Bad Shoes

Bad Shoes

Sometimes, there are some practical, non emotional things in life that you can take HUGE lessons from. And sometimes the lesson doesn’t hit you until way later.

I have this pair of shoes. VERY sexy. 3 1/2 inch heels. Black leather. Sling backs. Pointed toe (which I thougth I’d never wear because my mom told me that women who wear pointed shoes have the devil in them – so it was sheer denial on my part). But for whatever reason… they’ve been sitting on my very formidable shoe rack… and I haven’t worn them. I thought it was because of the winter. But no… I’ve worn some sexy heels this winter (provided that it didn’t snow). I thought it might be because I wore the heel to a hub, which I’m famous for doing; but upon inspection, the heel was in tact. I thought it might be because they needed a shine. But these were shiny. Maybe I’d just forgotten about them. They went great with my outfit today and I needed that sexy, sophisticated edge to attend this wine tasting tonight. So I slid them on – perfect. Walked around in them – comfortable. I was ready.

Then I got out side… walking around… still no problems… till I got to the train station. The train station has always been my point of no return (unless it’s my wallet or my ring…i’m not going back and I’ll have to make do without it for the day). I went up the stairs and the shoe came off. Clean off my foot. And I had to stop, in embarrassment, and place it back on my foot and keep going.

What had happened that I forgot about was that the elastic on the sling back had given way. Making the shoes too big for me. And I would walk clear out of the shoes for the rest of the day / night. Causing me to walk slower and flexing the muscles in my foot a certain way to assure that the shoe stayed on my foot causing me a lot of pain in my toes and my calves for the rest of the day. I was miserable.

Sometimes… just cause it looks good and you used to love it once and it seems like a good idea – might not always be the best thing. Anything that is bad for you has a glorious way of reminding you that it’s bad for you. ALWAYS.

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The Faces

The Faces

Growing up… and I’d say all the way to about college, I’ve always been quite the quiet, gracious, sweet, airy type. Hopelessly romantic, super courteous and conscientious, maybe even… shy at times (yeah… can you believe)? In college, they used to refer to me as Synclaire (from the cast of characters on Living Single) on some serious tree hugging, super nice, bat my eyes. When folks used to get mad at me or when I’d even think for a minute that they’d get mad at me… I used to have FULL ON panic attacks because I was so worried about what other folks thought. I ended up in the hospital once.

I don’t want to say that time hardened me or made me less loving. But I sure learned to care LESS about what folks thought of me. I also learned the valuable lesson that I’m a pretty cool person to be around – I can always make new friends / acquaintances if the need arises. That made me less willing to take anyone’s stuff. This constituted the new me – which I’m still in awe of sometimes. I’ve considered giving her a name… this no-shit-taking alterego of mine. Beyonce calls hers “Sascha”. I think I’ll call her Scarlett (not of Gone With the Wind fame; rather from the G.I. Joe fame – she was the only female character I could identify with when I played GI Joe with my brother). So Scarlett likes to put people in their place. Scarlett REALLY isn’t afraid to piss people off and tell them exactly where to go and how to get there. Scarlett DESPISES email gangsters, because whatever you have to say about me on paper you can and should say to her face. Scarlett isn’t afraid to throw ‘bows if she has to or if she feels that she’s been disrespected. And it is the mere aura of Scarlett that keeps people from fuckin’ with the Synclaire in me nowadays. Folks who’ve never met Scarlett are intimidated by me and pussyfoot around me and try not to make me mad. Maybe they just figure the balance of my niceness is tempered with a pretty severe anger. Scarlett thugs bitches.

It’s funny when I run into folks from college and before nowadays… I guess they always expected me to be somewhat of a perceived mealy mouth, kowtowing type. They all seem shocked. Sometimes, they don’t even speak… because they don’t know what to say.

I feel like Scarlett was in full fire today, but Synclaire was keeping a watch over my mouth.

I hope to not be as surly tomorrow. Today was a tough day.

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Still Here

Still Here

Just buried under a tonage of craziness. Liberated myself of some other. Just waiting for a free moment to write. I’ll be back

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Angry Egg

Angry Egg

This is how it was explained to me:

When a baby girl is gestating in utero at about 16 – 20 weeks, she has about 6-7 million oocytes (egg cells) in her body. Most of them waste away leaving about 1 – 2 million at birth. By the time puberty rolls around, a good healthy 3 – 400,000 of those remain. More than enough for a life time of fertility. Only about 400 will get used through the life of a woman’s fertility. Most often, more than one egg is released during ovulation, but there usually a dominant egg and on occasion two (fraternal twins). But the eggs that don’t get used make their way down the path and your body is informed to trigger the menstrual cycle. Sometimes… one of the eggs that is released, doesn’t make it down the path and gets stuck on the ovary or lodged. And sometimes it can enlarge. This is usually the naissance of a cyst. Just and egg that didn’t make the cut and wandered down the wrong path.

My cyst is pretty big. It’s sitting atop my right ovary and I’ve been consoled that at this stage we can just watch it… no need to go in and do anything. And also warned that if it twists… it will be a pain that will launch me off to the emergency room.

I can’t tell you how i feel about that part of my body right now. Sometimes I wish if it was all going to be defective, just scoop it all out and throw it away.

The slightest evidence of hope makes us hold on to the craziest things.

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Sweet little arms

Sweet little arms

I had a dream the other night. I was sitting in a burkalounger chair… but slightly wider. In the dream I truly was me looking out of my own body (you know how sometimes you’re a player in your dream and you are the observer, watching yourself? – does that make sense?) but … this time it was me looking from my eyes over whatever I saw. I was sitting in a family room and on either side of me tucked under my arm were two precious little babies. They were about the same size… maybe 2 or 3 years old. I just remember their arms being wrapped across my waist and tummy. Short little sweet childrens arms with brown skin and comfort… all three of us totally relaxed and enjoying being in that position. It made me remember countless days I spent laying behind my mom with my head on her hip and her hand draped over my head playing with my hair and ear. I’ve never known relaxation and safety and HOME like that before. Even now as a grown assed woman… when things go horribly wrong it just takes her healing hand to center me. Get me to clear my thoughts and begin anew with renewed hope. To think that I coul ddo that for any human being is really daunting. I don’t know if I have that much love in me. I’m sure I could find it.

I do love dreaming about my babies. They’re SO delightful… I can’t wait to really meet them.

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