#112314 Smells Like Teen Spirit

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.

#010114 I'm Back...

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.