Growing up, we were almost never away from my mother. My father's work caused him to have countless business trips, but Mommalily was almost always home with us. When we were little, every night, she would either tuck us in our respective beds and snuggle with us until we each fell asleep, or if we'd whined and coerced enough, let the three of us pile up in her bed and fight over who got to snuggle closest to her. That was what I knew love to be; seeing the person you loved most before you closed your eyes at night with their scent curled up in your nose. The few times Mommy did have a conference to attend, I'd stave off missing her by nuzzling with a shirt or slip of hers, trying to make it easier to bear being away from her. I didn't realize until much later in life how that coping mechanism conditioned me, how innate smells became to me and those I loved.
A few weeks ago, I was stealthily collecting clothes for some of my more less financially secure students and for some of the homeless in my neighborhood I try to help out. I know my friends cycle through their clothes and trends faster than these kids do, so I put out an APB to homies, lovers, and friends to aid in my collection. The Muse was always well connected, but beyond that, was always kind. After one text conversation, he assembled a huge box of clothes and shoes when I told him about how one of my favorite students was being teased for coming to school slightly stinky and in dingy shirts; they did wear the same size after all.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Friday, January 17, 2014
She is my sister, my bestie, my other half.
It was late October and we were walking hurriedly back to my house from somewhere we shouldn't have been. She and I have always had adventures that began with me proposing something we should do, and she unwillingly coming along for the ride. I think we'd snuck over to some boy's house while his parents weren't home, and we needed to get back to my house before......fill in the mischievous blank.
Monday, January 6, 2014
(If the following reminds you at all of an SATC episode, I apologize in advance. In my circle of friends I'm ALWAYS the Samantha.)
All weekend long I did nothing but sleep, eat, shower occasionally, discover the miracle that is Hulu Plus, turn off my cable, and attempt to get my life in order. That's what weekends in the winter are made for. I imposed a bedtime/curfew for myself for school nights so that I could ensure maximum calm and positivity at work the next day. I stayed up and slept late most of the weekend. Now, here it is, the night before work resumes and I can't sleep. As I often do, I reached into the bottom drawer of my nightstand to grab my pocket lover/sleep aid so I can rock myself to sleep. 5 attempts later, I was sweating like a whore in church and no matter how I tried to relax and access the top shelf of my Spank Bank, I could not achieve my petit mort. I kept having the petit mal version of an orgasm. It's like I'm almost there and then it disappears.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
10 years ago began one of the rockiest decades of my life. In the space of 60 days, I lost 2 grandparents, broke up with one of the best boyfriends I ever had for reasons that seem positively ridiculous now, and allowed all of the worries of a quarter life crisis to kick into full throttle. These stresses would strangle me nightly. I had debilitating insomnia, manic anxiety episodes, and other slightly OCD behaviors that could only be “cured” by a high twice daily dosage of anticonvulsant/mood stabilizers, copious drinking and constant attention from would-be-lovers. To call them suitors would have been an insult to men who actually court women. All of this took place before through low self esteem, I met, fell in love with and married the wrong person. That (discussed ad nauseam) relationship was five-year roller-coaster whose aftermath ricocheted through my life (and finances) longer than the marriage itself.