Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Stressed to the 9's.

Brady suggested that I title a blog as such......our evening meet-up is usually spent of me blathering on about my hellacious work-day as an assistant property manager. I used the "stressed to the 9's" wording and he immediately said....."that's a blog-post"....so I'm gonna run(type) with it. Like I said...I'm an assistant property manager. Myself and my co-worker/teammate/1st in command try the best we can at wrangling a 460 unit property consisting of over 1,000 residents, 5 maintenance-techs, 15 caretakers, 10 corporate office/3 leasing members and on average 7-10 daily vendors.....and I can't keep track of how many times that my desk-phone rings and how many times that I answer a buzzer to let people in.....(seriously, I've tried to keep a record...was not even happening). I can't even remember what I was going to rant about.....I know it was pertaining to my job. But I feel like my mind is in an emotional-repair state...survivor-mode has kicked in and it's almost like my thoughts of the work day are evaporating.....or could that just be the exhale of my cigarette, soothing my nerves, killing me softly. Regardless, my day was intense. 
         I'm not good at holding in my opinion, especially in a case of injustice. The scales must be even, I am Libra....hear me roar. Imbalance truly affects me. Unfairness is a killer of happiness, and I'm shielding myself in the best way possible, trying to make everyone else happy while losing myself. I am not ashamed to say that I have been prescribed anti-depressants before because some wounds just don't heal, but I do not appreciate the effects of them, so I medicate herbally instead. Wanna judge me for cannabis consumption? Go ahead....I honestly do not care. A "substance" that has been medically proven to alleviate physical and mental pain. Since I received my promotion a little over a year after working in the leasing office and traveling to other properties as a "filler", I have focused so much on my job that I quit writing, quit making art, gained weight, stock-piled laundry, formed clutter everywhere, and have cried more times that I have in the past ten years. Shit's getting real.
          Thank God for Janelle Monae.....I'm a Queen too....and my scepter is rising....faster than slower.
                 
 

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

A Spark from a Dream Catcher

I can't even begin to pinpoint where exactly that my mind is at in the current moment. All I can tell you is that something is connecting. Something is twitching these dormant nerves of mine to spark through my soul and travel via keyboard. I've had so much on my mind lately, so much that I just need to release it and let go. If you are reading this then you know how much of a hometown girl I am. Cincinnati is my Queen. I love my city, in fact, so much that I moved out of my city at one point just for the view of the infamous Skyline on the back-deck of the Newport Nest. There was a certain conversation that arose at one of my last nights working at the best chili joints on the West-Side. A co-worker of mine, my brother...I should say.....(we had always ended up working at places together and he essentially became family), looked at me and said, "Breezy, I think you'll come right back...you're way too much of a hometown girl". When Brady and I have arguments he usually says, "I think you just want to go home". It sucks. Being homesick sucks. I'm still not over it....Holidays are hard....birthdays are excruciating....not being able to meet up for a quick lunch with my Mama is disastrous. But I must press on. Hopefully the warmth emulating from the light at the end of the tunnel isn't just my imagination. Something big happened today....a step in the right direction....a fully-charged spark....a possible fulfillment of a dream...and even if it doesn't come true....I took a step. I can literally taste it....and it seems quite delicious...damn delicious I'd say.

        The notebook that I had chose to escort me on this quick journey just so happened to be one of my composition books from the time I attempted community college at Cincinnati State. My journal entry reads... "I lived in Tampa, Florida for five months this past year,and it felt like I was living on a different planet. The Midwest is a friendly. We smile at strangers, we hold open doors at grocery stores, and even bestow hellos' upon others animal companions. Down South things are a bit different. The confederate flag is seen as much as Bengals merchandise, bump stickers such as, "American by birth, Southern by the grace of God" and "We don't give a damn how you do it up North" flood the cabs of pick-up trucks and the usual p.o.s.'s.
          The attitude is that of the past, and that which is unfriendly. In Cincinnati, I am happily greeted at any place of business, down in Tampa, most gas-station attendants could care less if your eyes met. Even though us Cincinnatians have many differences, we still have a very strong sense of community-togetherness. The few months I lived in Florida there was almost an alien presence about these people. Smiles didn't really exist, at least not for free. Nascar and sweet-tea are the main staple down South, while us Northerners enjoy football and chili. I might go on vacation down South...but a place where happiness isn't free isn't for me."

Now....I'm not in Cincinnati anymore....taking a canoe trip in the land of 10,000 lakes. No, not canoeing, driving around in Snowbell....venturing to and fro....going with the motions. Well, I'm ready to go down some raging rapids. I need to make my city proud...make those gems in her crown sparkle. I think Iggy Azalea's song "Work" is my new motivation. I tried to expel her....but I can't. That song gets me hyped. All I can do is dismiss my homesick-depression and catch my dreams..not just chase them. I feel like I never was able to say goodbye the proper way...the time flew by too fast for me to fully realize the extent of my decision. Taking the majestic view of that Skyline for granted. Now I see it in my daydreams...screaming at me to get up off my ass. Well....I hear you loud and clear.


Sunday, February 17, 2013

Home.

Music in my eardrums....yet again. Playlist titled "Home". All sweet melodies that make my soul expel what feels like warm rainbows that I'm sure a wiccan would see. Home is that warm-fuzzy feeling that makes you content with the world, thanking the Universe(God) for bringing it's wrath upon you and being able to walk away, completely beaten and yet barely scathed. Fuck you, Universe. Not fuck you like I hate you, fuck you like a friend that's bustin your ovaries(balls). I'll take all the shit you can bring.....literally. This ping-pong match is far from over. I know you'll aim for my left-side, and I'll laugh at my failed-returns, but I'll stay in the game. Home is that appreciative sense of being-protected, loved, grateful, generous, completely and utterly spoiled. The Universe continuously reminds of how it is gentle and kind, and don't piss it off. Life is so much easier when we look at everything we have as a blessing, the rough shit can be terrible...and I hate how much people say "forget the past". Im-fucking-possible. You can be a strong-ass female, and you can say that bullshit-mantra to yourself for as long as you want...but it ain't goin nowhere. You make the past your bitch. Smack the past around, mentally pimp-smack it like it stole your money. Actions of your past are to serve as a guide. What did you say...how did you handle it....how should you have handled it.....don't do it again. Your past is a mountain that you climbed like an Everest of emotions. You can give your heart away as much as you want....fact is...it's yours. It pumps blood through that body, heals it, and will self-destruct at it's own time. That heart is forever yours. YOU need that to live. However, on occasion, I have definitely felt like mine just decided to take a vacation, go somewhere on a beach, lounging on a hammock in the shade.....watching the sun set, while sipping a delicious, tropical fruity-drink.
              I feel like I got off topic. I know I wanted to write a piece on how grateful I am with my life despite the fact that I've been cerebrally sucker-punched. Taylor Swift obviously has been. She's on right now, this chick swims in past-mistakes. Like, she's taking laps in her own tears. I guess continuous heartbreak is worth millions of dollars. That John Mayer is an asshole though....she was definitely to young to be messed with. Alright, Taylor....not now. (changing the song) "Scar Tissue" feels just right, right about now. I love the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Their infamous Halloween show was in Minneapolis this past year.....and I'll regret not getting tickets for that for awhile....sighhhhhhh. Music has always been in my life consistently....helping me through the Universe's challenges, holding the ice on my swollen soul after a triumphant win. You just gotta remember......fucking win.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Burying the Horse.

I'm usually influenced by music. Most people are, even if they don't want to admit it. Music influences everything. Music is life's gift. Music has the capability to change your life, or at least help you make sense of things that you feel, because someone, somewhere, has felt the same thing. My song of the day has been Florence and the Machine's "Shake it Out". This song has almost brought me to tears with each press of the back button.
    "I've been a fool and I've been blind, I can never leave the past behind." I have so many times, on so any occasions, wished that I could forget so many things. But I have learned that no matter how much I wish I could change things, they are mine to keep. It's just letting them seep in and quit giving them the power to expose me at every chance they get. They are marks on my soul, not another's. The internal tattoos that tell my heart's path on the journey of me. I remember posting a status on facebook once saying, "Sometimes, I really wish I could Eternal-Sunshine-of-my-Spotless-Mind myself." Or something along those lines. Promptly, one of my fellow-librans immediately responded, "Then you would never be who you are today." True, very true indeed. But with healing, there is swelling. As a manic-depressant, swelling to me is that feeling when that anxious-wave cascades upwards through your body as that warm sting behind your eyes releases their tattle-tales. Then the release, and the deep breath.
    "It's hard to dance with a devil on your back." I was just explaining the other day to my significant-other that my depression is my demon. I prefer to be non-medicated. Well, I self-medicate, in a very herbal way. Say what you want about marijuana being a gateway drug, it's simply not true. I will not give you all my explanations right now because it is just not the time in which I wish to dive into that. It's obviously moving up by itself. Back to this demon. There is no greater struggle than the heavy-weight death-match against that horrible demon that continuously tries to envelop you in it's madness. Some of us lose the fight, and the soldiers that are here still fighting the good fight bow their heads and release our own 21 gun salute. This demon is an asshole, says the meanest shit and thinks he can just get away with it. Well I'm still here, pounding the pavement in my asshole-demon suit of armor, with music as my shield.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Freedom.

I never read Alice In Wonderland. I plan on it eventually. I feel like there are certain books that you just have to read, like it's disrespectful to not read books of that magnitude. Books that have survived the test of time and keep on going. Books that have changed lives and brought a message to anyone that fed their mind with it. Especially the ones that have a message, even if you can't understand the message until years later. I saw the Disney movie of Alice in Wonderland. (of course) Truth be told, the cheshire cat freaked me out when he would just pop up places. But now, my recently-turned-twenty-seven self is thinking about the rabbit. The rabbit always checking his clock. I've learned that as an adult, we are all chasing the clock. We just want to catch it, sit it down, and don't let it move. You want to yell at it at the same time that you beg for mercy. Pleading through gritted-teeth for just one free day, at this point you say hell with the day. You'll take an hour, just one free hour that won't go down on the books. Please, Time! Please just help me! Be on my side for once! At least just slow down, or at least add some minutes! But Time doesn't listen, and that bastard clock just sits and stares at you scathingly, head half-cocked.          One of the saddest realizations of adults is time is never on your side, it's been you this whole time. You just have to realize that you are the pimp and Time is YOUR bitch. I hope the wasn't offensive, but I don't really care if you do. This is my blog, this is where I have the freedom to write down my words. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm, freedom.


Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Spring Fling

I usually have some kind of background ambiance, whether it's the latest hipster gossip in a coffee shop, some t.v. show, or music. My dweeb-dwellings, but at this moment, it's the man of my dreams working on lyrics at my cluttered and totally girllied-out desk. Oddly enough, I'm sitting in his studio and his giant, musical-man station. You could say, cheesily, it's "where the magic happens". But it's true. I'd say this is a first for us, I guess that's where the moment struck him, and I don't want to disturb the direction of his flow, wherever it's going, but he is pretty damn excited about it. I love the sounds of glee the I hear through the open door. (As I sat typing this, he walked in on me, I was just about to type that this occurrence happened more than likely because he more than likely assumed I would be sitting on the couch) My assumptions were correct after I let him read what I had just wrote after he started giggling about how I was at a desk. My Baloo. I love when he giggles. He is my mansquatch, at a stature between 6"4 and 6"5 he isn't the most tiny man, wearing his at least 275 lb figure like a suit of armor. If you think about it, Baloo the bear was also a rapper, "When you pick a paw-paw or a prickly-pear, and you pick a raw paw, well next time beware....." and so on. I love Disney movies. Like most women, I'm a sucker for a fairy tale. Beautiful woman, man of her dreams, and badass high heels. My fairy tale has came true, but like most women, of my generation, fairy tales have quickly been stomped out like a fire, ignited by the flames of passion. I refuse(d) to believe that dreams cannot come true, aside from the obvious "I wish I had real pink unicorn with golden hooves for a pet".
             With every day that I am truly in love, I think of how I learned what real love was. I saw my Mama fight for it. I saw her relentlessly try to make it work, in every scenario. Through all the tears, there was a purpose. My Mama taught me how to survive in love, one of the biggest tests of our lives. If you can come out of heartbreak stronger, that is what the relationship was there for. They say "Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned", and we know that an angry woman is a force to be reckoned with, and my Mama showed her ass, all the while teaching her daughters to fight for what you want and don't take any shit. As a woman, I'd say she's pretty on-point. I know she has regrets, and which one of us doesn't, but Pamela Marie has taught me all the survival skills in love, complete with a  first-aid kit of sayings that will accompany you as mantras on the path of righteousness. My personal favorite, "You have the world by the balls". She has never faltered in telling her children how much we deserved to be loved, how much we deserved to be happy, and how much to love. Such girls that believe in fairy tales need their tour guides to show them the heart-workings and how to spot a true prince. She's bound to disagree with a prince from time to time, but that's just the lioness protecting the cub. With Mother's Day approaching fast, I hate that I won't be able to give her a hug and thank her another day for being her.
           I'm sorry if you don't have a mother like mine, but I'm sure you have someone that has had that affect on you, and if not, you can get a hold of my mom, she is there for anyone whenever she can. I told her not too long ago, even if her children don't always get along famously, she taught us all to be generous, kind, and forgiving. (Unless you've screwed us over more than twice since she has always given people a second chance, but more than that and you're pushin it)
         Anyways, I know this has been a long blog and I appreciate your reading. I know it's not the usual tune of my shenanigans, but I feel like a different chord has been struck recently and I must go with the melody. I hope you all have a wonderful spring, and may you all be safely flung.

                                                                                                    Yours truly,

                                                                                                           Breezy



Friday, May 4, 2012

When the Moment Spanks You

Sometimes you have to work, sometimes you have to eat, and sometimes you just need to sit the fuck down and let your fingers communicate your words on keys to a screen. Give the world a taste of the words that are scrolling fast through the front of your eyes like a marquis displaying the best bargains in town. Well, here it is, the best Breezy in town, sweet with a sour aftertaste....to some folks. Every time I want to sit down and write I get side-tracked. I always want to watch something or play something, read something or listen to something, or eat something, or drink something...... or smoke something.(I'll leave that to your wild imaginations) So many things that I have to choose from. Life is full of choices, seems like everyone says that, but it is. One of life's truest statements. Right now, at this very moment, I'm choosing to type, to sit in my desk chair that has a slightly comfortable lean to it, to watch the t.v. out of my side-vision, just so I can see the movements of the ultimate fighters that are almost dancing to the Chopin that I am choosing to guide me in the flow of my words. Like my name, I flow.
                  A few months have gone by since I've last wrote and I apologize, mostly to myself. As a human enjoying this life, it is of my choosing to decide what happens by the choices I make. Choices, choices. I am struggling with my choice to write this blog and fighting the other part of my brain that is begging me to pick up the paperback and watch from afar as Anastasia Steele tries to piece together the "fifty shades of fucked up" puzzle that is Christian Grey. That E.L. James sure knows what an 80's baby likes to feed her soul, and apparently soccer-moms from what I've read.
                   You are choosing to read this, dipping your toes into my brain-pool. Trust me, the waters fine. I think more people need to write. I think more people need to talk about who dwells inside and let the world know who you are, who knows, we might see each other for far more fascinating than the original perception. Unfortunately, so many people choose to lock themselves up, caging themselves. Let your soul sing, express yourself in the only way you know how because that's the agreement that your heart and mind shook on. Ugh, this piano is making me sappy, I want to cuss and talk about hairs that get stuck in the back of your throat during oral sex and make you almost throw up. (It's so funny when they think it's because of how big they are) ;) That was one for my ladies. See, when I type dirty words to a beautiful piano-piece it feels like I just spray-painted over the Mona Lisa. I choose to be raunchy yet classy. I choose to love. I choose to wear my boyfriends Adidas pants and a mis-matched long-sleeve shirt with my hair in a rat's nest on top of my head. I choose to tell you about my choice to be me. The battle that is truly good vs. girly-evil. I promise to do my best to be me, as long as you promise to just..... Be you.