Thursday, December 31, 2009

My line of demarcation

Frantically, I realize that 2009 is leaving me. I don't know why this makes me feel pressed to run over the memories of this decade in my mind, seeing as how once 2010 rolls around, I'll still be sitting here in the same position, looking exactly the same, biting my lip in thought.

I read a list of things that happened in this decade to a family (via Flux Capacitor), so I suppose that's what has got me feeling so frantic. So I will attempt to pull together a list of things that were significant to my life in this decade. This list will definitely not be exhaustive, but just a taste of the things I can think of while I'm sitting here, still biting my lip.

I turned 13, 16, 18, and 21: I didn't realize it until this moment that I hit all the big ages (of youth, that is) during this past decade. I entered my adolescence in 2000, I had my Sweet Sixteen complete with all the trimmings (food, a DJ, stilettos, and a tiara) in '03, became a legal adult in 2005, and got to press my lips to a glass of alcohol in 2008.

I graduated from high school and from college: I graduated from the IB Program in 2005, and graduated cum laude from UF a mere three years later in 2008.

I was in Freshman orientation when the news broke: On September 11, 2001, I was in my Freshman orientation, and subsequently, was on the way back to class when someone said that an airplane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. Though I had no concept of how big the Towers were, nor where they were located in New York, I didn't believe it until I saw it on television. And even then, I didn't believe it. But I wept. I wept for the people whose loved ones they would never see again; for those people whose lives had been irrevocably altered. In essence, I wept for myself and all of us, because our lives have never been the same. I was 14 years old.

I was betrayed: without going into details that are not appropriate for this medium, I was betrayed time and time again. By people who really mattered to me. And these things hurt me. They changed me. They left fingerprints on the glass that is my heart. These fingerprints fade with time, but there is no Windex that will wipe them away completely. They became a part of me. And now that hurt is a part of my story. Not an excuse, not something I dwell on from day to day, but something inside of me.

I fell in love for the first time: and I've discussed it more than enough times here and even here. My feelings on this subject have long been clouded by many, many hours of deep thought on the first love that was never final. (when you don't understand why something even happened at all, it lends the feeling that it's not final, because when things are final, you no longer question them. Finality should indicate lack of doubt, hence, no need for questions.) It was the infamous situation that jaded me against other loves, but when it happened, regardless of his feelings, or the external variables that doomed us from the start, it was real. It was scary, it was dope, it was exhilarating, he was the first man I loved. And though I've tired of the hopeless domination of his memory inside my heart and have since adjusted for new loves, I still think about him. And part of me still wishes we'd realized we were just ordinary people, and that we should have taken it slow. Maybe I just wish that I realized that. I think he kind of got it.

I cut my hair off: I went natural... meaning the curly kinky goodness that grows from my head has been untouched by any chemicals since November 2008... though I did flat iron part of my hair into a bang a month or so ago...

I moved out of my childhood home: it seems like cheating, since this came at the very end of the decade, but it happened. It doesn't seem as interesting, since it just happened.

Loss and gain: We lost family members (my father's aunt and my great-grandmother, among others), but we also gained little ones :) I have many young cousins whom are intelligent and beautiful! Not to mention sweet :) They are continuing the family lines in great ways!

I am published: I had a poem (Inexplicable) published in an anthology, and I also had a short piece published in the Orlando Sentinel.

I am a freelance writer: I began my freelancing journey in November of last year (well, as I'm writing, it's now 2010, so, November of 2008) with Examiner.com, and though the road hasn't always been easy (when writing about relationships, your articles tend to be 125% influenced by what's going on in your life, and my love/dating life has been up and down the past year and some change), it's a road I have thoroughly enjoyed traveling.

Now that another decade is upon me, I try to remember the past decade more distinctly, but it's difficult. I'm sure there are things I have forgotten that occurred, and some things just don't need much explanation. I mean, ten years is a really long time to try and recount.

But above all, I lived this decade. I lived. I was a part of the many historical things that happened, because I was alive. And I'm still living. And I hope I'm writing to you a decade from now, and two decades from then, and three decades from then. And I pray you're still there to read what I have to say.

Welcome to another decade. I'm glad to be here with you.

Alone on New Year's Eve

As I walked into my silent townhouse, expecting to hear the sounds of revelers, I was awash with the desire for some noise, upon their unexpected absence.

I fought the urge to turn on the television. It's New Year's Eve, and it only seems right to turn on the tv to watch Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve, something my sister and I always did. Only, things aren't what they used to be. Dick Clark isn't the forever-young looking host he once was; he will soon be replaced completely by Ryan Seacrest. My sister and I are not spending this holiday together, though this isn't the first time that has happened, but merely a close second. I don't live at home anymore, and I'm not in a relationship with *him* this New Year's, and sometimes I forget that because of the similarity of 2008 us and 2009 us.

Instead, I came upstairs, and fought the urge to shower. Instead, I went into auto-pilot, something I frequently do. I think it's God, quite frankly, the Hand who controls us when we ourselves run out of ideas. I took off my shoes, took off my pants, left on my knit dress, and turned on my light from IKEA, a light I find charming because it warms up, starting dim and morphing into a pretty solid stream of light. Just right for leaning back on pillows and writing my thoughts before the clock tells me another year, and hopefully not the final year, of my life is beginning.

I've opened my window so I can feel the natural, muggy air and hear the sounds of the night... it reminds me of my last year in college, when I always left my windows open at night. I always heard the crickets chirping in the bushes, such a comforting night sound. I hear it now, along with the sounds of cars driving by, as well as the far-away (and sometimes very close) sound of booming fireworks and drizzling sparkles falling through the night's air.

The quiet is comforting, and I'm glad I decided to come home instead of participating in tonight's various activities. There weren't many things I wanted to do. I wouldn't have minded drinking with him, or our unique combination of conversation and exploration, in fact, that's what I really wanted, but as I forget, he's not my significant other anymore; though he is a lover and a dear friend, there is no binding us together for holidays anymore. Isn't that crazy how a simple title change can be the difference between knowing you'll be hanging with that someone on a special day, and hoping you'll be hanging with that someone on a special day? I'm not too fond of this, but it comes with the territory. Occupational hazard of unconventional circumstances.

That all being said, it just didn't feel right drinking and being out in the crowd tonight. I wanted to come home and spend my time lost in word, in thought, in prayer, in meditation of many things... my life, things I want to make happen in this new year, etc.

I don't want to make New Year's Resolutions, because I hate them and rarely does anyone remember them after the first of January. So instead, I write for you, as well as myself. You've really taken a significant position in my life--I write for you more than I write in my personal journal, which I have neglected since September. The lapses in between entries are growing.

I owed you, as well as myself, this entry. My previous entry was lackluster, at best, though I did forget I was living inside a decade. I was distracted when writing, and the news was on, and I stumbled my way through wanting to say something, but not having the right approach. Sometimes, writing can be like that, like trying to screw something in with a hammer. I hope this is better for you. It's better for me.

I could ask you what you wanted to change in this new year, or what you loved about this year, but I won't do that. It's all so cliche.

Instead, I wonder where your line of demarcation is. The line that securely separates the person you used to be, from the person you are now.

It's hard for me to find mine. 2008 & 2009 for me have merged into one big giant period of growth, one so expansive that I forget the two years were individual. They seem to be one.

I think I've completed this line of thought. It's curious the way that works within me; I'll be going full steam ahead, my fingers flying faster than any thought, and then it will suddenly slow down or stop. I'll start thinking about something else, and then I'll know that this line of thought is over.

I won't even tell you "Happy New Year," because it seems, again, so cliche. Instead, I'll say, welcome to another year. What are you going to do to make this year better than your last?

Love, sincerely,
Malorie

you, always

i do think that i am
hallucinating
the scent of you
that couldn't have possibly held on to my skin
hours past when i
begrudgingly
lifted myself from my safe place
next to your warm
safe
body
to trudge
into the wilderness
of life outside
of the reality
we've created for
each other
it is practically
impossible
that a scent could
last beyond
the shower we shared
the soap i dropped
the many squirts of lotion
the numerous surfaces i've touched
since taking my hand away
from the power of your back--

i swear, i still smell you on my hands
like i've just wiped the sweat from your brow
in the haze
of our normality.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

I forgot this was a decade

I've admittedly been away from my computer for a while now. I've been busy--moving out of my parents house, Christmas at home, Christmas in Georgia, etc. Not to mention, sometimes I just don't have anything to say. Scratch that--it's not that I have nothing to say, it's that I just can't find the words sometimes.

So, I completely forgot the fact that we were living in the first decade of the New Millennium. Completely. Maybe it's because as soon as the decade started, no one really knew how to title it... what do we call it? The 00s? Maybe it's because I covered the expanse of my adolescence during this decade (13-22). I don't know, but the 00s just didn't fit as neatly as the 90s, or the 80s, etc.

It wasn't until everyone kept making such a big deal about this New Year's that I realized we were getting ready to enter a new decade. (Where does the time go?)

I've changed so much... and I know everyone says this, and I know it's been ten years, so I should be different, but seriously.... when you think about it... it's amazing.

At the beginning of this decade, I was in the 7th grade at Memorial Middle School... and now, I'm a college graduate from the University of Florida... if you would have told me then of the things that lie ahead of me, I wouldn't have believed you if you talked me until you were purple in the face.

Of the things that happened in my adolescence that seemed to make little sense; of the pain and hurt I experienced, of all those things that I couldn't grasp then, ten years later, they make so much sense. As Minister Sharon said last night to my youth group: God is grooming you for the things he has planned for your life.

Well, God must be grooming me for something spectacular... and we'll leave it at that. I do believe he's grooming me for something bigger than I can think of.

Think about the past ten years of your life. What do you see?

Saturday, December 12, 2009

memory

I remember when

LOL

actually meant

I was laughing

in the space

of quiet air

just like how

you

once meant

me

Garage Sale/"I call it a lesson learned..."

I feel like those radio station personalities... on Saturdays, they are always live from some dealership, trying to get people to come out and see them...

I'm Miss Malorie and I'm spending my Saturday live from my front yard with plenty of deals... come stop by and say hi!

Okay, so maybe not so much radio personality, but I am actually having a garage sale today. It's my first one, so I'm a little anxious. Besides it being my first garage sale, it's in my nature to get anxious about things that I am a part of. I take everything personally and get very bent out of shape very easily about things that I am heading up. Not necessarily the best personality trait, but it's certainly mine.

It causes me to think about how the little things in life can easily show you who your true "friends" (I like the term "people," it encompasses everyone--friends, lovers, family, etc.) are. I am a person who practices fierce loyalty... I know I'm the type of person who will go above and beyond the call of duty to show that loyalty for my people that I love with all my heart, and I feel like these types of things show you who will do the same for you.

For instance, a friend of mine made it her duty to drive over to my house with her family to check out my sale, and a couple of my neighbors, whom I haven't actually shared that many conversations with stopped by when they saw me sitting outside. Not to mention the efforts of my mother, who got off from work and went right to helping me set up, find more items to sell, etc.

That all being said, I'm well aware of the fact that I can be very quietly though quickly judgmental of people whom I feel should have loyalty toward me... but still, it's funny when you find out who will stand up for you, and who won't. Whether it's a performance you want people to come to, a garage sale, or a different kind of event you've planned. If you give life a chance, it will show you who your people really are.

And funniest of all is when the people who are really there for you are less familiar to you than your good good "friends."

Thanks to all my real, loyal, true people. You all know who you are. And you should know that I love you and will ALWAYS be there for you. Always.

Okay, going back to my garage sale now. And yes, I know I have loyal people who cannot come to the garage sale today. No, it doesn't make you any less loyal. I just had to say that because I know my words have had a habit of being taken and twisted and misunderstood... but maybe I won't have that problem anymore since I'm eradicating non-friends and lunatics from my life. Hmmm.... one can hope, right?

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

just so you'll know

Today, I feel the urge to issue a disclaimer.

Only because I know that there are individuals in my life who read this blog, whether or not they think I'm aware of this fact, and I'm sure that it can sometimes be awkward... well, it's probably awkward all the time.

As any woman can probably attest to, we women do keep secrets inside our hearts; little snippets of conversations that we never forget, things we've never said aloud because we couldn't find the place for them in our mundane endeavors.

A lot of times, I'm sure these special individuals who read find themselves subject to staring in a mirror via my blog: meaning, they end up finding themselves represented in my writing, without seeking to be represented in my writing.

I don't think I'll understand how this could make those special people feel. I've never been subject to being one's public & artistic muse (unless I was and was never aware of it), so I've never been on that side of the fence. I wonder what it feels like sometimes.

Regardless, the special people know who they are (or who he is), and for the aforementioned party, I ask you for understanding. My writing is akin to my breathing, practically--it's something that comes natural, and something that I can't really help but to do.

Understand that it's not my attempt to put you on display for the world to see when maybe you don't want that, but that you're a muse to me, and that cannot be helped. I think you should wear it as a compliment.

"...that I was, fucking high..."/"I am colorblind"

"And, for a space in time, I forgot we were Black.

His Black, really a yellow, honey brown, tinged with the residue of all the places he is--Italy, Panama, Jamaica, the world.

My Black, really a deep, red brown, flecked with honey gold yellow, wrapped up in the rolling hills of Georgia, the lowlands of Carolina, and the desire for the azure of the Caribbean Sea; the places far beyond what I've seen.

In that indiscernible moment, the drug riding up and down my spine and diminishing seconds to slow motion oozes, I close my eyes and forget what color we are. We become beyond color, just the need in our bodies to be close.

We become beyond our names, beyond our history, beyond our future because in that moment it is just us pressed against each other as if our very sanity depends on how close we can be without merging into the same being.

We float mid-air, transcending our bodies, leaving the bounds of your room, even; skating on air, our spirits touch nakedly, unashamed, needing, feeling, existing in the other.

Your kisses fall like tiny explosions underneath my skin, erupting outward, stealing my breath until I pant with need want desire want desire need need need of you
to touch
the hottest
quietest place inside of me, your place, that I give to you.

And when you do, I close my eyes to you, as if I am blind, and I become all other senses:
I taste the tiny bumps on your tongue as I smell the soft fragrance of your skin and the strong scent of us; I hear your struggling to retain control as I feel you loving me the only way you know how

with you, my body is lithe, thin teenager glory and simultaneous adult curve all woman and with me, your body is manchild beauty, familiar comfort
and together, we are more than Black, for a space in time."

(an unnamed piece from my writing notebook, Tuesday, 12.08.09, 9:45 am)

Thursday, December 3, 2009

growing pains

I would like to make my blog spiffier.

Like this.

Or maybe like this.

Or maybe even like this.

I wonder how I can go about this. I'm not exactly 125% computer savvy, but I'm also not incapable of using computer functions. I'd say I'm somewhere in between.

But I want to change my blog, just like I want to change aspects of my life. I'd like everything, including my blog, to completely represent me.

Hmmmm...

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

little things...

Have you ever noticed how it's the little things that always get you; that always bother you to no end?

Intellects try and try to put them to the side, to pretend that they are unaffected by such things, but they are. People, big and small, red and yellow are bothered by the small things.

It's evident that the big things bother us... but oh, for the small things...

like how your lover can respond to everyone else's comments on Facebook except yours

or how an old associate won't keep you as a friend on Facebook (FB has become quite the big deal, don't deny it)

or how someone cuts you off in traffic and they speed up to make the light, whereas you get stuck waiting

or like how you text your friend and they don't respond

or how you wake up hoping you've still got plenty of time to sleep but it's two minutes before your alarm is to go off

or how you think you've got one piece of cake left and you come home and someone ate it already...

These things are so minuscule... but do they bother you as much as they bother me? It's really the little things that have the ability to get under my skin and stay stuck there.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

thanksgivingpoemthatsreallyathought/she still got it

on thanksgiving i sit in front of the tv while mom cooks because i don't like cooking and it doesn't really suit one as fly as me while i think about all the people that have come and gone in my life and i find that i'm not even sad this thanksgiving because life has taught me that people come and people go and as long as they leave a lesson it's all good even though i just texted my lover used to be boyfriend and told him i was thankful for him and all he could say was happy thanksgiving it's all good because i've stopped expecting so much from people because that's the reason why i'm always disappointed and i'm really hungry right now and my sister is watching this dog show making comments on every single one and wow the sun is coming out after days with no shine and i think i need to get up and eat something but first i have to finish this thought and i think my lips are peeling and that's not fun and i wonder if anyone will actually take the time to sit and read through this with no punctuation and you know it could be kind of dangerous to write about people in my life knowing that they read what i write but then again i asked them to didn't tell them to and i find myself still thinking about being underappreciated by lovers but like i told my mom last night it's all good because who's the girl who gets hit on by dudes when she goes out to do something as simple as picking up a pizza with no makeup no earrings no attempt at swag at all....

ahhhhhhhhhh,

that would certainly be

me.

this girl...

I ran across a "this girl" post at one of the blogs I follow, moments of perfect clarity, and I decided to give it a go... I really liked the way it was done, so here's mine :)





This girl:

-- is deeper than most can imagine or deal with... and she's fine with that.
--loves hard... and she knows someone one day is going to appreciate that.

-- is writing.
-- was born to be a writer. She might be many other things, but she will be a writer until the breath has left her, and beyond.

--is enraged very quickly by stupid things and stupid people.
--sometimes still worries about whether what she does is in line with what's expected... but that's fading.

--thinks tradition is great, but does not envision herself being a "I get off work and cook every single day for my husband" type of lady.
--is starting to wonder hard whether marriage is a logical construct for her.

--has learned that people are fleeting, their emotions are fickle, and they lie while smiling in your face.
--knows that true friends, true lovers, and true loves will always be there for you.

--thinks the 9-to-5 world is pretty lame.
--thinks the "real world" in its entirety is pretty lame.

--is generally misunderstood by those closest to her.
--enjoys people, but relishes solitude sometimes.

--would like to live a more minimalist lifestyle... less food, less junk, less tv, etc.
--thinks about becoming a vegetarian sometimes.

--thinks playing by the rules can be boring.
--is going to be a star in her own right.

Monday, November 23, 2009

stereotype(d)

I have no interest in
Jordans that sometimes aren't even that cute
and usually cost half of my car payment
or pit bull puppies, walked on
chains for leashes
by a boyfriend who only smokes blacks
and wears his pants so low he walks
like a cowboy
in order to keep them from falling to his ankles
because there's no belt between
the pants two sizes too big
and the wifebeater he wears
everywhere.

I don't tote a baby
that I carry around like the sack of flour
we had as a project the year
I got pregnant
and I don't love a baby daddy
who "loved" four other girls
so much
that all our babies
are the same age.

No, I don't love Plies, Gucci Mane,
or any other gimmicky, idiotic
brainwashing garbage,
though just because I may vibe to Wayne or Jay-Z
doesn't mean Frank Sinatra
or
Amel Larrieux
don't get vibed to as well
and come to mention it,
I don't speak the language
of slowed down
chopped and screwed
whatever the hell you call it
so please don't play it
expecting a response.

I don't like Baby Phat
and I don't watch BET
I hate rims
and cars painted electric orange
and Pepto pink
I loathe mermaid ponytails
and houseslippers worn in store
and no, I'm not

bougie

I just simply realize that there's a difference
between
me
and those
stereotypes
but at first glance
my
yellow brown
can lead me
to be one of
those
stereotyped.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

05-09

it's time for me to go
back
take it way way back
in time
to the time
when it was just me
my pen
and my paper
though the tears i'll leave behind
it was serious times
with me
frankie
john
and my disillusionment
with
love
life
school
people

when i lived every word to
when your lover has gone
and closed my eyes to the irony of
back to you
when the weight of my life
rode my shoulders so hard
they ached in the middle of the day
and their only relief
was that pen to paper

it's time for me to go back
to that time when
ignorant people called me anti-social
and people i depended on
left me to sink or swim,
alone
is where i should be
and it was sad
it is sad
but i always knew
that sadness
that pen
that paper
my frankie
and my john
would never
leave
me.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

free (the truth)

(is that)
I can sing as loud as I want
even if my voice cracks
or if the window is down or someone down the hall can hear me
and I can walk into a room and not turn my face
embarrassed when heads lift to stare at me
even if I'm in the club
and that man is staring at me like he's eating me
through my clothes

(truth is that)
I don't have to have six vodka crans to be
the bitch who sits with her feet crossed on top the table
and who rides to your place in the middle of the night
thong-less
and I can hold my shoulders high
even when I'm taller than the whole room
whether I'm five-ten and change (flat)
or six-one (heeled)

(the truth is that)
i'm free
because you let free
the long sleeping truth
about me
and simultaneously
did me the biggest favor
you didn't try to do.

Friday, November 13, 2009

watch your back, your haters are aiming at it

I was just listening to this song the other day... and Lauryn ain't never lied. It's like Paul Laurence Dunbar speaking of "the mask that grins and lies," though in his case, he was speaking of race relations. But people wear that mask that grins and lies all in your face, and then they turn around and stab you in the back. It's nothing new, it's just unfortunate that people can be so delusional and evil. Sign of the times? I'm not sure. Insanity abounds everywhere. Watch your back, friends...

Lauryn Hill, "Forgive Them Father"

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us
Although them again we will never, never, never trust
Dem noh know weh dem do, dig out yuh yei while dem sticking like glue,
Fling, skin, grin while dem plotting fah you,
True, Ah Who???

Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them father for they know not what they do

Beware the false motives of others
Be careful of those who pretend to be brothers
And you never suppose it's those who are closest to you, to you
They say all the right things to gain their position
Then use your kindness as their ammunition
To shoot you down in the name of ambition, they do

Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them father for they know not what they do

Why every Indian wanna be the chief?
Feed a man 'til he's full and he still want beef
Give me grief, try to tief off my piece
Why for you to increase, I must decrease?
If I treat you kindly does it mean that I'm weak?
You hear me speak and think I won't take it to the streets
I know enough cats that don't turn the other cheek
But I try to keep it civilized like Menelik
And other African czars observing stars with war scars
Get yours in this capitalistic system
So many caught or got bought you can't list them
How you gonna idolize the missing?
To survive is to stay alive in the face of opposition
Even when they comin' gunnin'
I stand position
L's known the mission since conception
Let's free the people from deception
If you looking for the answers
Then you gotta ask the questions
And when I let go, my voice echoes through the ghetto
Sick of men trying to pull strings like Geppetto
Why black people always be the ones to settle
March through these streets like Soweto

Like Cain and Abel, Caesar and Brutus, Jesus and Judas,
Backstabbers do this

Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them father for they know not what they do

It took me a little while to discover
Wolves in sheep coats who pretend to be lovers
Men who lack conscience will even lie to themselves, to themselves
A friend once said, and I found to be true
That everyday people, they lie to God too
So what makes you think, that they won't lie to you

Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them, forgive them
Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them, forgive them

Gwan like dem love while dem rip yuh to shreds,
Trample pon yuh heart and lef yuh fi dead,
Dem a yuh fren who yuh depen pon from way back when,
But if yuh gi dem yuh back den yuh mus meet yuh end,
Dem noh know wey dem do,
Dem no know, dem no know, dem no know,
Dem no know, dem no know wey dem do

Thursday, November 5, 2009

pain is pleasure

pain
is
rewarding
because i know
that although it hurts
now
when we are apart
i will
absolutely
melt
in the brilliance
of your embrace
upon union
and drown in
the
inexplicable
peace
in your
smile

Halloween in Gainesville

In the story of the life of Malorie, Halloween in Gainesville unfolds in this manner:

1. No work on Friday. This leads to great excitement, and driving to Gainesville.
2. Hair is behaving and looking fierce with no headband. This leads to further excitement.
3. Due to disgusting hangover earlier in the week, no alcohol is planned for consumption.
4. Best friend and many other friends are in Gainesville. They are all excited to see protagonist. This leads to great lengths of excitement and mushy feelings.
5. Once in Gainesville, protagonist meets other very cool friends of best friend. This makes Halloween party seem even more exciting.
6. Protagonist is tired and falls asleep on couch. Ends up sleeping on couch.
7. During middle of the night, protagonist feels swallows mass amounts of phlegm. Doesn't know where phlegm has magically come from, but continues sleep.
8. Morning. Protagonist feels like there is a rock inside skull. Congestion and lack of ability to breathe leads protagonist to Walgreens.
9. Buys sinus medicine. Thinks it is an allergy to best friend's puppy.
10. Day progresses... feeling gets worse.
11. Falls asleep on floor watching Florida Gators lacerate Georgia Bulldogs. Protagonist feels sleep will help. T minus 5 hours until Halloween party.
12. Protagonist awakens from nap. Feels worse.
13. Protagonist cannot breathe and still has headache. Decides to use steam inhaler to loosen mucus. Still T minus 5 hours until Halloween party.
14. Protagonist makes sudden movement and spills the scalding water from the inhaler on her leg. This proceeds to burn the protagonist through jeans.
15. T minus 4 hours until Halloween party: protagonist receives visit from friends. Holding ice to burnt thigh, protagonist realizes laughing is not possible due to condition of non-ability to breathe.
16. Friends leave. Protagonist decides to shower to assist with curing process before party.
17. T minus 3 hours until party: protagonist is wrapped in a blanket, now feeling feverish along with burnt thigh and headache. Protagonist decides there is no dog allergy, but contemplates whether it's swine flu, regular flu, or just plain death.
18. Protagonist decides party attendance cannot be completed.
19. Protagonist drinks tea and watches Coming to America complete in pajamas, head rag, and blanket.
20. Protagonist sleeps. Friends leave apartment to attend party.

-------------------------------------------------------
True story if you've ever heard one. I hope Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Inc. enjoyed my ten dollar donation to their party I couldn't even attend.

(by the way, I didn't have the flu in any variation, I just caught a fierce cold which is now subsiding.)

Fall in Orlando...

The title has nothing to do with anything esoterically artistic... it's just a lovely fall day in Orlando, and I'm sitting outside on my laptop, like the little writerbee I can be... occasionally, that is.

I haven't written much lately. I haven't written a "published" article in months, and I think I'm ready to cut that loose. Something about that outfit never felt completely correct to me, and I've grown tired of lamenting over/trying to figure out relationships (I can grow tired/bored very quickly). I know I've helped people (inadvertently) along my journey, but I've reached a point where I have something that currently works for me, and I no longer have the desire to figure out the perfect nuances of relationship. Every relationship is different, and instead of reading all these damn self-help books (not saying that I've been doing that... lol) and articles on how to mold the perfect relationship, people should, above all, be open to the possibility of different things and open to the fact that things will not always go as planned in life, and that's that. Focus on getting to really know the people in your life and enjoying them for who they are, be your damn self, and the people and things that don't fit--get rid of them.

That brings me to another point: Fall cleaning season. I'm here, and it's time. I've been notoriously known to have these periods of retraction and "cutting loose." The people who were "victims" of these seasons didn't understand them, and therefore, lambasted them with negativity. There's nothing wrong with a season of cleaning. Too often, people and things overstay their time in your life. Why do people hold on to these things and people? Habit? Fear? I don't know, but even when I was younger, I felt the frequent need to have these seasons of cutting loose. What that meant, which at the time, I couldn't identify, was that I had way too many negative things in my life. Negative things and people can get the boot. What's the point of holding on to something if it's not doing you any good? Let it go.

I can't believe November is here already. This month was very critical for me last year, so I remember it very vividly--Obama being elected President, me being able to vote for the first time, me beginning my freelance articles, my first Fall out of college, meeting him <3... the fact that I remember these things so vividly draws to my attention the fact that the year has really flown by, because it's already November all over again, and so many things have changed. When did the year fly by? When I blinked?

Which leads me to something I always say and think but find hard to follow. Life is too short, and time is moving way too fast to be hung up on stupidity. To be inhibited by fear. To wait on illusions that will never be whole. If you've got something to do, do it. If you've got something to say, say it. Time has proven, and is in the business of continuing to prove, that it waits for no one.

Monday, November 2, 2009

"there's something church about ya..."

Does R. Kelly think that by telling a girl in song that there's "something church/religious about [her]" that she will forget that whole pesky issue of him liking to pee on people?

I'm just saying.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

10 things that made me smile this week (10/11-10/17)

You can find last week's entry here. How quickly the week has flown by!! I didn't even realize it was Saturday.

My 10 Things:

1. The fact that two days ago I was at work, angry because it was 90-something degrees outside, and today, I'm sitting in my front yard with socks and a hoodie on, comtemplating going inside to put on some sweatpants... it feels gorgeous outside; I just get cold easily

2. The way it feels inside the safe place of his arms

3. finishing the application process for Teach for America

4. finishing 1984 and wishing that I can write something of that kind of magnitude... if only one thing like that before I'm gone

5. my girlfriends :)

6. having an argument and making up all in the same day

7. the fact that my natural hair comes in the form of little cylinders :)

8. my Mommy

9. watching my sister going to homecoming

10. Amaretto Sours!!!!

Saturday, October 10, 2009

10 things that made me smile this week (10/04-10/10)

You can find last week's entry here.

My 10 Things:
1. Taking my braids out of my head because they were braided way too tightly

2. Playing Monopoly with the kids at work... and beating the hell out of them

3. admitting to myself that the only reason I didn't/don't want to move up North (or anywhere else) is because I was/am scared

4. C.C., in his entirety

5. taking "naps" with someone I adore

6. rereading Nineteen Eighty-Four and finding it, all over again, to be magnificent

7. "For now, claim nothing but Malorie. She's worth it..." --encouragement from a friend

8. objective conversation about President Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize... via Facebook, no less

9. eating dinner with my mom and realizing we're more alike than I think we are

10. taking a nap on the couch, burrowing deep into the leather

Thursday, October 8, 2009

inspiration

His heart leapt. Scored of times she had done it; he wished it had been hundreds--thousands. Anything that hinted at corruption always filled him with a wild hope. Who knew? Perhaps the Party was rotten under the surface, its cult of strenuousness and self-denial simply a sham concealing iniquity. If he could have infected the whole lot of them with leprosy or syphilis, how gladly he would have done so! Anything to rot, to weaken, to undermine! He pulled her down so that they were kneeling face to face.
"Listen. The more men you've had, the more I love you. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"I hate purity. I hate goodness. I don't want any virtue to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones."
"Well then, I ought to suit you, dear. I'm corrupt to the bones." (104-05)


During the month that he had known her the nature of his desire for her had changed. At the beginning, there had been little true sensuality in it. Their first love-making had been simply an act of the will. But after the second time it was different. The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside of him, or into the air all around him. She had become a physical necessity, something that he not only wanted but felt that he had a right to. (115)



Talking to her, he realized how easy it was to present an appearance of orthodoxy while having no grasp whatever of what orthodoxy meant. In a way, the world-view of the Party imposed itself most successfully on people incapable of understanding it. They could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity of what was demanded of them, and were not sufficiently interested in public events to notice what was happening. By lack of understanding they remained sane. They simply swallowed everything, and what they swallowed did them no harm, because it left no residue behind, just as a grain of corn will pass undigested through the body of a bird. (129)

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

Sound familiar? Sound eloquent? Sound magnificent?

These passages are from 1984, the mind-boggling novel from George Orwell, published in 1949. In a quest to find something to read, I decided to reread this book, and found that I spent most of my time searching the dictionary for the definitions of the words he uses throughout the text. (this makes me happy, by the way.) Reading it now as an older individual has been delightful... because it is amazing, intellectually simple, and very scary, when you consider the fact that the dystopian society in the novel IS possible... I love it. Now THAT is a novel.

Wednesday

"A nap is akin to an orgasm:

only in their separate, yet consuming pleasures. They both wholly drown the individual in waves, one, deep, slow, and warm, and the other, sweet, painful, and electric hot.

I wake from a nap, groggy, the world colored in muted shades of deep brown and green grass, as I rub my eyes slowly but continuously. I stretch for a time and curl back into the fetal position: knees drawn up into my stomach, bottom curved outward, arms entangled in one another, clasped to my chest. I glance at my watch in between fragments of dreams.

My body jerks without my consent, back arched fitfully, hips pressed toward the ceiling, pelvic bones gracefully apparent. My moans are deeply uttered, guttural things that explode from my throat as the thermal waves, severe and trembling, wash over me, exhausting me. The trembles fade to shivers but the moans persist, fading slower until they are like poorly spaced hiccups. His hand, he places softly on my stomach, pulling me back into him. I curl up into the fetal position: legs pulled up toward my stomach, feet entangled in his, arms grasping his and pulled into my chest, the quick waves of sleep enveloping me as I fall deeper...

... down into the world without dreams, black, calm, unconscious."

[inspired by a deep nap]

Monday, October 5, 2009

MASH

In a need to write something, anything, while I'm sitting with my laptop in my lap, bentonite clay mask on the face, I must tell you this:

today, one of my kids asked me if I wanted to play MASH. I was like, sure! I used to love playing MASH in school.

I looked around for a sheet of paper, and was about to ask her if she had a pen or pencil...

when I noticed she took out her iPhone.

Something told me the phone would have something to do with our game.

I questioned: are we going to play MASH on your phone? You have an app for that?

(I felt like an iPhone commercial.)

Yes, she had an app for that. We played MASH on her phone.

I ended up living in Japan, as a teacher, with my three kids, and my husband (a made-up man named "Tony"... his name was obviously wrong. But, at least we lived in a mansion).

Saturday, October 3, 2009

10 things that made me smile this week (09/26-10/03)

While roaming my slightly disheveled room, I felt an urge to write about 10 things that made me smile this week. And then, I decided I should do it every week, on Saturday. And then, I imagined that maybe this would challenge other people to think about 10 positive things that made them smile. We spend so much time focusing on negative things that we must allot time to think of happy things.

And of course, like 85% (that's a safe number) of the ideas that pop into my head from space**, I decided to was compelled to share this idea with you.

The rules are: 1) your list has to be limited to ten things. 2) your list has to be comprised of positive things. No, you can not list "watching someone fall down the stairs" as one of your things that made you smile. Sorry, acerbic individuals :)

Now, on to my first list!

My 10 Things:
1. conversation and hugs under the moonlight at Lake Baldwin

2. Wednesday's sunset

3. feeling free because I admitted to myself that I wanted to move up North for the wrong reasons

4. watching my hair curl into these little ringlets after having my hair trimmed

5. this week's weather feeling like autumn instead of extended summer

6. my best friend

7. buying tickets for The Color Purple

8. my new Victoria's Secret bras

9. the thought of my personal and imminent upward mobility

10. C.C., in his entirety

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

**I was watching a Michael Jackson special last night, and they showed a clip of him talking about his music (this was back in '87), and he was talking about the creative process and how he had nothing to do with it... he said that it came from "space," and that it was the work of God, not him. As someone whose ideas frequently just pop into her head, I understand completely what he was talking about. And as a writer, theft is the sincerest form of flattery, so now when I start saying this (about space), you'll know where it came from. So, technically, that means I'm not stealing...

80/20

I am an example:

So, if you happened to see Tyler Perry's Why Did I Get Married a while back, you might have been listening when he discussed the "80/20" rule of relationships and dating. Essentially, it's a very simple theory: in relationships, you're going to get about 80% of what you need. Someone else is going to come along, flaunting that 20% that you do not have in your current relationship. When you are missing that other 20%, it looks pretty appetizing... until you leave 80 for 20, and then realize (usually too late) just how little 20% really is.

As soon as I heard this theory, I loved it... because it's true. This can probably easily explain why some people cheat, and why hormonal writers author pieces about being jealous of other people's kissy Facebook pictures... *ahem*.

When you don't have that other 20%, and then you see it, it can seem like you're missing out on a lot. Devil's confusion, as Toni Morrison would say. When you don't have the flowers, or the "baby, I miss you"s, or the Facebook recognition (which I previously discussed as falsely indicating security, but then still wanted it because it seemed so... secure), it seems like you're missing out on a lot.

But when you look at the larger picture, 20% ain't shit. I've been privy to people telling their significant other how much they miss them, or how much they "love" them, but then go off to fuck someone else (and tell them the same shit). Or, like a great old-school song once said, flowers could be his way of saying, 'we should just be friends'... they could be him on his guilt-trip, apologizing for something he did the night before, if you catch my drift**

That's not to say that there's something wrong with people who are recipients of such gifts. Or that all people who say "I miss/love you" are lying. My point is that, you can have something major in someone (like someone kind, someone who listens, someone who understands you, etc.), and you can discard that or overlook it because you're too focused on that 20% you don't have.

But, if you passed arithmetic, 80>20.

I will gladly take someone who gets me ANY DAY over a man who knows what type of flower to get me and knows all the clever things to say. I mean, both would be nice, but 80% ain't too bad.

So, I fell to the 80/20 theory... I guess I am human after all :)


**paraphrased lyrics are from the song "No Pain, No Gain" by Betty Wright

you

she tosses and turns
for my body can't sleep still
for want of you
and your smile
to deliver sunshine
into my night
and your eyes
to shine moonbeams
into my day
and your hands
to warm the frigid
frightened places
within me--
who knew
that lying next to you
could bring the hush
of early morning peace?

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

perfect hands

Out of ten, $15-manicured fingernails:

only TWO remain unchipped.

My nails have been painted all of four days.

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

I have now decided that I do too much with my hands to have perfectly manicured nails for more than a day or so.

I even broke a glass while trying to wash dishes with latex gloves on, just to protect my nails.

I believe this calls for a

SMH.

free

dark paint on my nails staying shiny sans chipping.
midnight road trip with crescent moon and cool breeze in tow.
not worrying about being shot, raped, or kidnapped.
God, god, or gods, male or female, Mother Earth or the universe.
liking boys or liking girls, whether i am a boy or a girl.
i do or i don't.
black, yellow, white, spanish speaking, single mother, divorced, married
of average intelligence or gifted
poor, rich, or in-between

my point is that
i just want to be free
and i want to take everyone with me.

if you don't care, you're hurting more than just yourself

That could have been me.

Despite the fact that it would have had to have been six years ago, I don't live in Chicago, and I'm not a male. Oh yeah, and I never walked home from school.

But despite all those factors, it could have easily been me.

Black honor student with plenty of promise--gone. Way before his time.

Beat to death by some fucking hooligans with a plank, no shame, no control, no care for anything.

Derrion Albert was 16 years old... and by all accounts, a sweet young man. An honor student. And he was killed because he was trying to walk home from school. The most typical daytime activity in the universe.

I don't think you understand how serious it is that a group of CHILDREN... a group of young kids, barely old enough to make their own decisions, beat this fellow young man to death. Like Michael Baisden said on the radio this afternoon, there are people who are not loving these children enough... who are not paying these children enough attention. The fact that these kids are running wild, joining gangs, taking peoples' LIVES?! It's too much.

It's because no one cares anymore. Even the fucking Mayor of Chicago couldn't delay what he was doing to focus on this problem... he decided that trying to get the Olympics was more important... but he did issue a statement. The family that lost this bright young person don't give a fuck about a damn statement from a man who probably doesn't even give a fuck in the first place.

It's so disturbing to me, I'm indignant writing this. I didn't know this young man, I don't have family in Chicago, and I'm miles removed from the situation, but I care. Someone has to care. Someone. I know I'm not alone, but I do care. I may have started working with children by a mere "coincidence," but I know I was put in my position to keep moving further and further up the ranks... not so I can show off my position or how high I've escalated, but because someone needs to care. Someone needs to be in place who cares.

The media thinks they are doing their part by showing the clip of Derrion being beat to death--that doesn't do shit, but make my stomach turn. The clip was helpful to authorities, but I don't want to see it repeated on every news show... so the announcers can ruminate on "how much a tragedy" this is, and then go on to talking about fucking Jon & Kate Plus 8. (or, excuse me, Kate Plus 8.)

These kids--especially the hooligans who obviously know they have control of the streets, because, excuse me, where were the adults? Any adults? Anyone?--need to know that they are valuable. They need to know that they are beautiful. They need to know that they are intelligent, and that they have promise, and that someone in this world is here for them. They need to know their worth. They need to know that no one defines them, that no one else's words can create their self-esteem. They need their fucking parents, who are probably still concerned with the same childish things they were when they created the kids (you know, things like the new Plies album or the biggest rims on the biggest car with the most televisions in it) to step up. They need their parents to read with them. They need their parents to care about where they are and what they are doing. They need their parents to be fucking parents, instead of just organ donors. They need to know that even if their parents had an "accident" in making them, that they are here on Earth by no accident. And someone needs to tell them these things, because I know, I know that these gangs, and these grown men, and these streets are lying to them.

These streets are telling them that making fast money makes them valuable. That being able to sling dope makes them smart. These grown fucking men are telling these girls that letting him beat with no condom makes them women. That getting pregnant by him is the glory. These gangs are telling these boys that they will be surrogate fathers for them. These gangs are telling them that they will forever have a home... as long as they shoot to kill.

We are losing the kids. And I say we because even though I'm not that much older than the kids, I am taking responsibility. From here until I draw my last breath, I will always be out to help any child that I can. I just want them to know that they are gifted beyond measure. Beautiful beyond compare. Bright beyond luster. That their worth is invaluable.

I just want them to know that they are loved.

And if that can save at least one child, then it's worth everything.

R.I.P. Derrion Albert, and many others we've lost for no reason other than apathy.

Monday, September 28, 2009

I... don't?

it's not that i hate marriage. or relationships.

i don't, really.

it's just that i don't know. i've been observing and thinking a lot lately, and i just don't know.

much like wanting to be a doctor, the fanfare of it all confused me. the thought that marriage=security, a loving, respectful husband, and a big-ass, sparkly diamond has faded.

what remains is that marriage = work.

and if you wonder why i'm focusing so heavy on marriage, no, it's not because i'm engaged, or because i'm about to be engaged, it's because, like a good friend of mine says, "in a relationship" is temporary. so instead of focusing on the ephemeral, i'm focusing on what's supposed to be in all of our futures; what is supposed to be relatively permanent.

i don't know. i pray that it's like Ossie Davis & Ruby Dee, Cliff & Claire Huxtable, but what if it's not? what if it's more like Joan Crawford & Spencer Tracy, or Frank Sinatra & Ava Gardner?

what happens when and if you go from late, candlelit nights of touching and dreaming, to being spouses who come home and don't speak to each other?

what happens when love isn't enough? when people claim that they love their spouse but they fuck other people just because (they can)? or when people used to be in love but they "fall out of love" and now they're divorced and their kids are wondering what the fuck just happened?

i'm starting to wonder... is that paper and that idea of union (because sometimes, it's truly an idea and not a reality) really worth it? or, is it just a leftover idea from times gone past, you know, like people who still believe interracial dating is wrong?

until I figure it out [if i do], this is where I am

Life Revelation.

I’m not getting legally married. I’m going to have a I’ve-found-the-man-with-whom-I-will-mutually-stress-the-fuck-out-till-death-do-us-part Reception. Will you come?

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

I wish I could say it's mine, but it's not. Someone took my same type of thoughts and wrote them perfectly. Check out her blog, The Brisk Convergence. I promise, you won't be disappointed.

Friday, September 25, 2009

no title

I'm gonna say it...

well, actually, she's gonna say it,
because when i start talking about emotions
people like to pretend they don't feel,
i like to pretend that i'm someone else,
that she who is quite frankly,
jealous.

j e a l o u s
of the love
i swear everysinglesolitaryotherpersonalive
will have
except for me
i mean, her.

maybe i'm just being punished
because i'm
too impatient too ready too easy to fall
too ready to be joined with another soul
too desirous of the love that is not shamed,
the love you can put on your facebook page,
the love you can tell everyone about
because it ain't goin' nowhere.

i guess i, i mean she,
i guess she just wants it too bad for her own good.
but i can't blame her
for wanting to love a man
who isn't afraid
ashamed
uninterested
in loving her back
and maybe posing for a picture every now and then...
and watching the sunrise every other day...
and holding hands in public...

love behind closed doors isn't enough
sex isn't enough
a text as sporadic as an afterthought
just simply isn't enough--
is it too much
(really, is it too much?)
to want?

maybe if she tells the universe
that she's longing
pining
jealous,
maybe the universe will send its reward:
a man not shamed by articulate words in long letters,
the man not shamed of being the subject, topic, and focus
of erratic poetry,
a man,
the man,
a man
for her me.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

security

I tell myself,

I don't want to be in a relationship. Relationships and I don't get along. I get too complacent in a relationship. I lose focus on everything else in life when in a relationship. I stop hanging out with my friends and family when in a relationship.

When the truth is,

I do want to be in a relationship. I do want to know there's going to be someone there when I get off work. I do want to be able to call someone up without worrying about whether they're going to think I'm bothering them. I do want to spend quality time with someone.

But the problem is,

why do I want to be in a relationship?

Because relationship to me has always signaled some type of security. As a little girl, I viewed marriage and boyfriend/girlfriend types as secure.

I want the relationship because it represents [the illusion of] security in an unstable existence. But I'm having trouble with this because I have grown up to realize that "relationship" doesn't mean shit except what it says on the dictionary page.
re⋅la⋅tion⋅ship 
 /rɪˈleɪʃənˌʃɪp/
[ri-ley-shuhn-ship]
–noun
1. a connection, association, or involvement.
2. connection between persons by blood or marriage.
3. an emotional or other connection between people: the relationship between teachers and students.
4. a sexual involvement; affair.
[Do you see the word "secure" anywhere in there?]

So I'm dissatisfied, because I want something that doesn't even exist, and for the wrong reasons at that.

Because I've always believed that all-encompassing, I'm so in love with you, we-have-our-relationship-status-on-Facebook relationship means we'll always be together and our times will always be sunny.

Jazmine Sullivan did say, just 'cuz I love you, and you love me, that doesn't mean, that we're meant to be... I've grown up and I've learned that being in a relationship with someone doesn't mean you're going to get married and have kids and die happy and old [together]. Getting married doesn't mean you'll stay married. Loving someone doesn't mean they will love you back. Having your relationship status on Facebook doesn't make it any more authentic (though the fact that it seems that way to me tells me I still have a ways to go in changing my thinking).

It's my experience and my beliefs fighting against long-imparted ideals.

I wish I could say I know that I'm doing the right thing. But quite frankly, I don't really know. So until I know, I'll settle with the dissatisfaction caused from the friction of ideas rubbing against ideas.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

how can people know you, if you don't know you? part III/trois

Once upon a time, I wrote a blog entry.

It was called how can other people know you, if you don't know you?

In this entry, I focused on how often people misinform other people about their personality... they tell people about the individual they think they are, because they have yet to realize that there's another individual existing... that being, their real selves. Too often, when the condensed, Campbell's soup version of us does not match the reality of us, people get frustrated, and things occur due to that frustration. (Such as broken friendships, ended romantic engagements, etc.)

This past year, I've been learning myself... the reality of me that everyone else gets to see, not the version of me that I've been telling everyone about. You, of course, are along for the ride.
-------------------------------------------------------

More things I thought about myself that are truly erroneous:
1. I'm a model driver: Don't get me wrong--I am a great driver. Not conventionally, of course. (Not many things in my life are conventional.) I am a careful driver--I always look before backing out, at least two or three times... I scan the driving landscape constantly. I pull over when ambulances and fire trucks need to get by... and I don't run from the police. Promise.

But, I am an arrogant, lead-foot of a driver. I tailgate, I stare at people in their mirrors and mouth filthy things to them when they are not driving up to my standard, and I speed around people when they are not going fast enough for me. I do not drive the speed limit. Well, I do sometimes... but that's usually when I've scanned the landscape and found that there's a police officer or state trooper in the midst. Although I'm a speeder and tailgater, I grow clearly aggravated when other people return this behavior to me. This usually results in me using more filthy language. It doesn't really matter who you are--friend, family, coworker, or boss: if you're not driving to Malorie's standard, you'll know... when I bypass you and kick up dust in your path.

2. I'm really going to scrapbook all my mementos: This is a lie. Repeat: this is a lie.

All the papers and newspaper clippings I've saved from high school to college are now reposing in my closet. I have about two or three scrapbooks, and I have not completed one of them. Every time I sit down and try to do so, the desire leaves me. There's something about sitting still, looking at all the memories that just... I don't know how to describe it. The memories are marvelous and plentiful, but I just don't enjoy sitting there looking at all of them and trying to fit them into neat little categories. I am not a fan of this.

3. I HATED college: It makes me relatively upset to think about, because for the longest time, this has been my story to everyone. It was the reason I came home so much you'd think I went to UCF, it was the reason I graduated in three years, blah blah f-ing blah. It was the reason, but not the truth.

The truth of the matter, to my late discovery, is that I was living inside of an unfortunate condition known as dissatisfaction. I was dissatisfied with everything around me: with my friends, with my relationship status (or lack thereof), with my place of living, with college itself. And the reason I suffered such dissatisfaction, was because I was so internally dissatisfied. My extreme lack of confidence and love for myself transferred over to just about every area of my life.

At times, my surroundings tried to break the hold of dissatisfaction, and at times, my surroundings succeeded. I still remember that day I watched the April sun set over Payne's Prairie like it was a blazing July evening. I remember the way the trees used to shimmy in the wind while I walked to class, and I still remember the way the old brick buildings tried to charm a bit of love out of my heart. Despite all the good times I had, and despite the fact that something bigger inside of me realized the happiness that was trying to fight its way out of my heart (picture The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and his heart trying to grow within its confines), I refused to fully acknowledge this happiness. Even when it was pretty obvious.

So, I left school in such a hurry that for everything I did do, there were at least two things I didn't do. Probably because I was so busy focusing on my boredom with Gainesville and college that I couldn't have found room in my head to think of these things. Jumping through the fountain near Ustler/Murphree Hall. Taking pictures at Emerson in front of Albert and Alberta. Didn't go to the Umoja ceremony for graduates, and didn't get a Kente cloth stole for my robe. Didn't go to any graduation barbeques. Didn't go downtown and drink to celebrate. Didn't drink at all. (I was way too above this behavior, or so I led myself to believe.) I packed up as quickly as I could and left faster than the wind. And now, something you'll rarely hear me admit: I kinda wished I would have seen through my dissatisfaction and enjoyed every second I spent there. Because those are seconds I can now, only relive in memories of what could have been, had I given it a chance.

4. I am shy: No, I'm not. And don't let me tell you I am.

For some reason, I can only remember myself as a child through one lens: one of a quiet, shy child. Why I have chosen to remember myself this way, I'm not sure. But it's a pretty one-dimensional view. In school, I was quiet and respectful, of course. But I always had plenty of friends, was always involved in discussions, and always laughing, a trait that has followed me to the present day.

I am not shy, I just don't need to always have the attention on me. But when I want it on me, oh, I want it. If you've gone out with me or drank with me, you can bear witness to this phenomenon. At almost 5'11" it's pretty useless for me to be shy or to try and hide... because I'm always going to be seen. And I carry myself in a way that asks to be seen. I wear heels. I walk with my head high, confidence on blast. Working with kids has brought out an ability to be less embarrassed about being embarrassed. I've been speaking in front of crowds since I was a kid (school plays, essay contests, projects), and I've made a career out of working with people... which involves speaking to them. I know I'm not shy. I do have shame, but I'm not shy. So the next time you hear me say this, tell me to be quiet.
----------------------------------------------------------------

Until I realize some more things... I'll be thinking...

Friday, September 11, 2009

Tuesday, September 11, 2001

I was fourteen.

I was at Cypress Creek.

I was in Freshman orientation.

We had a substitute that day.

It was a bright day in New York that morning.

No clouds in the sky.

Until the buildings crashed to the ground.

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

I will never forget that day. I remember someone saying that we needed to turn on the tv because a plane had just crashed into the Twin Towers. I remember feeling like someone was playing a joke because that was not possible. Then we turned on the tv and saw that it was no joke.

We got no work done that day, and all I remember is sitting around, feeling anxious and scared as person after person after person got called out of school over the intercom.

It's been eight years since that day. Eight years that have quite frankly flown by for me, but I'm sure those years haven't flown by for the people who suffered loss that day. Every day they have to live with the present absence of those people who are no longer available for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

It was, for me, one of the first opportunities to realize just how fragile and quick life can be.

May we never forget these tragedies, but may we also learn in our commemoration, how to assure that such atrocities will never be committed again.

*09/11/01*

Thursday, September 10, 2009

shudder

i run my fingers across her moist lips
and she shudders.
i know she's been feeling neglected lately,
but there's little solace i can offer her.
the way she tries
to swallow my fingers
seems to suggest that i better find you,
and quick

[she has very particular taste
and as it would be
she wants a mouthful of you.]

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

nine, nine, with a dash of nine

Since today is 09.09.09, I figured I would write something.




("something.")

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

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

"just don't look down..."

Entry number 100, and it has to be rushed, because I still have to take a shower and wash my hair before heading into work shift number 2 for the day.

Regardless, thought is: I'm afraid.

Of what, you might ask? Well shit, of just about everything. Roaches, spiders, the dark, heartbreak, falling... you name it, I'm probably scared of it.

Okay, so maybe it's not that serious, but I've been paying more and more attention to this issue lately, until it hit me today, when I went exercising. (The epiphany hit me, not the issue.)

I was walking in the park, iPod in, jamming and feeling fly, when I decided to take a step off the path and walk on the grass. Every time I exercise, I always walk on the sidewalk, going the same way. Why had I never walked in the grass before?

(because I was scared of stepping in dog excrement and messing up my shoes.)

While walking across the street (not on the sidewalk) and then walking through the ditch (not on the sidewalk), I realized I was looking down and tried my damnedest to avoid doing this. I ALWAYS look down. When I'm walking, when I'm running, when I'm on the elliptical in the gym, when I'm walking into the ocean... I always look down. It's not an oh I'm so coy and shy thing, but I always need to have some level of control. I can't just walk out into the ocean because I don't want to risk running into a sea creature or stepping on a rock (even though I stay so close to shore that sea animals probably can't even survive where I am). I have to be able to see where I'm going. When people ask me to guess at something, I tell them "I don't guess," because I dislike not knowing what I'm talking about.

Afraid of the dark--can't handle not being able to see where I'm going, or what's in the room with me.

When I'm walking, I look downward--always have to be able to trace my steps; have to know where I'm going; can't risk stepping in dog poop; refuse to trip and fall.

It all goes back to being scared. Of needing to have some control over things. There's nothing wrong with wanting to exhibit some control over life--it has taken me from wallowing and being all "woe is me, I guess fate will control everything" to being the master of my own destiny. That's a good thing. But there's definitely a problem with control and fear being intertwined.

I want to be able to run into the ocean without needing to look downward or fearing I'm going to run into the mouth of a great white. I want to skydive without having to ask someone if anyone has died or thrown up during the process. I want to fall in love and be able to exist in love without being afraid of the consequences.

I want to get on a boat without being scared of drowning or, again, throwing up.

I want to climb a mountain without being scared of falling off.

I want to live the most exciting life...
...without needing to look down.

Monday, September 7, 2009

"...and the point of it all, is I love you..."

I could be sleeping right now.
I could be washing my hair right now.
I could be watching the waves roll in to shore, drink in hand,
with no thought in the world but self-satisfaction,
but here I sit,
with thoughts of you
that are ultimately your fault.
I could be sleeping right now, next to a man.
Who isn't you.
I could be practicing my stroke
(because, I do have one)
or granting the "world famous."
I could be holding hands in the dim light of evening,
standing on my tip-toes in gleeful infatuation,
but instead I sit
glaring
at the hands
who've ignored writing
except for the other day,
when they had to write about you.
I could be studying.
Eating.
Driving.
Being.
I couldshould be with you.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

"life sucks"

sometimes, life electrifies you--
you feel it pulsating in the tips of your fingers
when someone surprises you
and you feel something rise in you,
the hope you thought had died
(but comes back faster than it left,
in the form of a hot flash,
and shaky hands).

sometimes, life inundates you
in beauty and
candles, burning slowly
on a rainy night in the city,
or you see it in the fluffy white clouds
that drift by
and lull you back to childhood memories
as the sun blazes in the sky,
bright as his eyes.

life won't be kind to you always,
but just you wait, young girl,
for life will always have something to show you.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Another August, full of loss... R.I.P. Senator Kennedy

to whom much is given, much is required...

I'm sitting in my living room, listening to the many words being spoken about the passed Ted Kennedy, and that was one of the quotes that stuck in my ear. To whom much is given, much is required.

The Lord blessed Ted Kennedy with such an amazing family, and with such compassion and passion for his causes...

The Lord has blessed me... He's given me much...

...and much is required of me.

The world is waiting on me.

I'm coming.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Happy birthday to THAT guy...

I should have never told you that you would be part of my birthday series... I should have just written about you and let you figure it out... but, I probably would have said too much, as is my fashion... and then you would have known too much about yourself.

So, I'll keep it at this:

I'll never forget the days of texting while in the same building, staring at each other, of "confession of the day"s, of the way my thigh was black and blue after you sunk your teeth in it (or how damn good it felt), of how you had the tendency to make me feel so special and cared about, of how you made my 21st birthday, of how fucking awesome your kisses were, of how I was telling people about your smile before we even shared an in-depth conversation, of the way I was terrified when I saw that smoke come out of your drink, of how much I thought you looked like a cute little kid before you kissed me for the first time

or

how we almost got arrested. (lol.)

There's so much I could say... you know how talented I am with the words... but like you, I can be deceptive when I want to be.

Happy birthday, counselor. I'm happy that your sexy ass is my friend... and I can't wait to see what you have to offer the world. I'm proud of you. And I'll get you a strawberry soda anytime... lol.

There's nothing better I could have been doing with my evenings as a fresh UF grad, then sitting in your living room, my sweatpant-clad leg over your sweatpant-clad leg, reading poetry to the most erudite brotha to ever be underage.

Well, you're not underage anymore :) My little baby's growing up... lol.

Happy birthday, kid ;)

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

7:11 am

it only hurts when i breathe.
like, seriously.
breath emitted
--fffppphh.... ow, shit--
you hurt me with every God given, life dependent
breath.
this isn't entirely new,
or, maybe it is.
because i've never lost a man
who lived inside
the very walls connected to my heart.
you lived in me,
and now i wake,
womb empty
holding my hands in my lap,
feeling your absence like a child lost
or aborted:
ever-present,
always guilty,
always missing
you
with every strained breath;
every sigh against the sunrise,
muted Monet pastels viewed through saltwater tears,
the intake and slow exhale
in a darkened theatre chair;
the silhouette of you lives in me,
constricting my breath with every rise of my chest,
reminding me of the folly of our
falling
away...

Monday, August 24, 2009

starting anew

Things I learned today:

1. The way I looked when I was in eighth grade is vastly different from the way most kids look today in eighth grade. A few students today at my new job thought I was a student. Granted, I was sitting down, and they obviously mistook my older face for that of a youthful, beautiful young'n, but once I stood up and they still thought I was in the eighth grade, it hit me: although I may think I have waaay too much ass and chest to look like I'm thirteen, most thirteen year olds today have more ass and chest than I do. Blame it on the additives in the food. I don't get it.

2. Kids today are spoiled. Okay, so I was spoiled also (meaning, I didn't have to do much work outside of school, and my parents pretty much gave me what I wanted, though I wasn't a spoiled brat by any means--and yes, there's a difference), but these kids have iPods, cell phones, all type of foolishness... and they are 11! Okay, so some are older, but still! Damn, cell phones were just coming out when I was in middle school...

3. Women should not have to tuck in their shirts. So, my new supervisor of my supervisor came to visit and told us all to tuck in our shirts... me, being used to this accepted sexism, stood there... until I realized that the supervisor meant me as well. I have not tucked in my shirt since I was a child. Especially in my time working with the city... I used to do the half tuck when I wore gym shorts (tucking in the front part of the shirt, pulling it out a little, and leaving the back to hang over my gym shorts), but as time went on, and we switched to khakis (which accentuated my ass just a little too much), I left the shirts straight down. This way, they covered my front and back. As a lady with a lil' back, I don't enjoy tucking my shirt in so my ass is on full display. But I'll just act like the boys I work with--tuck it in only when the supervisor comes to visit.

4. I'm losing my patience with children. Don't get me wrong--I still love kids to death, but I am losing that all-encompassing adoration I used to have for them when I first started. There's nothing wrong with this--I don't think you can work with children and simply adore them to the point that you let them get away with bloody murder... you have to be disciplined with them also. So, no, I'm not to the point where I can't work with them anymore (I'll always be able to work with kids), it's just that I'm getting older.

Okay... that's all.

Day 1 down, days 179 to go...

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Happy Birthday to the extraordinary homie/lover/friend

You might have accused me of thinking too much into the future in other instances, but I never thought about your birthday, and whether we'd be celebrating it together. I never thought about whether we'd be celebrating my birthday together. I guess that was just too far into the future for a girl who has the bad habit of losing men she loves (this is take two).

But, damn, didn't we celebrate some great times together?

There was the night we met, when you practically materialized in front of me... remember how I put my number in your phone, and I told you not to waste any time contacting me and not to play any games? You texted me before I even got home to tell me to have "sweet dreams."

Or, what about the first time I spent the night with you? Remember going out to my friend's birthday party first? I got so drunk, and so obnoxious (totally not my style)... I'm surprised you still took me home with you... but I chalked it up to showing me how much you cared about me. Remember the sweet hours we spent in bed the next day, not doing anything but touching and talking? It stormed all day, but all I knew was I felt so comfortable in your arms.

There was my friend's wedding... we sat at the table and talked all day long and drank that watered down complimentary punch outside... it was so fun to drive to the ocean with you, and you kept me so calm when I thought we were late and that we had missed the entire wedding.

Gosh... what about all the times we went out? I'm sure you'll never forget me climbing the stairs in Roxy's, counting in Spanish and French... or our in-depth conversation about how Beyonce was my lesbian lover... and how the female bartender agreed with me and we both told you she was so hot. There was Blue Martini and Antigua, where we always put on a show... remember when the lady came up to me and said, you all are so cute together, I hope you last... that was probably the beginning of the end.

We had holidays as well... you had to go home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but you sent me sweet messages, and then when you came back, you held me closely in your arms and pressed my lips against yours. We had Valentine's Day together, my first ever with someone... you left me a scavenger hunt with cute notes, and it was the first time I'd ever got high... we had New Year's, when I wanted you to practice your stroke at the stroke of midnight... (once a writer, always a writer.) We even had Memorial Day...

Immediately, I loved you. You were a friend, a lover, and a boyfriend. We spoke of things I never told anyone; you saw me cry, you saw me when I was goofy, you dealt with me when I was drunk, when I was high, when I was wanting all your free time. We could be silly together, clowning on each other while eating Little Caesar's pizza, drinking while watching the Playoffs, chilling while watching the Super Bowl. We could be sensuous together... we took every shower together; we took naps together, curled up in each other; we spoke late into the night, in the darkness, pressed closely to one another.
_______________________________________

It's a sunny Saturday here in my world, to be filled with mundane tasks... I wonder what the weather's like where you are... I wonder if you're celebrating with your new girl, or with your family, or whether you're celebrating at all.

(I hope you have a good time. Birthdays don't come around very often, you know.)

h
a
p
p
y

b
i
r
t
h
d
a
y
,

l
o
v
e.

Te extraño mucho, cariño…

Sunday, August 16, 2009

a birthday wish on the shooting star of my adolescence

It was four years ago, today. August 16, 2005.

I can't remember whether I was already moved in, or whether I was moving in, but my mind leads me to believe that my parents and I were moving my stuff in that day. I was on the campus of the University of Florida, waiting on the slow dormitory elevator with God knows how many other kids, getting dropped off for "the best four years of [my] life."

It's all quite vivid in recall: I remember being on my period, I remember sweating in the Gainesville heat, I remember walking into room 507 for the first time, and seeing my suitemate who was so short and petite, I was afraid I might break her by merely standing too closely to her.

I remember my parents taking me to the store, and I remember buying that T.G. Lee "Blue Drink" (delicious, despite the slight aftertaste), and I remember my parents helping me with everything. I remember my mother making my bed for me and helping me arrange everything in the room. I remember my dad's short temper as he tried to find a parking space in the overly-crowded parking lot.

I remember the way I felt when they pulled away from the curb and left me standing outside the place that would come to represent a type of hell for me: as my sister, father, and mother left, I felt a type of anxiety of excitement. I was officially living by myself, kind of... I had my own address, my own mailbox key... my car was back in Orlando, but that didn't matter as much. I was officially a college student, I was officially legal, and at all of eighteen years old, I was on my own... and in love with a man. A real, six-feet-four-inch tall, gorgeous, man.

It's no coincidence that the day I moved to Gainesville and his birthday were the same day. Four years later, I look back on the day I moved to school with the type of excitement memories can bring about sometimes. There's nothing like your Freshman year of school, and it saddens me that the fantasy before the reality was so damn delicious it was hard to cope after the summer turned to winter. It took almost two years for me to regain the type of anxious excitement I had for Gainesville when I first arrived. That could easily have been all my fault, but I didn't know what to do, or how to do it. So I did my best.

Sometimes, I'm sure people wonder why I still write about things that have passed. The memory of moving to school, I'm sure is understandable, but why would I write about the man I loved, who now doesn't know the woman I've become, and doesn't care to know that woman? I'm sure it could make me seem fixated on the past, or stuck in a dream never to come to fruition.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time someone would accuse me of being so "stuck" in the past. And it won't be the last time someone will accuse me of something so foolish. Not to mention, it was then and will always be another time when someone is wrong.

Four years ago, I loved someone for the first time with my whole entire childish heart. I thought of ways to make him smile, I worried about whether I sounded okay and intelligent during our instant messages, I went to sleep smiling and thinking of him; some nights, I watched the sun rise while listening to his voice in my ear. He left me sweet messages when I had to go to sleep before he was finished with his work, and I created voicemail greetings just for him. For a very short amount of time, I loved someone with my whole heart, while at the same time, they seemed to do the same. I will never, no matter how hard I've tried, or how old I grow, never forget that feeling. It has not been duplicated. It won't be. I don't want it to be.

Four years later, the idealism is gone, as are the people we were then, as I've said many times. I don't go to sleep praying for him to walk through my door anymore, but I still pray for him and I think about him often. I wonder what kind of relationship we could have had, if it had an opportunity to grow. I wonder what type of man he is now, whether he still wears his hair cut short, whether he's a father now, whether he's happy. Gone are the days when I long to know his every move, even when it hurts. Now I simply salute him from afar, wondering if, maybe I'll see him next lifetime...

Four years later, I've loved someone else, and I've liked plenty others, but never will I be able to recapture the innocence of how I tripped and fell into a man so wholly, so unabashedly. For some reason, this year, I've thought of him often, and today, I remember the day when I became an official college student, but more than anything, I remember the fact that it's simply his birthday.

So, why still think of someone like so, you may wonder? Why even remember that it's someone's birthday when they probably won't speak to you again? Why?

Because there's a point in life when you learn the difference between selfishly wanting someone and selflessly loving someone. It's the the difference between adolescence and adulthood; the difference between loyalty and trend; the difference between fireworks and a shooting star.

This is something I didn't know then, and something that I embrace now.

Happy birthday.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

i'll send you on your way, but you stay with me

i have four hundred, fifty-seven messages in my inbox

(that's facebook and gmail combined... plus the two from myspace)

and my voicemailbox is full

and it's very possible that my beta fish

has died from not being fed for three days.

i just can't move

from your bed

and

the way i wake up

and you're waiting for me

asking

how did you sleep?

my mother thinks i'm on a typical excursion

and my best friend thinks i've been abducted

but i just can't

leave

the warmth of your embrace

the sexiness of

your dorkiness

and how you always ran over that curb

at Little Caesars,

at least,

not until i wake up.

NYPD

it's stronger than a craving
for that perfectly cooked
chicken and sticky rice
in a chinese kitchen in a manhattan winter;
deeper than
curiosity killed the cat, you know
but a necessity
of a desire
to feel your teeth
pinching my skin between
and to see again
the passion we tripped on
a july night
with a backpack at my feet
and black gin between us.

"best" is a tiny word with huge connotations

I say you the fuckin best,
(that's what you wanted to hear)
you the fuckin best,
(so i played you wrong and let you believe it)
you the fuckin best,
(you can only be the best when you can get it anytime, anyplace)
you the fuckin best,
(and you might have made it there... if you weren't so insecure)
the best I ever had,
(and so damn... young)
the best I ever had,
(so call me a liar, a cheater, heartbreaker, bitch, whatever)
the best I ever had,
(the fact still remains that you ain't no Drake type)
the best I ever had...
(and you're not C either...)

Unless otherwise indicated, all words here are property of Miss Malorie

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