justmudandgrey-blog

[justmudandgrey-blog]

one of my close friends from college told me that she received a $110,000/yr job as a UX developer.  it’s a lucrative field and well deserved. 

i, on the other hand, am sitting here at work debating over whether or not to take a part-time job working at the aquarium for the summer because i know that i will not get summer classes from anyone nor will the writing center offer me enough hours to pay my bills.  it’s either pay my bills or spend the summer unemployed and living off my parents again, and i can’t have that and won’t have it. 

i suppose that i will accept the job now and if something happens between now and may i will withdraw from the position.

i have to figure this out.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

that’s just the ting doe innit. 

when you become someone’s person or someone becomes your person.  that person becomes the center of your world and you becomes theirs.  you can’t imagine your life without them.  you give a piece, or pieces, or yourself to them.  

but if/when they leave you, they take a little bit of you with them.  suddenly the long future you thought you had with them is ripped from your fingers and tossed into the wind never to be seen again.  it’s scary, i think, being in love with someone or finding your person, because how are you supposed to move on without them? 

that’s one of the sole benefits of being alone, independent, self-sufficient - you rely on yourself, and no one else, because you recognize that at the end of the day, you have yourself to rely on.  you will never leave yourself.  you will never disappoint yourself (sometimes).  being your own person means never having to worry about that fear.  

it is part of the reason why i keep myself closed off.  because i don’t want to deal with the pain and loss and grief and suffering that may one day come - if my person leaves me, or my person dies before me.  keeping myself closed off means never having to experience that kind of pain.  what are you supposed to do when your soulmate leaves you behind on this earth?

but then on the other hand, being in love and finding love is such a beautiful experience.  to be able to give yourself openly to someone and to openly receive them and their love as well.  to know you are their person and to know they would feel the same way.  

[justmudandgrey-blog]

nipsey hussle, a rapper based out of L.A., died tonight.  he was murdered.  shot six times.  i knew he wasn’t going to survive, as one of those bullets went through his brain.  it happened in broad daylight in a fairly dangerous part of LA. i had never heard of the man until tonight; i just got caught up in the drama on twitter.  but for some reason, his death is hitting me extremely hard. 

half of my brain is doing what it usually does: imagining things.  imagining the feeling of the hot bullets piercing through his skin.  what he did feel? what did he see? did he see god?

and then imagining the reactions and emotions of his girlfriend and the mother of his child, how she must have collapsed in anguish and let out a pained howl from deep, deep within herself at the news of his death.

and then, thinking about how nipsey was trying to do things to better the black community.  and thinking about how i have, for years, been trying to figure out how to get back to studying linguistics and studying african-american language. it’s my passion project - the thing that i always come back to, even after spending days and evenings thinking about the english language and english composition.

i’d like to make some kind of difference in regards to the perception of african-american language.  to eradicate the long standing belief that AAL is “wrong” or “incorrect.” to attempt to eliminate the bias that affects black people in the courtroom, when trying to get a job, or trying to get their first apartment. 

over the weekend i (re?) discovered little simz.  she featured on a track with gorillaz on their album that came out two years ago.  she recently released an album called “grey area” earlier this march.  i like her entire album; my favorites are venom because her words seem to come from a place of anger towards the way rap and hip-hop think and act towards women.  i’m trying to memorize the lyrics but i know it’ll be hard.  furthermore, she’s from northern london - i’m from midwestern ohio. 

i feel like i have to keep trying.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

to be 26 years old and wake up after a somewhat restless night of sleep, only to be told that your day will be spent cleaning your room, is humiliating.  

this morning, i logged into facebook and saw a picture one of my college friends getting engaged to her boyfriend.  some of my college friends were present for the surprise engagement.  we’re at that age, i think, when it’s time for engagements and babies and buying a new apartment.  at 26, i have nothing.  aside from a messy room, dry hair, and a sleep deprived body.  

i despise that i am at the age where the world would be my oyster.  instead my world revolves around my family, and that is not how my life should be.  i must must must must use this anger that i feel simmering in the pit of my stomach to leave them all behind.  

if you want your freedom, you must pursue it. 

stop being complacent with the hand you have been dealt.

all this bullshit will do nothing but keep you from being great and pursuing the life you were meant to live, whatever that is.  this life of mine wasn’t meant to be spent spending it at the behest of two fifty year olds.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

i feel this anger building up in the center of my chest.  i want to scream to everyone i know that i am tired and i want to give up.  please leave me alone. 

there is muds, the teacher. 

there is muds, the daughter. 

there is muds, the researcher.

there is muds, the woman (because being a woman and daughter in this house is non synonymous). 

i no longer want to feel like i’m constantly running.  i want to slow down. 

[justmudandgrey-blog]

i wanted to come home after a busy day and cook a pasta dish for myself. 

upon entering in the house where i’ve spent all my life, the smell of roasted broccoli hit me in the face, meaning that my mother had taken over the kitchen.  in a casual tone, she told me i would need to move my car or put it on the street because my brother was at church service and my father expected to be able to be to pull in his car for the night. 

my plans are ruined because of the three people i am forced to live with...because i lack the initiative to remove myself from my situation.  whine, whine, whine all you want, my girl.  this is your fault.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

since 2016 i have spent most of my life on the highway, and because i do not have stable income, i live paycheck to paycheck, in constant worry that i will run out of money.  when my bank account is low, i eat mcdonald’s to satiate the hunger in my stomach.  i am running on fumes.  my head hurts from exhaustion.  my stomach hurts from the food i put into it. 

in a few weeks, i will be on spring break at one of the schools i work at - the one that requires me to get up at 5 AM in the morning and speed down the highway in pure darkness.  so, i figured that i would take a four day, three night vacation to the city where my alma mater is.  one of my high school friends is coming with me.  i plan to relax, drink, sleep, and visit one of my graduate school professors and talk to him about the possibility of doing phD programs. 

my decision was met with mixed reactions - why are you leaving when i’m leaving? why can’t you go this weekend instead?

why?

because i don’t want to. 

because i choose to go this weekend. 

because it is a time that works for me, my schedule, and my life. 

because it is my choice. 

there was no malicious intent in choosing to go the weekend my parents are leaving; it was simply the only time where i could go for an extended period of time.  i didn’t want to go this weekend because i’d have to get up early on monday morning to go to work. 

because it is my choice. 

living with my parents means that my needs and wants often come secondary to theirs.  usually my plans are interrupted with texts and phone calls to visit someone or to buy groceries for the house (which is why i simply don’t tell them where i’m at or where i’m going).  usually, they start off by saying, “I need you to...” or “We need you to.”

so, when i chose to take a vacation around the same time they were, it interrupted their plans.  they expected that i would drive them to the airport.  as the eldest sibling, they often look to me for these kind of things, which i despise.

it’s an inconvenience, their daughter going away on vacation as the same time as them.  that’s the problem.  that will always be the problem until i find a way to remove myself from the situation i am currently in.  until i find a better job, one that pays me a living wage so i can afford a home of my own, this is how it will always be. 

i must be more shameless.  i must be more assertive.  i must try harder.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

i spend most of my life on the highway.  it’s been that way for the past three years or so.  it began after hastily accepting a job offer where 90% of my job was travel and the other 10% was working with data.  then, i accepted the job(s) i have now at multiple locations.  so i spend most of my time driving from one place to another, burning rubber and burning gas. 

unfortunately, i’ve become accustomed to living my life on the highway.  i enjoy long, solo drives on the highway and often travel with no particular destination in mind.  being on the highway gives me time to think, reflect, and talk to myself.  

but as much as i enjoy these highway drives, i long for a short, 20 minute commute to my job.  a job that pays me a living wage.  but i don’t have that yet.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

try as i might to deny it, i have become comfortable with my way of life.  as much as i dread it, i have become used to getting up before the sun rises and driving to my first school in the dark, screaming and dodging out of the way of fast moving cars and semi-trailers.  the words “fucking semi” tumble out of my mouth more times than i can count. 

i have become comfortable with avoiding my house whenever possible, to lounging wherever i can find an internet plug at a cafe or library, because for years now, i’ve come to realize that my house is no longer a home.  it is a place where i go to sleep, shower, and eat.  it isn’t a place where i feel comfortable at, where i can sit and just be.  

i am cramped, uncomfortable, and afraid that i am constantly being watched.  and yet...i am used to it.  i am used to this.  i am used to what i have become and become complacent in living this way.  i mourn what i’ve become and long for the days of who i used to be but my body and brain are sluggish to move, to wake up, to take action.  i have become comfortable with my dissatisfaction with my life and state of being. 

i don’t make moves very often without planning them first.  that is why i am surprised at my spontaneous decision to go on my first solo vacation - three days as it is - back to the town where i went to graduate school. i hope that returning there will help me to feel like the young graduate student i once was: she was hopeful for the future and grew accustomed to living a simple, comfortable life.  i had a sense of purpose then.  my identity was newly discovered but i was carving space for myself. 

although i know that i can never return to the past and do things over again, i seek to reclaim a little bit of the magic i feel i have lost.  

[justmudandgrey-blog]

i skipped church today in lieu of going to a town a few miles away to pick up a cheap bottle of conditioner that i could only find there.  after i picked up the conditioner, a favorite of mine when i was in college, i went to the nearby walmart in search of a 22-pack of cafe verona keurigs. 

i strode into walmart, carefully avoiding the eyes of the white walmart greeter whose only function is to make sure nothing is stolen from the store, and rounded the corner to begin the long trek to the grocery side.  as per usual, i ducked and dodged my way around families and couples who refused to file into a single line. 

in my eye line was a black man and his son, probably seven or eight years old.  as i walk past them, the child opens his mouth and asks the beginning of a question, only to be stopped by the smack of his father’s palm.  

my eyes widened in shock - did i just see what i think i saw? did that man smack his son?

yes, i told myself.  you did.  

i myself didn’t experience physical child abuse aside from spankings and a whipping that scarred me for life, but no one ever laid a hand on me besides that.  i feel that i can say i was lucky.  

in the moment, i didn’t know what to do.  perhaps it is because physical abuse is almost seen as a commonality in the black community.  when your child is acting up in school, you give them a whooping.  if your child talks back to you, you give them a whooping.  if they’re acting out of turn at a family function, you give them a little whack on the back of the head.  it just seems to be, unfortunately, how we discipline our children.  

should i ever have children, i would aim to break that generational cycle of physical abuse that my parents experienced at the hands of my grandparents, and i would seek to avoid laying a hand on my child.  i believe it is possible to teach a child right from wrong, how to believe, and how to make smart choices without laying a hand on them.  evidence shows that spankings, whoopings, and other forms of physical abuse have repercussions that can affect a child’s development and self-esteem for years to come. 

if the father can lay his hands on his child in public i dread to think of what he does in private.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

i wished that my father didn’t have to travel this weekend.  on sundays i’m usually up and gone as soon as possible because i’ve never had the feeling that i’m allowed to be in the house on weekends.  but he’s gone now, so my mother is alone, and apparently she doesn’t like to be alone in the house.  it makes me wonder how she will cope when i’ve finally left this hippie town for good. 

i suppose that’s the thing about being in relationships and being married.  

when you’re with someone for so long you just get used to them being around and you don’t quite know what to do or how to be alone.  i’m so used to it.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

swirling glasses of red wine, brown liquor, and green drinks scatter the bar of the restaurant i am sitting at.  it’s an impromptu dinner with some of my old friends from high school.  most of them look the same.

we talked and laughed and thought back to our high school days, when we were young and carefree and staying up until 4 a.m. was painless and easy.

in between bites of fries dripping with bechamel sauce and covered in crunchy bacon i cast my gaze across the restaurant.  there are white women standing by the bar with their wine glasses held in one hand, their eyes wide and eager to listen to their friends and colleagues.  they wear black blazers and nice blouses and their makeup looks nice.

two black women sit in the corner, engaged in some kind of deep discourse, probably about black feminist theory.  

and i think again about buying myself a drink - the wine menu looks good - but the fear of being discovered is greater than my desire to have a sip of a hard cider.  but my eyes linger on the list of ales and beers and i think, “i’ll just have half.”

then i settle on water. 

[justmudandgrey-blog]

late night i was overcome with another bout of nausea.  it boiled and bubbled in my stomach and threatened to come out of my throat, and i was terrified.  i hate throwing up, particularly just the moments before it happens.  the feeling of your throat flexing and preparing to bring your food up is horrible. 

i had been feeling nauseous for a few hours and made the dangerous mistake of eating two slices of frozen pizza that my brother prepared for us.  then the nausea started.  i sat on my bed, doing my hair, waiting to find out what my stomach wanted to do with the food it hated.  then, i felt the nausea shifting downwards and raced to the restroom.

in the aftermath i stood in the bathroom continuing to work on my hair, fearful that i would be struck by another round of nausea and as i worked on my hair i felt the burning sting of tears prickling my eyelids and the dreading realization this is happening to me because i shovel salty, fatty, sweet foods into my mouth.  since taking on extra classes my time for exercising and meal planning has been severely limited and as a result i eat out fairly regularly.  very rarely do i eat a green vegetable.

at that moment, i wished more than ever that i wasn’t in this situation.  that i worked at one place.  had a home of my own.  that i wasn’t relegated to eating fries in three bites in my car, in a parking lot facing away from the building so my students don’t see me and feel pity for me.  i wished more than ever that i was living a life that gave me a better opportunity to treat my body right. 

i cried, briefly.  

[justmudandgrey-blog]

i do not understand why men are coddled and given free passes for lacking basic knowledge of things adults should know.  

i was asked to iron my brother’s interview suit his morning, review his resume, and make sure he gets to his interview on time.  i say: why is that my responsibility? why does he not know how to iron? why does he not know how to review his own resume for errors? 

these things i had to learn myself because i am the eldest sibling and a girl and it was expected that i would figure these things out.  i do not see how it is my job to make sure my brother takes care of himself.  you should have the basic self-awareness to do that on your own. 

i’m here to guide you.  not be your parent.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

i have wanted to be in love as long as i can remember.  it feels odd to say it (or write it), but i feel that by writing it, i can finally acknowledge it.  i am one who tends to hide their feelings and inner thoughts out of fear of being exposed and vulnerable. 

so it’s easier to write about the things that scare me. 

i have wanted to be loved and in long for as long as i remember.  when i was a child, i was often attracted to anime shows and cartoons that featured some romantic sub-plot.  my tiny eyes hungrily drank in scenes of first kisses, love scenes, and shared glances.  i delighted in relationships where he hated her, she hated him, but eventually they were drawn together and admitted their love for one another and tumbled into the sheets and became tangled up together. 

so it was odd, i always thought, for someone who was in love with the idea of romantic love, that i never encountered it myself.  in middle and high school, i made friends with boys, but they never wanted me themselves.  they tended to gravitate towards small white girls with blond hair.  i, in contrast, was big and brown. 

i threw myself into my romantic fantasies and channeled them into my writing.  i thrummed with anticipation when i wrote love scenes between the characters in my fanfiction stories.  i dog-eared pages in books i read that contained love scenes, kisses, or gentle touches.  i tried to memorize the words, visualize the images, and imagine those things being done to me, too.  it didn’t happen in high school, but surely, i believed, college would be where things changed for me. 

but four years of college went by with little to no romance, save for one drunken encounter that nearly ruined my ability to drink alcohol without a panic attack.  the boys went after the small white girls.  if a boy went after me, it was to check something off his list.  i watched from the corner with tiny hungry eyes as girls were wooed, wined, dined, kissed, and thoroughly fucked.  

i began to think that there was something wrong with me, some sort of malfunction that sent men running in the opposite direction, or simply wanting to be friends.  girls with more problems than i, and girls who i believed less prettier than i were entering monogamous relationships: what was i missing?

over time, during my education on social media, i learned that the feelings of resentment i had were no good, and it did me no good to sit in the corner and stew and be jealous of the girls i saw who were in happy, fulfilling relationships.  if i wanted one, i needed to seek one out for myself.  so i had to unlearn a lot of the things i’d been taught - like the idea that women constantly need to compete with other women.  if i wanted a relationship, i had to seek one out myself.

but i struggle with that sometimes - being vulnerable and putting everything out there for one (or two!) other people to know.  do i really want to open myself up to one person? to have them know everything?

that i talk to myself on an almost daily basis? i have a terrible fear of being on elevators on my own? that i imagine scenarios in my head based upon the songs i’m listening to? that i treasure saturday morning breakfasts because they remind me of my childhood?

that my favorite color is blue - any variation of blue.  i’ve never seen the godfather.  i have a terrible fear of public transportation.  and that’s just scratching the surface.

one must also consider that when you open yourself up to someone - fully - you are also giving them the words and secrets to harm you, if they wished.  they know your deepest fears, your weaknesses.  at any moment, they may turn on you, out of hatred, out of jealousy.  do you realize how much power you give the one you love?

[justmudandgrey-blog]

it was one of the first days of the fall semester.  i was a college freshman - new, excited, and ready to begin my life as (what i thought was) an independent woman.  almost immediately, i fell into a crowd of white girls and boys who’d come from wealthy families.  they were alabaster white, skinny, and reeked of privilege.  but back then, when i didn’t like that i was brown, they were like gods to me.  i wanted to be like them.

as one of our team-building exercises in the days leading up to the beginning of classes, the resident hall director paired us up with one of our dorm-mates, and i was paired with jane*, a tall, pale girl with knobby-looking legs.  it was a scavenger hunt, she told us.  when she started the clock, everyone took off running multiple directions, armed with their pencils and checklists.  the items were scattered around the western part of campus, which was (back then) covered in a thicket of trees, and had a wide field and a volleyball sandpit.  

it was a hot day that day.  i was wearing my first college t-shirt - a sea green one with our university’s name emblazoned on the first - and a pair of shorts.  they were actually jeans and i cut them with a pair of dull dollar store scissors into shorts because i didn’t anticipate exactly how hot it would be in the southern part of the start.  

when i looked at myself in the mirror before going outside, i stared with disdain at my brown-knock knees, and the way the blue denim material strained against the fat of my thighs.

at one point during the scavenger hunt, jane’s eyes lit up with understanding after reading one of the clues, and she took off running in the direction of the dining hall, her knobby white legs taking her as fast as they could go.  i started to run after her, and took only a few steps before my heart starting racing and my breathing constricted.  i felt dizzy - a combination of the hot sun overhead and my body’s refusal to keep up with jane’s pace.  i came to a gentle halt, the sweat beading on my forehead and threatening to send my newly straightened edges back to africa from whence they came.  and i watched as that skinny white girl flew across the field, her pale white hair flying behind her.  she was like some graceful creature.  a gazelle, maybe, as she loped across the field.

all of the sudden, i became so aware of the fat that i carried on my body.  my hips, my thighs, my stomach, my arms, my chin.  

i wished some days that i could just grasp the piles of fat around my stomach and set them gently on the bed, roll them up, and stuff them in a corner.  to be a size two, like the girls around me and like the white girls i saw in my teen magazines.

once i realized that i couldn’t keep up with jane’s pace, once i realized that i was big and brown, i retreated to the safety of my room, and hoped that no one had caught a glimpse of my shame.

[justmudandgrey-blog]

“cognitive therapy”, she squeaks out.  “i think that’s the best approach.”

cognitive therapy primarily focuses on the way you think, and focuses on changing the way you think.  i’m not sure if it’s right for me.  but i nod anyway.  because the sickening sensation i’ve been having in my stomach - the one that makes me feel like i’m grasping at straws, reaching for a goal i will never achieve - grows stronger everyday.  it threatens to keep me in bed in the morning even when i know i must go to work.  i shovel food in my mouth in an attempt to quiet the nausea.  it doesn’t work. 

it’s a quiet worry.  a quiet panic.  my life is passing by me, and i’m finally beginning to see it.  for years i’ve complained about the fact that i have a young looking face; the number of times people have assumed i’m a student at work is one too many.  for many years, i’ve craved to have people see me as a adult.  to call me “miss” or “ma’am.” anything to acknowledge the fact that for all intents and purposes, i am an adult. 

and i see it now.  i look older.  i feel older.  my chubby cheeks aren’t as chubby as they used to be.  my eyes looked more tired.  it is harder for me to lose weight - much harder than it used to be.  my back aches and so do my knees.  try and deny it as i might, i am getting older, and it terrifies me that i will tell my children that i spent the best years of my life sad and alone and overweight.  all simply because i lack the foresight and ability to determine whether my path is taking me.  for years i thought i knew, but i was wrong, and now that i am off the path i charted for myself, i do not know where to go. 

i wish, some days, that someone would simply tell me where my path will lead me.  sit down me on a ratty old brown couch and say, “muds, this is what you are going to do.” but there’s no one to do that stuff for me.  at some point, you reach an age where you simply must figure out your path for yourself.  for many years, we are told what to do, our actions and thoughts are guided, and we are not quite ourselves.  then we become 18, and suddenly, without warning, we are adults, and we are expected to decide where our life paths will lead us.  even though most of us are not ready to decide. 

the fear and the panic sit heavy in my stomach and some days i feel it is too much to bear - the fear of becoming nothing and doing nothing.  the fear of drifting into the shadows.  being nameless.  i don’t want that for myself. 

i think about the discovery of witches and how diana had the goddess herself to guide her, and told her exactly what she planned to do with diana’s life once she offered herself to her in exchange for saving the love of her life.  diana knew that her life belonged to the goddess and would do with her what she willed.  who do i belong to? who is overseeing my path? it’s not god, surely.  if it was, i feel that i would know. 

i feel like i am without a guide, without a mentor in this life.  i don’t belong to anyone and no one belongs to me.