I am a writer

As quick as it started, it ended. A friend of mine once told me that she thinks I suffer from A.D.D. I’m starting to suspect that she is right. The words start to flow in my head and if I don’t immediately get them all down, they go away. It’s like there’s this pathway to this hidden creativity that roams the world. If I don’t grasp the idea as quick as it comes, it will go away and fall on someone else’s shoulder. Make their way to a known, published writer or some word genius who sits around waiting…leaving me with a desire to become a published  and successful writer one day.

At times I wonder if this dream will ever come true. I’ve wanted this from the time I was a little girl. Actually, I think I wanted to run my own publication. I started with my spin on the New York newspaper, The Daily News…I called it The Daily Kids. The paper started as an attempt to make candy money. I sold it for twenty five cents a copy. I was also under the impression that whatever was written or printed on paper, in coupon form, would be honored. So, I created coupons for the things that I wanted. Barbie’s and dollhouses, books and stationary. Sometimes, my mom would honor them and other times, she would laugh and say that she would buy it when she won the lottery. To this day, she owes me soo much!

As I got older, the dream kinda sorta faded. I began to concern myself with the things that other kids were worried about. Hair, clothes, music and who was cute and who wasn’t. My road map was thrown off track. Soon after I got married and my priorities changed. My passion became my husband and my household. I wanted to start a family and was heading in that direction. Eventually, I lost myself and my dreams. Being a writer was far from my thoughts. Occasionally, I would right in my journal. I found that I only wrote when I was down about something. It was my release. As my marriage began to fail, my words became my only sanctuary.

I didn’t rely on them as much as I should’ve. I did start to count on alcohol a whole lot more. In fact, it became my best friend. I became addicted to that feeling of NOT feeling. It felt good to not be in control. To follow that initial instinct and not worry about the consequences made me happy. At least, I felt happy at the moment. The morning after was a whole other story. After making several mistakes, one of which was drunk driving, I decided a change was in order. Thankfully, I did not injure someone or myself, but I did wake up the next morning in my bed with no recollection of leaving the club, driving home or crawling into bed. I was done.

I don’t know what changed in my at that moment, but I have never again been that intoxicated and I am very well aware of my limits in regards to drinking. With that said, I had the desire in my to write at that point, but I didn’t know where or how to start. Keep in mind, that my whole life, prior to that, I never had to work at words. They just came to me. But, now I found myself fighting for the words. Craving to have them embedded in my brain and have them flow out on my computer or on paper.

Lines came out at me, but not full paragraphs. I followed my other passion…reading. I began picking up books. Each word was a struggle that I never had to face before. But, I forced myself to get into it. I read, not for pleasure but because I had to. I had to rediscover my love of words. No matter how horrible the book, I was going to force my brain to like it. It was a learning experience after all.

After some time, the words slowly began to make their way back to me. Little by little poetry formed, then I discovered blogging. Disorganized thoughts became post. I even joined a writing group. One day, one of my writing mates, came up with a writing schedule. If we wanted to be published writers, we had to dedicate time. I was going to do this. I was going to write a book.

Well, the time that I was supposed to dedicate to my best selling novel, became dominated by my blog post. Each becoming organized and reader friendly, but again, I had no direction. I created a new blog after joining a blog challenge. This was going to be the beginning of awesome. I was going to be a writer. I even had business cards made.

As I sit in this French café, enjoying my Mochacchino and croissant, I have yet to figure out the direction I want to take as a writer. It’s a dream that I have held for a very long time in my heart. The words still struggle and for the first time I find myself working towards something. I have decided that I have job security and I feel comfortable where I am right now. But, this is not where I want to see myself when I am forty. My dream is to become a writer. My dream is to live part time in New York City with my apartment being steps away from The Village. I want to jog in Central Park in the morning and catch the train to have dinner with my mom by Yankee Stadium. The flame has not burned out, it’s being re-ignited and I will reach my goal. One word at a time…

This song says it all. . .

B.A. (Before Atlanta)

In a typical Ymelda fashion, things were forgotten. You would assume that the many times that I have traveled in the past, by now I would have a mental check list of everything that needs to leave with me. Very cliché to say so, but, it should flow like clockwork. Apparently,  I need a new clock. Unfortunately, my sacred memory stick is sitting in my work bag on top of my bed or on the floor somewhere. Can’t remember exactly where I left it. Therefore, all the work that I was supposed to get done on the plane is not going to happen until I arrive back in Miami.

Yes, I said on the plane. For the first time in about seven years I am flying without my reliable relaxant, Xanax. To say that I am freaking out and just seconds away from being tased by the hot Marshall sitting in the corner, is a HUGE understatement. I am keeping calm by pretending I am sitting in a chilly Starbucks and writing on my blog, like I would any other day of the week. I have my iPod on and Godsmack is playing in the loudest possible setting that I can stand. This technic is used in order to drown out the sound of the engines, which I’ve learned get louder as the plane speeds up. It gets lower as the engine slows the heavy mass of metal down and that’s when my heart feels like it’s about to burst into a never ending hysteria.

On a less psychotic note, this will probably be the third time I visit Atlanta. For the life of me, each flight there has been a total blur. Thank you Xanax! Since my total stay this time will be about two days in the city, my usual recovery time of a day is going to be a waste. So, I decided this time not to take anything and wing it. So far so good! I can’t see myself flying to L.A anytime soon without it….but It’s good to know that I can last an hour or so without having a minor heart attack.

My writers block has somewhat lifted. It’s not as bad as it was, but the stump is still there. Things don’t come as easily as it used to and it’s starting to feel like work. There are currently three stories in my head, from beginning to end. Each detail is outlined perfectly and I can see the characters and I know them as well as I know my closest friends. But, the words won’t come. The letters will not formulate and make sense long enough to bring these people to life.

It seems that lately the easiest thing to write about is myself and what I’m going through. And, if you’ve been following my blog at all, you would know that it really isn’t much. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy with where my life is now. I am comfortable, I have a dog, I have a stable career that I love…my friends and family are amazing and I am truly blessed to have them holding me up. But, man, I get tired of talking about myself.

I hear that you are supposed to write what you know. It flows easier and the story comes together easier. I do write about what I know. Or at least what I think I know. The ideas are there. It’s the spitting it out that’s the problem. Even now as I write this the words just don’t make sense to me. I could blame it on my one hour of sleep, the nervousness about flying or the fact that I am on a Delta flight and I really really miss Jetblue right about now…but that’s not the case. It’s just not there.

I tried free writing the other day. I can’t remember when, but I’m thinking it was on my flight from New York to Miami. That was a Xanax induced free write. There was a tone of rambling. In the mist of complaining that I had nothing to write about and that it was probably the dumbest thing I have ever written there were two main points that created one of my stories. In fact, I could’ve elaborated on those points right now, had I remembered my memory card.

I could’ve slept, but I’m sitting in a middle seat. And, I also couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write sober on a plane. What exactly brings me to Atlanta this time around? The last time that I was here, it was for a couple of hours. I had a connecting flight while on my way to New Orleans. This time, I actually get to experience Atlanta and all its glory. I plan on it being a calm relaxed visit. I was in desperate need for a vacation and this trip presented itself. Lord knows I can’t turn down a chance to step out of the box and try something new. This is definitely new. According to the besties, Atlanta is as South as it can get. Although, I have pale skin and somewhat light hair at the moment, I will be classified as a “Mexican.” Not really offended as I love tacos and margaritas, but it’s pretty messed up.

Bestie told me a story about her brother in law. He is a pharmacy technician in a large chain. He was working the midnight shift. After responding to work and feeling ill at around 4am, he decided to go home. On his way home, mind you he’s wearing his uniform, which consist of a lab coat; he gets pulled over. I doubt he was speeding, as I’ve been in the car with him before and he drives like a grandma. Or maybe that’s why he was pulled over…hmmmm. Anyway, the officer approaches the vehicle, and proceeds to ask him how much he had been drinking that night. Brother in law, hereafter referred to as BIL, denied drinking and stated that he wasn’t feeling well and was on his way home from work. The officer stated that he knew he was Mexican and that all Mexicans drink and drink a lot. BIL advised the caring officer that he was not Mexican, but in fact from El Salvador and that he had not been drinking. Officer advised BIL that it was all the same thing and asked him to blow into a breathalyzer.

There is a certain kind of “racial profiling” that comes into effect when one swears to protect the laws and citizens of this country. But, that’s taking it to the extremes. I’m ok with getting pulled over because I drive fast and my vehicle has extremely dark tints (I hate the sun), BUT, to be pulled over because I look a certain way. NOT COOL.

My task at hand is to keep my mouth shut. Which, in the last couple of days has actually worked wonders for me. So much so that I am constantly being asked “what’s wrong?” I don’t remember where I heard this quote, but it went something along the lines of being quick to anger but slow to speak. I know I’m slaughtering that quote right now, but that’s what I took from it. I am very quick to get upset over something and speaking my mind right then and there. Most of the time, if not all, my human filter goes out the window and the “words made of knives” come out to play.

Keeping my mouth shut and not saying things when I want to say it has made me laugh more.  I am NOW starting to realize how bad of a temper I have. My outburst are less and my stress level as decreased a little. I have come to the realization that when I am not in control my emotions go haywire. However, I am also learning to let go and realize that I cannot control everything and that’s ok. Sometimes one has to kick back, relax and let someone have the last word. Because, all though they have the last word, silence speaks volumes.

Jeter made it simple

It was hot. I like the house to be at a certain temperature. BELOW FREEZING!! Granted the energy conservationist in me puts up a fight, but the fat girl that wants to lay in bed and dwell on day dreams and comfort always wins. And when I say comfort, I mean COMFORT. Sixty-nine degrees of straight chill, while I marinate under my level three Ikea comforter. So, this morning, when I woke up in a pool of sweat...I was a tad bit pissed.

Jeter was fidgety in his kennel next to me. They guy at the pet store told me that I shouldn't keep him locked in there longer than eight consecutive hours. I timed it in my head. I got home at about 1:44 am. Crawled into bed at like 2am, so I could stay in bed until 10am. It was 8:17am and I was awake and even worse, I was hot. My roomate was already gone, at least I think she was because I couldn't understand how anyone else would be surviving in this torturous Miami heat. My mom told me the other day that New York was in the high nineties. At least we have ocean surrounding us...so I really shouldn't be complaining. But, anyway, back to my story.

I roll my chunky monkey self out of bed and make my way to the temperture control thingy for the air conditioner. It was up to SEVENTY NINE!! Seriously?!?! I went ahead and lowered the temperature and made my way back to the bed. By this time, Jeter is up and jumpy because he thinks it's play time. I look at him and say..."Not yet baby! Go back to sleep." He begins to whine. It's breakfast time and what kind of mother would I be if I deny my child food?

Whatever, I was out of bed anyway. So, I open his kennel and lead him to the back door. My puppy needs to do his morning business. I leave him outside and walk back into the house so that I can get his breakfast ready for him. But, he follows me back in. I walk back out with him and ONLY when he is sure that I am watching and not moving...he poops! Yaay, he poopied outside and not in my room. I get all excited and then he recipricates by doing it again. Sad that at my age I get excited that my dog can poop outside. I thought it was a given!

We walk back in the house and Operation Feed Puppy begins. I prepare his food and bam...Jeter is eating. I take the opportunity to walk over to the bathroom and brush my braced teeth. Jeter follows. I look at him and tell him..."Go eat Jeter." He looks at me with his sad puppy dog face and his big eyes and his head tilts over just a tad. I hear his look telling me "Come on Mommy!" He wins....I'm just a sucker for wimpering and sad faces.

I walk over and I lean on the kitchen wall and watch him enjoy his breakfast. When he is done, he runs towards the front door and I take that as a sign that he needs to go use the "facilities." Turns out I was right. He runs out and bam...baby pee-peed. Again, a swell of joy fills my heart and I am happy. In turn, I make him happy. A simple good job and a tummy rub go a long way with a puppy. I start to wonder if I could benefit from one of those.

He follows me through out the house and is constantly searching for my attention and affection. He loves me for apparently no reason. It's easy. I give him and he gives me. At night when I come home, he's there. Tail wagging, smile on his puppy dog face and he is excited to see me. I can't tell you how much joy this brings me. To know that there can be a relationship where you don't have to invest everything you are and everything you could be into the other being to make it work baffles me. If it's so simple in a human/dog relationship, why can't it be simple in the human/human dynamic?

Friends are love...

There are those times in life that one feels alone. Its that feeling where you think that there is no one in the world that understands you. Since no one understands you, then no one cares. And, since no one cares, what's the point of going on? Then the craziness and the madness starts. Take it from me, I've been there more than once in my life. I have to say that the cliche of take it day by day or what doesn't kill you make you stronger....yeah, they are all on point.

Last night I had one of those moments. Or actually this whole trip was like that. I was hesitant to come because of the circumstances that occured prior to this. I wanted to crawl into a hole and dwell on my own sadness. I guess I should give you some background information before the epiphany of my life slapped me to my knees yesterday.

Ok, so it all starts with an ex-boyfriend of mine. He and I had a good relationship. I would have to say that it was my first REAL adult relationship. Yeah, I know that I was married and with the same man for the beginning of my twenties AND we were together for about eight years. But, I wouldn't call that an adult relationship. It was more of friendship with aspirations to become a relationship. But, enough about that.

Ex-boyfriend or Bruce (name has been changed DUH!) had a relationship like none I have ever experienced. We talked a lot. But, it was more than talking. It was communications. I would speak, he would listen, he would give his thoughts on the subject and vise versa. Everything was on the table. There was nothing that we couldn't discuss. For the first time, my thoughts didn't scare me. He taught me the art of communication and how to have an arguement without shouting and without judgement.

Example: Our arguements would flow like this:
"I can't believe you just said that."
"Said what?"
"That you prefer pink."
"I don't get it. What's the point?"
"How can you like pink? Your such a jerk sometimes."
"It's my opinion. You have yours and I have mine. And, your right...the way that I said it made me come off as a jerk, BUT not the words. I should've said it differently. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry."

I'm sure you guessed that he would be the green, while I would be the peachy color. Our relationship was awesome. We would go out and he would always ask me what I wanted to do and would never complain about it. He would laugh and have a good time no matter where we were. We never had any uncomfortable silences. The silence was soothing. We were comfortable with one another. But, I feel way before he did and ummm he had a situation that he never told me about. He was still married.

Needless to say, our relationship ended and our friendship continued. When I say friendship, I mean friendship. He's there when I need him and he understands me like no other. He gets me and he gets my craziness. He accepts me for who I am and we can still talk and hang out like we used to. I respect his marriage (now that I know he has one) and he respects my single life and the fact that I go out on dates. Why am I telling you this?

Well, someone came into my life soon after he exited who was single. He meet all the qualifications and we were off. We were soulmates. I wrote about him a couple of days ago, the post is titled "My Soul Mate?". Up until last night, I believed that we were. Everything was there. We could talk, we shared the same passion for baseball, had similar retirement plans...we were a match made in heaven.

Last night, over a sober game which lead into a conversation, two of my besties started to analyze my relationship. One more than the other. She asked me what I saw in my "soulmate." My reaction was like dude, you met him. You had a conversation with him. You told me you liked the way he interacted with me, the way he respected me and the way he gave me this caring look. I told her that she had given me the green light. Then she asked the question that changed everything.

"Other than your shared love of baseball, what else do you like about him?" Seemingly, this should have come easy. I should have been able to gush about him and my answer should have been, "where do I start?" Instead, I found myself struggling with why I like him so much. It was his eyes, his height...no....he's smart, he has a solid career....no...none of these things had anything to do with why? I mean, this is the answer that you would give a random person on the street, not a good friend.

When women break down men for other women. Women that you are not emotionally connected to, we tend to say "Look at him, why wouldn't I want him." When you break him down to another woman that you are emotionally connected to, you go deeper. You tell her how he makes you feel and you give her details, situations, small insignificant things that meant the world to you. When I couldn't come up with anything to tell her...she said the words that made me fall on my ass. I had the night to sleep on it and I have yet to get find my way back up.

She said, "You are not into him. You are settling. The person that you want is married and is unavailable. You feel that the closet you can find to him is your 'soulmate'. Your 'soulmate' is available and meet some of the qualities that Bruce has but he isn't Bruce. 'Soulmate' is an asshole and Bruce isn't. You are blind to him being an asshole because you are too busy thinking that you aren't going to find anything like that again. Think about it. Do you really want to settle?" Then the other bestie jumped in (she had been quiet this whole time) "You settled for your husband and look how that turned out." Then they both exited the room.

Well, I'm in analysis mode right now. But the point of this story is that friends are hard to come by. Friends that understand you, love you, and who give you harsh words for your improvement are a needle in a haystack. I have said this many times before and I will never tire of saying this. I am blessed to have the people that I have in my life. If friends are the family that we choose for ourselves, I've held on to a great set of people. Each one has their own personality, their own ways, and they have different backgrounds. The one thing that they all have in common is that they love me.

God has blessed me many times. From the family that I was born into, to the challenges I have had to face and overcome, to the people he has put in my path and has held there throughout the years. There's a calm in knowing that whatever dark times lie ahead, I have a solid support base. They know me well enough to know when I lie to myself and call me on it. My peace of mind is priceless and that's what friends do for you.