.

How can that be, you might wonder. Well, because as I said before, winter isn't just a time of death. It is a time of renewal. Regeneration. Mystery. Magic. The Gloaming.  It is a time where one is challenged to reinvent themselves to survive. To restore their faith and resume their direction or redirection.  So tonight as I stood in the halo of the porch light, watching the biggest, fattest freshest snowflakes fall from the sky I cried.
I've mourned all that I can for now. I've wailed for this life that was not yet meant to be, the direction that is now redirected from its sudden redirection. I cried because in that moment the sky was  an ugly, dingy, dirty thing and winter was dark and horrific and cold and unkind.

I shrugged into his comforting embrace and wept. And then wept harder for the sting of  his hot tears on my neck, before I let him bundle me indoors, back to the sofa and its comforting cocoon of blankets, pillows and two sad eyed puppy dogs. I cried as I snuggled into their warmth and felt them nuzzle close to my stomach...each letting out a confused whine before creeping, and gently wiggling their way onto and next to me and He, as if to complete our circle of comfort and sadness  And I soaked up all the love and energy surrounding me. Soaked it up and basked in it.

 And  then I looked out at the heather and charcoal grey sky. Streaked with the ghostly plumbs of smoke from my neighbors chimneys and the purpley pink  snow clouds drifting slowly by. I watched the snowflakes dance delicately to earth. And I thought...but I love winter. I love the crisp cold air that chills me. I love the ritual of lazy days in front of the fire place. I love the extra chocolaty hot chocolate with marshmallows . I love catching snowflakes on my tongue. I love the cleansing of a harsh freeze. How it kills of all the germs and demons from the past year and then melts into crystal clear water that brings abundant green life. I am invigorated by the winter. Its sting reminds me that I am yet alive. If I weren't I wouldn't feel it. And by being alive I still have a chance...for anything. For everything. Possibilities abound.

And there is your positive. Well at least there is my positive. In all death there is life. From the moment that one over achieving lil' sperm wins the triathlon/ pie eating contest, we begin to not only live, but to rush head long into death.  But death isn't the end. It is the fertilization of new beginnings. There is some truth to that saying "pushing up daisies".

 I am no way over it. Please, don't mistake my rambling to be some great new "I've healed myself" new age mumbo jumbo. And I wouldn't exactly say I am at peace with it. But I know I'll get there. Along the way I'll probably backslide, back-flip  about face, trip and fall down. I'll probably wallow in it for a while. Skip the shower, take too many showers, fall asleep and nearly drown in a bubble bath...intentionally almost drown trying to hold my breath under the water in the bubble bath ( don't act like I am the only one who has ever done that, man you want to fill a live, fuck up and snort some mister bubble water in your nose and then come up gasping for air...that shit burns).

I'm just saying for right now, at 3:48 in the I reflect on all the emails and text messages I've received not only in the last few hours, but over the last few years of this journey...I am ok. And judging by the sounds of the snores...the boys are ok.

He held me close and rocked me before kissing me on the head and going to bed. And He said, "you know we are going to get through this. Write about it, say whatever you need to say and then when you're ready we'll start again."  And I can smile looking out at the snow thats already melting away. The scent of His cologne is lingering on my shirt and I'm hungry and I have to pee and I've sat on my foot for too long as I been lost in my rambling here.  I'm going to get through this. We're going to get through this. 2013 is going to be an amazing year. And its all because of the snowfall in West Texas.