My reflection.

When I look at her? I see the woman I hope to be. I see bits and pieces of who I already am. And I couldn't be happier.

I am a product of two people. Not many of my father's characteristics can be found within me. But, I look like, act like, and think like my mama. I am my mother's daughter.

Mama and I didn't always get along. It was hard to accept her leaving my father. I remember collapsing on my bedroom floor at our home, crying because I didn't want to leave. I wanted all of us to be together in one home. I remember arguing with her over things that were out of her control. I remember revealing parts of myself that I didn't share with everyone. I also remember her embracing every bit of who I was. I was nineteen when I learned of unconditional love. It was my mother who showed me.

She tried, and succeeded, at being the mother she never had. The mother that was proud of anything and everything you did. The mother that complimented you on making good grades, but never rewarded you for doing something she knew you could do all along. The mother that listened. Listened to every little detail of your day, and every thought that pops into your head. Like how one nose hair is longer than the others. Listened to you as you tried to make yourself believe a lie and calmly told you to believe what your gut was telling you. Listened as you griped about your father but never offered anything other than kind words about him. Listened when you were so excited about moving out even though, deep down, she was dreading it. Mama has always listened. I think that's what I love about her most.

She's the kind of woman you're lucky to know. The kind of woman you look up to. The kind of woman you run to for advice. She's the woman who will sit with you, knowing you or not, to make sure you're okay. The woman who didn't give up when everything and everyone was telling her to. The woman who never stops being a mama.

I love my mama more than words can express. She's done a hell of a lot for my brother and I. More than either of us realize. She's pushed aside her pride, gotten her hands dirty, and skipped a meal for the better of her kids.

Mama doesn't judge. She will not belittle you. She will, however, remind you that she was right all along when you finally come to your senses. And, trust me, it will be hard to admit that to her.

I fought so hard throughout my teenage years to not be like her. Now? I embrace the things about me that came from her. Because she is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I couldn't have found a better mama, or best friend, if I tried.

I love you mama. Happy 23rd Birthday :)

The Transporter

It doesn't come on the radio. I just remember the lyrics. Better Than Ezra's "Fit."

"Oh how you fit me. Oh how you do. You know that you only. I'm head over you. Oh how it hit me. I'm caught up and bruised. Despite all these cynical lies, I finally found a piece to fit in my life."

And instantly? I'm lying in his bed. Covered only by a sheet. Looking at him. Looking into his big, beautiful, brown eyes. I've yet to meet anyone with those chocolate eyes. I stare. Not realizing just yet that I am in love with him. I run my fingers down his forearm. Legs intertwined. Feeling his lips meet mine.

"I was adrift out on my own. You came along and carried me home. 'Cause you are a spark. A distant headlight. I can't stop my eyes from keeping you insight."

We arrive at dinner. Italian. Baked ziti. The best baked ziti. He asks if he can sit next to me. "You've been inside me. I don't believe I'll mind if you sit next to me." He blushes. And moves. We people watch. Neither of us is hungry. My hair smells of Amber Romance. He smells of Burberry. He places his arm around my shoulder. I lean in. Comfortable. Home.

"'Cause I'm made long. I've faded some, look at what I've become. And my eyes were drawn 'til you came along. The world is quite confused. You are my only absolute."

And now? I realize I have romanticized him. The relationship. I pick at the pieces that seem to be worth chewing on. I push the bad pieces aside. Because those pieces? Don't fit.

Little boxes

I work in Huntersville. It's about an hour from home. An entire world away from everything I've known.

I leave home. Drive down broken roads. Swerve to miss pot holes and roadkill. Marvel at God's creation that is the country. I pass several pastures filled with cows, bulls, horses, and goats. I slow. Annoyed with the tractor that's seen more of this day than I have. I cross paths with three white vehicles displaying pink John Deere license plates. I fall in line with older model vehicles. Some that are taking their last trip. Some that are older than I. Smokers litter the main road that takes you from back roads to the interstate that is i-85. Worried faces fly past me. Hard working, wrinkled hands throw a wave. It's front porches and glasses of sweet tea out here.

I greet the tractor trailers at the Pilot. All impatient wanting to get off the road. All reluctant to get the day started. And then? Swallowed by the south traveling drivers. We are the melting pot that connects my home to my work. A hodge podge of people. Driving.

I exit. Still familiar. I travel down subdivision lane. One. After. Another. And then? The greenhouses. And country. Comforting. Freeing. And then? More subdivisions. Here I am. Entering into a world that is only mine Monday through Friday. Nine in the morning to six in the evening. And even then? I don't fit in.

I trade in my tractors, farmland, cattle, pot holes, smokers, sweet tea and grace. Instead? Mercedes, Cannon School bumper stickers, bicyclists, Starbucks, Chanel sunglasses, and freshly shined shoes. I am in the world of soccer moms. Jealous? Just a little. Their appearance is everything I am not. Perfectly highlighted, blown out hair. Real pearl earrings. Slim, gym toned bodies. Manicured nails. Whitened teeth. Clean cars. Seemingly perfect lives. And these women? Most of these women? Having lunch dates. Talking about little Sophie's ballet recital. Little Aiden's awesome catch at his baseball game. Talking about Mary who was forced to go back to work because they over extended themselves with the new addition on the house. Mary who used to be with them at their lunch dates. They talk about who isn't holding up her end of the benefit committee. The same person that suggested they contribute 25k to her favorite charity. They talk about the maid that didn't make the bed correctly. And, wouldn't you know it? This ISN'T her first offense. Mundane talk. Soap opera talk. Sad talk. Jealous? A little.

Are they really happy? Can they be happy when all they are, at least all they seem to be, are play dates, little league baseball games, dance recitals, husband's work parties, benefit committees, spoiled rotten housewives?

I am jealous of the outward appearance. Of the endless amount of money. Of the fancy cars. Of the oblivion to the real world. The real world that exists outside of play dates, little league baseball games, dance recitals, husband's work parties, benefit committees, and 3500 square feet homes. I mock because I am jealous. The reality? Sophie's probably a grade behind in reading and Aiden is slightly cross-eyed. They envy Mary for having something to call her own- a career, an escape. They probably aren't holding up their end of the benefit committee either but feel it necessary to redirect the attention to someone else so no one will notice their lack of promised donations. The maid that didn't make the bed correctly is more upsetting because she's the most action that bed has seen in a while. Some life.

Now, before you get your panties in a twist, I am generalizing. But, I promise you. Come to the Starbucks on Gilead and Reese. Sit for half an hour. And you'll witness the same conversation I described above.

I like working in the city. I love living in the country. The hour drive? Doesn't bother me. I enjoy the transformation. From working class to upper class. From Carhardt and Levis to Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein. From John Deere tractors to FlexFuel Suburbans. From houses on acres of land to little boxes on the hillside.

Never back down

Do y'all have a friend that you would do anything for? Not hypothetically speaking. You've literally done most, if not all, of the things they've ever asked you to do?

I have a small group of friends. Genna, Nicole, Keri, Mary, and Brittany. I live with Genna. I am best-best friends with Nicole. Keri and Mary both live hours away but, we've still been able to maintain a friendship. And Brittany is the newcomer. I don't see Brittany often. When I do, though? It's like time hasn't passed. I love each and every relationship with my friends. The six of us aren't all friends. And, by that I mean, Brittany has never met Mary and Mary doesn't keep in contact with anyone but me. I'm all special like that.

There is one friend though, out of the aforementioned five, that I would do anything, and have done most everything, she's asked me to do. I know that I bend over backwards for this person. I know I go out of my way 99% of the time to do something nice for her (asked or not). I also know that it's hardly ever reciprocated. I know that most times I'm her back-up plan. And, I know that I'm getting tired of it. Tired of not being appreciated. Of being taken for granted. Of allowing myself to accept the latter two.

Until recently? I never felt unappreciated nor taken for granted. I love doing things for other people. Especially for her. I guess part of me knows how much she's gone through and feels the need to be there for her. To do things for her that no one else has ever done. To love her unconditionally and care about her. I'm not saying no one has ever done this for her. She does have parents. But, sometimes? Those parents? Weren't there when she needed them the most. And, sometimes, friends? Were busy with other things.

She's not one to openly talk about her feelings or problems. She keeps them bottled up. At the same time, she'll expect you to know that she's having a hard time and want you to be there for her. I've tried to read into her mannerisms, body language, and words. Sometimes I succeed at getting to the root of her frustration. Sometimes I don't. But, I've always tried.

It's not a friendship I care to lose. In fact, it's one that I love and would be heartbroken if it ever ended. Having said that, I'm not backing down any more. I'm refusing to be the back-up plan. And, I won't allow myself to be treated badly by her.

I don't feel that she's completely aware of how she makes me feel. Actually, I know she doesn't. I also know that she takes more time and pays more attention to people who beat her down mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. She caters to those relationships and forgets about the ones that have been there for years. The ones that, ultimately, will remain in tact after the bad ones break.

I love her. And, if she reads this, I hope she knows that it's her. I hope she knows that I love her and care about her. I hope she sees what I've done and takes a moment to appreciate what a great friend I am. What a great friend I will continue to be. But, a great friend who is going to demand respect. I'm not backing down. Not again.

Stream of Consciousness

Moondance by Van Morrison.
Romance.
Dirty song disguised.
Dreamt of Jason and pineapple chucking.
Pineapple would be good.
Fourth of July.
Fruity drinks and vomit in the lake.
Best friends and hopes you have for them.
My wish- Rascal Flats.
Freshman year at ASU.
Nicole, Scott, me.
421 meets 321.
Cloudy day.
Failure to succeed at ASU.
Hopes my sister won't follow in my footsteps.
UNCG has a beautiful campus.
Realized I am so much older/wise/more mature now.
Optimism I once shared.
Family.
Mama.
Chirping birds- spring time.
Cool breeze.
Fat bottomed girls.
ASU- CD I made mama for her bday.
Can't believe that was four years ago.
Indention on finger from nail.
Need to cut/file nails.
Jittery hands.
Too much caffeine? Not enough food?
Ha! Always too much food.
Steady now.
The Perfect Storm.
Staying up late watching the movie on St. Stephens in living room.
Mmmmmmmm. George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg.
My obsession with Mark Wahlberg.
Own most of his movies.
Too many movies, I own.
Sell?
Boogie Nights.
Disturbing.
Glad I was made in the 80's.
T-shirt.
Apartment in Salisbury.
Natalia's wedding.
Sleeping on floor in VA.
Spray on tan.
Small apartment.
First met Tony and his kids.
Guarded.
Jason and Finding Nemo.
Angry. Immature. Guarded.
Always guarded.
Even now, only less guards.
Prison. Prison reform.
Doing nothing to rehabilitate inmates.
The Pact.
Good book.
Slow to start.
Love remembering reading that book.
And The Beach House- Jane Greene.
Want to go to Jane Greene's Nantucket.
Crisp white linens.
Light blue walls.
Clean.
Gardens.
Dusty, dirt roads.
Bicycles.
Riding bicycle down to Genna's.
Getting caught driving her dad's orange car.
Memories of a better friendship.
Easier time.
Moondance.