damage – Anélemc's Writing

Posted on September 21, 2023 by Anelemc

Spam I am…

Spam

The disgusting radioactive nitrate laden meat substitute
my single mom working full time
served with love and a pan-fried egg drenched in Mazola

Spam

Cooked in a small non-stick pan by
I, the latchkey kid to consume
after a vicious name calling day at Catholic school

Spam

Easy to open, cut into parts and thrown
into a pan of hot oil-how
the outside world treats a BLACK kid

Spam

The adult me still craves it and cooks it
although it’s now cooked in olive oil
as mom passed on

Spam

The consumption of this toxic delicacy is triggered by
childhood memories popping up time to time
along with mom working so hard

Spam

The packaging feels like steel protecting the
soft meat inside
like how mí alma prepares itself before stepping out…

* mí alma-my soul

Posted on December 15, 2022December 16, 2022 by Anelemc

5 hours in the ER…or Trauma Unearthed (Part 1)

A visit to the local emergency room on a Wednesday night was not expected or wanted.

An earlier evening dental appointment where vitals were taken exposed a blood pressure and pulse reading that concerned the dentist and his assistant. Needless to say, it didn’t concern me as I started new anti-depression meds and was not exactly adherent to the ‘do not drink alcohol” label on the bottle.

But…

I did not drink prior to the dental. After the appointment, I went home, swallowed the pizza I bought on the way and fed the furs. That lil’ voice in the head, often ignored, nudged me to check my blood pressure.

165/110 pulse 119!!!

Ok…

Got in a neighbourhood cab and $9 later sat in the emergency room at Methodist waiting for a doctor.

After two hours of sitting on a plastic grey chair that once may have been blue; playing Candy Crush while observing the homeless woman across from me sleeping, snoring, hunger rumble from her belly, I was called in.

EKG/Blood Pressure monitoring and pulses oximeter.

My vitals were taken by a Haitian nurse who bragged about her scholarly accomplishments and frowned at my taking anti-depression meds. I was brought into the er amidst the beeping of vital machines, moaning, cursing, frazzled nurses, complacent doctors, and human congestion of the rush hour automobile kind.

Waiting and observing brought back the memory of numerous hours spent with mom, my mom in this same space. She was in hospice care at home but would frequent the er when her draining tube dislodged.

Anxiety, severe depression with the strongest need to scream.

My mom gave up her mental fight during the last visit to this er. Defeated over additional testing, she started to cry. There was no end to the treatments which brought no healing. A return to normalcy was not in her future. I sit with myself in bright fluorescent lights trying to block the memories. I felt so helpless then as I do now alone in sterile coldness, which only exacerbates the fragility of mí alma (my soul).

Nothing compares…

With high blood pressure and an elevated heart rate I was an outsider in the emergency room.

I was an outsider inside a large room where homelessness mixed in and cememented with mental health issues. Mind you, I do have the mental health stuff but I’m also “medically managed” * for it.

Others are not.

In the er, some were going through psychosis, strapped to their beds with heartless security guards sitting nearby. The er that night was a mental health facility over run by those seeking shelter from a cold/foodless night on the outside.

This city, NYC, treats homelessness as the black elephant in the room whom city officials would love to sweep in the sewer.

I applaud all the healthcare workers there that night who did their rounds and interacted to the best of their abilities with the fragile mental humans in front of them.

*my primary care physician’s words

Posted on June 8, 2021June 8, 2021 by Anelemc

From me…or Hang on

August 3, 2019 -5:23AM

“I think we all struggle with that unreasonable guilt, E***a, and it is unreasonable, isn’t it? Certainly, my Dad who loved me so well my entire life would want me to live whole and free, right? Of course, he would. It’s just all part of this gut-wrenching process we all have to suffer through. Be thankful for those sparks. Fan them into flame. Live that life to honor your loved one but more so for yourself and the world who needs your particular gifts.”

-Response to a post I wrote on a grief board

Grief amidst a worldwide pandemic mixed in with addiction is not pretty in any colour.

But the body and mind can longer accept alcoholic as self-medication to make the world seem right. Grief chased down with bourbon needs to rise up and be dealt with.

So, I …

Hang on for a day
The past is acknowledged, the future not ruminated on. The present? Front, Center and Back. Because that is all that matters.

Hang on for another day
“An alcoholic in his cups is an unlovely creature”-Big Book
Finished the twelfth steps, now what?

Hang on
The desire to run, do a gym work out, bang on the piano or even write has faded for Anger and Hangovers no longer fuel, mi alma (soul).

Hang on for yet another day
Sobriety dulled my creativity or rather my creativity refuses to emerge through a clear thinking alma (soul).

Hang on for a day
I have yet to print out those medical records, afraid of what may be revealed, afraid I’ll gain more truths into my inadequacies fueled by alcohol into how I was not there for you-figuratively.

Still hanging on
Have not attempted to finish my piece on “One year without you” for one year has now turned into three years without you.

August 30, 2019 -12:10PM

“Hang tight-you will fly once your wings unfold. You will find a place either in this realm or another where you are loved & appreciated for being just you with all your quirky talents, flowing forth like glitter. Be Strong!”

-Note from me to me

Posted on July 23, 2020July 23, 2020 by Anelemc

AF…or Can’t Stand Losing You

I LOVE Chardonnay
Lox and cream cheese
Chinese take out
Sashimi
Salt and vinegar potato chips

I LOVE Cabernet
Noodles and meatballs
BBQ take out
Pizza
Pringles sour cream and chives

I LOVE Bourbon
French Fries
Chicken wings
French Fries
Chicken Wings

A cantankerous relationship we had
Through laughter, boredom and tears
Funerals, celebrations, observations and fears
I was there for you
You, here for me

My heart, loved both of you hard
But the spirit of grapes and fermented grain
Had me in regret and perpetual shame
As they never did love
LOVE, me for me

We carried on for many years
Met in the evenings and late afternoons
Then early morn before flowers bloomed
Love turned to hate
HATE, turned to dust

Said goodbye to you on the 1^st of the month
Weeks amounted as days dissolved
And yet I held unto my resolve
No longer together we
WE, are not together

I am alone now as I’ve always been
As I was when I was with you
Though I believed it untrue
IMG_1909 copy.jpg For how, could I be
Be, lonely, when we were

Posted on June 16, 2020 by Anelemc

Statues or…Being Black in America

“Imagine being Jewish, walking around a public park, seeing a statue of Hitler, and someone proudly saying, “my great-great-grandfather was a Nazi, and we should respect our history!’ Of course, that doesn’t happen, because it’s INSANE!

Now, imagine how a Black person feels seeing confederate monuments in America”.
—Sarah Guilford

Sheltered living in NYC, as the only statue getting complaints is Christopher Columbus.

Statues don’t bother me.

Nigger is a mischievous word which presently means
something different than it did in the past
based on who says it and to whom
The first time I was called nigger was what it meant in the past
in catholic school so long ago
during that Channel 7 series premiere of Alex Haley’s book “Roots”

Statues don’t bother me.

Took a long time to forgive Alex Haley
as it did to shake off the nicknames of Kizzy and Kunte Kente
Got revenge though.
Converted to an Episcopalian (Catholic light without the constant guilt or repentance)

Statues don’t bother me.

I remember attending a photographer’s party in San Francisco
The only person of colour snacking on lox and cream cheese
Whoopi Goldberg was the Hollywood flavour of the month back then
and can’t count how many people said I looked like her while laughing
Snacking on lox with cream cheese while being black

Statues don’t bother me.

I went home angry
and festered in being compared frequently to looking like Whoopi
since I moved to San Fran
Why Whoopi?
In NYC I was compared to Halle Berry at the swimming club
where I swam laps while being the only person of colour

Statues don’t bother me.

Had to reassess my opinion on Ms. Goldberg
and what beauty represents
Did some research
Can’t say enough about
the perseverance she possessed
to get to where she’s at
in the entertainment world
Respect of the highest
Adoration at her legacy
and I was never a fan of Halle Berry!

Statues don’t bother me.

On a camping trip in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains
I refused to visit a plantation that was turned into a museum
not run by blacks
But my camping buddy wanted to partake in the tour
I stayed on the tour bus
sitting in the middle
the only person of colour
that at one time would have been sent me to
the back

Statues don’t bother me.

My buddy returned from the tour
visibly upset
I did not offer compassion
Was I compelled to?
NO
He is white
I am not

Statues don’t bother me.

And they never will for the pain of being black in America left its mark from birth. The confederate flag and those so called statues are a reminder of what was and what still is. Dismantling the statues, chopping of their heads, defacing them with graffiti will never erase what they stood for and what they remind us of now.

The statues should not be discarded but placed in a museum because we should never erase the symbols of our past but remember…where we’ve come from.

Posted on October 22, 2019October 23, 2019 by Anelemc

“I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round”…or Boredom is a b…h.

This week…
I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to experience each day as most were not.

This week…
Has not been the greatest, in terms of my living through each day.

This week…
Was filled with drama, angst and all bad things I’d like to drink away which one knows doesn’t work. Once the drunken haze dissapates, reality kicks in big time and not always on the butt.

This week…
Should I break it down? I guess.

Work
At times it can be a mindless job with no mental or creative stimulation. At times the work reminds me of an assembly line production with an oversize stamp freshly dipped in a way too small ink pad primed to stamp ‘accept’ or ‘reject’ on a pale beige Staples office envelope. (ok bit of exaggeration on the assembly line thingy)

Work
Is where I go to make the Benjamins.
Working 35 hours at a place filled with drama, angst and all bad things or how about having my mind on autopilot reciting Nie mój cyrk, nie moje małpy. As paperwork piles up only to realize on the 3^rd round of chanting— I AM the monkeys!

Work
It can be a job where your strengths and creativity are appreciated and used to the best of your potential. It can also be a job where your strengths and creativity are stifled, squashed and thrown out the back door.-oh well.

Work
If you don’t own your own business, you are subject to the rules of others, sought of living the life of a peasant on a lord’s land (the lord being your boss and the land, well that depends where you work).

Work
Is all the wonderful stuff that makes most of those who work only working for a the Benjamins at the end of the day.

*John Lennon

—Not sure where this came from but worth the read:
A father before he died said to his son: “This is a watch your grandfather gave me, and it is more than 100 years old. But before I give it to you, go to the watch shop on the first street, and tell him I want to sell it, and see how much he offers you”. He went, and then came back to his father, and said, “the watchmaker offered 5 dollars because it’s old”. He said to his son: “go to the coffee shop”. He went and then came back and said: “He offered $5 father”. “Go to the museum and show the watch”. He went then came back and said to his father “They offered me a million dollars for this piece”. The father said: “I wanted to let you know that the right place values you in the right way. Don’t find yourself in the wrong place and get angry if you are not valued.

Those that know your value are those who appreciate you, don’t stay in a place where nobody sees your value”.

—images from the WWW

Posted on September 11, 2019September 12, 2019 by Anelemc

People hurt…

People hurt and continue to hurt with their words and actions.

I hurt and continue to hurt people with my words and actions.

Can’t speak for others but my hurt is usually a reaction of feeling powerless to events dealing with cultural ignorance or bullying-you know, those who feel privileged using rude actions and words because of belonging to the majority rule.

I’d like to think I hurt people less than they hurt me because when people hurt me it really hurts because I allowed them access to my vulnerabilities and thoughts. Of course, I should know better at selecting whom to share with and whom not to. Because all it usually takes is one ignorant comment to set me off.

Well…

Sometimes, that’s what happens.

(Not as severe and there may be a be a tad of exaggeration with the gif)

I once believed in transparency for it eliminates lying. Lying has a way of accumulating more lies which in time is impossible to keep track of what was said in the first place. Transparency is well…transparency, except when it’s used against you to file a formal complaint based on a one time reaction during a heated diversity discussion in which you mention something that another found offensive and antisemitic.

Does that person even know what happened in Rwanda when one race was exterminated without the gas chambers while the world turned its backs on the killings because well…black lives truly don’t matter except amongst our own which is adapting the black lives don’t matter and killing their own because society says its ok to do so.

My ongoing battle with race and trying to find my place in its many levels of acceptance, bigotry, entitlement and so on, is so done. I’m okay with who and what I am, as, I am my father and mother’s daughter who fought an incredible economic and social battle to make sure, me…yes me would be taken care of-emotionally, identity and financially wise.

GOD bless my parents who created, nurtured (though at the time I didn’t think so) and prepared me for life in a country that disrespects POC’s and is intent on making our lives a miserable road to hoe.

My hoe is sharpened and hangng in my left hand. As I say to those who try to stomp me down, “Don’t Fuck With Me!”

Posted on June 22, 2019June 22, 2019 by Anelemc · 1 Comment

Driving That Train…or Vacation!

Driving that train…

No. Not the Casey Jones’ song as I wasn’t driving any train and LORD truly knows I don’t do cocaine!!

But…

I was on a train, an Amtrak train.

Rolling, rolling, rolling up to Massachusetts to Arlington.

To be exact en route to visit my niece, my adopted niece who I consider family as my mom considered her to be.

It’s all good…

It has been a while and let’s be transparent and say years since I had a vacation. My vacay buddy, mom (who will forever be 91 years) could no longer travel and I decided to stay close to home near her. Mind you, she didn’t agree with my decision but felt comforted knowing I was just upstairs. 61060119_10219548377085814_932831570585190400_n

But onto traveling for the first time in so long.

As I mentioned before, I was on an Amtrak train, not driving but here’s a look at what a driver might have seen:

giphy

For the longest time I planned to visit my niece and mom’s upcoming birthday, oh better yet, first birthday without her here on earth, seemed appropriate enough, to get on that train.

And I did…

Rolling, rolling, rolling.

Amtrak rocked and cradled my bod as green trees and concrete buildings passed by the window.

Leaving NYC…

so exciting, when the mind is in the present.

Returning NYC…

not exciting when the mind is in the present.

Ease of transportation had avoided my niece for a while, regulating her to trains and buses. Luckily, she inherited her mom’s used Toyota Yaris!

So, she drove…

and refused to let me drive through turn arounds, round abouts’ or whatever you wanna call them.

All good because…

on Mom’s birthday we drove.

We drove to Gloucester and walked along the cold sandy grey beach with dark clouds floating over our heads. The cold sand massaged my feet and grounded my soul.

So needed…

with grieving and missing you.

The Fisherman’s Memorial, the picture I took of the names of the fisherman lost at sea and portrayed in the movie; ‘The Perfect Storm’ stirred in mi alma.

The families of those men and myself share the final ending of knowing a loved one will not be returning.

At Lexington, I learned more about the Revolutionary War than I cared to absorb but…

I was grateful to have the history told to us by a volunteer dressed in clothing of the time.

Harvard, yes, we went there.

Although the trip wasn’t to visit the photography archives of the United Fruit Company, a research project I was so into while aiming for my Masters, being on campus was a reminder of what is still attainable, still researchable.

We stopped at a GAP where I bought ‘boyfriend Chino pants’ and argued with my niece because…well that’s what we do and we do it well.

Vegan Galaxy?!!!!

Best Vegan joint I’ve eaten at. The place makes their own vegan burger which just may surpass Impossible Burger.

Along our driving we ventured to the quarry at Halibut Point. At that point I was tired and wanted to get the cake mom always had at our birthdays.

We drove to Woodman’s and ordered two slices of Strawberry Shortcake which was mom’s favourite cake to have on our birthdays.

Once we arrived at my niece’s apartment we broke out the cake and I must say it was the best Strawberry Shortcake I ever, ever, ever, ever…

had.

Thank you, mom for I feel you had a hand in this day, your birthday and making sure I enjoyed it to the fullest with my niece, who you accepted as family.

Happy Birthday Mom, my mom!

Posted on April 27, 2019April 27, 2019 by Anelemc

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling…no. Running, Wobbling, Running…

Marathon #2 sits on the horizon and, god willing…God Willing I’ll cross that line again.

Marathon #1 was an all-out disaster that almost didn’t happen due to my mom’s illness but did happen due to my mom’s illness and her unrelenting push for me to train.

I trained through, tears, stress, worry and crossed the line many times arguing with incompetent doctors who destroyed my mom’s will to live and her health

And,

I finally crossed THAT LINE at the end of the marathon which my mom did not live to see.

-Actually, she did see, for she was on the corner of Sackett Street and Fourth Avenue, just not in this realm and as I woggled towards that street, I stopped, crossed myself and bowed for the Queen.

So,

back to Marathon #2 in which training has not officially begun but I’ve started anyway because well, I have nothing better to do than pound my knees via my feet kissing asphalt, concrete and dirt trails.

Love the trails, love my feet, love my knees, hate the dirt.

And at least I’m not kissing someone’s ass

So,

I’ll tie up the laces tomorrow, that are tied already, just need to slip on the sneaker.

-(I’ll set the garmin, set the interval timer, wear the running glasses that get dark in the sun, put on the Panache Bra, set up the Spotify, put on the lip balm, make the Nunn for the water bottle, separate Tara-Habby from the treacherous cat posse (worse than the Sharks but just like the Jets) out to dethrone the Queen ( not me this time) and ultimately sit on the throne (corner of my bed).)

And hit the road…not like Jack in Ray’s song for

I’ll be coming back, god willing.

Posted on April 24, 2019April 24, 2019 by Anelemc · 3 Comments

Tired, not sick and tired…just tired.

I am getting to the point where retirement is looking damn so good so good

But…

Don’t have that Big Fat Retirement pension coming my way,

(that’s what happens when you move from job to job)

as it’s always been hard to stay at one job for too long.

(you say that now, but that’s not what you thought while you were moving about)

I get bored, not because I’m boring but spending 35-40 hours a week with some co workers you’d never hang out with on your day off is boring.

(having your own business for 15 years can do that to you)

And there are those with positions of power who wave their condescending and micromanaging wands of glory directed towards Image result for people stifling your creativity

(I treated my assistants with respect and appreciation and was in awe I could hire them)

bursting a tiny bubble, well actually Big Bubbles of ideas and hopes and inspirations,

(creative people are a bit off their rockers and can get carried away with ideas…)

into shards of Papyrus paper needed for input into the databases of an excel spreadsheet that personifies an aged metal filing cabinet that

(pushing papers is basically water torture to those who have so much more to give)

is bent on being resistant to assault and fondling,

(as the creativity dies instead of glowing and rising through adversity)

I give up and give in. Nothing left to prove. The only proof needed to verify the my gifts earned through life is the proof HE and I alone share.

(Peace out to those who love being obstacles in another’s path. Your insecurities will eventually rot out your core.)

***images courtesy of the WWW, just because…

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