Freestyle Friday…Officially a Staple

Tags

Freestyle Friday, movies, music, Random, singles, slackerdom, stepdad

Since I realize it’s becoming a habit with me to just spew randomness on Fridays in a willy nilly way and, since it is the only weekly staple so far that has stuck, I have decided to institute Freestyle Fridays…Whoo hoo! Get your glasses up! *Toasting*

I’ve been slacking horribly since I’ve turned 25 on all things life related outside of work. Well, let’s be honest, in everything but going to the gym and work, I was slacking beforehand as well. Well, not anymore. I am officially ending my streak of lazy slackerdom! My apartment is in dire need of cleaning. My hair survived seven days of being done and looking nice, but it’s about that time for a fresh wash, blow dry and flat iron. I could use a bath after a stressful week. I’m getting back into exercising and and starting to keep myself a bit better groomed, so I’m trying to force myself to keep doing it so that it can become a habit. Married or not, I have too much potential to be wasting. And if Mr. Perfect and I “might don’t make it,” I’m still going to be living and working. I don’t need to be sexy and sleek at work, but there are no rules against being well put together and nice to look at. Fitted trousers and blouses, nice scalloped skirts and two inch heels would go a long way.

I miss my stepfather. It’s closing in on a year since he passed, and I still can’t really wrap my head around it. I can still hear the way he laughed or asked when I would be coming home to visit. I still remember washing dishes after school, singing along (*hard*) to my CDs (American Idol in my kitchen *sigh*) and not know he was there until he made some stay comment. “Sing it, girl!” “When I get my record deal, you gon’ sing for me?” (Knowing he should NOT have been encouraging my hour(s) long performances!) I remember sitting on stools in the basement, my feet dangling two feet off the floor, trying to stretch my little fingers to play/practise chords on the keyboard with him. I remember getting my first keyboard from him (no, I do not know how to play the three–or four?–that I own, at least one of which was over $300 easy). I remember watching him and his friends play their keyboards, guitars, and congos in the basement, my own private concerts, sometimes singing. I remember how he would faithfully record his original jazz compositions and send a cassette to his mother in California (even though I had no idea of the true nature of their relationship and what it must have cost him to send it.) I remember teaching myself a little song, using a pre-recorded beat, and writing it down on paper using the symbols over the keys so I could remember it, and dragging him up to my room to hear my (horrible) new song. He smiled one of those parent smiles, where a kid brings them some jacked up monstrosity that they love anyway, and are proud enough to actually show to someone else. I remember making him several such monstrosities. I remember “learning to drive” seated on his lap steering while he maneuvered the pedals. It was dark and we hit the curb once, but he let me “drive” all the way home (from 2 blocks over). I remember going to take your daughter to work days with him, being plied with pizza and brownie bottom sundaes and chocolate pudding (I could eat chocolate then and was very into it), listening to everyone talk about how much they liked and respected him and thinking, “well of course you do; he’s my Dad,” with the logic of a child. I remember making him a Pieces of a Dream CD for his birthday. I remember how he pulled me aside and thanked me for how much I was helping my mother when I went back home in between colleges. I remember how he was always proud of me, for anything or nothing at all. I couldn’t tell you when I talked to him and he didn’t end the conversation with “We’re so proud of you.” Even when I was laid off, evicted, and scrambling to find a way not to end up back in my old bedroom either with my aunt or with my mother, he knew I would figure something out and I would make it and he was proud of me. I don’t know what I’ll do if those memories ever start to fade. He was that one person who had  a calm belief that whatever it was, I would figure it out, and he was proud in advance. No one was good enough, either. This caused a conflict when Mr. Perfect came along; no man was good enough, yet I made the right decisions so he had to be good enough, right? He never met Mr. P., and if he ever resolved that in his mind, he never shared it with me.  From the time I was two years old until I was 24 years old, I had a fan, and it was wonderful to have that steady male presence, that father, when my dad popped up and back out of sight like a Pop Goes the Weasel game throughout my childhood. So when men start to worry about whether or ot I have Daddy issues, they can be assured I had a wonderful father from as far back as I can remember and farther, and they have a tough act to follow.

We had our Singles Ministry meeting this week, and we actually talked about something that pertained to relationships. We started out talking about divorce rates for 1st, 2nd, & 3rd marriages and why we think they were so high and what we saw going on. I think we came out of 1 Thes. 5:15-18, but I’ll have to do a quick check. It says to rejoice evermore, to pray without ceasing, and in everything, thank God (or praise God). Our Singles Minister’s point was that you have to be happy with yourself and be happy where you are. You are supposed to rejoice always, and thank God always, single or married. You cannot be looking to someone else to complete you; you are not a half but a whole person whether you are in a relationship or not. I added to this that you also can’t expect for someone else to make you happy. You can’t get married and hand over all responsibilities for your happiness to someone else. You are not a prophyte at a set; you can’t make your mate entertain you, running around trying to figure out what will make you laugh and not beat them. (I didn’t use that particular example, but that’s the long and short of it) We also talked about people trying to rush you into being married in the church and how you set the timeframe for your own relationship, how it will never be the perfect time and you will never be in the perfect situation to get married, but in the meantime, nothing is stopping your from doing all the things you as an individual want to do (that are not transgressions against God’s word, mind you; I’m not saying go out and fornicate or get drunk and fistfight in back alleys or pull drivebys).

Did anybody feel like this week was disgustingly long? I did. I felt like it was Groundhog Day; it seemed like it was Thursday three or four times before Friday rolled around. But praise God for the weekend! I haven’t any big plans, just a desire to see Alice in Wonderland (probably by myself). Random thought: I miss going to the movies by myself sometimes. I used to go all the time for matinees, usually literally being the only person in the movie theater. I would sit five or six rows from the back, in the perfect middle of the row, with popcorn and soda, sometimes a box of candy (I was in college and living it up on financial aid…and it was a matinee), making all the commentary I wanted. I imagined myself at private screenings of the movie, a regular Roger Ebert type, noting the performances and the wardrobe and the scenery with  a film critic’s eye (or so I thought; have yet to take a film class, mind you, and can only judge by my enjoyment, but I still review movies here as well. Also ****TV shows are now under the Movie Reviews page****)

Still tweaking the look/feel of the blog, so bear with me and let me know if there’s anything you would like to see/read/hear!

Funeralizing Folks

Tags

coping, death, father, funeral, loss, Pink Susie, stepdad

I know I should be getting ready, but I’m not sure if I will be able to write after the funeral, so I wanted to get some things down before. I am almost certain that today will be a trial to the nerves in some way or another. Mr. Perfect and I are driving 2 1/2 hours up to where the funeral is being held today, which can be trying at any time, but especially in the cold and sleet/flurries. I haven’t anything but slacks in black, so no dress for me. My dad may be back down, with his somewhat pessimistic view of all things funeral. I don’t know what specific event triggers that, but there has to be one. He goes on and on about Black funeral cliches and stereotypes. “Who’s going to sing the song and break down halfway through? Who’s going to fall out on the casket and ask to go with them?” Etc. It is my thought that whether or not you feel that these are all contrivances is irrelevant; not only could these be real people’s real feelings about the deceased overwhelming them, my father is “an elder” in his church. I feel that any man of God I want ministering to me should have a bit more compassion. I know my day, but others may not, and take what I see as a coping mechanism of his own with a loss to be something like rudeness, of mocking a dead person’s loved ones. Even other family members may in the least feel offended that he would scruntinize and find their mourning ungenuine. Death is one area I feel you cannot know another person’s feelings from outward appearance, especially at a funeral.

When my stepfather died, I only cried on solitary tear at the funeral towards the end. It never looked like him to me, I never associated the body in the casket with him, and so I was able to be a support to my mother and brother. I stayed busy the whole time I was in Michigan, filling glasses, fixing plates, making meals, finding ways to keep my mother occupied, and keeping folks from getting too drunk and acting too much of a fool. Since returning, I’ve cried quite a bit. It’s hard for me to be emotional in front of people. My instinct is to offer support to others who may be hurting more than myself, to keep procrastinating on dealing with the fact someone is gone. Someone observing me might think I was cold hearted and cared nothing for the person because I’m not weeping copiously, but that’s not my way. So in that way, I understand that maybe the way my dad comes across isn’t how he really feels, especially in this situation.

I don’t know what shape Pink Susie will be in. Part of the reason I call her Pink Susie here is tied to the deceased; it was a nickname given to her because the deceased always bought her a little pink dress for Easter, all these pink things. Pink was the deceased favorite color. Thus far, she’s been planning the funeral, making arrangements for the business as she is leaving, and finding hotel rooms for people. Organizing and supporting, like me. I feel bad for her more than anyone, because I know what’s coming in the solitary moments. We are so much alike in some ways it’s scary. I hope I’m wrong in this one.

That’s enough for now; it’s making me weepy. I have to bear up and support her, and who knows who else. I’ll deal with my own piddling grief and fond memories later. Pray for our drive up and down, and for everyone traveling to and fro in this dreadful weather.

2blu2btru

“Why Do You Fight it so Hard, Earl?”-Mr. Brooks

Tags

emotional wall, grief, loss, movie quotes, stepdad

–“I had a conflict–homework or Dynasty and uh…Dynasty won” “Dynasty again”? “Bad story—soaps will kill ya”–Nightmare on Elm Street 4

“I have the strangest feeling we’ve done this before.–” ”

“Why do you fight it so hard, Earl?”–Mr. Brooks

I am experiencing this deep inner conflict at the moment. I feel like Earl in Mr. Brooks. If you haven’t seen the movie, you have nothing to base that feeling on, and if you have…let me just say I don’t want to kill anybody. It’s just the feeling that you want to do what you know to be right, to stop pretending that you are a great person and actually BE a great person, but the lure of being a less than great person follows you everywhere and keeps trying to lure you back into mediocrity, into play-acting like you have it all together when that’s the biggest lie.

For example, everyone thinks I am happy, if not all the time, most of the time. Nothing can be further from the truth. Should I be that happy? Sure. I could be. I was, for a while. I tried to genuinely stay that way. But there’s always something riding alongside me that thrives on my only appearing happy to other people. It is against showing any real emotion. It’s like I have an inner wall of partition between me and how I am supposed to feel sometimes. I see what it looks like, and I can mirror it, but sometimes I don’t really feel it. And it’s so easy to pretend like you have feelings than to have them. I used to like my ability to disassociate. It saved me a lot of tears.

My stepfather died in March, the day after my mother’s birthday. Of course, having been with someone for over 20 years, she took it hard. My brother did as well; after all, that was his “real” dad. I would have taken it hard had I let myself. I slipped gratefully back behind my wall. I was in a place where I could not cry. It was odd. I couldn’t even mirror the emotion of sadness; I was numb. I served food, I wiped grubby little hands and faces, I cleaned the house, I made meals, I comforted my mother, I squelched all drunken arguments and antics…but it didn’t feel real to me that my stepfather had passed.

Slowly, however, reality is creeping into all of those sealed off places, and real emotions are peeking through. I cried for a while this morning thinking about my stepfather. I still want to ask my mother where he is, or talk to him. I remember being little and trying so hard to learn to play the keyboard because he played. I remember sitting on his lap and “driving” around the backstreets on the way home, much to my mother’s horror. I remember that he always, without fail, told me he was proud of me, even when I couldn’t see any rational reason for anyone to be proud of me.

I want to embrace the feeling of sadness. I know it’s the only way to move on. But even now, it is slipping away from me. My boyfriend is lying asleep on his couch, completely oblivious to the storm that has taken place in his living room. All the floodwaters are just about dried up now. There are no high water marks or water damage to be seen. He won’t know it ever happened.

2Blu2BTru