Sunday, October 16, 2005
Where do I begin? What a sad, strange, scary week it has been for me. I couldn't begin to do it all justice with a summary, but I'll try.
I've been exceedingly lonely lately, randomly hormonal for a few days this week, unnecessarily taxed by slacker attitudes at work, and at my wit's end in general.
"Worstest" part: Putting a pistol in my mouth, contemplating whether to shoot myself or Big, whenever he decided to come home, and forgetting whether the gun was loaded. When I cocked it, I found out that indeed the gun was loaded. It was my dad's gun. He was a Southern man. Of course the gun was loaded. Now I'm chickenshit; now I've got to fire it, 'cause one of the valuable lessons that firearms teach us is that sometimes you can't take it back. You can't just empty the chambers after you've cocked. So I stand out on my balcony, look upward for the clearest part of sky, and fire. Not that DC hasn't heard its share of gunfire; it just never heard any of it from me. BANG---whew, now the world is safe. But just the same, the world is running down the alley near my house to find out where the hell the shot came from. Now I was scared I wasn't so worried about how to handle a gun. I know how to do that. But I was scared to death suddenly that I had picked up a loaded gun for all the wrong reasons. Better late than never, I guess.
Once I fired, instantly I thought of my friends and how they would react to the news if I had actually done it. I thought about Big, having to make those calls all by himself, after the ultimate, life-haunting insult of having to find me in the home that I invited him to call his own. Life-haunting, I know, because I think next of my friend Elaine, who has already had to live with the pain of losing a best friend to a self-inflicted gunshot. If it was ever in doubt, I'll say it now, in case one day I'm not so strong: I never thought of hurting my loved ones. The pain was so blinding that I just wanted to stop it however I could. I wanted to take the power back in my life, even if it meant ending it. It's strange to me, but God forbid, if any of my loved ones suffered such inner haunting and turmoil that he or she felt there was no other way out of it, I would be incredibly hurt and livid, but it is my lot in life to understand exactly what that feels like. It is also my lot in life to accept that I can't ask the same of my loved ones. I know that two of my dearest friends have attempted suicide. We would sit and drink and laugh together at morbid jokes about surviving ourselves. Who would laugh if any one of us actually succeeded?
"Bestest" part: Needless to say, Big was less than pleased about all of this. He told me, "If this ever happens again, I'm out of this relationship." To which I responded, "If this ever happens again, I'm out of this relationship." I'll say once again, I didn't do this for attention, which may well be what he thought. He does tend to be attracted to the more dramatic type of woman: Enter the Nika. And in the past 8 years, he surely has seen me in several shades of dramatic.
But even a dramatic woman knows that the drama isn't all about "him." Often it is all about her, the fears, the dreams she's close to realizing, the increase in realizing that some dreams won't come true. Facing that, in some ways, time is running out, and in other ways, it is just beginning and so are the attendant responsibilities. We dramatic women have never been ones to face these things lying back and thinking of England. We have always been the ones to bolt upright screaming in terror or anger or both, even as we take off down the street. It never really mattered whether the Bigs of the world took off after us, even as we knew they would. Contrary to what they may fantasize, that's not at all why we did it. We really did get lost somewhere left of reality and ran away, acted out, misbehaved, in an attempt to distance ourselves from an unfamiliar, unyielding scene to reconnect with something familiar and welcoming in ourselves, just to get our bearings long enough to steady ourselves for determining the next step. Dramatic women are not stupid women. Our minds are always going. {To the point where I won't even go into the double nightmare I had about my father last night. I'll just say, Picture a movie in which an old man works himself to death, a movie directed by Fritz "Metropolis" Lang---and in Part One of the dream, I did have to go to Germany to claim my dad's remains. I may write about that in a future post. For now, back to my original topic....) Dramatic women always plotting the next step. We have to, just to be sure we're on the right track with ourselves.
And although we may choose to be submissive, traditional at times, maternal, responsible, Dramatic Women, regardless of age, race, or background, are never, ever Vanilla.
'Kay, so with a write-up like that, it's hard to find a guy to hang in there with you. Most guys just want you to come home with them, fuck them, and give them a sandwich and a beer. Who the hell am I kidding? Most times, it's hard to find a girlfriend who will hang in there with you. What right do I have in looking for any kind of support from a guy?
Well, rights be damned. Enter Big, and his pronouncement: "I could spend 24 hours with you, and that still wouldn't mean that you'd feel any better inside. This is something you need to work out for yourself."
Damn it all, he's right. Lord knows, I don't want 24-7 Big. If I had that, he'd eat everything in the house. And I'd never get the football noises out of my head. And let's not even get into the snoring.
So I decided, today I'm going to church. It's a warm, sunny October day and slightly windy, just the way I like it, I've got a great outfit and new shoes. What's not to like?
And would you believe it, Mr. Hasn't Been to a Church in Years gets himself into a suit and goes with me! I couldn't believe it. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled out of my head. He looks so strong and sophisticated in a suit, and I know that church usually isn't his thing, so I was digging that he'd go if it made me feel better.
So we went to Plymouth Congregational UCC, where I still can't tell if I'm a bona fide member or not, and to me it kind of doesn't matter, as long as Rev. Hagler is still there. I get so much strength from this man. I listen to his sermons, and I read about his social and political activism in DC on behalf of the residents who cannot or do not speak out for themselves, and it just reminds me to keep speaking truth to power, even if I have to do it alone.
Today's sermon was about rendering to God what belongs to God, and the underlying genius of Jesus's having spoken the truth in his way to the hypocrites he faced down---and the genius in transcending centuries to penetrate the heart of a desperate Dramatic Woman who by the grace of God has been reminded to stop worrying so much and just keep handling her business, because things will conclude as they should anyway. All of this is out of our hands, and frankly, I feel so much freer because of it. Still Black, still proud, still dramatic, still Nika, and tonight, I might actually get some sleep (despite the fact that it's 2:47 a.m. right now---what, me worry?).
After the sermon, Big and I went up to Rev. Hagler to say our greetings. I think he remembered me, at least he said he did and that it had been a long time since he saw me...which it indeed had been. Big intro'd himself, and Rev. said "so, are you thinking of getting married?"
Big piped up immediately, "yes!" Rev. Hagler asked if we had a date. As of now, we no longer have a date. We just said that we wanted it to be next year, and that we'd be in touch. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for Rev. Hagler, and now I know that, if I do get married, I want him to perform the ceremony.
After church, it was time for brunch, and we were both looking so good that we went to Old Ebbitt Grill, a DC favorite for Sunday brunch. I had the Long Island eggs with fried oysters and a salad; Big had, well, hell, I forget what he had. Some sort of fish Florentine and a chicken tenderloin appetizer. As full as I was, I still ordered a slice of chocolate cake to share for dessert. We went home immediately, 'cause the stupid football games were on, but the Washington team lost just as we got home. Lucky me, because that meant Big was free for "whatever." God, I love "whatever."
Afterward, I fell fast asleep, awaking at 8:00 p.m., to find Big taking the trash out. <> We realized that we hadn't bought the Sunday paper; I took that as an op to buy the paper and treat us both to wine and cheese at Sonoma. (Wine and cheese 'cause we were both still full from the late brunch.) I had an Orvieto classico white wine, and Big had, well, hell, I forget what he had. No matter, it was a great night. I have to say, I'm a little disappointed that the woman from the McLaughlin Group wasn't there tonight; last time, she was there at a table behind us, and we were bitching each other out so badly, I thought she might leave, but for the fact that she must hear worse on the McLaughlin Group. And it's not the first time we've argued there. Well, I just didn't want us to be known there as the Black Couple Who Always Argue And When the Hell Are They Going to Shug Up and Drink Their Wine??
Sonoma: Great wine. Great cheese platter. Great atmosphere. Ignore the couple arguing at the end of the bar.
Conclusion: It's almost 3 a.m. now. I'm listening to Miles's "Blue Miles" CD, and after 3 glasses of wine, 2 cups of green tea, and one tablet of Calms Forte, I'm just starting to get sleepy. Thank God, Big isn't snoring. Say "Good night, Nika."
Good night, Nika.
I've been exceedingly lonely lately, randomly hormonal for a few days this week, unnecessarily taxed by slacker attitudes at work, and at my wit's end in general.
"Worstest" part: Putting a pistol in my mouth, contemplating whether to shoot myself or Big, whenever he decided to come home, and forgetting whether the gun was loaded. When I cocked it, I found out that indeed the gun was loaded. It was my dad's gun. He was a Southern man. Of course the gun was loaded. Now I'm chickenshit; now I've got to fire it, 'cause one of the valuable lessons that firearms teach us is that sometimes you can't take it back. You can't just empty the chambers after you've cocked. So I stand out on my balcony, look upward for the clearest part of sky, and fire. Not that DC hasn't heard its share of gunfire; it just never heard any of it from me. BANG---whew, now the world is safe. But just the same, the world is running down the alley near my house to find out where the hell the shot came from. Now I was scared I wasn't so worried about how to handle a gun. I know how to do that. But I was scared to death suddenly that I had picked up a loaded gun for all the wrong reasons. Better late than never, I guess.
Once I fired, instantly I thought of my friends and how they would react to the news if I had actually done it. I thought about Big, having to make those calls all by himself, after the ultimate, life-haunting insult of having to find me in the home that I invited him to call his own. Life-haunting, I know, because I think next of my friend Elaine, who has already had to live with the pain of losing a best friend to a self-inflicted gunshot. If it was ever in doubt, I'll say it now, in case one day I'm not so strong: I never thought of hurting my loved ones. The pain was so blinding that I just wanted to stop it however I could. I wanted to take the power back in my life, even if it meant ending it. It's strange to me, but God forbid, if any of my loved ones suffered such inner haunting and turmoil that he or she felt there was no other way out of it, I would be incredibly hurt and livid, but it is my lot in life to understand exactly what that feels like. It is also my lot in life to accept that I can't ask the same of my loved ones. I know that two of my dearest friends have attempted suicide. We would sit and drink and laugh together at morbid jokes about surviving ourselves. Who would laugh if any one of us actually succeeded?
"Bestest" part: Needless to say, Big was less than pleased about all of this. He told me, "If this ever happens again, I'm out of this relationship." To which I responded, "If this ever happens again, I'm out of this relationship." I'll say once again, I didn't do this for attention, which may well be what he thought. He does tend to be attracted to the more dramatic type of woman: Enter the Nika. And in the past 8 years, he surely has seen me in several shades of dramatic.
But even a dramatic woman knows that the drama isn't all about "him." Often it is all about her, the fears, the dreams she's close to realizing, the increase in realizing that some dreams won't come true. Facing that, in some ways, time is running out, and in other ways, it is just beginning and so are the attendant responsibilities. We dramatic women have never been ones to face these things lying back and thinking of England. We have always been the ones to bolt upright screaming in terror or anger or both, even as we take off down the street. It never really mattered whether the Bigs of the world took off after us, even as we knew they would. Contrary to what they may fantasize, that's not at all why we did it. We really did get lost somewhere left of reality and ran away, acted out, misbehaved, in an attempt to distance ourselves from an unfamiliar, unyielding scene to reconnect with something familiar and welcoming in ourselves, just to get our bearings long enough to steady ourselves for determining the next step. Dramatic women are not stupid women. Our minds are always going. {To the point where I won't even go into the double nightmare I had about my father last night. I'll just say, Picture a movie in which an old man works himself to death, a movie directed by Fritz "Metropolis" Lang---and in Part One of the dream, I did have to go to Germany to claim my dad's remains. I may write about that in a future post. For now, back to my original topic....) Dramatic women always plotting the next step. We have to, just to be sure we're on the right track with ourselves.
And although we may choose to be submissive, traditional at times, maternal, responsible, Dramatic Women, regardless of age, race, or background, are never, ever Vanilla.
'Kay, so with a write-up like that, it's hard to find a guy to hang in there with you. Most guys just want you to come home with them, fuck them, and give them a sandwich and a beer. Who the hell am I kidding? Most times, it's hard to find a girlfriend who will hang in there with you. What right do I have in looking for any kind of support from a guy?
Well, rights be damned. Enter Big, and his pronouncement: "I could spend 24 hours with you, and that still wouldn't mean that you'd feel any better inside. This is something you need to work out for yourself."
Damn it all, he's right. Lord knows, I don't want 24-7 Big. If I had that, he'd eat everything in the house. And I'd never get the football noises out of my head. And let's not even get into the snoring.
So I decided, today I'm going to church. It's a warm, sunny October day and slightly windy, just the way I like it, I've got a great outfit and new shoes. What's not to like?
And would you believe it, Mr. Hasn't Been to a Church in Years gets himself into a suit and goes with me! I couldn't believe it. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled out of my head. He looks so strong and sophisticated in a suit, and I know that church usually isn't his thing, so I was digging that he'd go if it made me feel better.
So we went to Plymouth Congregational UCC, where I still can't tell if I'm a bona fide member or not, and to me it kind of doesn't matter, as long as Rev. Hagler is still there. I get so much strength from this man. I listen to his sermons, and I read about his social and political activism in DC on behalf of the residents who cannot or do not speak out for themselves, and it just reminds me to keep speaking truth to power, even if I have to do it alone.
Today's sermon was about rendering to God what belongs to God, and the underlying genius of Jesus's having spoken the truth in his way to the hypocrites he faced down---and the genius in transcending centuries to penetrate the heart of a desperate Dramatic Woman who by the grace of God has been reminded to stop worrying so much and just keep handling her business, because things will conclude as they should anyway. All of this is out of our hands, and frankly, I feel so much freer because of it. Still Black, still proud, still dramatic, still Nika, and tonight, I might actually get some sleep (despite the fact that it's 2:47 a.m. right now---what, me worry?).
After the sermon, Big and I went up to Rev. Hagler to say our greetings. I think he remembered me, at least he said he did and that it had been a long time since he saw me...which it indeed had been. Big intro'd himself, and Rev. said "so, are you thinking of getting married?"
Big piped up immediately, "yes!" Rev. Hagler asked if we had a date. As of now, we no longer have a date. We just said that we wanted it to be next year, and that we'd be in touch. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for Rev. Hagler, and now I know that, if I do get married, I want him to perform the ceremony.
After church, it was time for brunch, and we were both looking so good that we went to Old Ebbitt Grill, a DC favorite for Sunday brunch. I had the Long Island eggs with fried oysters and a salad; Big had, well, hell, I forget what he had. Some sort of fish Florentine and a chicken tenderloin appetizer. As full as I was, I still ordered a slice of chocolate cake to share for dessert. We went home immediately, 'cause the stupid football games were on, but the Washington team lost just as we got home. Lucky me, because that meant Big was free for "whatever." God, I love "whatever."
Afterward, I fell fast asleep, awaking at 8:00 p.m., to find Big taking the trash out. <
Sonoma: Great wine. Great cheese platter. Great atmosphere. Ignore the couple arguing at the end of the bar.
Conclusion: It's almost 3 a.m. now. I'm listening to Miles's "Blue Miles" CD, and after 3 glasses of wine, 2 cups of green tea, and one tablet of Calms Forte, I'm just starting to get sleepy. Thank God, Big isn't snoring. Say "Good night, Nika."
Good night, Nika.
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