Hardened

i imagine there is much work to be done concerning myself. actually, why am i even imagining. i already know the deal.

there is much, much work to be done.

when i became such as i am, i do not know. why i became such as i am, i May have the answer for that. but i'm not willing to explore that now.

 for now just know that i'm hardened. i don't care about people the way i used too. i used to lose sleep over the problems of others. i used to strategically employ all the right words, sounds, action and emotion in general to solve them. i used to be able to feel what Billy, Sue & Bobby felt as if their soul had been transplanted to replace mine. i could really Love then. 

and now?

well, i already told you.

out of thin air.

before 10 minutes ago i was dead broke.

$0 was in my account as far as I knew.  but low and behold, there is a God...

who just so happened to put 25 dollars into my dry account.

now how about that.  the bank itself saw fit to place 25 dollars into MY account. me. out of all the other people out there this could have happened to, it happened to me.

i'm telling you, dear readers, having faith in the unseen really does pay off.

into thin air i casted my faith. out of thin air God produced.

MAYBE THE AIR WASN'T SO THIN AFTER ALL.

have a glorious day. 

you're too Shy.

People often have the habit of interjecting random statements of "helpful" conclusiveness in my conversations with them.

"You're deeply sensitive to people."

"You know, you're too shy."

"You should go out more."

Nothing that I don't already know about me myself.

You see, in their eyes I'm searching for something. Something more than the bore my life presents to them in that moment. I guess me reliving mistakes and experiences of the past represent unfulfillment and a dormant (to MY senses) desire to conquer them through which I am lost as to where to begin. I beg to differ and am highly insulted each time this happens. It is yet another nail driven into my flesh to bleed out covert frustration at having been misunderstood.

Being that I am sensitive, deeply sensitive, so I've been told, I don't need such a thing to be told to me in the first place. I know myself well.

God, the Best Nephew in the World and Sleep Deprivation

"Hey Mike-Mike," he says to my friend with familiarity in his voice.  This is the other day when I hand over my cell phone so he can talk. He is two, not quite 3, but soon to turn it in the fall.  "Little boy," I say, "how'd you know to call Mike that!??"  For a moment he forgets that Mike-Mike is on the cell, that he is even holding the cell himself. I can tell this. He just smiles that smile he's been giving me lately, the one where he's not quite sure what he did that intrigued me so to show such amusement toward him, the one that bears the mark of pride at having caused it.  It is a smile with his eyes and brows, a soft rhythmic dance between the two as big green-gray-brown eyes suddenly hit daydream mode and brows arch high.  His eyes glisten brightly like tearful eyes minus the puffs.  His tiny mouth housing tiny pink lips opens to form the perfect small "o."  Somehow, all of this works to create that smile of his. 

I don't know when the kid ever heard me call Mike, "Mike-Mike."  Mike and I don't talk on the phone that often.  He has never met mike or talked with him on the phone before until now.  And he certainly hadn't been around previously to hear me affectionally calling my friend "Mike-Mike," as I happened to be all by my lonesome at the time.  But the kid's amazing like that.  Somewhere along the line, on another given day,  he must've heard me using my term of affection for Mike and inadvertently stored it in that spongy brain of his.  I hope he keeps amazing me like this.  I like to feel tingly inside from the wonderment and witnessing the pride in his smile at having caused his Auntie Lee-Lee to feel it. 

And it is because of these types of occurrences between my nephew and I that make me, right now, in this very moment want to rescue him from boredom.  I know he's bored because children have active minds and his is especially active, certainly too active for what he is doing.  He is sitting in his high chair having a late lunch that he has already finished eating.  There are only crumbs and crumb coated fingers and television noise to keep him company (Every kid doesn't like to sit in front of the television all day.  That's a myth.  Elijah's mind is always on--even when he is watching it).  I see all this as I'm sneaking back up the stairs to my room to hide from him.  I see all this because he catches me in the act and looks at me with those intelligent eyes of his--even in moments of boredom his eyes are meaningful.  "Hey Elijah" I say.  "Hey" he says, then turns back around to continue doing nothing.  He turns because he knows I don't want to be bothered. My heart half melts with shame.  The story line is more so that I can't be bothered, shouldn't be bothered.  When I see him like that I want to say, "Come on, let's go to the park" or "Hey, you want Auntie to take you to Jumpin' Joes?"  I want to be the super hero auntie that I sometimes am, right then.  But I am not that then.  Then, and even now, I am sleepy and irritated and angry inside.  I am not good for him. If my heart had melted fully, I could be.

So only moments ago, I was sitting on my bed drinking milk brought up with me from the kitchen and eating a chocolate swirl cake thingy retrieved from an early morning visit to the gas station.  I was crying.  Crying because my nephew needs discipline to his life so he won't end up like me (alotta promise without focus), a schedule to follow everyday where he's not just sitting around doing nothing.  My sister loves him to death.  I know this.  But the poor kid's bum should be bruised and blistered the way she makes him just sit around all the time. But I know it's only because she's tired. It's her job to watch him while the rest of us work. And I was crying because I want to be bigger than who I am. Like this morning when I shot a bird at a truck driver who tried to run me off the road. I won't say what else that scenario entailed.  Later, but not much later in the day, I was "greeted" (woken up) with a surprise visit from a friend who I have to say is one of the most complicated people I know. She has not been around to know that I've changed from the one I once was.  She could not have imagined I would be unwilling to put up with her refusal to speak by mouth, forcing me to communicate by pen and paper so early in the morning, the way no one else will do for her and probably never will.  I was crying because I'd just rededicated my life to God on Sunday, yet I allowed the residue of anger from the Saturday before it to arise on this morning and continue to this very moment, even.  And I was crying because I could not decide which would be best, to write, to paint, to read or to run, to lie under a tree in the park under clouds or to go for a lone lunch at a cafe, to sleep in my car for my nap or try to finally get some rest in my room amongst the constant noise in the house causing me not to do so in the first place.  Why couldn't I decide? So I cried some more, asking God, telling God, "I just want to sleep. I'm tired God. Why can't I just sleep?"  Simultaneously, I could feel in my bowels the desire, the need to push past my lack of sleep and need of it, however, to spend time with my little nephew.  Needless to say, I chose to write. Or rather it chose me.  Like a puppet on strings I rose from my bed, grabbed my art-induced spray painted laptop with chocolate swirl cake fingers, and began to type.

I feel better I guess.

I just wish it didn't take all this.  

When the Utterance Strikes

I'm so tired of the constant utterance.

"Ding dong," they say. "Ding freaking donggggg, Leah. You're the one who's judgemental..."  This is what people usually say in response when I tell them they're judging me.

Sometimes people say this with their voice.  But mostly the utterances come from their body language.

And each time they say this type of thing something inside me churns. I hurt. I anger. I want to cause destruction as the natural disaster that I've become inside. Little nuggets of hail instantly formed from the hurt of it all begin quickly to mutate into astronomical sized hail "bits" in my brain as it races to undo the hurt by spewing a hail-sized effort of combative words towards my sudden enemy. Saliva then waters my tongue as if its somehow and highly strangely become the last giant possibility of habitation on an under-quenched planet for all creation's survival--the Great Hope. And this is all from my newfound inability to swallow due to the tedious action of trying not to show my offensiveness caused by the Sudden Enemy.  You see, my jaws nearly become cemented shut and my trachea removed when I'm really angry (This just means I'm trying to remain expressionless and keep from swallowing as well so that the enemy cannot see my feelings). But the problem is my body is no longer the standard 98.5 degrees fahrenheit at this point. It has evolved into a temperature so hot that I have no need for the assistance of a thermometer to tell me that I'm running way more than a fever. My mouth is so hot, the lake of saliva in it can be likened to hot lava. My mouth is so hot, a thermometer would melt in it. My mouth is sooo hot, I have no choice but to let in air spewing out the Hail-sized Effort of Combative Words that have been waiting to be spewed whilst largely formed saliva-turned spittle leap toward my enemy in conjunction with my words. Its a horribly beautiful duo.

And here is why I anger so ferociously, here's why:  I am one of the types who'll give her good coat--Yes. The one that happens to be thermodynamically unchallenged, that you'd wear on a really Cold day, the expensive kind--to the homeless skinny guy walking down the street without one. I don't say "These darn homeless people. Now if he had a job he wouldn't be out on the streets freezing," and then drive on by. Nooooooo. I give him my coat because he's cold. Better yet, I'm the type of person who'll give her Last good coat away, which by the way is only the Last Good coat because it Really is the Last One in the closet, then buy myself another one (even though I too am just a step away from homelessness as well) from Good Will. I'm one of the types to hold the hands of a bum and pray with him or her because they need it, despite the tales those hands could tell. I'm the type to sell my television for money because I have none to give you, then give you the proceeds so you can pay a bill. I do this because even though I'm poor, you're poorer than me. I'm the type that when I hear a man preach a sermon can in Truth know the hypocrisies in his life yet separate the worth of his sermon from the worth of his life. I can shake his hand and tell him "God really used you today," and mean it and go home and pray for him with sincerity concerning his personal life. I'm the type who doesn't care that you're male and flamboyantly homosexual and can't change your own tire when I'm female and can.  I do it for you without even looking at you oddly just because you're a guy.  I do it for you without even looking at you funny just because you're gay.  God told me to love you and be humble in my position, giving Him the glory always.  And this is an opportunity for me to show you the Testament of God in my life in that I don't treat you like I'm disgusted by you.  You know I'm a God follower because I tell you with sincerity "God bless you" and have treated you with supreme kindness.  So before I leave from helping you, you become attracted to God through my actions and begin to want some of what I've got for yourself.  It is my genuine goal to help you with what helps me. I'm the Type who can love you and do right by you even when you fail me by cheating me, breaking pacts with me or the worst-- Judging me. And the above are All true events from my life. There's much more you'll never hear for the sake of the privacy of others and my own humility. Much more.

So when an apple is old and red or teeth marked and green and I say so because our conversation calls for such to be said, please don't say I'm being judgmental. And If it walks like a turtle but talks like a duck and I say so--because our conversation calls for such to be said--please don't say I'm being judgmental. The sky's blue during day, gray according to the weather, a spectrum of colors when the sun sets and very dark blue at night. And if I ever catch the sky one hundred and eighty degree-ing it in the middle of the day as a dark blue night, and our conversation calls for such, I'll speak the Truth as nice as I can that the sky's making a big fat lie--unless of course, it's that Last Day.

I can't help it I'm analytical. And I can't help it I'm usually right in my analyzations. I can't help it I have a memory that retains information when I don't know it is so that I can remember what you said in '03 comparative to what you said in '08 as soon as you say what you do in '08. I can't help it that life is a giant puzzle to me and we all are mini puzzle pieces within it's puzzle pieces that further break down into puzzle pieces for which I somehow how an intrinsically logical understanding that I have yet to be able to communicate the depth of. The only one's who ever understand, despite my lack of communicative ability in this area, are those who are this way themselves. And I can't help it I'm slightly precognitive so sometimes you can say guess what I have in my pocket and I can tell you not knowing just HOW I can. But I Can help who I tell my findings to and and to what extent. So maybe I should just start doing that a little bit more. Judging others, in my opinion, means most likely a person isn't being given a fair shot because you Assume you know what they did, who they aren't, why they are, all that stuff. It means you either don't have first hand evidence or lack a good hound dog nose for putting logistics together. In many cases, I have both.  And most of cases, I just have a pretty good darn nose.

One thing I've learned, most reasons people Think I'm judgmental is because of how I present information.  I'm blunt, even in my niceness.  And I'm not as good at being properly expressive in utterance as I am on paper.  Written words are wonderful in that they have time to stew in your mind before being extracted.  Oft times my oral words are Spewed, unintelligibly in my opinion, in that they don't propose to the human ear what really lies within me to be spoken.  Hence, I come across as judgmental.  

And I hate this with the same ferocity as two like-sided magnets.  I hate this like how Hurricane Katrina hated on Louisiana.  I hate this the same way the human body rejects poison.  And it's quite unfortunate that, sometimes, in all its Rejecting of a poison the body does not always survive it.  But this will not be me.  I will not be like those who allow the opinions of others, the judgments of others to stagnate them as a person who can never learn to trust again or is afraid to open up her mouth.  I will simply, as always,  keep asking God to guide my tongue and improve my communication skills for the Glory of Him.  I will learn not to take offense, because "My goodness" Jesus took no offense!  I will learn to use the gifts God's given me with completion.

When the Utterance Strikes, it hurts.  But that's okay, one day I'll learn to kill it for good--by giving it absolutely no reason to utter in the first place.

Kudos to the Villain in me.

SUBJECT: the new number


"Hi. I pray you are doing well. I am writing to apologize for lying about having a new number and my usage of profane words. I lied because I no longer wish to have someone a part of my life who has repeatedly disrespected me concerning reliability and lack of manners. I wanted badly for us to remain friends always, but it seems you don't know how to be a good friend. No hard feelings so much my way in target of you anymore. I'm coming to realize sometimes one must allow another's pattern to set as it is sewn. I can no longer alter your disheveled treatment towards the meaning of friendship into the redundantly forlorn hope that you will one day change. May you be blessed in everything fruitful that you do. May you learn from what you lack. Peace."

THE ABOVE WAS SENT TO The Villain in an email on today, just minutes ago...

I'm Not Proud of Myself.

(If you have not read "The Villain in Me..." this might not mean much to you. It's a follow-up)

The Villain texted me the other day.
His number registered as 404-917-6*** as he is now an unknown in my registry of numbers.
Here's what he had to say.

"Good morning
Hope all is well"

And here's how I responded.

"Who the ***k is
this? U got the
wrong d***
number dis early n
d mornin"

It was 7:21am. I'd only been home from work an hour.
I'm used to being up early.


...SOMETIMES WE THINK WE KNOW OURSELVES.
UNTIL WE ARE CONFRONTED.

Here's how The Villian responded.

"Wow...really???
This is N----"

I was delighted. The dumba** bought it.
(I'm not generally one to curse. But this is how I was thinking at the time of my temporary insanity.)

I respond back with
NOTHING.

The Villian finally realizes he's not as cerebral as he thought he was...
He finally gets it.

"I'm sure u
knew who this was....so whatever," he says.
(End of conversation)

I'D WANTED TO MAKE HIM THINK I'D CHANGED NUMBERS & THOUGHT SO little OF HIM I DIDN'T EVEN THINK TO LET HIM KNOW. (I thought this might hurt him more than just me not responding)

I WANTED TO STING HIS MILDEWED HEART WITH AN EARLY MORNING APPETIZER OF CRUDE LANGUAGE AND OBLIVION TO MY WHEREABOUTS.

I WANTED TO 409 HIM, SuperClean HIM, bleach HIM. SO HE COULD KNOW THAT I'D GONE THIS TIME. FOR GOOD.

before I'm Thirty...

I will.

become an expert web designer.

learn graphic design.

take a photography class.

write a novel. aunonomously. based on my life.

become a certified PC repair technician.

learn Portuguese & travel to Brazil.

take an art class?

acquire a degree in furniture design?

AND

most importantly

Love God more than me.


P.S.
I'll also come back to read this periodically to remember to do all this--before I'm 30.

The Villain in me or the Lack There-of and Love-UNEDITED

I can't honestly say I'll never talk to him again. I can only say untruthfully that I won't. Because, you see, out of all the villainy lurking within me that seldom shows--except for in times like this--the greatest of it is in opposition to myself.

I wish I could be a villain in the way The Villain was one to me. I wish I could make him hurt and not even care that I did (this blog will mostlikely be the extent of my revenge). I'd lure him into my lair with an irresistable force so powerful that even you, dear reader, would not dare to read my words in description of it for fear of your own intoxicated plight. And at the height of The Villain's oblivion via my irresistable weapon of allure, at the height of his deepest intrigue with me, I'd de-magnitize "our aura" faster than what encompasses the rules of gravity. I WISH I could do all this, but the Heart of me can't. My Heart is a flow that won't stop loving. And THAT is the greatest of the villainies within me.

When I was a child, I was angry. I could hate. And I could do it genuinely. I will not elaborate much because if I did, you'd instinctively tense up tighter than King Kong in a size 12 girdle from the chilling reality of it all, and I care too much about my readers to allow you to undergo the affliction of restricted blood flow, teeth-chipping chattering teeth and clenched fists that leave nail-imprinted palms. Besides, this metaphor's getting kind of scary. King Kong probably would bust out of that size twelve, know what I mean? But, ahmm, as I was saying, when I was a child I was angry. About alot of things. And I spent a great deal of time cultivating Hate so that I could do it better and better each time. I wanted so bad to feel so much evil inside so that I could become numb to hurting people. But then, one day the most eventful, life changing things happened. One, I saw one whom I'd oppressed act as an oppressor to a lesser. And Two, I actually BECAME the oppressed by my formerly oppressed.

(perhaps I'll elaborate on these for you one day. but for now...)

Actually seeing my hate in action by another, and in the same EXACT manner as I'd use it is what First woke me up. It was literally like watching a secretly recorded video of myself doing an action I'd deny with sincerity had I not seen it with my own eyes! I knew I was hateful, but not THAT hateful. I'd have never given myself that great of credit. And seeing my hate in action taught me that I wasn't as hateful as I tried to indicate I was. After feeling a sadness of regret for the one I saw oppressed, I realized, somewhere deep within that I wasn't a monster afterall. I discovered that I could love.

For the time when I BECAME the oppressed, I can honestly say I WAS. SCARED. TO. DEATH. You see, this occurrance happened AFTER I witnessed the above mentioned, upon which I began to immediately willingly defragment the hard shell surrounding my heart. By then, even though, I still had a bit of a temper, I'd learned that love was stronger than anger. Love had pushed aside my quest of hatefulness like the flick of a switch that turns on the light in a dark and empty room. Now that the light was shining brightly amidst the unfilled room of my heart, the room could finally be filled with lovely things. See, my perspective had changed and so had my heart. So I couldn't be angry in retalliation to the extent I used to in the past, not even if my oppressor had showered hate on me with the ferocity of 50 strategically thrown daggers at it's enemy target. Witnessing my oppressor's extreme lack of self-control was empowering to me--simply because it made me feel like crap. Finally, I'd felt the way I made others feel. And it was awful. Just awful.

And all this, dear readers, is why my heart is a flow that won't stop loving. This is why the greatest of my villianies is towards myself.

If The Villian ever calls me again, or emails, or texts, I don't know if I can ignore him as others would, as he IS quite deserving of this minor act of revenge. And it's not because I'm in love with him that I most-likely won't ignore him. I stopped loving him the Summer of 2006 when I finally woke up and realized I could do much better for a mate. And it's not even because I want to keep him as my friend. I woke up and realized I could do much better for a friend the moment he'd villianized me for the Christmas Holidays, the same as he'd done just previously during Thanksgiving of which I was very forgiving. In fact, I believe it's safe to say The Villain is not even worthy to be my AQUAINTANCE, or perhaps we'll lessen him to that of a passersby, even more deservingly reasonable of course. I can honestly say I don't know if I can ignore him, for the simple existance of etiquette. Etiquette. Ah, in learning to love I've learned to love past subjectivity, past affliction from others. Hence, I'm very forgiving--and also very easily taken advantage of. Seemingly. But please, dear reader, don't test me. Grrrrrr. Taking advantage of me requires the subtlety of Snow's gentle landing and Water's forming and breaking of bonds, ambiguous to the naked eye. I'm quite the intrinsic when it comes to accurately percieving!

Yah. So, back to The yucky Villian.

He's not worth a 15th of a cent, if such a thing even exist as tangible, which I'm sure it doesn't. Why would it? A 15th of a cent is Worthless.

He's not worth the dung hanging half-endedly from the butt of a barren cow in a field of undernourished grass from which the cow eats and will soon die.

He wouldn't be worth it even, if he were a piece of meat and the last of it on earth, amongst millions of hungry faces and hands craddling empty bellies that roar with the same growlings as Lions. Not one hungry soul would dare to feast on The Villain for fear of taking on the worthless likeness of him.

But strangely, The Villain IS worth loving. Why? Because if he's not worth loving, then he's worth a relapse into the snare of anger waiting to consume me as it once did so long ago. And he's not worth that. He's not worth my disempowerment. Love is always stronger than hate, stronger than any negative force around. And I choose it as my weapon. Afterall, didn't you know? God=Love! And I want Him on my side. Not anything else...

Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I've got a few pictures to delete from my laptop, a few letters to dispose of, a couple of numbers to delete, cards to--oh, you know!

I love hard. But I'm nobody's fool but God's.

Peace. And please do have a magnificant day.