Red Robot and Climate Change

My period is the one that's going to do the planet in. For real. If I had to measure my monthly carbon footprint within those 5 days, I would probably get arrested. Or lynched. Or worse.

I've got a number of reproductive health issues that make me a walking breathing blood fountain.  Chief amongst them are the fibroids that make my lower abdomen look like a distended avocado (I swear, it's not a food baby or beer belly). So, when that time of the month rolls around, all hell practically breaks lose. There’re the crazy mood swings, then the period pains that hurt like a b*#$. And don't even talk about the ovulation pains (yup, good things happen in twos on this sorry side of the street). Now, the blood flow, though, that's on a whole new level, even with chugging tranexamic acid like a junkie.

My life sometimes feels like a really, really crappy slasher movie. My bathroom has had blood splatters in the most ridiculous of places. I mean, how on earth did blood get on the ceiling! It's not like I was doing a head stand in tub, while simultaneously doing a vagina fart! Better get Gibbs out of retirement to figure that one out. 🤷‍♀️

Me and Auntie Flo have this hilarious game where we see how fast I can run to the bathroom right after being startled awake by the feeling at all hours of the night. Let me try to explain the game. It doesn’t matter if I’ve only just conked out or if I’m wearing Always’ biggest woman-nappy, when the game starts, all bets are off. I usually just start awake with this feeling that something is terribly wrong. Then in a split second, my sleep muddled mind clears and I roll out of bed with my legs clenched together and hobble-run to the bathroom as fast as I can because the tap has gone from zero to 120 in the space of seconds. To me, it feels more like getting kicked out of bed. Nothing is sacred in this kooky game. Not my mattress. Not my sheets or even the carpet. Definitely not my sanity! One time, I started awake and was so absolutely sure that Jack the Ripper had come back to life and I’d been his latest victim! I’d woken up drenched in blood and it took more than a few moments for my brain to kick into gear. I should seriously consider sleeping in the bathtub during Auntie Flo’s visits. Let's just say that my mattress is never going to Goodwill. The landfill sef would probably reject it if it could talk.

I keep doing load after load of laundry. I just keep washing, and showering, and scrubbing, and rinsing, and wiping, over and over, in this never-ending cycle. Let's not talk about my water and heating bills during those 5 critical days. Let's not talk about the gallons and gallons of water that just keep flowing down the drain in that disgusting dirty brown color. Let's not talk about the amount of bleach that goes down with it. Let's forget the laundry soap and body wash too. Best not to ponder those things too deeply.

Then, there's the smell, dear Lord! Maybe it's the fact that after the first couple of days, almost every fabric in my apartment (and my car) has gone through the red sprinkler at least once, and my mind starts to amplify the smell, but Lawd, that smell! I've had one woman claim that her red BFF smells like fresh blood. Probably just a heap of porky tales (she was, after all, smiling like a contestant at a southern belle beauty pageant while delivering that line. All that was missing was the wave 🙄). I don't think I've met anyone, porky tales or not, who complains about the smell that much, and I've started to wonder if I'm just one heck of a lucky gal or if like me, everyone else is too embarrassed (or more likely shocked into silence by the ghastliness of it) to talk about it. Even just thinking about it now is making me gag!

You know, these re-useable cloth pads seem to be the rage now, and I’m sure the environmentalists in the house would be giving me side-eye and telling me that considering the number of sanitary products I blitz through each month, I should switch to re-useables and save some space in the landfills for other (more important) things. Maybe save me some money too. Question: do you think I want to be faced by a drawer-full of that cloying, retch-inducing after-wash metallic smell the remaining three weeks of my red-free month?! Maybe the real question is if I can survive having that smell waft out of my drawers all month long! The thought of it alone makes me want to sign up for a full hysterectomy! Believe me, Febreze and Lenore are no match for that smell. I just know I would lose my sanity. So, as much as I would love to do my bit in saving the planet, I CAN’T do reusable. I just can’t!

I hardly ever write about Auntie Flo, but when I do, it seems it’s always just to moan and rant and feel sorry for myself! However, on this seemingly innocuous Sunday morning when Auntie Flo decided it was time to play our wacky game again, and I found myself considering my vaginas Picasso abilities again with a blanket clutched between my legs like a woman-nappy, I had this serene moment where I knew I would be okay; everything is going to be okay...January 30, 2022

God's 'No-Pecking-Order' Zone

What do I do when I really want to be part of Your Body, Your Bride, Your Church,

But I keep finding myself on the wrong side of the wall?

What do I do when I'm here again, the outcast, the outsider, the one who just doesn't fit in?

I thought, is it the color of my skin, my unpretty face, my accent?

Am I too muscular? Am I too skinny? Is my hair too short or kinky? Are my teeth too rabitty?

I figured it could be I'm not smart enough or too nerdy or too widely read.

Maybe I'm too introverted. Maybe I overstep my boundaries. Maybe I forget my place.

Maybe I'm too available. Maybe I don't do enough. I probably give too much of myself and get taken for granted. Maybe I'm too closed off.

Maybe I'm just not likable. Maybe I'm just unremarkable and easily forgotten.

Maybe I'm too much. Maybe I'm not enough.

I'm here again.

On the outside, looking in,

Wondering if I even care enough to want to be let in.

Maybe it all really doesn't matter. Maybe it does.

Maybe the reasons for being the runt of the litter don't matter. Maybe they do.

Maybe it's all on me, I mean, I'm the only constant in all these equations, am I not?

Maybe You're calling me out to something different.

But this road is oh so lonely, and it makes for breaking: hearts and spirits and wills.

I don't want to walk alone, but it seems I must.

Whatever it is You have for me, I know I can trust Your Heart and Your will.

I know now that not only do You not lose a battle, You also never waste one.

So, I know You'll make something beautiful out of this painful journey.

I know You'll delicately refine me in this fire of coldness and seclusion.

Thank You that You always take care of me, always will.

Thank You that with You, I'm always enough.

I'm never alone.

I'm loved.

I belong. 

To One of The Boys I Loved Before: Imprinted Smurf

 

You happened like so many of my TATB happen: one look at the very wrong moment at the very worst time, and I imprinted on you. I know it was that day, I'm just not sure it was the stage first before the lobby, but it happened, and I've lugged this baggage around on and off for close on two years now.

Maybe what makes you so un-eraseable, even despite all the times I seemed to have shaken you off my heart, is the knowledge deep down that you're beyond my reach, always have been, now will forever be. I just knew deep down that you never even knew I existed that way. I just never crossed your radar. The thought never even strayed within that universe and your mind would never even be able to fathom it: you with me? Unimaginable.

I liked you first because you looked so much like a sweet cuddly Smurf, sans the blue. You had me with that first glimpse. Then, I thought I didn't much like your social persona, but I think that was probably more about people flocking around you, probably being drawn to you same as I was. But unlike me, retreating, a fish out of the social waters, they swarmed in close and I only saw this picture. Well, whether or not that phase was the real you or just the face some sharks and pressure made you to wear, it all doesn't matter now because I lost yet again, and you've become another One I Loved Before.

Despite the shark infested phase though, you remained sweet and thoughtful and considerate, and I think that's the bit of you I'll always remember, not the social shark or the imprinted Smurf.

The sweetest and most painful part both, is the fact that I'm so full of happiness and contentment for you because I always knew you deserved to be happy, you deserved the best. And if not with me, then with someone who brings all the love and beauty and sunshine and beauty into your life because that is what I want for you. That is why I wanted you.

To One of The Boys I Loved Before: Bittersweet

 

I just have to say this this one time at least: you were my Epic Love Story. Thank you for that. Even though that time was bittersweet, and it was all shades of complicated, I’m truly grateful for it. Looking back over my life now (like I found myself doing in the wee hours of today), I realized that I’m not sad or regretful or (what’s that word I’m looking for?) any of those things. I actually had my fireworks and clouds parting and butterflies and that oh so beautiful feeling in your heart that fills it to bursting. I had Love and I’m so grateful for that. Did it happen how I dreamed it would? No. did it end in happily ever after? No. did it come with lots of tears and heart ache? Hell yes. Did it hurt? You bet. Did it take sacrifices and indeed all of my everything? Yes. Did it break me? Yes, it did. But I wouldn’t give it up to take all those things away. Because I realized only a heart that has loved can break. Only a heart that’s been loved, truly loved, can understand that sweet, sweet ache. And the best part? I know you loved me. You loved me as I was, with all my baggage and flaws and imperfections. You loved me. No one else has ever loved me that way, completely and unconditionally and totally. No one. Not before and not since. Thank you for that. you’ll always have a piece of my heart because you were The One. You were my Epic Love Story.

 

To One of The Boys I Loved Before

 

I know that you're entitled to your choice, same as I am to mine.

My choice that chose you.

I know that you're entitled to your choice.

I just wished you'd chosen me too.

I'm so happy for your happiness though. I guess that makes my choice love.

I guess that makes my choice the hard road.

The road that gives you my blessing.

The road that is content in your happiness.

You deserve to be happy, if not with me, then with someone else.

Someone else who brings all the love and beauty and color and sunshine into your life.

Because that is all I ever wanted for you.

That is why I ever wanted you.

Wherever in the world you are tonight, I hope you’re happy and loved and appreciated.

And I sincerely hope you’re in love: it’s the very best feeling in the world.

To The Girl Who Loved Me Before

 

Ran into you yesterday, or rather, spotted you across the street from me. You were going into the Starbucks on the corner of 7^th Ave and 5^th. You were with your friend, Chesca I think; I never could remember her name. I have to say that it was a surprise seeing you; it hit me hard and that was an even bigger surprise. It’s been over two years since we last saw and to tell the truth, I never really thought about you that much in that time.

Yeah, you ran across my mind from time to time, you know, when I came across mutual acquaintances or our former co-workers. One or two of them might have even asked after you, and I probably said something generic like that you were probably doing fine, settling in into school and all that. I remember thinking of you the last time I was at the Analog Coffee at the Core. I remembered our conversation while we were waiting in line, something about how you loved the sweater the barrister was wearing because yellow was your favorite color. But apart from those few occasions, I didn’t really think about you, and I didn’t feel too bad about how we parted ways. I mean, it wasn’t anyone’s fault things didn’t work out, and you know, that’s just par for the course, that’s life. We meet one day and part the next, move on to the next phase.

But then I saw you yesterday and it hit me. Hard. It wasn’t because you looked really good since the last time I saw you, which you most definitely did. I don’t know if it was because you had somehow evolved from the sweet and quiet girl I met back then, or if you’ve always exuded that magnetism and I just never noticed it. Maybe it was that Grad school really suited you and you’re thriving, and you were simply projecting that aura of wellbeing and confidence. Maybe it is that you’re happy and content now, and that is the source of the glow you had around you. I’m not sure what it was exactly, but what I do know is that you looked really good.

I crossed the street on a whim, and went into the Starbucks after you and Cheeta? I never really paid much attention to you or your friends back then, so I’m embarrassed to say I have no idea what her name is. I wonder what else about you I must have missed simply because I wasn’t paying attention. Simply because I wasn’t interested, and so I blanked most of everything that had to do with you.

I watched you order a Roiboos latte and then another memory hit me; that was your absolute favorite! On its heels was the little nugget of info that you don’t drink coffee because you love it way too much and could never stop at the first cup. Or the 20^th for that matter. I started to smile at the memory of you explaining to me why you settled for sniffing coffee instead of drinking it, when I caught the barista flirting with you. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but I saw the look he gave you, and the way your right hand went to your ear told me that the shy little half-smile was tugging at your lips and that you were blushing. How many times did I see that gesture and was impatient and somewhat irritated by it? I knew it had meant that you had a crush on me and I didn’t have time for silly crushes. I still don’t. Then why was I upset with the barrister for flirting so unabashedly and for looking pleased with his good-looking self when he saw that sweet half-smile?

I asked myself why I was lurking in the entrance to a Starbucks like some psycho stalker, spying on the oblivious girl in the pretty mustard-yellow sweater, whom I wasn’t even remotely interested in. I wondered why I was upset when you spent an inordinate amount of time at that counter, chatting with the barista. I was confused about how I felt when it crossed my mind that you’re not with me, because I never wanted you to be; I told you as much two years ago when you told me you had feelings for me.

I'm wondering if I was mean to you back then, maybe a little curt when it seemed you were getting your wires crossed, misinterpreting my politeness for something more. I hope I at least let you down easy. I hope I wasn't too much of a jerk.

When you and Cheryl left the coffee shop, you passed within touching distance of me. I almost called out your name then, almost stopped you to say hello, catch up with you and see how you're doing. But I didn't. It just didn't feel right.  I guess I felt I'd lost that right.

But it was good to see you looking so well, looking like you were happy and fulfilled. Because I know it's what you deserve. I know now that it's what I want for you.

The Retro Journals: The Far Side of Midnight

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Sometimes I try to look across this space

Sometimes all I see is the nothingness

This vast expanse that says I'm still not good enough, never will be,

That no matter what I do or don't do, I can't ever win (that whether I do or do not, I still lose)

And it's not the long, rocky road ahead that stops me taking the first step

It's the fear of failing, finding myself yet again in this place

Finding me yet again the prodigal, not even worthy of the crumbs off Your table

But then Your grace carries me...

Sometimes I stand here, on the outside looking in and longing

For the warmth and comfort of home

It seems the more I crave, the harder it gets

I try so hard to catch Your attention, strive to get You to love me,

 I cover up my flaws, paint on a face, raise my hands

Deep down, I still think mercy and grace ain't for the likes of me

I cry and I beg and I scream and I rage, turn away and do my own thing, say You couldn't care less

Still just this lost child desperate for the Father's touch, searching for love in all the wrong places

Sometimes I find myself sitting on that thin line again

teetering, free falling into nothing, wondering how it is I'm doing this dance again

Wondering how I'll step away from the line, wondering which side of it I'll find myself on; straight across or right down the middle

Afraid of how long it'll be, a day, a year, a moment before I'm right back here, toeing the line for the millionth time

Because there's that voice telling me it's just a matter of time, be it even a life time...