Peace

All she could hear was the distorted garble of the water splashing against her ears. The darkness kept the visual distractions at bay and she was able to slip down into a quiet space away from the banging outside her door. The space was empty, void of all feelings and emotions. Here she could at once quiet the patronizing thoughts that commented on her every move. Here she could at once just be. It wasn’t about finding happiness – she just wanted quiet - a place without the thoughts of her mother, her friends, or herself. In this place, the water was a distance sound like something heard in a memory. The banging on the door either had ceased or had slipped away with her thoughts. This place was a place of peace, a place where feelings, troubles, and drama were not wanted. She continued to lay there in solitude not feeling the surrounding water begin to turn cold and not hearing the pleading conversation on the other side of the door. She slipped into a conscience sleep.

She felt a phantom hand shake her awake. She immediately noticed the cold water and shivered. The banging was louder than before, more voices. He must’ve called the cops. She slipped out the tub, grabbing a towel to shield her from the cold. Her hands were now clean – free from any evidence. The door cracked as she dried the water from her legs. John’s face was red and streaked with pain. He had always been there for her even though he was Malcolm’s best friend. She didn’t mean to hurt him but unintentionally she had.

They allowe d her to dress. She put on her warmest sweater. She could still feel the cold water on her body. They walked her down the stairs and through the living room where it had happened. How did John know? Two people were snapping pictures and collecting things in little plastic bags. She saw the phone plunk into one. Bloody fingerprints. That’s how he knew. In his dying breathe he still found a way to annoy her. To spoil things. It would be definitely be his last and with that thought, she could finally relax. Finally find true peace.

                                                                  ;            

 

Communication: Listening is an art and it's an art to listen

The punishment in my house was not a belt or timeout. The punishment was a lecture. My father would corner me and my brother (we were always the ones getting in trouble) in the den and before beginning would take a deep breath.  We knew from that breath and from the stance that followed that we better settle in for a long talking-to. The lecture use to start with me and my brother trying to explain our side of the story, and my father would quickly silence us and tell us to listen. We would then still try to interrupt our dad (I mean we knew what was about to happen – an hour of talking about what we did wrong) and he would say, “Listen. You can’t listen if you are thinking about what you’re going to say next.” So with a covert eye roll I would clear my head and listen to the lecture spill from my dad’s mouth.

My dad had a point. In order to truly listen, you have to stop thinking. If you are thinking about what you want to say you are having a conversation with yourself instead of dedicating your concentration to the speaker. One morning on the way to work I heard on the radio one of the DJ’s sign-out, “Listening is an art and it’s an art to listen” which made me think about what my father said. It made me think about communication altogether. Communication is very important to me and I think that it is essential in having and maintaining a strong relationship whether it’s with a lover, family, friends or coworkers.

My recent realization came that morning in the car – communication is not only voicing your feelings, concerns, and opinions but also listening effectively. Listening will allow you to hear everything that is being said. It will go beyond the words and actually include body language and the tone of how the words are being said. I believe that if I start to listen effectively, I will be able to cut down on many misunderstandings. 

Next time I open my ears to listen, I will be doing it with my eyes and mind as well. I wonder what difference it will make in my communication with others?

 

Full speed ahead

When I get an idea – I run with it with Usain Bolt speeds. If I don’t act fast enough the interest for the idea dies and I move on to the next popping thing. My current project (well I actually have several) is the old house that my family once occupied when I was in high school. The house needed needs a lot of work done in order for it to be livable (to my standards). I wanted new carpet, paint and a closet installed in one of the bedrooms. Overall about $5,000 worth of work once I got everything that I wanted. Luckily, my mother is splitting the bill with me and so the work begins.

This weekend I planned to work on moving the rest of my belongings in and getting the house in tip top shape. Despite the fact that a musty smell occupied the room downstairs where most of my stuff was stored (I placed all my stuff down there after I got laid off and moved out my apartment), I felt good. I later found out the stuff was mold and that it was all over my things. Not everything but a lot of things. I had commented to my mother about cleaning it up and getting rid of the mold. She said it was at the top of her list.

Since then, I have been taking measures to make sure that all my things are clean. I’ve only unpacked the kitchen and I made sure that all the dishes were washed before finding their final resting home. It didn’t hit me until I started to unpack my bedding that my situation could be worst then I thought. My pillows were covered in some kind of brown stains. I asked my dad about it and he said it’s probably mold. I quickly washed them hoping to fix the problem but I have no idea if it made a difference. They’ll be going in the trash later today. I spent all last night and this morning looking at pictures of mold trying to understand my situation. The problem has existed for more than a year and for all I know the house might be on its last leg. And I keep wondering, “Have I wasted my money?”

My frustrations at my mom, dad and myself are uncontainable. I halfway considered leaving work due to lack of concentration. But I truck on. I feel that God is giving me a big tablespoon of medicine set to cure my inner Speedy Gonzalez. I hear him screaming to me “SIT DOWN”. So, Lord, I’m sitting.  My focus now is to figure out the extent of the nasty mold problem and to focus on my classes – the modules for next week are already up. There is no use in me rushing through this process. When you rush, you are bound to make mistakes and wasting money is not one of my things. I hope the problem is not beyond (expensive) repair.  But the lesson for patience has been learned and for now on, I will learn to cool my heels before I get too burnt.

 

Inexplicable

Inexplicable: incapable of being explained, interpreted, or accounted for

Inexplicable, a word introduced into my regular vocabulary in college. It was used to describe me when other words wouldn’t fit. I’m sure they might have meant it as a joke but the word actually fits. I find a hard time trying to figure out myself. Why I do the things I do? What’s my motivation behind them? I’ve asked many questions and still have come few answers.

I’m a nice girl that wants to be mean. I’m a mean girl that tries to be nice. I can be girly and prissy but still can’t understand my own sex. I love makeup and video games. I love action movies and movies where Kleenex is definitely needed.

I’m not constant but love constancy. I have phases that start with me ferociously diving into the new thing and then within weeks or months I’m bored with it and on to the next. I’m a true Capricorn – loyal, dependable and reliable and I hate to disappoint. I expect others to be the same but I get disappointed frequently. I’m cynical only to keep myself from being hurt and disappointed. There’s a feeling that comes over me when I should fold a “good” hand in poker or I should just stay in for the night – usually I would have lost a lot of money chasing a losing hand or would have gotten upset about how the night turned out if I wouldn’t listen (I call it my female intuition). I love too hard and too fast and it’s hard for me to let go – of anything.  My sympathy for others can be so strong that it turns into empathy even though I haven’t experienced it myself. I can easily transport myself into others’ shoes and it’s a habit of mines which usually ends with me in tears. Yet it hard for me to forgive when I’ve been wrong and I try to tuck away those feelings to remain civil with that person until they are dug up later (only to be buried again).

This is just a little of what I’ve discovered about myself. With every new relationship and every new experience I continue to find the answer to the inexplicable even though many questions remain unanswered. I would love to believe there is an explanation for everything but I know that some things are just because . . . 

 

Stuck in traffic

I have yet to master my new camera but I am interested in photography so I working on it.

The value of a true friend

I vividly remember the car rides home from school where I would recount the good and bad of my day to my mother. It would usually consist of the latest gossip from the lunch table or who got in trouble in class. Back then I would hang onto every word that the “popular” girls would say. I say popular with quotes because my school consists of a long hallway which only held 30 students per class. To be popular in my school wasn’t really a choice because everyone knew everyone.  It was more so who was the prettiest and the most liked. Those were the people that were popular and I guess it’s probably like that in every school but I still feel like my school was a little different.

So back to the car ride . . .  My mother would listen to every word I said and then respond right before taking a small breath, “Those girls aren’t really your friends.” What?!?! Come on Mom. You really don’t know what you’re talking about. She continued to tell me how the girls in my class were not good for me and that I shouldn’t hang onto their every word. The conversation continued to go back and forth. I trying to fight for the strength of my friendship with these girls and my mom trying to convince me that she knows better. The argument would usually end with my mom responding as she always does in these situations, ”One day you’ll see and you’ll thank me.” I would then quietly tuck this conversations a way so that in 10 or 15 years I could tell her she was wrong and I was right “ah ha”. But of course my mother was right and they really weren’t my real friends. Through life I realized that finding a real friend is a treasure and something that should not be given to every Tom Dick and Harry.

Not until college did I find the person that I would deem as my real friend. Someone who did not seek out my friendship for selfish motivations but for genuine companionship. We have been friends for five years our closeness has only grown during this time. She is the only person that I can’t lie to or hide who I truly am. We finish each other sentences before they are even spoken and I would say she is my friend soul mate. I believe our friendship is truly for a lifetime.

Since I have this wonderful friend in my life that I can’t seem to do without (I went almost mad when she went away for training for 2 weeks – the episode reached its peak with a quick cry in the bathroom at work) what do I do with the friends that I  can live without? I currently am fixed between friends that lives are surrounded with constant drama and to tell the truth I fear for their wellbeing. These friends I treasure because they know where I came from and know who I am. But now that I know what kind of friend I want and what and need in my life, am I suppose to dismiss them just because they don’t make the cut. Have I outgrown them now that I truly understand what a true friend is? Will I no longer buy my favorite cheap wine once I’ve been to Napa Valley? Are German chocolates really better than the chocolate in a Milky Way? I’m not sure. I don’t know. And German chocolate is a little overrated in my opinion – very good but I’m happy with my American chocolate. It would hurt to distance myself from them but for now I will surround myself with my new lesson in a true friend.  

 

Since the beginning of time

Maybe it was all the books my mother read to me. Maybe it was the days we would spend curled up with a book disappearing into a new world, a new place, a new story. Maybe it was just what would naturally occur because it is in my blood somewhere. But since the beginning of time, I have been in love with words - reading them, writing them. Reading is so much more easier than creating your own work but I'm learning to enjoy the stress of writing. Stress. Where do I begin with that? The beginning? The beginning is what I can always finish while the end is yet to be created. Countless stories that spring into my mind and bounce into paper and then slide into the tall pile of "to-do".

Writing is a continuous struggle. A pain. A joy. It's a muscle that needs to constantly be exercise in order to be strong. Here is where I plan to do it. No more excuses. And what will I write about? Everything.