1. My mum’s Bible student has Parkinson’s disease and asked for me to come live with her so she can keep her Section 8 voucher.
It’s been about a month since I’ve moved in. We’ll call her Elizabeth. Elizabeth gives me space, cooks great food and has entertaining stories. Her and I talk about Jehovah and our former lives as we build a new one together. I intend to remain there as long as she’ll have me.
2. ASL is like my husband now. I am in love with every little aspect of being with the friends there, and the language itself. It is a delight and I want to serve there for years to come.
3. My job has long hours but there’s cool people here. I’m growing to really enjoy it, even though I doubt I will ever enjoy getting up early in the morning.
4. I’m forcing myself to chat with people I haven’t in a long while on my phone. I’m forcing myself into extroversion. It’s terribly difficult, but rewarding.
@3 weeks ago
#personal #singleladies #work
1. Abigail and I are going our separate ways in October. She has shown me much loving-kindness and taught me more about myself and my ways than I have ever known, but I’m moving back to the city. I spent the summer surrounded by stars, plants, dirt roads and silence. As peaceful as it is out here, I miss being able to take a short jaunt to my parents’ house, my friends’ parties, or even my job. Out there in the country, everything is at least an hour away.
There’s also the fact that Abgail is 15 years my senior. This means that there are times where she is judging me to be young and dumb, and I’m judging her to be old and preachy. She also has excessive ideas about what it means for the house to be “clean”. It’s been hard, but worth it to be with her, for she challenges me. I feel like I’ve grown.
2. I have my car back, and have been driving all over town. I got a job at a temp agency where they send me to factories to work. I’m waiting for my next assignment. I straightened my hair and lost 15 pounds. I visited every congregation I used to serve at and everybody all exclaimed, “You look like a different person! You look fantastic!” It was encouraging. I’m still more poor than I’ve ever been, but I also feel a lot closer to the person I feel like I ought to be— well-dressed, active, funny, socially adept.
3. Sunday night, my friends Julian and Claudette hosted a talent show and I performed a poem I wrote about Evan. I mention this because Evan was there.
Can I just say that I spent about four or five days consumed with old lust for him? This is because the man that I saw a week ago was not the man that I dated in the spring. Evan looked fit,relaxed, well-dressed and confident. He had on a black suit with a black tie and dark wingtips. He relaxed his hair and shaved his mustache. He discarded of the glasses. He looked like a million and two bucks. I found myself very, very happy I decided to dress up on Sunday also, for the last time I ran into a man I had history with, I looked terrible.
He and I ran into each other the hallway, where he breathed a soft greeting and touched my arm. My mind took me back to those hands on my waist and shoulders and around me as we danced, him smiling at me as he cradled me in his arms. He performed before I did— two lovely songs he wrote. My mind was taken back to the night we decided to give each other a chance, and my heart ached a tiny little bit.
He heard my poem— a long, fierce, emotive vignette about our brief time together, and how I felt afterward. Three of my friends heard it and felt uncomfortable, and so did Evan. He listened to it with a flushed face and crossed arms and sad eyes. His behavior— which seemed open to me at the beginning of the evening, became clipped and business-like for the rest of the night… mostly.
We both attended Julian and Claudette’s after-party. I wanted to post some photos on Instagram, but my iPhone only works on wifi now because I owe Sprint a lot of money I can’t pay them. I asked for help to find the wifi password on Julian and Claudette’s modem. Evan glided over, leaned close to me, found the number and pointed it out to me. I found myself thanking him with a husky voice.
Abigail and I talked about it after I came home.
"You still want that boy."
"I don’t know what I feel. Except anger at myself for still feeling maddeningly attracted to him.”
"What if he asks you to give it another try?"
I paused for a long time. “I don’t know.” , I sighed, finally. “I imagined before I saw him that the answer was a firm ‘no’, but the man that I saw last night isn’t the Evan I dated in April. He’s a lot closer to the vision I had of him when I decided to give him a chance. He’s a lot closer to the man he’s always wanted to be.” I paused again. “If he’s worked out his mummy issues, the answer may very well be ‘yes’, especially if that’s what he looks like all the time now.”
It’s been a week since we’ve had that conversation (and a couple of others). I don’t know how I feel or if I’m gonna see him again soon, but it was certainly an interesting experience.
4. The days have been beautiful, and I have been gripped with a desire to just ride my bike and listen to James Blake every day for the rest of my life. I cannot do that, however. I’m at the coffee shop looking for a new job that will finance other things I’d like to do. I’ve been in a haze, but I feel like all things will clear up very soon.
@3 months ago
#personal #work #livingsingle #singleladies #exboyfriends #men #opposite sex
- frozen fruit
- PBS documentaries
- lazy Sundays
- using all of my prepaid minutes on my BFF
- long walks in downtown Detroit
- cheeky street art
- button down shirts you can tie round your waist
- bike riding
- long drives
This summer got off to a rocky start but it’s getting better towards the end, like most great things.
@3 months ago with 1 note
#personal #summer #nature #healthy #detroit
I’m out in search of joie de vivre.
This search is proving difficult. It’s mostly difficult because I don’t know have a real grasp of what it means to be happy, except for moments.
There are moments like when I’m behind the wheel with no real destination in mind, walking round in the forest and spotting a deer, dancing with a man I’m attracted to, wearing a dress I feel nice in, coming into New York City for the first time, hugs from family… there are moments of joy, but it’s not like I have a reservoir of it somewhere inside of me. When I am alone, I find it hard to feel content even though I have many things to be grateful for.
My mind is always constantly whispering in the back of my mind, The ‘good life’ is out there somewhere….
But what does the “good life” even mean to me? People talk about riches or lavish vacations or expensive clothes or wild parties when they speak of “the good life”. Those things are only secondary in my mind. I think that when I’m thinking of “the good life”, I’m thinking of a time where I will have a reservoir of joy within me, and that reservoir only comes from love…. love of yourself, being loved by others, loving what you do, drawing close to Jehovah.
I’m working on all of these things, but the one that seems to be the hardest for me right now is the love of myself. I was trying to explain this to Abigail a couple of nights ago and she listened to me, though not with comprehension.
"What’s there to hate about yourself? If you hate yourself because of what you do, then change it!”
It’s such a simple way of putting it, but in practise, it’s nearly impossible. How do you rip out your entire inner person and start over? I wish that personalities were something you could buy in a pill bottle at a drug store; that way,when you get sick of yourself, you can become someone else instantly, with no trace of who you used to be knocking around in your mind. But that’s not how it works, and I’m afraid that what I hate the most about myself— my utter spinelessness, my passivity, my weakness of character— will never change…. and I’ll be advanced in years still whining about the same types of problems I had in my 20s.
The “good life”, to me, means to not hate yourself. It means to look in the mirror and not feel disgusted about the way you look, act, or think. The “good life” means to be comfortable in your own skin, and not be so overtly sensitive that people are afraid to deal with you. The “good life” means to esteem yourself as a being created in God’s image instead of looking at yourself as an aberration.
The good life means to allow yourself to enjoy pleasures, and not just feel like you don’t deserve them because you’re that terrible a person.
@5 months ago with 1 note
1. I’ve received a job offer from an insurance company that’s offering to fly me out of town for ten days for sales school. It seems like a fantastic opportunity, but that niggling voice in the back of my mind is telling me to back out while I still can. I will wait for the recruiter’s email tomorrow and do some more research before I pull that trigger.
2. Evan has asked after me through our mutual friends. My girl Tanya texted me yesterday about it.
"He asked how you were doing and I told him. I’m sorry. I should have left that to you."
"No big deal." I replied. "I’m more shocked he asked. What did you say to him?"
"What you told me— basically, that you don’t want to be friends." she replied. "He’s really concerned about you."
"This is interesting.", I said. "But if he cares that much, he’ll call."
This “being strong” thing is really, really hard. I miss him terribly. I miss talking to him. I miss laughing with him. I do wish we could be friends. But I’m protecting my investment in my heart, and the only way to do that is to be strong. After all, he was the one who walked away.
3. Things I want to do within the next four months of being up here in the boonies:
- get a car that actually runs
- get a job that actually pays okay
- pay off all debt
- save money
- enroll in school online
- pick where I’m moving to after this is over
Beforehand, I figured I’d stay in the area— Royal Oak or Ferndale, or back to Hamtramck, where I’m in the middle of everything, but lately, I’ve been gripped with a strong desire to live out of state. I’m thinking of going to New York City, Miami, Chicago, Portland, Austin, Phoenix, New Mexico or San Francisco. Alaska would be on this list, but I have seasonal affective disorder. I love my family and friends, but 12 years in Detroit is more than enough.
@6 months ago with 1 note
#personal #singleness #opposite sex #work #moving #detroit