Trying to Control my Inner 3rd Grader

I have a good memory. Like, a very good memory. I remember exact conversations, which makes it very difficult to argue with me. I can tell you one little fact or story about every single person who graduated with me in my class from high school. I worked in retail real estate for a few years and I can still tell you the name, city, state and crime rates of malls across the country that I've never been in. This generally makes me pretty good at my job, whatever it may be. This also means that my memory is long, and I have been known to hold a grudge or two.

This sometimes translates into me being a petty on occasion. I recognize this as a flaw, but I try to balance this out by being petty in a less noticeable, and always vaguely deniable way. How does that work? At my old office, whenever the person I didn't like asked questions to the group, I never answered, even if I knew the answer. They had to ask me directly. When my brother annoys me, I buy snacks and drinks that I know he doesn't like. When customer service reps annoy me, I make them repeat the way they did me wrong before I allow us move on. It's a failing of character, but hopefully its not too bad. And ultimately, after my little petty displays, I feel like the balance has been righted somehow cosmically.

This is NOT a good personality trait for a caregiver. Regularly, things happen, things are said, and you're taught to get over it. It's not the person, it's the disease. Insert the Serenity Prayer here. But, I've got to tell you, completely acknowledging how this sounds, it is INCREDIBLY difficult to not feel or act petty. In a 24 hour stretch, my grandmother has called me fat like little pig (in the West Indian truth telling sorta way), told me I had the devil in me, asked me for ice cream, needed me to help her take her shower, woken me up at 4am for a 30 minute bathroom break, woken me up to make her tea, complained about how hot the tea was and refused to put on pants. All on a Saturday, when I had a cold. So, all that being said, guess who didn't get ice cream that day. Sorry, I just couldn't. It felt like I was rewarding the child throwing a temper tantrum in a store with a new toy AND candy.

I am a master of the quick rejoinder, and yet, every single day, I hold back my natural retorts. I don't say anything about the times my feelings are hurt. And I swear, in the mornings, I move around in stealth mode JUST to avoid waking up my grandmother and having to deal with her 30 minute bathroom breaks, in hopes that she'll stay asleep until the home health aide shows up. In weak moments, I'll admit, I've PRAYED "Please stay asleep. Please stay asleep." Does that mean, if she gets up I won't help? Nope. But with no thanks coming my way, and knowing that I'll be accused of wanting her to drop dead, just because I insist she washes her hands, is it so wrong to want to push that off on the person being paid to do this? Especially when she is SO much nicer to them? My inner third grader reacts to the injustice of it all. The third grader in me objects to always being nice to someone who isn't always nice to me. The third grader in me wants to says mean things back. The third grader in me wants to refuse to play or help the big meanie.

But then, sometimes, and I'll admit, not nearly as often as I should, I'll remember that actual third grader. The eight year old girl who grew up in a house with my grandmother. The grandmother who bought me pretty shoes, and made me special meatballs, and came to all my dance shows. The grandmother who kept all the terrible cheap Christmas gifts I insisted upon giving everyone since I was five. The grandmother who covered her walls and mirrors with photos of me, even when we lived in the same apartment. And the grandmother, who, when she had the capacity to know and say so, always told me she missed me while I was away at school.

Part of who I am today is thanks to this woman. A big part of why I've always felt secure in my family's love is because of how she raised her offspring. Goodness, the reason why I'm a bougie black girl with a similar "presidential" education, is because she came to this country and worked hard enough to bring each of her five children here too. On the really tough days, it can be easy to forget that.

But my memory is good. And when it's hard, I have to remember that.

My thirties are like a a Toby Keith song

"I'm not as good as I once was. But I'm as good ONCE as I ever was."

You ever hear a song and just immediately relate? I know 30 is not old. I really do. I make fun of myself, and call myself an old lady, but what I'm really saying is that I feel a sharp divide between where I'm at mentally now and where I was at 20, or even 25. And my brain, sense of humor, and indeed my body, are all chomping at the bit to let me know that "Hey, you're not 20 anymore." Here are just a few examples of how I know this. 

I used to be able to do this multiple times in a row

Dancing- I LOVE dancing. If you know me, you know this. There is nothing better than going out there, hearing your JAM and sweating out your hair like you've got nowhere to go tomorrow. BUT here's the thing. In college I was part of a dance group. In my senior year, I did a solo to Prince (cause c'mon that's awesome) and I launched myself off a chair, touched both my toes and landed in a split bounce. 

Take a moment and picture that. I jumped off a chair, touched my toes, and landed in a split bounce on the floor and then SWITCHED to bounce on the other side. I'm not sure, but that may be one of the proudest moments of my life.

I went out the other night to a birthday party, and they played Nellie’s “Drop Down and Get your Eagle on.” I got down, but before I did, I seriously took a moment to consider if I was gonna make it back up. It was closer call than I would have preferred. I recently lost a bet, which will require me to drop into a split bounce sometime soon in public. Let’s hope Toby Keith was right.

Health- I’m a baby when I’m sick. And I’ve been fortunate to not have had any really bad illnesses for years (including two years when I had no health insurance). But I swear, a few weeks after I turned thirty, I got heartburn for the very first time. I got it again a couple of weeks ago and it was so bad that I did a google search: the difference between heartburn and heart attacks. That’s where my head was at, it was so bad. Now I own multi-berry tums, and have to avoid Qdoba.

Drinking- So the other day, I came to the realization that I’m the chump who doesn’t drink hard liquor. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like I was whiskey/gin/scotch/bourbon chick in college. But now, with very minor exceptions (mojitos, anything with lychee, or trips to all-inclusive hotels) I NEVER choose to drink any hard alcohol. I am a draft beer, cider, wine and bottled corona type of girl. I’ve also gone to a bar and ordered hot tea (and was TOO excited when they told me they had peppermint). I don’t day drink unless I’m guaranteed a nap afterwards. As a college connoisseur of boxed wine, $4.99 handles of Dubra and foam parties, I’m a little ashamed of how “refined” I’ve become in old age.

Being inconvenienced – No one enjoys waiting. But man, was I willing back in my early 20’s. I waited on lines in heels in the cold for hours. I was always too cheap to pay for cabs to go anywhere.  I would visit friends and sleep on floors or share twin beds. 

(Side note: Seriously, how did we manage to get it on and share twin beds in college? The logistics alone baffle me now.) 

Yay, I don’t do any of the anymore. There’s nowhere I want to be so badly to wait hours. I will commit to do ONE of those parties twice a year, and usually only for very special occasion. Driving my car to parties is awesome. Cabs are awesome. Homeless people who smell and/or try to hit on you on the train at 3am: not so awesome. And I only stay with friends if a spare bed or comfy couch is guaranteed. Otherwise, hotels suites are sweet.  

I'm ok with not being that girl anymore. I miss her sometimes but, the beauty of it is, that every once in awhile, when the occasion merits it, she comes back. I'll open up and SHUT DOWN the club, in heels nonetheless. I've been known to rediscover my love of the jello shots. And because I am still rocking with the same crew for over 15 years, I know that when we get together, the night always has the possibility of getting EPIC. And if three or four of manage to crash on a twin bed at the end of night, out of pure exhaustion, we'll make it work. Like Toby says:

I still throw a few back, talk a little smack
When I'm feeling bullet proof
So don't double-dog dare me now
Cause I might have to call your bluff
I ain't as good as I once was, but I'm as good ONCE
As I ever was

And I'm back

So I'm Catholic and for Lent every year I give up things as well as try to do something that make improves/adds on to my spiritual life. What can I say, I went to Church one day and the homily made me feel a little guilty to try to explain how giving up cheese was really helping my soul. So this year, on top of giving up things (going pescaterian, plus nixing pizza and soda) I am also trying to spend 30 minutes each day either at the gym or writing. Clearly, the gym didn't happen today. Which means, you're welcome world, I'm back.

So now, where have I been? Nowhere. I work, I get busy, I get home, I watch primetime tv and go to sleep.  Plus to be honest, there are some moments when its hard for me to settle myself down to really talk (write) stuff out. Although I love writing. And, completely narcissisitically (that's not a word), I love reading my previous writings. It's like revisiting a former version of myself. I always feel nostalgic, like I've run into an old very dear, and slightly naive friend.

In fact, the other day I found some old poetry from when I was in college and high school. I forgot how intensely I've always felt about things. And also, I wish I could revisit a time when ANY man inspired me to write poetry. Rethinking who those "inspirational" men were, I definetely gave them FAR more credit than they deserved. I wont be sharing those little ditties here, because I love arrogant men and I refuse to help feed their egos more on the off chance they discover my little blog. So the mystery will remain.

Now, after that tangent, back to where I've been, or more like updates on where I am now. I have now been working at the same place for going on two years. I still feel intensely satisfied working with the people the people that I do and inspired by the help we provide. I've drank the kool-aid.

I'm still single (shocker). And I'm still a caregiver. The role has grown... difficult and I think this year will mark a large one of change. A lot of my stories will still contain the good, bad and the ugly of taking care of someone with Alzheimer's. I'll keep up the humorous stories, because that's who I am and that's how I write, but I'll also share some of the sadder moments, the realizations that things are changing, and usually not for the good. I'll also probably do my fair share of whining about the system (because now I know all about the system, grr). But hopefully, most of all, this will be a place for me to start expressing and sharing things again.

At the end of the day, I think there are a million ways to make an impact. I think of this blog as one of the ways I can make mine. And if I'm really lucky, and the internet really does remember everything, not only will I be able to revisit that Dulciña of the past sometime in my future (40 year old Me is gonna laugh her ass of at 30 year old me), maybe some of my loved ones can come back and visit her too (I'm looking at you niece and nephews). This Lenten period, especially, should be a fun ride as I try to tell the stories of the past couple of years that I've kept to myself (like the time we lost Grandma in Jamaica (the funny story) and the time we lost Grandma next door (not so funny)). As always, feel free to comment. I enjoy them, and please have some patience as I get back into my writing groove. This can be fun. And don't be mad if I don't write. It means I made my ass get to the gym. Trust me, that's a win for us all.