I started this blog as a way to communciate with likeminded people. As a way to be justified in the way I thought about things. As a way to feel important to more people than I already am.

For a while, I found what I was looking for. Then I came back to the realization that the people who’ll always have my back are none other than my family, lifelong friends and me. I had begun to put entirely too much emphasis on folks that weren’t much more than internet personas.

What kind of bugs me was my need for this crutch. Which is what the blogging community had become for me. You can’t really rely on people you don’t know. Right?

Right.

Regardless, I’ve met some really amazing people. I found myself in an actual relationship thanks in part to this blog. I’ve visited places I’ve never been before, like Cleveland and Pittsburgh, and I’ve spent countless hours reading, writing and responding thanks to this blog.

I’ve also spent too many hours worrying about this blog. About the readers. About the comment count. About the content. About the people I met through this place. About what was being said about me. About what was not being said about me. About how I should proceed with x, y & z. About how I should write. About how I should think.

So on and so forth. It’s pretty damn exhausting and I’m looking forward to the break.

I wish all of y’all well.

Take good care of yourselves and thank you for the laughs and the smiles. I appreciate it more than I can say.

-Deutlich

With that said, I can’t quite explain how upset I am about Michael Jackson’s sudden death. I really don’t even know what to say right now because my brain is only mildly registering the whole thing.

Man in the Mirror is one of those songs that literally shaped who I am today. I’d rewind my VHS tape of MTV videos and watch it ad nauseum. I idolized him to extremes. And I remember my trip to Italy with the family was punctuated when we were in a store buying socks and “Thriller” came on. Not only did I jump around for joy because - hello – it was Italy. But there was a little person not far away dancing and singing along too. I remember thinking that he looked really old for being my height.

But that’s another story all together.

Ironically enough, I’d been waiting to write this long, drawn out post about how much I love the man and how ridiculous I always felt the charges against him were. Yet now it feels like I’ve delayed too long.

Frankly, I’m happy that he’s got some peace now, but I’m still rocked by the news.

So, that big silver thing (behind my beer) is my current purse.  It has been by my side for at least a year and a half. In that time, there may have been two to three occasions in which I did not use it. The problem, for one, is that it’s huge and I could smuggle a newborn across the border in it. Due to that, it’s also cumbersome. I have schlept that silver contraption with me everywhere I’ve gone.

Bumping through crowded bars?
Check.

Squeezing through a crowded mall?
Check.

Running through long parking lots?
Triple check.

What in the h-e-l-l was I thinking?

Don’t answer that.

The worst part is that I actually do own other accessories. Specifically the kind that can safely haul important items like mirrors, my throat numbing mints that I’ve yet to actually use (called “Go Deep”) or my iPod in case I get stranded in the woods.

Even when the strap busted and an eager friend kindly suggested that it was time to get a new purse, it didn’t dawn on me to replace it. I just fixed the strap.

Because I’m frugal. Or something.

Probably the latter.

Long story short, it’s time to switch things up.

It’d been a long time coming, but I finally deleted my account on Sunday. Reading Matt’s post last week reinforced why I’d been thinking about doing it at all. And then I “grew some” and off it went into Never Never Land.

I’ve been sitting here in a vain attempt to give funny reasons for why I got rid of it (and believe me I’ve thought of a few). But at the end of the day it doesn’t much matter.

Besides, Matt said it well enough.

• My state of mental health went down the shitter. I don’t really remember what exactly prompted my brain to start freaking out, but I can positively say it began when Aaron broke up with me last fall. I was so sure that I didn’t care about how things ended that I lied to myself and everyone around while I let all of my old skeletons rear their ugly heads. Then came winter. I DO NOT DO WELL IN THE WINTER. All that gray, nasty shit coupled with ugly, bare trees just takes its toll.

• I let a head doctor prescribe me pills after a single session. Instead of looking into talk therapy, I wanted a quick fix and it backfired in the absolute worst way. The whole process of going on and off those pills within a 3 month span is something I will never, ever forget. Nor will I allow myself to go through it again. I’m an advocate for medicine for those that need it. But I’m also an advocate for doing everything in one’s power to help things along without resorting to medication, if possible. Between the physical and emotional side affects of that craziness, I was ANYthing but myself.

• I started going back to the gym. I did such a good job in such a short period of time that I dropped 20-something pounds within a month or so. The thing is, I need the running because it exhausts my brain. The physical changes are a welcome side-effect but at the end of the day there’s nothing like running for half an hour at a time. It makes my brain shut up. But then I got my wisdom teeth removed and shortly thereafter I went off those pills I mentioned and you can probably imagine that this impeded my gym shenanigans for a good while. And just like that I was defeated by life all over again. But I’m back on that bandwagon and things are looking up.

• My work load increased ten-fold. I went from working in one department with one boss to working in three departments with three bosses. And because the departments are also larger, I’m responsible for handling work assigned to me from thirteen people. I LOVE all the new responsibilities but my intent is to do it without panic attacks taking over my life. So far, so good. I’m pretty proud of that.

• On a very positive note, I met some seriously, seriously amazing folks. Internet-land makes everything happen so quickly that you sort of forget that they all occured in a short period of “real time.” I mean, the list of people ranges from LiLu to Lexa to Cavy to FrancoBeans to Mermanda to Froggie to Alice to Chris to  so many freaking people it’d take me a year to list them all.

I thinkgiven all of the things that have gone on so far I’m finally in a really good headspace. I had to take a few weeks and seriously re-evaluate the way I was living, the way I was acting and the way I was reacting. I’m not totally where I want to be yet, but I’m a katrillion times better off.

And that’s just awesome.

All of them.

And after I finished my handy work, I sat down and grinned because surely I fooled everybody! You know, since all of those things were “obviously” correct. But let’s get real. They didn’t actually paint the whole picture.

Ya see. I am scared shitless of the “dating scene”. I don’t even really understand what the hell dating means. Is it a succession of going out to places that involve food and libations? Is it that period in which you bump uglies with said person while wondering if he or she’s doing the deed with others because things hadn’t been written in stone? Is it the process after something was cemented in a verbal agreement?

Is it all three? Parts of it? None of it?

For fuck’s sake just thinking about it makes me dizzy.

I like to act as though I’ve got this super thick skin but at the end of the day there are some things that just cut me deep. Rejection is pretty much at the top of this list. Any kind of rejection. From almost anybody.

I hate it. By a LOT. And it makes my head all spinny and forces my stupid eyes to cry stupid tears and then I feel like a dumb nearly-thirty-year-old.

The fuck?

Now I know that part of the problem is that I’d actually need to meet somebody to date them. I know. I’m not sure where the logic is in that either.

But where in the shit am I supposed to meet people? Specifically non-creepy, easy-on-the-eyes, dark-haired, light-eyed folks that know how to work with their hands, think on their feet and make me laugh all at the same time.

Ok, so that part about the eyes isn’t that important.

Except maybe a little.

No?

Well here’s a quick refresher:

I won’t get into how fucking stupid that dumb bitch was because I think I’ve said it all with those lovely explatives. But what I will say is that there is a clear and distinct undertone of racism involved which has gotten political pundits in a kerfuffle.

Some say that those of us who think this is dispicably racist are overreacting while others think this is just another example of exactly why race relations are still such a crapshoot in this country.

Here’s what bugs me the most about it — we can’t have a rational discussion about this without people flying into a total rage. And it’s kind of disgusting. How exactly do we expect to move on and grow if we can’t actually talk about it?

Back when Imus was fired from his talk radio gig for making racially incensitive remarks, I had a couple of reactions to the thing. A) Obviously, there are still lines we can not cross and it’d be nice if more people understood this. B) Firing him didn’t solve a damn thing.

The man’s radio show was televised, for cripe’s sake! Would it not have been better to have the DJ, the basketball player that he called “nappy headed,” a couple of lawyers and the basketball coach on the show to actually discuss how and why things went so awry? To explain where each side was coming from? To hash it out correctly in a way that reached a common consensus?

Because frankly, I don’t think that the people who were behind Imus quite understood why it was so wrong of him to say what he said. And those who were enraged by his comments probably got the cheap 2 second thrill of thinking “victory!” just because he was fired.

But did that actually solve anything?

No.

And I don’t mean to imply that a single situation can fix hundreds of years of cultural difficulties in this country, but being that it was such a nationally discussed topic it sure as shit wouldn’t have hurt.

Note: Thanks to O Hell Nawl for making me think on this topic today.

I hate that shit.

So it also shouldn’t be a big surprise that personalities clash. Or that friends will have disagreements. Or that sometimes you’d like to shove a boot up a relative’s ass for being a complete dimwit.

The difficulty, I think, is in figuring out which items are worth standing your ground for and which things are better left alone. There’s no math equation to help figure that out. A simple solution couldn’t possibly work anyway because everybody is so effin’ unsimilar.

Take me, for example. I can be a hot-tempered mess. And by “I can be” I actually mean that “I am.” I can sometimes forget the bullshit I’ve gone through, the different headspaces I’ve been in and the strange array of life circumstances that have shaped who I am. And when that happens, I can be a snotty fucking brat about shit. Because I hate all touches of stupidity, all semblance of fakeness and even the slightest bit of drama. The irony in that last statement is that drama is my own damn fault. It’s wholly unavoidable if I just don’t fucking participate in it.

Period.

Moreover, I could perhaps stand to be a bit more empathetic. But I can basically guarantee that if it were to happen it sure as hell won’t be in the near future. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m good at distinguishing a situation that deserves empathy from one that doesn’t. But let’s not forget that bit I mentioned about our histories. My big deal is not your big deal is not her big deal is not his big deal.

Yanno?

When spring rolls around, there are green trees for miles.

I drink at bars in restaurants like Applebee’s and Ruby Tuesday. I know where the three closest Wal-Marts, Targets and Advanced Auto Parts are.

Watching a white teenager clad in a dirty wife beater, driving a loud car with Tupac blaring as he’s smoking a blunt is a frequent phenomena.

It’s about as normal as it is to find people walking around in sweat pants and grubby t-shirts.

I like shopping at Potomac Mills (the outlet mall), TJ Maxx and Marshall’s. Because purchasing the shame shit at triple the cost is just unnecessary.

Virginia is made up of rolling hills, flat lands, rivers and lakes. We have the ocean to our side and beautiful terrain to the other. We encompass everything from hillbillies to the filthy rich.

But I imagine most states are like that.

When I sit at a pharmacy, it’s not uncommon for one person with an accent to be purchasing his or her medication from someone else with an accent.

And I love that.

I love the ups and the downs that come with living here. I love that I’m a stone’s throw away from 3 airports and Washington, DC. A place I love to visit and then love to leave.

I don’t care that I have a commute because I feel a certain type of freedom in being a driver. I can go where I want, when I want.

For a while I thought I needed to leave here. That I would be better off spending my time and efforts away from the place that I was born. But I’ve learned in the last year or so that it’s not necessary. That no matter where I am, my troubles will follow me.

So I just need to handle them with care right here where I am.

And I’m not going anywhere.