Get Off My Line

"Don't Take It Personal" by Monica

... it's just one of them days / that a girl goes through / when i'm angry inside / don't wanna take it out on you / it's just one of them days / don't take it personal / i just wanna be all alone...

I have a confession.  I created a twitter account...and I love it.  I am not sure what twitter's appeal is, even though I am using it, but I am a little addicted.

I even configured my phone to be able to text twitter an update that will show up online without actually having to go online using my phone, although I can if I want to.  Dope, huh?

Twitter is interesting to me because I like reading the random thoughts people have.  What one says on twitter is without parameter so people "tweet" random existential questions, observations, opinions, wishes, etc.  It is quite interesting.

And then there is the feature of tweeting "@" particular users or commenting on #trending topics within the twitter community.

I follow CNN and NPRnews on twitter which is great.  I get little snipbits of information about particular issues or occurrences with links to a more explanatory site.

Tweeting is very much of a guilty pleasure for me.  I have been complaining of late how technology is taking over my life and making me anxious.  Between texting, email, and phone calls coming through my phone, I feel tied down to something.  Every time I move, my phone must be accounted for so as not to miss anyone trying to reach me.  I am a slave to the thing.

I have to be 100% available 100% of the time.  If you don't answer a person in a timely manner, you must be dying.

But really, I just don't want to be that available.  When the phone goes off, I almost always check it of course, as some situations are more pressing than others.  When a friend is having less than satisfactory day, we converse and I provide encouragement.

However, of late, when the phone rings, I am immediately anxious.  I have so many people and things I participate in my life that seem to be constantly reaching out to me, constantly needing me.

And I feel so bad.  I feel obligated to answer and respond all the time, so as not to offend anyone or neglect anyone or skip out on my responsibilities.

I almost want to get another phone number and only give it to the people that I don't mind texting, emailing, talking to...the people who don't make me nervous...so that I can turn the other phone off and enjoy silence and peace of mind.

I can't wait to visit Sierra Leone and leave all electronics behind and live in the quiet we have disrupted with technology. 

...a simple kind of life...

Ball & Chain

"Since I Seen't You" by Anthony Hamilton

On the blog Shahedah and I share ownership of, I wrote an entry about a horrible dream I had of the most important and remarkable woman in the world to me. The dream felt like One Cup of Fear in an otherwise slow day.

Since that dream, I have felt a spirit that wants to at least entertain the idea of forgiveness. The dream made my anger and frustration seem so pointless. If I try to hate her, what will it turn into when she dies?

So resentment and anger loosed their grips on my heart and I wrote an email to my mother explaining that our bickering is quite stupid and it means nothing in the grand scheme. I told her I don't know why she isn't talking to me and I don't know what I did, but I don't care. I just wanted her to know that I wasn't mad. I also pointed out some faultiness in some things she thinks I am doing (like drugs). There's no way in hell I'm doing drugs. But I guess she can't see me on campus and how much I have to do and how little time I have for drugs if I were doing them. And remember my GPA last semester. Don't nobody on the pipe pull those kinds of grades.

I digress. I just wanted her to know that I wasn't mad. Sometimes, we retain and nourish our anger in defense of someone else's anger. She may think I am mad at her and think it unfair or dumb that I am mad at her so then she will be mad at me and vice versa. I know. How ridiculous.

She replied in a brief message that she just needed to think things out. I thought I wasn't going to get a response at all so I was elated to see that and gladly began to wait for her to"think things out".

And here I am, 2 and a half weeks later, still waiting for her reply. What I know is, she is not going to reply, which really irritates me. I have written letters to her before. One was incredibly poetic but very genuine and I was desperate to talk to her. She said some things happened and she forgot about it. This has happened a few other times.

She just doesn't want to talk about it. She just wants me to "get my act together" and move on. I don't think she thinks there is anything to discuss. Why do we refuse to get along? Why are we both so stubborn? Why do we have to be right? How are we hurting each other? What can we do to stop?

These are good questions. We should address them, talk about it. But we don't. For her, the problem lies with me. I am not "behaving". I'm almost 23 years old. I'm far past "misbehaving". I hate when they say that. That is what adolescents do, "misbehave". We just don't get along quite plainly and if it were up to the lovely Marie Umarr-Kamara, BSN, MSN, we would just stick in this cycle forever.

Recovering from all the mess that we have endured in the last 3 years will require some honest, serious, maybe hurtful conversation and she doesn't want to do it. The problem has nothing to do with the sometimes mean and manipulative behaviors my parents sometimes employed to "reign me in". The problem is all me. I don't listen. I do this. I do that. I don't do this. I don't do that.

Fine. I messed up. I should have listened in some instances and I'm glad I didn't in others. But the problem can't even be fixed. Me and moms are like 2 highly skilled, stubborn doctors with two very different diagnoses.

She is still ignoring me now, even though I really need her to give me that stethoscope...5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

And we are back to Square 1. Welcome back. FML.

The Etiology of Being Lost

"Whenever You Call" by Mariah Carey

...i'll be the one to catch your fall / whenever you call...

I used to listen to this song in high school. I used to listen to many songs with a similar theme because I didn't feel I had anyone who understood so the music was the witness to hidden loneliness.

I'm an extreme extrovert and not the least bit shy. I talk to anyone about anything. I have been told that I have a charming, captivating personality, but I never describe myself as such.

Nonetheless, as an adolescent, I was angry and irritated and lonely most of my time. I fought with my parents, especially my mom, ALL the time. I can't really remember why, but I didn't like to be at home or spend time with them. I liked to hang out with my friends, which I think is natural. In Sierra Leonean terms, I was a "strit pikin", or I liked to hang out in the streets. It doesn't mean a literal street with stree lights. But the street refers to any place that is not the residence of a relative.

I was annoyed by that. I never understood why it was such a bad thing to want to hang out with my friends. Additionally, I was not close to my mother. She is not the talkative, indulging kind of mother, which is okay, I guess.

Honestly, I don't know what the hell the problem was between the ages of 13 and 18. But I know what

happened following those ages. There were particular events that dampened my soul and infected my worldview. Some of them I caused with bad decision making. Some of them...life just happened to me.

And my parents so easily set me aside. I talk about this a lot, I know, but that is the truth to me. I feel so disposed of and again, this night, I cry under the burden of my resentment.

I just don't think I deserve what happened. I think over and over and over again about how I could have handled the situation better. I know I had alternatives. However, I don't feel like I should have been tossed aside at my most vulnerable moment.

It made me feel inconsequential. I feel as though I don't matter sometimes. I am jealous at the pace at which everyone else seems to travel while I am almost totally stationary.

I want to believe that I am charming, funny, intelligent, generous, considerate, think of others first, polite, honest, etc. I want to work at perfecting those qualities. But sometimes I feel worthless, all because the people I value most in the world seem to not value me at all. And if they only knew that I am just waiting to be important to them again.

God, I want my life back.

Started Pretending

"Can We Talk" by Tevin Campbell

...but just like a baby, I could not talk / and I tried to come closer but could not walk...

Today, this Monday, March 2nd, is a snowday. In four years of college, this is my first snowday. Our university almost never closes for anything. We have delays, but rarely does the administration give us the day off.

And that is annoying because we are a large commuter school. People are coming from all corners of the city to attend class and they are sometimes forced to travel in some dangerous conditions.

Today though, the university is closed. I idly sitting in the apartment, cold whiteness trying to creep into my window and irrational sleepiness conversing with my eyes and muscles. I definitely have work I could be doing but no motivation to do it. My English midterm is on Friday and I don't want to read The Odyssey or Agamemnon again. Why did I have to read them in high school to suffer again in college? Greek mythology is awesome but the literature is some mess.

But I have all day to get through the homeric babbling. I should have been an African studies major.

Yes, I Was the One...Keyword: Was

"Where Does the Good Go" by Tegan & Sara

...where do you go with your broken heart in tow? / what do you do with the left over you?..

I literally just walked in from working out at the gym with a new friend of mine.

I met her the day after I wrote a blog about my addiction to 7/11's cupcake cappuccino. Of course, the day after I have admitted to my addiction, they didn't have cupcake cappuccino! So I had to settle for French vanilla, which, after I doctored it up, wasn't that bad.

We randomly started chatting about school and how we needed this coffee, the line was too long, I liked her boots, she like my peacoat, xy and z.

I discovered that she is a transfer student and she doesn't really know people. Being the mother I am, I felt I had to help her start a social network. So we exchanged numbers and went to Yoga the next morning (she put me on to the most amazing activity every).

Today, we had dinner together, hung out idly, and then we went to work out! I ran about 3/4 of a mile and walked half a mile. I know, it's negligible, but I'm working up to greatness.

The point is, I feel really accomplished (along with the test I pray I Aced today). I made resolutions and new promises to myself and God and I am keeping them. I am also being realistic and counting on the fact that there will be bad days and I won't be able or won't want to maintain this regimen. I will not beat myself about those days or allow myself to fall off completely after missing a couple of days.

There will be no 3 West this year or ever again.

Bad Education

"Come Close" by Common ft. Mary J. Blige

...come close to me baby / let your love shine through...

I have inadvertently developed a semi-serious addiction to 7/11's cupcake cappuccino. I also add about half a cup of regular coffee to it for an extra kick, two shakes of amaretto flavored cream, and 5 packs of regular sugar.

It is not a game. It tastes really, really good. I hate the taste of coffee and no matter how much regular coffee you add to this cappuccino, it's cupcakery goodness remains intact.

My auntie in Delaware developed a serious addiction to coffee in the last year. When she, her husband, and my cousin visited, she bullied my Dad into going to Wawa to get her some one morning and I reprimanded her, disgusted.

Now, on any given day, you can catch me at the 7/11 on Main Street, scratching my neck, very irritable, standing in some long line (because all the 7/11's all up in through this campus ALWAYS only have one cashier), waiting to pay for my coffee/cappuccino concoction.

And the crash afterwards is not enough to discourage me. I can barely walk back to the apartment from the library after hours of studying and the devastating effects of the coffee crash. But I would rather die than give up the addiction.

Additionally, I feel like an adult now. I do believe it is arbitrary things like drinking coffee, falling asleep sitting totally erect in waiting rooms, joints cracking while doing simple activities, tiring at the idea of going out, etc. that makes you an adult. Not actual responsibilities.

Sometimes Love Takes a Long Time

"I Cry" by Anthony Hamilton

...oh girl I cry / these tears that I shed are the trails to bring you home...

I have taken to calling the House. I check on Lima Bean, mostly, and have interesting conversation with my Pops. My Daddy and I have always had the most interesting, stimulating, informative conversations for as long as I can remember.

The man is remarkably genius. Can't nobody tell me nothin' about my Daddy. He instilled in my this love of learning; this understanding that all the subjects (math, science, liberal arts) are all connected. They are not as rigidly compartmentalized as we would like to think.

Knowledge comes full circle. He also taught me that literally, the more you learn, the more you realize you know very little. Knowledge just doesn't make you knowledgeable, but sophisticates you enough to see how much there is in the world and how short your time is to learn it. That is what supposed to make you excited about life. Scurry, mice, for the nourishing cheese that is knowledge.

The Lights are On

"Teenage Love Affair" by Alicia Keys

...nothin' really matters / I don't really care / what nobody tells me...

It is a random, uneventful Wednesday, Hump Day. I have no class on Friday so my weekend starts tomorrow.

I was supposed to go to Yoga with Brittany at 9am but when I woke up, I was right tired so I decided to skip out. I feel a little bad about it because although when I wake up, I feel indomitably exhausted, no matter how much sleep I get, it subsides after a few minutes.

But I can never inspire myself to last for the few minutes it will take me to really wake up, so I go back to sleep.

Nonetheless, I woke up a little later and made my healthy breakfast, practiced my correct posture (good posture makes you feel important, maybe erroneously so), watched the news, and laughed. I feel playful today. I feel like I should have a good day. I want to have a teenage love affair with my life: happy, fulfilled, irreverent, and secure. That's what I felt like during my teenage love affair.

I'm not going to skip around downtown Richmond like a fool, but my heart will. I only have my one class today: English 215: Reading in Literature. My professor, Dr. Sharp, resembles George Carlin very much. It is some kind of creepy. He is a very smart, sarcastic, funny man too.

I know he will mention President Obama's inauguration. It's impossible to assemble a group of people on campus and the President is not somehow mentioned. My sociology professor sent us an email reminding us of the sociological significance of his election. Sociology is the study of society and society has changed immensely in recent years.

So, I'm off to have my teenage love affair with my life. Deuces.

Karmic Responsibility

In Love with Another Man: Jazmine Sullivan

This song doesn't apply to me, but it does something to a person that tricks you into thinking that it is somehow relevant to you. And if it is only a little bit true, that makes it all the more convincing.

Especially when she gets to apologizing in the song; it's so heavy and so dramatic, you forgive her even though she's not really talking to you.

And forgiveness is a funny, funny thing. It's fleeting and evasive but always around somewhere, almost as if to tease you.

I feel like I'm being teased. At times, I see it clearly and I forgive and I feel fine. I feel unburdened because anger is a heavy load to bear. Then at other times, when I am giving the solace of my own company, I feel just as bitter and even try to tell myself that I am entitled to my anger.

And I am entitled to it. I am entitled to feeling angry and betrayed but I am not entitled to keep malice on my mind such that I wish bad things for other people.

I am hard of forgiving like folks are hard of hearing. I almost can't do it at all. But I have learned from some people that forgiveness doesn't mean you forget or you are ever fully repaired or you forget how it hurt. It means you let it go. You don't add it to the tally of things done against you in life.

It's hard though because being bitter does taste sweet. But it ain't right.

When the Deaf Can Hear the Music

I've been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem so scattered
But I think it's about forgiveness

...so India sang to me, as I have been unable to hear all other advices, suggestions, encouragements, and the ilk. I just wanted to be sad for a while. Sometimes that is how I feel and how I want to feel.

Despite all the coaxing and some caudling, I just wanted to be angry and sad. And I remain so, but at a far quieter volume. I saw yesterday, in a blueprint of my life, that it just all has to work out. It has to because I must have a life, a healthy and happy life so it has to work out.

Still, I cannot forgive. Not because I do not want to, but simply because I do not know how. I feel it impossible, although I have done it before, it is so hard. Too dificult. Simultaneously, I cannot decide who to forgive. Don't some people betray you as a form of exit? Who really wants to exit? Who do I want to exit?

I want to forgive, but my will gets weak and then I eat from my anger again and I cannot forgive. It's my sickness, my sin, my most easily identified malady.

Therefore, today I might call this happy. I say that because I at least did not cry today.