Issues

I've been waiting until after the holiday season to write. I can honestly say that the last two months I have been working too hard. Though I haven't really said it, because in this time we live in...the last thing I am going to complain about is too much work. I'm thankful for the work. I'm thankful every time I sit down to do something for the university that employs me that I have the opportunity to work there. It is the university where I spent nine years (sophomore year of undergrad through doctoral program). You're not supposed to do grad work where you do undergrad. Its academic inbreeding. You're not even supposed to be able to get into these programs. You sure as shit aren't supposed to work where you did doctoral studies (unless you've gone some where else for an extended time). More academic inbreeding. While we're at it... you also not supposed to leave the university and still finish or teach 8th grade with a PhD. Eh. I sort of hate being told I can't do something.

Its one of those Dr. Err things.

I have a lot of things. Not material things. Just...well quite frankly... mental issues.

Every now and again, someone will say something to me that sticks like one of those cartoon arrows with the plunger thingy where the arrow stabby thing should be. It doesn't happen a lot, but when it does I never forget those words.

Once in a time of despair over school bullshit a dear tattooed hood friend of mine with a GED (who still doesn't have the slightest idea what I was doing in school, but happily tells his clients while he's tattooing either me or them that I am, "a professor and shit") told me that he thought I'd be ok because we were a lot a like and, "people like you and me....we do ok." Another time another good friend told me, "you know who you are." Both times, time seemed to stand still and the air seemed to bet sucked out the area for just a second. I knew I was hearing something profound.

This happened again, while (not) lost (0nly late) in Philadelphia in a car with a chosen sister. We see each other about once a year for a couple of days. Sometimes its just the two of us, sometimes we bring family, sometimes (magical times) we are lucky enough to have the other sister with us, sometimes other friends join us for an afternoon or an evening at a local dive bar. Really, it doesn't matter. We pick up right where we left off (or really, where we started....we were sisters from the start) and its a magic time.

This visit, I'd made some comment about some oddball feeling or behavior of mine being 'my shit and I recognize it and work around it.'

She said some other things but what hit me like the cartoon arrow was, 'you're one of the most self aware people I know.'

I took it as a huge compliment. And also, maybe a bit of a challenge.

So here is my David Letterman style list of issues that I have.

I hate being told what to do. I hate being mothered. My own mother doesn't mother me in a traditional sense. Women who have a lot of kids and a lot of teachers seem to forget that they aren't the mom/teacher of everyone. I have a lot of trouble with people like this. This is closely related to the I hate being told I can't do something that I mentioned above. My response is almost always 'why not' and the effort I will expend to prove that I can too can and has almost killed me. Along the same lines, I take an almost perverse pleasure in knowing that as far as my education/occupation goes...I am doing every.damn.thing. that they said I couldn't. If you could turn IN YO FACE into a feeling...its like that.

My shit around race and culture and class is complicated. And often it makes it really, really, really hard to be me. And sometimes, I'd just like someone to be like, "damn... that's tough" instead of "but you look...."

I have anger issues. I work on them every.day. I am low class, ghetto, or crazy (I'm not sure which or if its really all) to knock someone the fuck out. Much of my exercise regime is to help channel this into good places.

I have o'haulic tendencies. Everything I do I tend to do to death. I also try to channel this into good and productive places instead of into booze and drugs and cheap hooker men. You can read this as I have a family history of bipolar/manic depression etc. I try really, really hard to make sure I don't go off the deep end.

Feet flip me the fuck out. Gah. I'd rather not even touch my own. Please don't touch mine...but especially...don't touch your feet on me. The Boy will occasionally touch his feet on me in the middle of the night and it wakes me up.

I need an invite. Don't ever just expect that I know to show up, or that I know I'm invited because I've come every other year. I come from a family where you just up and get uninvited. I married into a family where I am not wanted. I need an invite. Otherwise I won't come. I sure as shit am not going to check in with you like I'm begging to come. If I don't get invited and I normally do (or think I should) that shit will hurt me to the core. I won't get over it for a long damn time.

My uncles used to flick the kids in my family until they'd cry (I mean like really hard). And then they'd tease you until you cried more. No lie, they never did this to me. Everyone knew that my father was not someone to be screwed with. Looking back, they were all just a little scared of him (which if you know about my uncles... tells you A LOT about my dad). Flicking upsets me. Weird I know. This was clearly not the worst thing I've ever seen. No where near...but it makes my chest tight. I also used to watch my mom's dad call their dog over to him and then knock the shit out of him. Pet, pet, pet, SMACK. I wasn't raised this way. My dad taught me from the time I could use my hands to pet, how to be gentle with a dog. How to make a scared animal feel better. Where they like to be scratched. How to know what dogs were doing so that I wouldn't be scared. It must have worked as I picked two of the scariest looking dogs in the shelter (according to visitors). I makes me feel scared and tight inside to see someone wrestle with a dog or give them a good playful swat on the rump. Logically, I know its ok. In my heart, it makes me want to get in the middle of it.

I like boys to be edged up and clean shaven.

I don't trust other people (except my dad) to drive me.

I almost never cry. Its a hood thing. But when I do... its silly and dramatic and embarrassing. When my friend VJ died, I cried until my eyes were swollen almost shut and I made myself sick. I am tough about my students hardships almost all the time. In jail, in a gang, blah, blah, blah. I'm tough. I give them what I can. But when one lost his dad last year, I went into my class, put my head on the desk and cried. There is a lady who comes in my mom's shop that has something similar to Parkinson's. She can't control her body. Its bad. Her arms fail from side to side and her husband is always scared to death she's going to break something. He came in the other day by himself and said, "I wish you could have known her before she got sick. You don't know how good it makes her feel that you folks talk to her. So many people ignore her." I got all indignant when my mom told me this. Well of course we talk to her!!! Shit! She's still a person. She ain't a crackhead... Her body isn't minding her anymore.... (and here is where out of nowhere my anger turned into tears I couldn't stop for a lady who's name I don't even know) Shit, ma... how bad would it be to have your body just do its own thing...

So. I don't watch movies that touch my heart. I don't read books like that. Please don't ask me to. I won't do it.

I have a lot of other issues. I work hard to make sure that my enjoyment of things stacked and lined up in my pantry and fridge is something I enjoy...not something I need. I think things happen for a reason and I get a little weird and wrapped up in that. JC don'tcha think its weird you got another teacher who doesn't fit in, teaches at the university and names her dogs after real people in your life? I am flashy and ghetto when I get cleaned up. When I don't... I really don't.

I always try to do the right thing and sometimes it pisses me off. I think I am a fighter because my mom isn't. When someone who scares me comes into the shop, I have a knife that I take with me. I am scared to death of someone 'getting me.' Dying doesn't scare me in the least. I am overly aware that the earth can kick my ass. I love the woods. I love WV. I'm scared in the South. And somehow this all makes sense to me. I have had to work to be able to wear dark jeans and not be weirded out by it. I am unreasonable about how soft things need to be if they touch my skin. I think blogs are narcissistic, but I love them. I like to do factory work and I time myself. I count everything. Some people can tease me. Other people can't. I don't think twice about most things. The stuff that I get hung up on, I don't think I can ever let go. Do. Not. push me if you don't want me to push back. You won't win. I can't lie/cover my feelings to save my soul. I wish I could just a little. It makes life hard on people I love sometimes. But I think its one of the things they love about me.

I know what my issues are. Some of my issues I work on every.day. Others I am comfortable with and actually enjoy. I said once on an on-line forum that I am 'hard to handle.' Its true. Its not always easy to be my friend. Its often hard to be me. But I take comfort in that for whatever I am... everyday you get the best me I can be.