two weeks later...

[TW: a whole lot of depressing shit, with some mentions of suicide thrown in for good measure]

so, um, it's been an eventful two weeks or so over here, to say the least. thanks to everyone who reached out and checked up, and also thanks to those who expressed their support by keeping a distance because they know that's how we roll. i love y'all for it and i am thankful.

i don't know what's next. i am trying my damnedest to be ok with not knowing what's next, but my type a-minus personality is getting in my way. y'all know i need some semblance of order in at least some areas of my life, and the past couple of weeks have been anything but orderly or ordinary.

(if you have no idea what the hell i'm talking about when i refer to the events of two weeks ago, please go read this and then come back.)

as i was saying, the past 2 weeks have been a whirlwind and i don't really know what's next and i'm trying to be ok with the not knowing.

i'm trying to be ok, period. some days are easier than others. i thought i was doing ok last sunday, but as you'll see below from the stuff i scribbled throughout the day, i wasn't fully back to myself.

note that i'm italicizing last week's scribbles as a way of marking them as separate from this main entry.

10-25 1:51pm

writing for when you look down at your wrists a week after your first suicidal episode in more than 20 years and you think maybe you should get matching tattoos on both wrists because then you won't be as likely to slit your wrists.

yes, this is my life right now. at least i'm still around to write about it, right? right.

~5:10pm

writing for when you play carl thomas' "emotional" at the bar and your friends are excited but they don't really get how true and how real some of the lyrics are for you. you almost wanna say something, but it's kinda taking all you have to keep your facade going and therefore you just sit on it for the moment.

~5:17pm

shall we talk about how i'm trying to be present and have fun and be supportive because a friend is in mourning and it's getting harder and harder to fake it because i am so fucking fed up with everything?

i'm not sure people really get how fucking difficult this shit is and it's sorta kinda my fault for not being able to verbalize how hard things are and it's not fair to expect everyone else to pick up on that shit, and yet...

i'm tired. i had the best of intentions and yet i am so fucking tired. how the fuck am i supposed to be the one who looks out for everyone else if i can't keep my shit together?

amazing how the folks who you would think would know better would be more in tune with what's going on, and yet it's the folks who have enough distance to be observant enough to check up on you like "hey, i know you're not ok, but i'm here if you need me." how does that even work?

how am i supposed to be about this empath life if it's talking all i have (and i really do mean ALL) to keep myself upright? how is this supposed to work? how am i supposed to keep moving forward when all i wanna do is fall down and give up?

how am i supposed to keep moving forward when all i wanna do is fall down and give up?

how am i supposed to keep moving forward when i swear on all things holy and slightly unholy that all i wanna do is fall down and give up?

i thought i was ready. i thought i was better. i thought i could power through this weekend and not fall apart, because other people wanted/needed me to have my shit together so i could be there for them. i'm not even sure how this is supposed to work anymore. i'm tired. i am so very tired. i'm not sure i have the words to articulate just how tired i am at the moment.

this has to stop. i know enough to know that i cannot function well like this. somehow, someway, i need to pull myself together, and not just at work, so i can get back to whatever quasi-normal i was at before, say, last saturday. i don't know how that's supposed to work and, if i'm honest with myself, i'm not entirely convinced i want it to work, but whatever.

this is all part of the work, right? pulling yourself to the side to fall apart because god forbid anyone see your moment of weakness - or better still, they don't see it and you're just like "really? how'd you miss that?" but you can't get mad about it because this is your job. you're the strong one. you're the one who holds everyone else up and when people do bother to inquire about you, it's always in public and therefore you smile and nod like everything is beautiful even though you can feel yourself shattering on the inside, because what else are you gonna do?

i've apologized via email to the friends who got caught up in last sunday's madness. attempting to grin and bear it when they knew good and damn well i wasn't ok wasn't fair to them, and lying and saying i was fine when i clearly wasn't definitely wasn't fair. i fucked that all the way up. if you're reading this, let me apologize again. i'm sorry. i am really and truly sorry.

another theme this year, along with meeting and leaving people where they are, is owning up to your shit. taking ownership of your good, bad, ugly, mediocre, brilliant, nonsensical, whatever moments. being mature enough to say "yeah, that's on me" even when there's no benefit to doing so. faults and all. flaws and all. fuck-ups and all. it's all part of the work, i think.

and yeah, it would've been easy for me to leave all that stuff in my notebook and not share it, but there's a part of me that truly believes that someone out there might be battling through similar shit and their path and pain might be eased a bit by knowing they're not alone in this. i might be wrong, but i'm going with it for now.

have i mentioned how much i love just going with things and not having at least a partial plan of attack? my type a-minus personality is having a fucking field day with this shit. :P

and now, a selection from the poetry committee

We Wear the Mask

BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

       We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

       We wear the mask!

tired of being weak and sick of being strong

[TW: suicide]

saturday night was the first time i have seriously contemplated suicide in more than 20 years.

it started innocently enough. i'd booked a staycation weekend b/c i wanted a bit of a break from real life. i was having a drink in my hotel room, as one does on a saturday night while watching sports, and i felt my old friend anxiety trying to creep in.

"ok, fine," i said. "let's go ahead and have all of the anxiety. i don't have to worry about my right hand burning up with tension because i'm not typing anything and if i start shaking, no one's around to see it."

do you know how difficult it is to watch a hockey game while you're sobbing on the floor? i literally slid out of the chair and onto the floor at one point and when i tell you that this was a particularly ugly cry, please believe me. i cried so much that i was dehydrated and had to down half a bottle of water as soon as i was mobile again.

i got up, though, and i kept drinking (and hydrating) and watching sports, and i figured that mini-breakdown was the end of it. but it wasn't.

"remember me? i came to hang out with you on your 17th birthday! let's talk."

oh for fuck's sake i am not THAT drunk. go away.

"no, really! it's been decades! you're in a hotel room. who cares if housekeeping discovers your body on the floor or in the tub?"

are you serious? i think i have a couple of xanax and my migraine meds and maybe some other OTC meds and a bottle of whiskey. do you really think i'm gonna consume all those just so i can get my stomach pumped later? what sense does that make?

"what sense does it make continuing to fight a battle you're not sure you can win?"

......

"why are you still trying so hard? who really gives a good damn if you make it?"

.......

"see? you can't even answer me! i was right all those years ago, and i'm right now. break one of those glasses and cut your wrists."

yeah, no. i don't like the sight of blood and i'm not a big fan of pain.

"you sure you don't have any other pills with you? just take all of them and drink all of that whiskey and hey, do those windows open?"

i'm on the 3rd floor.

"ok, so take the pills and drink the booze and jump anyway and sit outside and freeze until someone finds you later."

i...i don't think i want to do that.

"who's gonna notice? have you really left that large of a legacy to think you're important enough to be missed?"

..........

"no one cares. no one cared about your poor motherless child shtick when you were 17, and you've said yourself that your current path is difficult and adulting is bullshit."

yes, those are things i have said, but...

"no buts! do it!"

no.

"i'm sorry, what did you say?"

no. i am unsober and therefore i am susceptible to making poor decisions but i'm not that far gone. no.

"you sure? you really think people are gonna care enough to keep you around?"

yeah. yeah, i do. now go away and let me finish my drink in relative peace.

that was part one. after hockey was over and i went out for a greasy dinner because i knew i needed something to soak up all of that booze, i eventually went to bed.

_____________________________________________________

1:30am.

hm. a little early for a panic attack, but i did pass out before midnight and therefore the timing might be a bit off.

oh, this is one of those panic attacks where i can't stop crying. ok.

no, wait, i have to start pacing around the room while i'm crying. can i sit down now? it's kinda hard to remain upright when i'm crying so hard i can barely see straight.

dammit, panic-induced nausea, who invited you? good thing this bathroom floor is nice and cool. i'll just curl up here for a moment until i can stop crying and my stomach feels like it's done contributing to this panic attack party.

ok. gonna drink some water and some ginger ale (way to be prepared, past me) and go back to bed.

"o hai!"

fuck me running. it's *squints at clock* 3am. are we really doing this right now?

"yup! who cares if you wake up crying in the middle of the night on a regular basis? you know there's a way to end this once and for all."

didn't i say earlier that i wasn't ready to give up yet?

"yeah, yeah, that's what they all say, until they see things my way and give in. you're just like them."

no. i am many things and i am very vulnerable at this point, but i am not just like them.

"sure you are. why else would i be here?"

...........

"gotcha! now go grab those pills and let's party."

no.

"DO IT!"

no. i am going back to bed and i will eventually fall asleep once my heart stops racing and i will get up in the morning and go to brunch and continue to live my life.

"you're faking it, you know. you're not really happy."

of course i'm not really happy. that's not news.

"you wouldn't have to worry about this shit if you were dead."

this is a valid point, but i'm not quite ready to concede the battle just yet.

"ok, if you say so..."

i do. please leave. it's late and i'm sober and exhausted and i would like to get some sleep now.

_____________________________________________________

at some point, i did manage to get some sleep, and i did get up the next morning and go to brunch, and i am continuing to live my life, as evidenced by the fact that i am able to share this with you right now.

the title of this post came to me earlier on saturday before the anxiety really kicked in. it's true for so many of us, i think - that we're tired of being weak and sick of being strong. i can only speak for me when i say that somehow, i just find a way to keep going. that's what i did on my 17th birthday. that's what i did on saturday. hopefully that's what i'll continue to do.

confessions of a recovering gladiator

hi.

my name is eulalia, and i am a recovering gladiator.

the new season of "scandal" starts tomorrow and i'm having difficulty getting excited about it. i will more than likely watch the premiere, but it won't be necessarily be appointment television with me glued to the couch for the whole hour and live-tweeting the whole thing. i'm sure there are a number of you who will be greatly relieved by this news, especially if you've followed me on twitter during previous seasons of "scandal" and have seen just how active my feed can be for that hour and some change each week.

i've been trying to figure out the rationale for my decline in devotion, aside from the shark jumpage (if you're a fan and you watched last season, especially the finale, then you're probably nodding your head in agreement right now), and it occurred to me that it's easier for me to let go of "scandal" now than it would have been when the show first started.

"scandal" premiered during my quasi-nanny days in deerfield. i would record each week's episode and then watch it friday morning, usually while the twins were napping. i'd live-tweet in the sense of posting my reactions as i was watching each episode the day after. twitter was a huge lifeline for me in those days because it was a great way to stay connected with people and it didn't require a huge amount of thought, which worked because, as a lot of you may remember, i had a lot of shit going on back then.

when i started moving closer, and finally returned to the city, my obsession with "scandal" continued. in hindsight, i think the show was/is a great escape route. it's soapy and cheesy and just provocative enough to keep gladiators like me tuned in every week. it really was appointment television for me. any number of y'all can attest to the fact that i would arrange my schedule to make sure i was in front of a tv with my laptop and/or, once i finally got a smartphone, my phone, ready to tweet along with the cast and my fellow gladiators.

this upcoming season, though? i don't know. enough has changed in my life, the return to full-time employment being a large part of it, that i'm not sure i need that weekly escapism as much. i'm on twitter as much as i ever was, i think, but it's not coming from a sense of "omfg my life is in shambles and tweeting with y'all is the only thing that makes any sense right now" as it was a few years ago. i'm still stressed out about any number of things, but knowing that i have a steady paycheck and am slowly saving enough to move back out on my own is so wonderfully fantastic. i can go out for drinks or a impromptu dinner (as i've done twice this week already) and not panic about where the money is coming from or how my phone bill's gonna get paid and will i have enough money to get back and forth to work. these are blessings and i am grateful for all of them.

the fact that this new chapter of my life, unfinished as it is, coincides with the return of "scandal" is really nothing more than that - a coincidence. i just think it's interesting how a show, and how i interacted with that show, kept me going for so long. i think it's great that i feel like i'm in a place where i don't need that crutch as much as i once did. i won't go so far as to say that "scandal" is now just another tv show for me, but i can say that for this coming season, i'm more interested in the plot twists in my own life than in the ones on screen for that hour on thursday nights. i'm sure wine and popcorn, or some sort of booze and snacks, will still be involved somehow.

grasping at and catching dreams

[TW: sexual abuse/assault/misconduct]

i went to the movies last friday night. this in and of itself is not that unusual - lots of people go to the movies on friday nights, right? right.

i saw a movie called "dreamcatcher." it knocked me for more of a loop than i expected. yes, i bought a ticket for this knowing that it would probably make me cry. and it did. what i didn't expect was to be transported back to the young girl i was, trying to make sense of things. i cried for the girls and women in the film, and i cried for myself, and i cried for so many other countless women and girls. it was actually kind of a combination cry, because i didn't completely lose my composure.

i sat there in the theater, seeing these women and girls in and around the city that i love (yes, we're talking about chicago), who'd gone through so much and still had so much to endure and i couldn't help but wonder about how the hell did i get so lucky? ok, maybe "lucky" isn't the best term, but let's go with it for now. bad things happened to me and, by most societal measures, i made it out ok. i graduated high school, picked up a degree or 3, i don't have any kids...all the check boxes are filled, y'know?

but what the fuck makes me so different from the women in the movie? how'd i make it through and they didn't or at least haven't made it yet? i couldn't piece it together. i'm still puzzling through it, to be honest. i may never figure it out and i'm trying to be ok with it. but, oh, i empathized with these women and girls, y'all. and when brenda, the subject of this documentary, admitted to having a few days during which she wasn't sure how to keep functioning and doing the work? that's a paraphrase, but damn if i didn't identify and start crying along with her and a couple other people in the theater.

i made a donation to the dreamcatcher foundation this week. that's how much the movie affected me. "dreamcatcher" is amazing, if a bit triggering, and if you're able to watch it if/when it comes to a theater near you, please do so. i'll pass you some kleenex. i was so keyed up after the movie that i didn't feel like i could go straight home, so i stopped at the bar and had a few drinks and caught up with a few friends. that's another post, though, about the whole not feeling like i can go home thing. 

i went to the movies again last night. i'd missed previous screenings of "amy" around the city so i made sure to put this on my calendar and buy a ticket. i'm so glad i did, even though i spent half the movie just saying "oh, amy" to myself over and over. so many people failed amy throughout her life, and i'm glad the movie didn't gloss over it. 

this is what i've been pondering since friday and again since last night. how is it that so many of us manage to grasp at and eventually catch our dreams, and so many more people are still trying to become mobile enough to even grasp at their dreams, let alone figure out how to catch at least one of them? it doesn't seem fair and yet i know this is how the world works, and so i am trying not to over-think it, but i guess that's part of this whole empath/caregiver thing - pondering the how/why of things are fucked up even while you're trying to do your best to make things even just a little bit better.

it's like i keep reminding myself - it's ok not to have all of the answers because i damn sure don't have all of the questions. just keep doing the work. keep pushing forward. it's not as easy as it sounds, trust me, but sometimes it's all we can do.

recipe review: shrimp and broccoli rotini

sometimes i'll come across a recipe and i'll put it to the side to make eventually. this shrimp and broccoli rotini recipe was one i'd knew i'd be making sooner rather than later, especially since i had everything on hand except the shrimp. when quasi-landlord mentioned that she'd seen shrimp on sale at mariano's this week, it was time.

i used whole wheat fusilli instead of rotini b/c that's what was on hand. same goes for using frozen broccoli (shoutout to those giant bags of frozen broccoli at costco). the shrimp were 31-40 count and i wasn't motivated enough to take the tails off before making the dish. i used the zest and the juice of a whole lemon because lemon and shrimp and broccoli are awesome. i also added a clove of crushed garlic because garlic is also awesome and there wasn't any in this recipe which had to be an oversight. salt & pepper to taste, and even though i made this after lunch and therefore i'm not even remotely hungry right now, i had to take a couple bites. nom. would make again. would possibly add some white wine because that seems like something that would be delicious.

unhappy birthdays

lori would have been 54 on tuesday. james would have been 53 on wednesday. this is the first year without both of them around. that realization hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks this weekend, and i've been reeling ever since.

as accustomed as i am to dealing with the death of loved ones, i am still a bit angry over losing two of my favorite family members. lori wasn't technically family, in the sense that we shared no blood relations (that any of us knew about, anyway), but i claimed her like she was mine and she definitely claimed my family like it was hers.

every summer, lori would start in on what she wanted for her birthday. she'd remind us that her birthday was the day before james' and therefore we had no excuse for forgetting it.

y'all know me. i forgot it on a regular basis and she loved me anyway.

i didn't call them nearly as often i as probably should have, but james and lori loved me anyway. flaws and all, faults and all, fuckups and all.

their faith and their grace astonish me to this day. they loved god and while james wasn't as demonstrative as lori was about it, you knew. it wasn't a secret. it was nice to have that balance, actually, between auntie lori catching the holy ghost, complete with what i like to call "praise giggles," and "uncle" james, posted up somewhere quietly, at least by comparison, acknowledging his blessings.

their grace in how they dealt with their illnesses. how they never lost faith. how they inspired, and continue to inspire, so many of us to keep going. this is not to say that they didn't suffer, because they did. that they didn't complain, because they did. there was occasional wallowing because they were human and they were hurting and they were strong enough to admit when they were feeling weak.

i didn't visit james and lori nearly as much as i should have during their multiple hospital stays. they knew me and my hangups about hospitals and loved me anyway, even as i kept my distance.

james died 6 years ago and there are times when the pain is still as fresh as it was when i first found out. lori's death is only 6 months old and i still had her phone numbers in my phone until maybe a month or so ago.

it really, really sucks that they're not around anymore and, as you may have guessed, i am not dealing well with these birthdays this year. i am angry and confused and stressed about so many things and knowing that lori and james aren't around, even it i wasn't actively reaching out to them in that moment, really fucking sucks.

you see why i'm trying to aspire to their levels of grace and faith? life is really fucking difficult and while i am thankful to have james & lori as examples to look up to, i would much rather have them here. i know i'm lucky to have had such wonderful people in my life. it's just that sometimes, like this week, i wish that they'd gotten to stick around a little bit longer.

instead, i will keep working on developing and strengthening the crazy faith i need to deal with the lack of serenity that is my life. my brother is with me wherever i go, since it's his chain that i wear around my neck. lori's never far away, because i swear her spirit is just that big and, if i listen close enough, i can hear her laughing and talking shit and praising god all without missing a beat.

god, grant me the grace and wisdom to keep working on the crazy faith i need to confront the lack of serenity. may it be enough. amen.

friends in low places, high places, and everywhere in between

funny how the universe works sometimes. i wrote that last post a couple of weeks ago and i swear that for almost every single day since then, i have have some sort of positive interaction with a friend of mine, whether in person or online or via text. if i was so inclined, i could sit here and look at my calendar from the past 2 weeks or so and point to each day and say "here's when i ran into so-and-so," or "i hung out with such-and-such," or "person xyz emailed or texted me and it made me smile."

my heart gets so damn full when things like that happen, and i try to use that as motivation to keep going. not gonna lie, though - i am tired. like right now, as i type this, i am waiting for the rest of my laundry to finish so i can fold it and put it away and then go the fuck to sleep for as long as i am able. 

this is all part of the work. i swear i say that out loud to myself at least once a week. it's nice to be able to see the good in the midst of the madness, though. y'all keep me going in ways i can't articulate right now because did i mention that i'm fucking exhausted? 

y'all be good. 

trying to find the magic in survival

[TW: sexual misconduct/abuse]

as some long time readers may remember from the start of this blog, i was molested by a family friend when i was 8 years old. i still can't do splits. i repressed it until i was about 15 or 16 and i'm not entirely convinced that the family member i told believed me. if memory serves, i found out that the family friend in question had long disappeared or was dead or something...basically he wouldn't be a factor and life could go on.

and it did, to a certain extent. my cousin's husband thought it'd be a brilliant idea to show me a porn movie at the end of one of our movie nights. i was 16. somehow we went from watching "single white female" to porn to my cousin's husband exposing himself to me locking myself in the bathroom until my younger cousins (his sons) were all ready to go to bed and then locking myself in the bedroom. i still have difficulty watching certain pornography because it brings me back to that helpless teenage me who knew enough to know that something wasn't right but didn't have the agency or the voice to speak up.

i never told anyone in my family about my cousin's husband. i knew enough to know that my father and/or one of my brothers wound end up in jail for avenging my honor and i knew that my cousin's husband worked in law enforcement and had connections that i couldn't begin to fathom and i didn't want to break my cousin's heart b/c she was my favorite cousin by a landslide and i also knew that i had to stop visiting them which broke my heart b/c she really was my favorite cousin and i looked forward to those summers and random weekends where we got to hang out.

i am saying all of this to say that the #theemptychair hashtag on twitter, along with the cover of new york magazine depicting some of the women victimized by bill cosby, was a punch to the gut and this all came back. i am lucky in that i had partners who helped me work through my guilt and angst when i first became sexually active. i am lucky that i have had the opportunity to recognize and deal with those feelings of guilt and angst and disbelief and, gods be praised, came out stronger for it.

the decision to write about this tonight was not an easy one. i wrestled with it during my ride home because, for reasons that should be obvious, i don't necessarily like revisiting these things. i would journal about it, i reasoned. if it was on my mind that much then i could just scribble a few lines in my journal and be done with it.

all i kept hearing was "this is all part of the work." it finally occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, telling my story and recognizing the privilege inherent in being able to tell my story, would be my way of honoring those people who are sitting in that empty chair. this would be part of the work of meeting people where they are and telling them that they are still more than enough, regardless of the pain that's been inflicted on them. this would be part of the work of reminding myself that yes, i am still more than enough regardless of the pain. a reminder this work is not in vain. an opportunity for me to see that it is still possible to be a magical black girl in a world that, i swear, seems hellbent on denying my humanity. a chance for any and everyone else who has a similar story that maybe they cannot or will not tell to see that they are not alone. that they are not the only ones represented by that empty chair. you are seen and you are heard and you are loved and you are more than enough.

let me say that again.

you are seen and you are heard and you are loved and you are more than enough.

amen.

on: attempting to keep up the (good) work

PARTY TIP: True inner strength is not seeing any realistic way you're going to make it, but still knowing somehow... you will.

— ANDREW W.K. (@AndrewWK) July 13, 2015

if you follow me on twitter, then you already know that i retweet andrew w.k. at least once a week. this one particularly resonated with me because i've been mulling over the phrase "this is all part of the work" since yesterday. the phrase came to me while i was reading elizabeth alexander's "the light of the world" and having my heart broken into tiny pieces and yet feeling like she'd been spying on my life. i tweeted a few things from the book while i was reading, and then i had to jot down "this is all part of the work" and let it sit for a bit.

"if i cannot take a walk with you and talk my way to the other side of the dilemma, i am not enacting friendship." © @ProfessorEA

— eulalia (@queeneulalia) July 12, 2015

that's part of the work, i think - being able to walk with someone and talk our way through whatever's on our minds, or at least enjoying the silence while we're on our journey.

meeting people where they are and occasionally leaving them there, as i've been trying to be more conscious of this year, is part of the work.

meeting myself wherever i am and accepting myself flaws and all? part of the work.

i've said more than once that this empath/caregiver role is not an easy one for me, and yet i have to admit that the more i accept this path, the better i feel. i was at a friend's birthday gathering last weekend and she asked us all to check-in with how we were feeling physically, spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually. i said that spiritually, i was feeling as strong as i'd felt in a long while, and that i was sure it had something to do with no longer denying this caregiver position i'm attempting to play out. emotionally, though? i was wiped out. so many of us (self included) are going through so many things in our own lives, not to mention being impacted by events far and wide and closer to home and everywhere in between, and there were definitely moments where i had just had to retreat for a bit so i could try to get my shit together before being able to reach out to others.

this is all part of the work.

i wish you happy (hockey) feelings

it's no secret that i distinctly remember where i was when the blackhawks won the stanley cup in 2010, b/c that was the night troy & i decided to call it quits. we all know my memory can be shitty, but even i can recall that with little to no effort.

and then there was 2013. i definitely remember that one, despite my levels of unsobriety, b/c having the cup back in chicago that year meant so much to me during this whole divorce/eviction/couch-surfing/un(der)employment/what the fuck is happening to my life phase that i've been in.

and now 2015. omg you guys. i had to work during game 6 and as soon as i was able, i was on the train to meet my friends at the bar while listening to the radio feed on my blackhawks app and keeping an eye on twitter and it is entirely possible that i started crying on the train when i realized the cup was once again coming back to chicago. a friend and i had both said in october that we wanted the cup back in our city. our reasons were varied, but the sentiment was the same.

cta wasn't playing nicely and i missed all of game 6. i finally got to the bar to celebrate with my friends only to realize that the bar was closing up and i couldn't have a celebratory beer until i got home, which i totally did, obviously, because beer is delicious and if i couldn't have one at the bar (they seriously wouldn't take my money. i tried!) that night, then bedtime beer it was going to be.

i drank and cried and tweeted and talked to my friend and we cried a little on the phone because we can be sappy like that and everything was wonderful.

not just because of hockey, though.

i gave my 2 weeks notice at the library the night the blackhawks won the cup. why did i do that?

because i got a new job.

a full-time job, even.

a full-time job in my field.

a full-time job in my field that is going to pay me more than i've previously made in my career to date.

i start july 1.

a few of you knew about this already and i appreciate y'all keeping the news tucked under your proverbial hats. now that all of the pre-employment stuff is done and i am in receipt of an email that basically says "hey, all that paperwork and testing is handled and you can officially start july 1," i can shout this from the rooftops.

holy fucking shit i start my new gig next week. my last day at the library is saturday. i am freaking the entire fuck out.

so...suffice it to say that i was crying that monday night for various reasons. i was happy because the cup was back in chicago and i was happy b/c i'd gotten a job that is totally going to challenge me and kick my ass and i might be getting teary just typing this.

i still haven't seen game 6 in its entirety, but damned if i didn't cry every time i saw a condensed replay. hell, i cried while watching the video they showed at the blackhawks' victory rally.

so many happy feelings, you guys. i am totally crying right now, btw. quasi-landlord almost made me cry the other day. "i am so proud of you. you never gave up. you kept putting yourself out there because you knew that something better was within your reach and you got it."

it is 2015 and the cup is once again back in chicago and i am still in chicago and i have a new job. this is most exhilarating.

thank you all for your unwavering support. it means so much more than i'm able to articulate right now. :-)

on: anita baker's "compositions" album

one of the problems* with being old is realizing that some of your favorite albums are officially old and you have that moment of disbelief b/c you'd swear up down and sideways that said album just came out yesterday. you also start thinking that you're not possibly old enough to have some of your favorite albums be old enough to warrant mentioning their anniversaries, but then you do the math and realize that yes, it really has been that long.

(*-obviously this is not an actual problem in real life, but you know what i mean.)

that was me today when i read that anita baker's "compositions" album is 25 years old. my memories of that album are so vivid that there's no way 25 years have passed.

1990. james was still living in daddy's basement. james bought "compositions" on cd and i promptly borrowed it. a lot. that cd wound up in my room at least once a week. i'm sure i made a copy of it on cassette, but i distinctly remember a few instances when james would come upstairs looking for his cd and i would just hand it over without a word.

1990. i was 13. what in god's name did i know about love and relationships and heartbreak? very little, and yet you couldn't tell me that anita baker wasn't singing about my life. even then, i identified with the song "fairy tales," and that identification only grew stronger as i got older.

if you would have told 13 y.o. me that in 25 years, i would still be listening to that album, i probably would've laughed at you. if you would've told past me that in 25 years, both daddy and james would be dead and all i'd have left were memories of me in my room listening to "compositions" over and over, i probably would have been horrified…but here we are.

earlier tonight, i listened to the album in its entirety for the first time in ages. it's still one of my favorites, albeit a sentimental one, and i almost felt like i was back in my room, stretched out on my bed, looking at all of the posters on my walls, and singing along with anita like my 13 year old life depended on it. i know james isn't posting up in my doorway looking for his cd, but i'd be a lying liar who lies if i said i didn't wish that would happen.

recipe review: chicken with honey-beer sauce

i found this one in my files while digging through and/or organizing other recipes, and decided to keep it out since i'm always looking for new and interesting ways to cook chicken. quasi-landlord bought a shallot before she went on vacation and i had beer in the fridge, so i had everything i needed to make this for dinner tonight. well, except for the parsley, but i rarely use parsley anyway.

this is another recipe that didn't call for garlic, so i chopped up 2-3 small cloves of garlic and threw them in with the shallots. i used revolution brewing's fist city beer because i had a can of it in the fridge.

verdict: meh. it wasn't terrible, but i wouldn't go out of my way to make this again anytime soon. i kinda wish i'd made some mashed potatoes to go with the chicken and with the roasted carrots i made earlier. oh well. maybe next time i try this, i'll make mashed potatoes and it will be better b/c mashed potatoes make everything better.

recipe review: sweet potato, sausage, and green pepper hash

part of my adulting while quasi-landlord is away is making sure i have food both to take with me to work and also to eat when i get home from work. so far i've been pretty good about meal prepping on my days off so i don't have to think too much about what's for lunch/dinner, or about what i'm gonna eat when i get home late from an evening of shenanigans.

that said, i figured i should also try out a new (to me) recipe or two while i'm home alone. this one seemed easy enough, plus the main ingredients are all things i enjoy.

i didn't make the fried eggs, though, b/c i'm not a fan of fried eggs. obviously you could make them if you wanted.

here's what else i did differently: i used 1 large sweet potato because that's what i had here. i also used about 8-10 ounces of turkey italian sausage because that was in the freezer. i used a green bell pepper instead of an anaheim pepper because we all know my tolerance for spicy food isn't that great. i bought a 10 ounce bag of spinach, and i added a 1/2 teaspoon of garlic powder when i put in the cumin because garlic makes everything better.

result? nom. would make and eat again. you might want your sweet potatoes to cook a little longer, depending on how soft or firm you like them. if you're using a different type of sausage, you may want/need to add seasoning as you see fit.

beware the gratitude police

i tweeted earlier this morning about not wanting to go back to work today. it's true - i've been off since last wednesday and there's been enough insanity going on at work that i really don't want this break to end. i also mentioned that yes, i know, i should be thankful to even have a job, etc. that doesn't mean i have to like everything about it.

that was a preemptive strike against what i'll call the "gratitude police." you know them. they're the ones who always have something to say whenever you're even remotely negative about something. "ugh, i have to go to work." "you should be glad you have a job!" "dammit, i need to clean the house/car/garage/whatever." "don't you know how lucky you are to even have a house/car/garage/whatever?"

for me, the annoying thing about that is yes, i actually do know how lucky i am. anyone who's been paying attention to my life during the past 4-5 years knows that i will readily cop to being thankful/grateful for where things are vs. where they could have been. that doesn't mean i can't complain or whine about it. pretty sure there's no hard and fast rule about just shutting up and being grateful, and if there is, then i'm ok with breaking that rule.

still here

i honestly don't know how i'm still here some days, but i'm here. this week was a clusterfuck on myriad levels, ending with the news that a colleague's husband died suddenly this week.

one bright spot, if it can be called that, was this snippet from my colleague's family about the memorial:

In lieu of flowers, the family has made the following request: "Please donate to something very meaningful to your own beliefs - or in the ways of (redacted), befriend someone who needs a friend, or take someone to lunch who looks like they could use it."

i'm not crying, you're crying.

have a good weekend.

me, miss janet, and the babygirl syndrome

i was having a bit of a lazy sunday morning earlier. y'know, the whole "take a shower and go back to bed and watch tv" kind of lazy? while watching tv, the video for michael & janet jackson's "scream" came on. i hadn't seen it in a while.




something struck me while i was watching it this morning, though. for the first time in a long time, it was obvious to me that janet & i have something in common - we both have what i'm calling "babygirl syndrome." we're the youngest. we grew up with older siblings. we love those siblings even when they say or do things we don't quite understand. we do our best to honor that bond.

at the same time, though, we're always striving to create and establish our own separate identity. janet's not just "michael's little sister," just how i'm not just my brothers' little sister. never mind that some people still introduce me that way when the other person has previously met one of my brothers.

think about it. janet has always been cast in the supportive little sister role in her family. artistically, though, she's put in hard work to show people that yes, she's her own woman with her own voice and opinions. i can recognize it because i've done the same thing. my brothers drive me up the fucking wall (as longtime readers and people who know me well irl can attest), but that's my family and i love them dearly even though they drive me up the fucking wall. at the same damn time, though, i've worked (and am still working) on being my own woman with my own voice and opinions. it's not easy, but it's worth it.

recipe review: pork chops with apples and onions

quasi-landlord is on a more restricted than usual diet these days. two of the things she's supposed to stay away from are onions and garlic. longtime readers know about my love of garlic, and quasi-landlord decided immediately that there was no way she could omit garlic from her diet. i'm ok with that, obviously.

onions, on the other hand...well, let's just say that there was a surplus of sweet onions on hand and something had to be done with them. i knew i had pork chops in the freezer, so off i went to my folder o'recipes. i'd honestly forgotten i had this one saved, and i have no idea what took me so long to get around to making it.

here's what i did differently: i used salt, pepper, and garlic powder (b/c garlic) to season the pork chops. i had 2 boneless cutlets and 2 bone-in chops. i used beer (blue moon to be exact, the remains of which i am drinking while i write this), 2 pink lady apples, and 1 large sweet onion. oh, and i made sweet potatoes as my side dish instead of rice or mashed potatoes.

guys. omg you guys. i am so full and happy. i am so making this again. i am so angry with myself for not making this sooner. i want y'all to make this and to be full and happy. quasi-landlord wandered in while i was cooking and pretty much demanded that i make this once her diet isn't as restricted. i will be happy to oblige.

let's talk about wonderful sex (sfw edition)

"i hope to god my child never shoots someone in the face, but i really hope she has wonderful sex." - shonda rhimes in essence magazine
— eulalia (@queeneulalia) April 21, 2015

i won't copy the rest of my tweets from my brainstorm last night, but i basically wanted to point out that a lot of us, self included, weren't raised to think that wonderful sex was an option. for me, sex education at home was "don't have sex until you're married," and "ok, here's how you get pregnant, but DON'T YOU DARE COME HOME PREGNANT BECAUSE YOUR LIFE WILL BE OVER." seriously, that was pretty much it. no talk of "hey, so when you do have sex, here's how to make it enjoyable and safe at the same time for all parties involved."

luckily i've had 20 years or so of, ahem, practice to try to keep figuring this out, but that quote from shonda really got me thinking. what is it with our society that, in 2015, there's still so much shame and stigma attached to healthy sexual relationships? why do we do this to ourselves and to the next generation?

i'm not even gonna pretend to have the answers on this one. i'm not even sure i know what questions need to be asked, but i'm willing to attempt to discuss it if y'all are.

remembering our dear miss brooks during national poetry month

gwendolyn brooks, that is. i've written previously about winning her poetry contest in 8th grade, so that should tell you how highly her work ranks with me.

i discovered "when you have forgotten sunday: the love story" during my senior year at northwestern in a performance studies class, and it's still one of my favorites.

"—And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,
And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday—
When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoon
Looking off down the long street
To nowhere,
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And nothing-I-have-to-do and I’m-happy-why?
And if-Monday-never-had-to-come—
When you have forgotten that, I say,
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went in to Sunday dinner,
That is to say, went across the front room floor to the ink-spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
Or chicken and rice
And salad and rye bread and tea
And chocolate chip cookies—
I say, when you have forgotten that,
When you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got to you;
And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-end
Bright bedclothes,
Then gently folded into each other—
When you have, I say, forgotten all that,
Then you may tell,
Then I may believe
You have forgotten me well."

for some reason, the poem popped into my head this morning, so i figured i might as well share it. happy monday. :-)