Random Thoughts at 4:55 AM

I can’t sleep. No really, I can’t. Ever since I left my job to get ready to move back to Philadelphia, my sleeping pattern has been all types of messed up. Today, I slept on and off until about 7 PM. Seven. It’s not healthy or hygienic. My body needs to move. My brain needs to rest.

With being up this late, I have many thoughts, many of them nonsensical.

Here they are:

1) The last thing I want to do is fall into that same pattern that caused me to drop out of college. I slept all day, was up all night. Never went to class. I was depressed. When I left school, I literally tossed the key to my apartment on the kitchen counter and walked out. As my Dad and I drove back to Maryland, I remember telling myself “Yo, you’re a stupid f***”. Stupid for leaving less than a semester away from a degree. But I did it. I wallowed in the DC area for two and a half years until now, when I’m packing my things and getting ready to move back to Philly, to finish that degree that I dumped on. Full circle.

2)  Crazy it took my Dad’s passing to make all of this happen. Really, it did. Without his life insurance money, I would not have been able to pay off the immediate debts that were keeping me from returning to school. I call it “his final push”. My Dad always wanted me to go back to school and now I am. I hope he is proud.

3) I wonder what my Dad thinks about all of this. About where I am and what I’m doing. I miss him. I wish he was here to tell me something. I miss hearing just one word for him. I miss him not even saying a word. I just miss him.

4) I have my bad days. I have my good days. But I don’t think I would have been able to get through either day without my best friend and her family. I feel so good to have some loyal folk in my life.

5) I’m living the single, single, single LIFE. Word to Cameo.

6) This ain’t the right time to fall for anyone but I’m THISCLOSE. And he knows. And we’ve talked about it. And given what’s going on with the both of us, we knew we couldn’t kick it. So we try to stay friends but it’s hard. HARD.

7)  I wanna hug Moonie of LEP Bogus Boys so bad. Boobs all up in his chest.

8)  I believed in Day26, I really did. “Since You’ve Been Gone” >>>>>

9) I’m still mad about the Chip Kelly hire. I really do want a Super Bowl before I hit menopause.

10) I devote my last random thought to this: Certain things have left me feeling so damn empty. Certain things have confused the hell out of me. Certain things have made me wonder about my own heart, my own emotion. Certain things have made me think about my tolerance levels. Those certain things will be left in Maryland and I’m fine with that. Like my sister said, “There. Now you have an out.”

I’m out.  

The Failure to Reconcile with the Formally Inconsolable

(Yes, that new new. Had this on my mind for a minute. Every person can relate. Yes, even you...)

The past six months in my life have been about purging people and situations from my life that have been toxic for me. Achieving peace by getting rid of things that disturbed me in some way. A lot of these situations were of my own doing. What I mean is that I had exits and I didn’t take them, causing myself more confusion and pain. In the case of the more recent exoduses, I put myself through drama that I didn’t have to because I rendered myself voiceless. I didn’t defend or support myself. I turned myself into a punching bag.

So now that I’m growing spiritually and mentally, I’ve realized my weaknesses and have worked on addressing them. One is that I turn every relationship (the very basic definition) into a revolving door. I was very allergic to walking away. I’d go back. Didn’t matter when, it would happen. Seasonal relationships would turn into pseudo-lifetime, if I could have it my way. So I am proud to say – knock on wood – that I’ve walked and haven’t turned back.

That’s not saying that chances to reverse course haven’t happened. A text here, a tweet there, a phone call here, a run-in in the streets of DC there. It’s the cosmos’ way of testing your G. Will you stay or will you go? Will your pounding of the pavement mean anything?

I’m a firm believer that the person that walks away should be the leader of reconciliation. If that person feels as it’s time to move on and they don’t move backward, it’s dead. Even if that person feels as if they were done dirty, if they want things to continue regardless of past behavior, they introduce the idea of patching things up. What tends to happen to me (and what causes the guilt trip and the backpedaling) is when the person you left wants you back around.

It’s flattering, I can’t front. The feeling of being missed is golden at times. You want someone – in a Hollywood way – to show that they can’t function without you. But in reality, it makes you feel awful and you just go back, regardless if you had a legitimate reason to step away. It’s the whole “I must have meant something! Let me be meant!” thing. You want someone to want you, even if it’s a means to hurt you – or hurt yourself – again.

I think the reason I’ve been good about walking away and keeping it that way is that I’ve been able to conceptualize my pain. I used to be ambivalent to a lot of my behavior. Conscious of it? Sure. Aware of its possible emotional effect? Maybe. Strong enough to acknowledge my emotions to myself? Ehh. Able to feel SOMETHING about what I may have done? Nope. “It is what it is” was my emotional mantra. The moment I was able to feel that pain and acknowledge its existence was when things started to change. It was the moment when I realized that certain situations had to cease because “Ciara’s not feeling right”. Before, I didn’t used to feel.

So now that I feel, I can walk away. You gotta get a feeling in your legs before you walk, right?

You Pretty Smile Havin’ Low Down Dirty Ass M*************

He vlogs now. Scrolling down on Facebook and seeing his video make me think of the smile that I used to LOVE so much. It’s still there, cute as ever.

That smile threw a glass bottle at my head after he tried to kick me out.

The glass bottle missed my head by two inches. Two. I heard it smash behind my head as I ran down the steps on his duplex. Walking down 59th street, heated … ‘Kast’s “SpottieOttieDopaliscious” blasting in my left ear. "

No dude had ever made me that mad, that angry. I pushed over a TV table and tossed a frying pan on my way out of his door. Before that, I actually sat there for two minutes, trying to figure out what I should do to make him pay for what he thinks he’s doing to me. Burning his clothes? Maybe. Manipulating him into actually putting his hands on me so he could catch a charge? Sure … I knew what button to push. But instead, I threw on my leggings – smelling of sex, latex and breakfast – and walked out of the door, leaving a frying pan sliding across his floor.

I’m not proud of that moment at all. It was so ratchet, so out of character. I forgot who I was at the time. Ciara never stooped that low but homeboy pushed a button. Button was pushed and I went off.

That was the theme of our relationship. Very violent, very chaotic. We’d love in one moment and hated in the next. I thought I was going to be the girl that would change this kid. That was a fail. I thought he was going to be the dude that would wife me. I swore up and down to people that we were going to get married some way. Hell, we thought we would too.

And through all of this, we were never officially together. Insane loyalty to someone that doesn’t want to claim you in the streets, right? Truth be told, this shit should have been over YEARS ago but I stayed. I stayed because I was naïve enough to think that he would change. Naïve to think that he grew up. He didn’t. Using three year old petty shit against me is not grown.

So ugly. That fight was ugly. My actions were ugly. Now that smile is ugly. Shit’s just ugly.

The Bigger You Are, The Better You Cook … The Better You Feel?

I’ve gained 36 pounds in one year. Yep, not good. From a decent 178 (the lowest I can ever remember weighing since I was 14) to a plump 214. Laziness plus office job plus eating like a damn horse will do that to you. Adding on meds that help retain weight (allegedly) and there you have me, all chubby and odd-shaped and shit.

Crazy thing is, I’m not too down about it. Yes, I need to lose weight. Yes, my family has a history of health problems related to weight. Yes, it sucks not to be able to wear clothes that you bought only five months ago. But for some strange reason, my confidence isn’t down. I’ve always been on the plus side of things, so now is no different.

But it is different in this respect: I cook like a maniac.

MANIAC. Culinary goodness is my hobby. I slay. My Dad always loved my food but the rest of the family is on board. My grandmother, who is a culinary killer in her own right, loved my food this weekend. My Aunt had the nerve to say that my shit is pretty much gourmet. Proud? Hell yes.

I remember taking GRAVE offense to someone telling me that I "look like [I] don’t cook.” I was baffled by the statement, not because it wasn’t partly true – I cooked sparingly then – but because there is a look associated with being a great cook. The kicker was the “not that you don’t cook but that you don’t cook well.” I died. My Dad agreed with that statement but went on to say that “it’s better to prove that you can cook when people say that you can’t versus the other way around.”

I found it crazy that the more weight I gained, the better cook I have become. Maybe it’s a off-base correlation. I cook more now because I have the time, who knows. I don’t fry and I pretty much keep my ingredients as fresh as possible, so that would help me lose weight, right?

So this is good thing? This will ultimately make me feel better? Bring on the blender!

Close the Door (No Teddy Pendergrass)

(1. I'm back!; 2. A Bitch Named Gender is coming...I double-triple swear; 3. QUADRUPLE SWEAR)

I’m a firm believer in the idea that life will give you an exit out of a terrible situation. Metaphorical, of course. When shit gets hectic, there’s always that one moment that allows you to see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. And when you venture through it? The euphoria, the “I did it. I needed this to happen” commences and you’re done.

You think.

Every relationship I’ve been lucky to experience has given me exits on countless occasions. Disrespect here, a pregnancy scare there. I’ve had reasons – viable ones, too – to abandon these relationships to just, I don’t know, get my sanity back. But for whatever reason, I ended up walking right back through the door where I made my exit.

You start to second guess yourself and your decision to leave. You wonder – at some point – if you ever should have left at all. But whatever your reason made be, you’re back. Back to the same bullshit and problems that allowed that exit to manifest itself in the first place.

The central tenet of forgiveness is moving on. When you move on, you feel at peace. Your brain’s cesspool of emotions evaporates. You feel free. For me, I feel as if I don’t want to split this person’s wig in the streets. No love, no hate just… just.

I’m at a point in my life where I’m doing that, feeling that. These past few months have been filled with purging. Purging of the people and situations that frankly made my ovaries hurt. These situations gave me exits, a whole bunch of them actually, and for whatever reason, I stayed or left and came back. After being told to 'exit, stage left' by my conscience and my conscience’s conscience, I went back. Back to getting hurt. It’s like a “No shit, Ciara” moment in the making.

So to move on is a pretty dope feeling. To exit of out of doors that close once you leave is good. They close because you’re in a better place to allow them to do so. When you’re used to getting hurt and letting others hurt you, you become a vessel for someone else to voyage through and hurt you. People canread hurt. People can read pain. Some people prey on that. I’m at a point in my life where once I’m out, I’m out and I’m truly confident that I won’t be walking back. It’s called growing up.

Oy vey, I’m growing up.

Sugarcoat These Nuts

(50% honesty moment and 50% shots fired.)

Why be cute, you know? Why go the PC route? I rather you just tell me what you really want to do. Lord knows that it has nothing to do with the verbs “see” or “chill”. You trying to fuck. Say it with me on one..two...three: “I’m trying to fuck you”.

Feel better? You should. Why even lie to me and yourself? Every time we hang out, we end up smashing. How would think this day be different. Oh? You actually want to have a conversation? Shit … you wanna talk?! Converse? Chat? 1-2? Well, excuse me. That’s new. The only noises you tend to hear from me are from the orgasmic variety. That screaming, moaning, “fuck” shit. You and I and sentences don’t compute. Actually … “damn.”, “shit,” and “fuck.” are sentences. Check Strunk & White. Besides, I bet you rather hear me choking on something than trying to clear my throat in anticipation of something to say.

I don’t think I’m coming off too bold or harsh here. Honesty is the best policy, right? Honesty, I want to look at you than more than a casual fuck. You’re too smart, honorable and decent for that distinction. But I guess in your eyes, I’m just a smut. A smut you can fuck all the way out. Smut me all the way the fuck out.

Smut me all the way the fuck out.

Ciara is Scared of the Word 'Like'. Terrified.

(Very random and piecy. I wouldn't expect for you to follow it. You'll probably leave confused. So am I. On many fronts).

That was weird.

I was sitting up here, frustrated that I couldn’t come through on something that was super last-minute and in conflict to things I had planned in advance. Like, on-the-brink-of- crying frustrated.

Frustrated about something that if I could move mountains to do, then I would. If I had to ruin decent friendships to make it happen, then I would. Those people can wait, this is an once-in-a-lifetime thing.

I’m not sure that is how you’re supposed to feel when you like somebody but either way, it scares the shit out of me.

I don’t “like” often. I “intrigue” easily. I have such a short attention span when it comes to people, that if you don’t capture my imagination quickly, I pretty much forget about you. Sounds vain but I can’t be alone in that. So yeah, me scared that I got the feelings for somebody. He’s definitely worth it, no dbout in my mind. He isn’t seasonal like one person, vaginal like someone else. He just finds a way into my everyday life. I feel weird if I don’t talk to him. Dude makes me giggle. He knows more about me that he probably should. I know some of his faults but I could give a damn about them.

Grr. Shit’s so weird.

We’re both at points in our lives where we don’t want relationships. I’m okay with that in theory. I ain’t built for that war yet. But I can’t help but wonder what that battle would be like with him by my side. Sounds mushy as fuck but that’s how I feel. How I feel is ultimately scaring me.

I’m scared shitless. Scared.