Life goes on.
Love no love. Sometimes being monotonous is…..soothing…comforting in a way. Wake up. Walk. Coffee. Walk. Dog. Grade. NPR. Walk dog. Breakfast. sleep. Maybe.
No more dreams of future him.
Pointless. Love still remains.
Easier..not so much angst..yearning. Much more manageable.
He doesn’t linger in my mind as much.
Iife goes on.
You’ve registered for a negro or part negro baby girl between 3-7 months.
So to paint you a picture. I am adopted and the youngest of four children to a single mom. My dad left when I was two years old, but that story is for another time. Up until I was 8 years old things went smoothly. I was only allowed to watch PBS on the off chance my mom rented a black and white tv. We consumed shows like, The Avengers, Benny Hill and The man from Uncle. My mom is a total Anglophile so everything and anything British and sometimes she would throw in Scottish too.
We were having Narnia Teas before you all heard about Narnia. This consisted of sardines on toast, smoked oysters, cut cucumber sandwiches and cooked tomatoes and oh.. tea with a ton of milk and sugar. You know the usual things families do.
My mother read to me every award winning Caldecott book. Let’s start with One Snowy Day by Ezra Keats. About a little black boy in the snow. Why am I telling you this you ask, as it’s the only book I had with a person of color on the cover or in it. I was miserable being in a white family. I felt like they were freaks.
I have two examples: My sister said that when we went to McDonald’s I sat in a big booth alone and ate my big mac. I refused to move. When I was in my teens I saw my mom at the admiral twin theater and refused to acknowledge her and found out later that I was grounded for giving her attitude. This meant for two weeks I couldn’t skate on Alki Beach or ride the bus.
From 15 on I decided to call the adoption agency every day in search of my mother. How it works is if they call you can contact them if they don’t, you’re out of luck. SO.. finally at 27 my birth-mother Marilyn called. I was in total shock and I think I dropped the phone. I met her and she was an uneducated republican from Colorado and very white. What I mean by that, is very white.. I don’t even think she owns a passport. A passport! I don’t even think she’s passport ready. I don’t even date people who aren’t passport ready. In my family.. if you don’t back pack around Europe then something is wrong with you. My mom did as a roller skating Christian. We all followed minus the skates.
What do I have in common with my Marilyn? She ate sweet and sour shrimp when she was pregnant with me, ate red vines and wore a St. Christopher medal. That’s it. With my mom.. It’s endless.
After so many years of searching for my birth family. I realized I love my wacky family. I love the educated, well-travelled, Narnia tea drinking, PBS watching people they are. I don’t even mind when my mom will call me and tell me to get google out of her computer, because she doesn’t want that page there.
My mom taught me how to hustle, wear lipstick, laugh at myself, appreciate the Queen of England and be proud to be a strong biracial woman.
I wrote this title four days ago. Perhaps women’s intuition came to call. Have you ever realized that your past relationship was a lie? That the one you loved couldn’t give you what you wanted, needed or deserved. Or you loved them soooo much and they were never going to reciprocate any feelings.
Unintentionally or intentionally you had been pushing them further away. The life you wanted with them would never happen. You thought it would. You were complimentary, accommodating, amazing in bed but none of that mattered. They didn’t want you . You weren’t good enough.
So now at 48 you have a dog. A very energetic one. Full of life, love and a true baby. Someone to take care of.
It’s distracting. Nice. As he’s gone. Most likely forever. Sad. Really. I didn’t see it coming. I guess we never do. It will be hard, tough, lonely, isolation can be good to heal oneself. Right?
A dog. Providing affection.
My only one now. Rejoice.
For the dog has risen.
anymore… You know when you really loved someone, or liked them. You were and always have been interested in them. You used to relish in their everyday details. Their trips, bike rides, work etc. You love their hair, smile, touch, music, interests and voice. Then one day nothing.
Now, all he does is ask you about yourself.
They don’t share.
This a de ja vu for me. I’ve written this before.
You’ll see them and have a wonderful dinner or chat and then you’re open again and you trust them but then they say they’ll change and there’s no change. They say they’ll call you and they don’t. Teach you things. Show you cities you’ve both been too. They never will. They claim to be unhappy in their life but it’s all lies.
You see all the joy. Social Media is a bitch.
You’re nothing to them. Twenty eight minutes of time. That’s too fucking sad after eight years. An angry woman could change their life in three seconds. By using the internet and sending a message, people. But that’s not me.
I just stay angry inside and keep it together. It’s not worth it.
I feel as each day passes. I don’t wanna know you anymore. I beg for your time, your emails, your affection and your touch… I now see its pointless. I got you through the rough times but now you can “manage”.
I will slowly fade away from his life…
And call it day. It’s hard but if THEY don’t want you. It’s time to go.
I was hoping to change the cycle of the whole break up disappearance, as if we’ve never met. I’ve done it soo many times.! Who hasn’t? Ladies? Gents?
I know, it’s common to break up and never see that person again.
I was hoping that wouldn’t happen to me.
So I have chosen to disappear. Focus on your life. Forget about me.
We have no future. No life. Nothing.
It’s time.
Not that it matters..but I’ll be fine.
I don’t wanna know you anymore.
Plus, I wanna be around someone who actually likes me, is interested in me and has time..for me.
You know Mr. Sandman, right? The one who, supposedly sits sweetly above you and sprinkles sand over you, so you can have some vivid, dreams and sleep soundly like a baby.
I don’t.
I’ve always been told about him. Basically ever since I was a child. Yet, I’ve never been told about Ms. Sandman. I don’t think she exists. I say this because I haven’t been sleeping well. So if these legends were true, then she would come, then lean on my bed and do the same.
My ritual if you will…..
Right before I go to bed, my eyes get so heavy and you would think that would mean, I am sound asleep. But I am NOT!
Lately when I try to sleep my old lover pops into my dreams. Its the same as in real life. He’ll show up, be extremely connected to me for about two and a half hours, chatting, laughing at my dumb jokes and then he leaves. We don’t interact much. I’d like to more, him, not so much. It reminded of the movie, Moonstruck starring Cher, Olympia, John Mahoney and Nicholas Cage. Apparently I am on a first name basis with these folks.
Cher’s mom played by Olympia says, ” Do you love him Loretta?”
I love him awful, Cher says.
Olympia says, that’s not good.
That right there is one of my favorite lines in the movie.
Back to Mr. Sandman.
This one wasn’t any different. He came over and we were eating food from Cafe Turk. They make the juiciest succulent lamb to die for next to rice full of unique spices with raisins. It was heaven. The only difference was I was living in a high rise like the one in Asia. It was bland on the outside with 33 floors and one elevator that reeked of cigarettes. He, let’s call him.
He had just finished making love to me and jumped up abruptly and said, “here comes my town car”.
My eyes slowly open. My stomach is crampy from either loss, excitement or sadness.
In the end it doesn’t matter.
The dreams come, uncontrollable, waiting, lurking and on Easter Sunday no less. Today it should be of sweet bunnies jumping, pink and lavender dresses. Me, being surrounded by solid dark chocolate Godiva bunnies..
So….Ms. Sandman, tonight, we’ll have the one above. No town cars.
No him.
I’ve never met you but I loved your youngest daughter. She was an amazing woman. Not just because she was my grandmother, but because it was who she was. She was a Christian yet believed everything she read in the National Enquire. I’ve said this before. If you’ve read my blog sorry for the recap.
When I was younger I stayed with her for a few days in upstate NY in a big, old colonial style house with my sibs. I don’t recall much except it was white and if I didn’t eat all of my dinner, I had to have pot roast with potatoes for breakfast the next day.
I love rules. Of course as a child I’d bitch and moan but in the end she knew what was best. Most Nana’s do.
As I got older. I loved many aspects of being the youngest grand daughter. The first being, I was spoiled rotten. The second being HAPPY HOUR with them exactly at 4pm until the records stopped or Murder She Wrote came on.
I started to get very close to my grandparents when I turned 19. I think this was partially because I moved to LA to attend college and they lived more than two hours outside of the city. They watched over me. Family is family.
When I turned 21, that’s when the fun began. I was invited to join happy hour. This included my Grandparents and cousin B. The spread included round, plastic plates with three different sections. One was filled with cheese balls, then BBQ chips and finally pretzels. They weren’t the opening act that was a vodka cranberry with lime that took thirty minutes for my Bampy to make. He did so carefully after he checked my ID.
Pearl, I wonder if you had HAPPY HOUR too! You created a fun loving, energetic woman who loved her husband til the end. You did good. Pearl, if you were extremely education then you did well.
Kisses,
A
Have you ever woken up feeling, happy? No, no, not the usual boring happy, its sunny out, I can’t wait to start my day. Or even, I am on vacation and it’s my day off happy. Lastly, I got paid, I am happy! I mean…..different. Wofting into your own existence. Wait? Is that a word? At peace if you will.
You feel free, relaxed, exposed to the world. Well not really. People, I am NOT that important. To my family and friends, yes. But probably not to you.
Do you remember a time when you used to be or act differently? When I used to get out of relationships in my youth. There is a series of events that would take place.
I would first hate them. Yes, yes, I am aware that word is terrible. I would throw all of their stuff out. I then would erase them from my mind. It’s like, I am in a Terry McMillan novel, lighting a car on fire. It’s just a metaphor. That girl be crazy!
I think the worst of it was driving over an old lovers things in my old Nissan sentra. Settle down folks! This was in college. Maybe, maybe, I put an old lover on a bus back to Poland from London. Or doing the old, “it’s not me it’s you, speech. Or its me NOT you.
We’re friends on Facebook and you know you do the same. Well, the polish one and sentra one. Ah…the twenties!!!
Good times!
Twenty something peeps, listen up!
Do me a favor, do NOT complain about your body, because you look AMAZING!
With a recent EX now three months out, I feel happy. Not that we’re not together but that I no longer carry the expectations that I once had. I hope he stays in my life…forever..
I still miss him, want to be in contact with him, want his approval, love to be in the same room with him, love the smell of him and still respect him. To be honest, I FEEL safer with him in this world.
Ethel, have you ever had this feeling? I don’t have animosity. I just want to move forward and focus on joy. Laughter.
Be grateful to each day.
Ethel, can I have my free Snapple , now?
Forgive me father for I have sinned. It’s been twenty years since my last confession. Just kidding. I am not even Catholic. Bernice is a fictional character I made up. Think about an old, angry woman in a nursing home who kicks off because she was served strawberry jello instead of her butterscotch pudding with cool whip!
But for the sake of this blog you are a more modern Dear Abbey if you will. Full of wit and hostile sarcasm.
So….
Dear Bernice,
I am obsessed with running. When I SAY that, it appears like I am. I want to again. I buy books on how to lose weight running, run faster, train for a marathon and stress free running. One of my favorite purchases is buying running gear mainly tanks with slogans on them, like run, rest, repeat and you’re getting stronger. Maybe I LOVE these positive affirmations so much because I am working with being on my own after a break up.
My ex used to come over in his running gear. He’d wear a politically correct t-shirt about fighting cancer or a picture of a cute relative celebrating some holiday. Shorts over black tights and a baseball cap to shield the sun. At the time, it annoyed me. But now when I look back it was cute. Sexy if you will. He’d be all sweaty. Come in. Shower Make love then leave. It was ravishing to feel such a strong body.
Does he still run? I don’t know. I am not privy to the day to day. Which kills me, I miss being in the know.
I hear you slapping me Bernice.
Back to you. I love reading runners world magazine. They recently started putting more beautiful African American women on the cover. I recently read a blog called, Fat girl running. Settle down folks, that’s its name.
I signed up for a half in June. I see myself as this tone, glistening woman finishing the race with a body by tae boe, biking and yoga.
But Bernice how can I make this 48 year old body do it. Thoughts Bernice.
Thinking of chocolate,
Rita
Strangely enough after almost a decade of being with a married man. I have no regrets. Some might say that’s bad. But I don’t think it is. We are no longer a couple so I feel fine to discuss it.
The relationship was good and bad but mostly good. That sounds so juvenile typed out in clear view. Regrets about being with a married man. No way! Regrets of not doing more for sure.
Road trips
Camping
Picnics
BBQs
Outside concerts
Rowing or canoeing
Skiing even though I am black and we don’t do that. It’s a very expensive sport!
Dancing
On an airplane
In a cabin
Swimming in the ocean
And finally a pie eating contest.
Just kidding. My lover was/is sporty. Fit, courageous but…..not up for a few of the items above.
More deets to come. I am sure someone is out there who was or is or knows someone in similar situation.
theotherblackwoman 