Game Over...?

"I had forgotten that time wasn't fixed like concrete but in fact was fluid as sand, or water. I had forgotten that even misery can end. " - Joyce Carol Oates

My whole life, I've struggled with the idea of finality. Or finality brought on abruptly, I should say. I've never truly been able to conceptualize it.

I've experienced lots of death, starting at an early age and in greater amounts than any one person should. I've even been in an apartment with a dead person in the next room. And in spite of this, some part of me never fully accepts that the person is really gone. It's like my mind sets it up like a bad dream or places it as some sort of sub-reality within me; treats it like some sort of out-of-body experience.

With those who are still among the living, it's also a struggle. In college I was known as, among other things, the bitch. The mean girl who could cut you off before you could blink your eyes...if you pissed her off enough. I always felt that the reputation was off base. I wasn't a bitch...just socially awkward and guarded. But I would cut people off. I've oft used the line, "S/he is just too stupid, and I don't have time for it" in reference to a number of people, a few of whom were completely deserving. (One day I'll share the story of the roommate who was taking our rent money and using it to pay her personal bills instead, which I found out when our management company called me demanding immediate payment or threatening eviction...two days before I was to graduate and had 35 family members coming into town.) And with many I was able to move past it. I recently attended the wedding of a friend whom I used to absolutely loathe. Could not stand him. Now? Love him. Super happy for him. So proud of who he's become. But even with the people with whom things were beyond repair, a part of me always feels...sad and slightly bewildered that in one second we were good friends and the next - nothing, even if I was the one who decided the "nothing" was necessary.

When I graduated college, I was left with an overwhelming feeling of "That's it?" A part of me couldn't believe that it was just...over. One rained-out ceremony with Wynton Marsalis, a walk across the stage in Cahn Auditorium and it was what...over? Just like that? Really? And that lasted for about a year. (Still bugs me out every now and then that I'm done with undergrad).

And the source of finality plaguing me now? A guy, of course. I've been lucky enough to bypass a lot of hurt in that department. For whatever reason, it's usually been the case where I have an upper hand. Things end on my terms, pretty amicably and with a friendship in tact, if I so choose. But in this latest run, it started out with more of an equal playing field. I wasn't really running the show, and neither w as he, or so I thought. One of those world-oyster situations, and I treated it as such. But in the last week everything kind of bombed. And I'm really not handling it so well. It sucks for different reasons, but it hurts the most because once again, I'm left  asking, It's over? Just like that? Really? He became a part of my routine. Filtered himself into my brain space. Made me laugh. Made me feel...understood in all of my randomness and weirdo tendencies. And now, everything has changed. And more than what he did. More than the fact that it bruised my feelings up real good. What I'm most bothered by, is the fact that it's...done. That "done" is hard for me.

Change has always been one of my harder pills. Much easier than it used to be in lots of respects, but on this particular front, I don't seem to be budging. I attach myself to people and situations and become comfortable with them, so when they don't work out and shift suddenly, for the worse, I'm completely thrown off. I know death is a part of life, that you can't just be in undergrad forever and that some people are only in your life for a season or particular reason. What I don't know is how I can be fully aware of all that...that life goes on and does so everyday, and yet still deal so poorly when these situations occur. This heart-to-head disconnect I have lacks any and all coolness.

I guess my question, dear void, is why? Why do I have such a difficult time with emotional adjustment? Is it a chick thing? Is it a sensitive chick thing? Is it a people thing in general? Is there a chance that I'm completely normal and that this is the status quo? And further, what can be done to bring about resolution? Make me feel a little bit better? Am I just disguising what is really denial in fancy clothing? Do I use too many words to make my point(s)? Is it far too late for me to still be up writing this with work in the morning?

Tonight all I've got is a heart full of feelings and a mind full of inquiries. I hope tomorrow is different.

Due Time vs. My Time

 "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." - Matthew 6:34, NIV

When I'm watching a movie, I like to know the ending before it happens. If I'm with someone who's seen it, I beg them to tell me what's going to happen. If I'm alone, I Google it, searching for a site that will give me the specific details, start to finish.

If I have a craving for something, I want it right then and there, or soon thereafter. I'll drive across town for the key lime cupcake or ice cream cone. No problem.

If I get the urge to write something down, I have to do it right away (even if it cuts into my study time for a big important test that's just days away...as is the case right now).

Point is, I'm not a very patient person. I sometimes pretend to be, and I can recognize when a situation calls for the particular virtue, but that doesn't mean I like it.

These days I'm feeling incredibly impatient. It's like my life is the destination for the family vacation, and I'm the kid in the backseat of the station wagon shouting, "Are we there yet?! Are we there yet?!"

The ball is moving on my transition back to Chicago, which is a blessing, but I would love to just be there already. Snap my fingers, click my ruby-slipper clad heels together, wrinkle my nose - whatever it takes to put me there, here and now. I think about my apartment. How much I'm gonna love decorating it, cooking in it, walking around naked (don't act like you don't do it). About my new job. Getting up and driving down Lakeshore or downtown every morning. Complaining with the general population when winter comes back around and it's freezing, but secretly smiling to myself and loving every blistering cold, wind chilled minute of it. I even fondly think about missing my mother and brother to the point of heartache, because I'm there and not home and can't see them everyday.

I think about the future with me in law school and being a lawyer. I'm not afraid of the hard work it will take to add that "Esq" to the end of my title, but I want it now. I'm studying for the LSAT and wrapping my brain around logic games and Kaplan strategies, but I'd love to pound a gavel and be magically seated in the first row of a torts class, handling a cold call and absorbing tons of knowledge or representing a client in my awesome power suits.

I think about guys...guy...singular...at the moment, I suppose. You XYs are a headache, and this topic could be an entry in and of itself. So I won't go there. I'll just say that I spend a lot of time saying "I'll just have to see what happens," but wishing I could just know, right now. How something will turn out. Hoping it works out. That I'm making the right decisions. So on and so forth. It's crazy.

I know that there's some level of freedom and beauty in the unknown. That's essentially what my last two years have been about, but that time hasn't erased the itch I've always had for immediate answers. I know myself and that patience is not one of my innate qualities. And sometimes it would just be nice to know, or have or be, right way. 

Instant gratification is not an option for everything, this I know. And I'd like to believe that some of the more rewarding things in life come in time. So as with everything else I write on here, *cue broken record* this is something I'm working on.

Less Head, More Heart

"And you know I can't promise you things will turn out fine. But I have to be honest, I want you to be mine." - Corinne Bailey Rae, "Breathlesss"

As I've already admitted, I'm an Olympic-level over-thinker. All of my life, I've first rehearsed in my head what I'm about to say out loud. And a lot of what is said to me? Some of it loops for years, depending on its poignancy. As this is a completely exhausting practice and because my life right now is all about evolution, I'm working on it. Or working on working it, as I told a friend a while back. But this isn't the point. 

Not only do I over-think, but I also talk myself out of things. Doing things. Saying things. I'd like to say I'm choosing my battles wisely, or investing only in situations that are truly worth it, so on and so forth. And sometimes that really is the case, but a more honest me will admit that I talk myself off of ledges, too afraid and having intellectualized and over-analyzed to the point where I can't see the wood for the trees. 

But I'm growing. Little by little, trading in some of that reactivity and just doing; still with consideration, but not enough to squelch the action altogether. I hope, trust and believe that in the long run, it works out in my favor, but further resolve that even if it doesn't, it's still a win because I took the risk.

I had a "caution to the wind" moment earlier this week. I made a true confession of sorts that I'd been contemplating and weighing the consequences of for months. I finally just spoke up. Secretly I hoped it would yield my desired results and silently I've since dealt with the fact that it did not. Has it sucked a little lot? Yeah. (I've done a respectable amount of emotional eating this week...lots of ice cream cones and fancy cupcakes). But what is also true is that the part of me that's proud for actually doing it, is bigger than the part that is disappointed in the outcome. Maybe that's crazy...I never really know. What I do know is that it's nice, this little bit of self-liberation. 

In "The One with the Fake Monica" episode of Friends, Monica's identity gets stolen by this woman who she comes to envy because of how gregarious and full of spontaneity the woman is. Monica, who is so much so the opposite...neat freak, tightly wound, controlling (ring any bells?), wishes she could be more like her. At the end of the episode, she goes to a tap dancing class that her impostor had been attending and she is awful. She can't nail the choreography or stay in rhythm - she's completely lost. The instructor yells to her, "You in the back! You're getting it all wrong!" And Monica replies, "Yeah, but at least I'm doing it!"

Consider me an amateur and floundering, but still committed tap dancer.

Not For Nothin'

"This week has been a bad massage, I need a happy ending." - Kanye West, "Gorgeous"

It’s only Wednesday, but this week has been a fight. Easily the hardest week I’ve had all year – and I’ve had some tough weeks, so that’s saying something.

Sunday someone cut me off on my way to church. There I was, minding my business, singing along to old school Kirk Franklin – Silver and Gold’ing it all up and through the parkway, and before I know it I’m spinning out across three lanes and slamming into the guardrail facing oncoming traffic. I hit no one. No one hit me. I could have been killed. I should have been. But for grace and mercy, I wouldn’t be around to tell this story. (I'm obviously here for a reason, but that's a post for another day.) Aside from a banged up truck, a coffee-stained and potentially ruined pair of pants, back pain and two broken nails, I’m just fine.

Yesterday I realized that someone I know is hopeless…dangerously set in their ways, leaving little to no room for growth or maturity. Pretty sure he believes he’s some kind of politician, albeit a warped and misguided one, but one nonetheless. Just ask him about his “policy” and you’ll understand. But mostly he’s just offensive and unfortunate, which is more than a little bit sad, because it leaves me with very few options.

AND I sat behind a murderer yesterday. A real one. He killed his wife in front of their daughter. And he laughs in court.

Then today, a thief casually admitted to stealing quite a large sum of money from me. My mother is shocked. Me? Not so much.

Did I mention it’s only Wednesday?

But the point is, that even as I write this, the one thing I don’t feel is anger. My back is screaming at me, I probably should have held off on coming to work for one more day. My stomach is in knots over the anxiety of having to drive back home tonight. My feelings are a little bruised over the reality of the politician; I so badly wish he was a better person, especially since he has so much potential to be. I’d be thrilled if people could stop jacking me for large sums of money. And I would be totally within my right to raise an eyebrow, shake my head, or shed a tear or two.

But there is no anger. No rage. No visual images of doing hood rat things with my friends using blunt metal objects or employing large Italian men known as ‘Vinny the Vaporizer.’ I know that the physical pain will go away eventually, that I’m better than closed-minded, provincially pedestrian nonsense, that justice will be served and the money recovered.

A year ago, two years ago, count back as far as you’d like, I didn’t know this place existed. And if I had known, I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea of how to navigate my way here. And yet, here I am, and it feels amazing. So, snaps for the kid.

Smiles and limps away…my back, remember? ;-)


**Candace Caveat: Since writing this, I've found out that my car is in fact, totaled and not "banged up" as I had originally said. And I just fell down the steps, although clumsiness has always just been my thing. Still, why come the devil is so intent on stealing my joy?! STILL SMILING.**

Striking a Balance

Sometimes I struggle with the reconciliation of being both a woman who can stand on her own and handle hers while being one that is vulnerable and with whom a man can feel like an asset. My mother wasn't always breathing down my neck about how important it was to be strong and independent and take care of yourself. She didn't have to. She exuded it. And she admits that this may have been done to a fault, a result of her being forced to grow up at a young age and take care of herself. But the very idea of strength is something I’ve always associated with her. So I got that education just by paying attention. (Incidentally, I learned how to brush my teeth and cook in the same fashion).

But the speech I would get ad nauseam? ALL of the many things a man should do where I was concerned. I think that she's always been so afraid that I'll repeat her mistakes, that there’s been a sense of desperation in making me aware of all the positives, pitfalls and red flags. Still, it drove me crazy. (I hate repetition. Tell me once and I'm good. Anymore than that and you're on my nerves). Once, when I was 16, I went on a double date with my boyfriend at the time, his cousin and a friend of mine. When it was over, my boyfriend and his cousin left, in their car, with my friend and I waiting for my mom to come pick us up. When she got there and discovered that the guys had not only left, but did so in a car that they didn't use to drop us both off, she was livid. I heard about it all the way home, and then for a while after that. "You're a diamond," she would say. "Never let a man treat you like cubic zirconia."

I wasn't allowed to pick guys up. If we were going out, I couldn't be the one to drive. If we wanted to hang out, he had to figure out a way to get to me and how to get home. I couldn't be the one always trying to arrange outings or make things happen. Let him pursue. Let him plan. Let him do for you. I could never set a precedent where I was doing more or was more invested then he was. I found a lot of it extreme and biased, based on her experiences. Either way, it all stuck. But as I've gotten older, I've learned to appreciate it more, even if it has made things more complicated.

In my head I hear her rattling off these commandments I'm supposed to abide by, but then I can also see her - years of buying all the Christmas presents, but putting two names on the cards, or packing up whole houses and moving an entire family all by herself - and I’m confused. How do I merge the Independent Woman and “Cater 2 U” girl into one seamless package? I've yet to come up with a sensible answer.

I open my own doors. I'm always a little thrown off when a guy pulls out my chair.  I've approached a guy and asked him for his number several times in the past.I'm not looking for anyone's money. I take care of my own battles. (Only once did I ask a guy to take over a conflict for me. Yes, he handled it better than I ever could have and I was grateful, but I hated not being able to). I give off the "Candace can handle it" vibe by very nature of how I grew up and I tend to leave a guy feeling like he serves no real purpose…or so I’ve been told. I'm not looking for a knight in shining armor.

But then there's the flip side.

I like it better when you're the one to plan where we're going. I'm almost always happy with whatever the plan is, simply because you're the one who planned it. (This is not to say that I'm not good for an outing or coming up with an idea for us). I want you to be the one walking closest to the curb. I prefer if you drive. You should wait for me to go through a door before you attempt to. I'll open it for myself, but if you don’t wait until I'm done going through it, you’re a douche and I'm annoyed. I'll cry in front of you before I'll do it in front of my friends. When I'm sick, I want the soup and the tea and the care and attention. And when you do it, I'm thrilled. Something as small as recognizing that I haven't eaten all day, and picking a restaurant and a menu for me to choose from, goes an incredibly long way. I send the message that a man's presence is not only wanted, but needed. I'm looking for a knight in shining armor.

See why this is problematic?

I'm a sensitive thug, if you will. But I imagine that if all the inconsistency gives me a headache, it has got to do the same for someone else. I can't let you eat all of my food for ten months, but then get pissed during the eleventh one when you refuse to pitch in or help pay for some of it, when I didn't ask you to all along. Or cry on your shoulder, but then forget that you're walking with me, speed up and leave you behind. It's one extreme or the other. I'm looking for a happy medium.

I was told to be open and possess some level of vulnerability and sensitivity. But I was raised to be capable and self-reliant. And so, dear void, I am figuring out a way to be both, where the two can complement each other.

Making Me Crazy

"But maybe I'm crazy,

Maybe you're crazy,

Maybe we're crazy,

Probably." - Gnarls Barkley, "Crazy"

Because I'm not always so into tradition or protocol, we'll start off with the moral of the story: Good people of the void, don't insult your people's intelligence by feeding them bullsh*t. If they're smart and actually know you, they'll see through it and be offended. And if they're actually dumb or just don't know you well enough to fall for it, and you know this and take advantage of it, you lose an infinite number of cool points.

Recently had a conversation with a friend. The conversation revealed something rather important to me about how he sees me, especially in comparison to how I see him. He wasn't trying to be hurtful, just his usual upfront self, but what he said hurt. A lot. Every now and then, someone will say something to me and I'll get the sensation that I've just been sucker punched in the stomach. The wind is knocked out of me. I'm a little nauseous. (I tend to not let that many people in, so it doesn't happen all that often. I'm thinking that if I did, the shock value would decrease, but that's an issue for another day). But yeah, he punched me in the stomach. The conversation reached a halt very soon after. On my end, I couldn't very well be doubled over AND still be an active participant. And he knew. (Oke used to tell me all the time that you can't get a read for emotion through text messaging or online communication. I didn't believe that then, and I still don't now. When you talk to someone all the time, you begin to get a feel for them and their moods, even if there are many miles and various electronic devices between you. Plus, I'm not all that good at masking my feelings, so figuring out that somethin ain't quite right isn't calculus. [Calculus and I, or numbers in any format for that matter and I, have never been very close.]) So like I said, he knew. He usually does. So maybe that's why he stopped talking in return.

This kept on for almost two days. Not a significant amount of time under normal circumstances, but umm, we talk to each other like we get paid to do so, so yeah, it was strange. I was still a little nauseous, but I couldn't take it anymore, so I spoke up. I'm know I'm changing because I used to be Queen of the Freeze Out. Once one of my oldest friends had done something to really piss me off. I didn't speak to her for six months. Charge it to growth and maturity and all those other words that mean you're less screwed up than you used to be, but for the life of me, I just can't do it anymore. I LOATHE conflict. I'd rather lose face and be the one to speak, then to exist in some space where there's some underlying problem or general weirdness. I can't decide if that particular newfound quality is something I hate or love. Anyway, his silence puzzled me. Wasn't I the offended party? When I asked as much, it was met with "shock." Or at least what was supposed to be shock. I even got an "Excuse Me?" AND a denial of having done anything wrong. And then he was ready to just carry on, per usual.

C'mon son.

Didn't I say that I grew up in dysfunction on steroids? You think I don't know what crazy making is when I see it? Hear it? Smell it from 800 miles away? Puhleaze. I'm pretty sure I'm related to the man who invented it.

Now granted this is the wateriest of severely watered down crazy making cases, but still. Don't do me like I'm making it all up in my head. That your decision to not speak for two days was a mere coincidence and you got just super busy. I don't believe in those kinds of coincidences. And I don't particularly care for them being passed off as such either. Before it was just a sucker punch. This was a slap. And I've got a pretty good face. I can't afford to be hit in it.

So like I said, don't insult your people's intelligence. If they are actually even somewhat in tune with who you are, it won't work. And if they aren't, it's just triflin. Be upfront. Tell the truth...all the time...not just when it's convenient or easy.

Love them, but the fellas make my head hurt sometimes.

Getting There

"Searchin for that feeling, tell me where is the magic?
Let's stay together 'til we're ghosts
I want to witness love, I never seen it close."  - Drake, "Fireworks"

Tonight I had to attend an event for work, honoring the "Top Doctors" of New Jersey. In comes this Black couple. They were smiling as they entered. They went to hang their coats and were smiling and holding hands when they returned. They were doing the same when they left. Black love - quiet, intimate and amazing to watch. And did I mention that SHE was the Top Doctor, that they were there for her? Hubby wasn't busy whispering hurtful words in her ear, snapping at her everytime she said something or looking irritated by having to be where he was. There was no resentment, or any that I could see, over her success. He just looked proud, and very into his woman.

Right now my life is full of divorced parents who spent the majority of their time together in utterly miserable states, females who have the sense, but not the strength, to not sleep with guys with girlfriends, clueless women in "relationships" with guys who just aren't that into them, men who want your friend and then you when your friend's not looking, girls driven to obsession and borderline swimfan status over guys who use their desperation as a source of entertainment - the list could go on. And maybe it's just the age we're at or the company I keep, but these are the things I hear of and see on the regular. There is no romanticism, no grand gestures or overwhelmingly chivalrous moments, nothing said that makes someone blush through their melanin, and certainly no love. And it's usually not even something I think about. It just...is.

But that couple seems to have removed me, temporarily at least, from my world of the romantically jaded. They were refreshing; watching them be in love with each other was beautiful. It made me wish I could swap out some of the poor choices and hurt feelings for minor PDA and loving someone so much it radiates through your pores. Hmm...maybe that last one is asking for too much too soon. How about just a really nice date with a really nice guy that makes you smile when you think about him, to start?

I know that I'll get there. I also know, or at least pray, that all the people I just put on secret blast (I realize this is an oxymoron, but this is my space, so deal) will too. I refuse to believe that we'll exist like this forever. But in the meantime, shout out to that happy, smiling couple fom earlier. I need them to hold me down until I can catch up.