Blog Shutdown??

Warning: This a long post, maybe the longest I've ever written. I do that for a reason: I know very few will read it, so I can just flow freeeeely. That's cool, because number one, I'm not a "comment whore", and number two, 99.99999% of what I write is for ME.

Plus... it is one of the most deeply personal posts I've ever written. I had a bit of clarity and hope when I finished writing it. It is a bit of "Food for thought" sprinkled with a little "checking myself".

Cathartic even, where I've pushed aside "LadyLee", kicked aside "Original Oldgirl" to reveal a bit of the real me, revealing a bit of "Alesia"

Blog shutdown??

That's an interesting title, isn't it?

Blog Shutdown.

Hmm. . .

Well something happened last week that had me pondering such a thing...

As you noticed, last week, I only had one post up, and that was Tayari's author ebay auction for charity. It did REALLY well. (That was a great idea. Good for you, Tayari!)

Last week was an EXTREMELY busy week at work. I was working with some foodstuffs in the lab that I'm not accustomed to, and since morale is pretty much in the toilet on my job, getting some useful help from people is like pulling teeth. So, already, I was NOT a happy camper. And that's putting it very mildly.

But something like that wouldn't cause me to consider a blog shutdown. Everything just stopped.

I even got a couple of emails asking...

"You alright, LadyLee?"

My reply was usually simple. "I'm straight. Just busy."

Or, I would talk about something completely different.

I wasn't being completely truthful, just giving myself some time to process information.

A bombshell, this one more personal, caused me to think about shutting down this window to my life, my blog.

So...

Last Wednesday, I believe (I don't quite remember the day), I was at home doing a bit of house cleaning, and some of the normal things I do when I get home from work. I'd been being a bit of a lazy bones lately though, because I've been working 10-12 hour days, and when I get home, I just want to get in the bed and pull the covers over my head. But I know that day, I was doing some cleaning.

My sister Kentucky walks in. She just got accepted into a Master's Program at my Alma Mater, so we have been in heavy discussion about things, like mainly, some of her frustrations with the red tape of getting her money together for the program, etc. I've also been on her about telling me what I can do to be of some help to her. (Convos have been along the line of: "Now Kentucky, I ain't paying no doggone car notes and insurance and stuff, but if we need to come up with a good grocery plan, blah, blah, blah, just think about what I can do to be of some help, blah, blah, blah!")

(I know I'm annoying her to death. Really.)

But Kay came in the house, and I was sitting at the dining room table, and we were talking. She was preparing to cook her dinner.

She said, "Oh, I forgot. Ma sent you something."

That caused a neck jerk so hard from me that I almost hurt myself.

The words "What is it?" didn't come from my mouth.

It was more like "Why?"

And inside I was thinking... "Here Ma come trying to start a bunch of sh**."

"She sent you a book," my sister said.

I smirked. "A book? What's the name of that book?" I asked. Demon Seed? The Evil Child?

I laughed real hard.

"I don't know. It's out in the car. I'll go get it," she said.

I watched as she walked out the front door to her car.

I sat there, talking out loud, coming up with more names for the book that my Mother possibly sent me. Since my sister had gone outside, I started talking to my cat Oscar-Tyrone.

"What's the name of that book she sent me, Oscar? Is it...

The Stupid Daughter

Reasons why you are Nothing

You are Nobody

You, the Bad Daughter

Of course, Oscar could care less. He was concentrating on arching his back and he walked between my legs and stepped on my toes. He only wanted to be rubbed.

Kentucky comes back in the house with the book. I've managed to work myself up to no good end. I am good and upset around then, thinking that I'm sitting here, minding my business, trying to be a good citizen...

And now I gotta deal with some BULLSHIT. DANG!!!!

(Sorry for opening the Book of Cuss. That's the only way I can describe what I felt at the moment).

Kentucky handed me a black book. It was thick and shiny. It had a black hard cover with white writing. I didn't look at the title immediately, only stared at my sister as she went over to the kitchen island and continued fixing her dinner.

I immediately started throwing out even more "interesting" titles:

Why You were such a Horrible Daughter

You are EVIL

All the Reasons I Hate You

Kentucky frowned. "No, it ain't nothing like that, Lisa."

I looked at the book title. It was The Bedford Handbook for Writers.

*crickets*

"She got a lot of books. She was going through a box, and told me to give that to you."

I frowned. "For what? How she know I like to write?"

"She reads your blog."

Man. I never expected those words to come out of my sister's mouth.

I knew my sister was joking. And it was the worst joke in the world.

But she wasn't joking. She was standing at the counter, slicing a piece of the meatloaf she'd made earlier that week. She was fixing her dinner.

When my sister said that... I don't know, I felt like all time stopped.

The earth stopped revolving around the sun . It stopped rotating on it's axis.

Time. stood. completely. still.

I didn't say anything, but I was screaming inside. There was stuff going on inside my head that I didn't even know was there. I can't describe it. The curse words haven't been invented yet. Just take my word for it. It was NOT a good look.

I didn't speak until I had quieted whatever was going on in my head. If I didn't do that, I would've jumped up and tore up everything in my house.

And that scared me. . . that all of "that" was hovering inside me, just below the surface.

Now, my mother has been trying to get a hold of my blog address for a very long time. I knew about this, but didn't fret. My blog is going on about 3 years old now, and I can't remember how she heard of it.

I've been VERY clear with my brother and sister that they could ask me anything they wanted and I would be truthful for them. But under NO circumstances were they go telling their mother ANY of my business. My business is my business. No, I have NO shadiness going on, and my life is pretty serene and all. No "mens" drama. No "I can't pay my bills drama". Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the daily cares and trials of life.

I think Grandma said something, I'm not sure. I think that is how she knew of it.

But you know, I can't run up on Grandma and say "Look here, Oldgirl, shut up!!" Grandma loves me, and is just happy I do something I enjoy.

After all, Grandma was the one that let it slip to my mother that I was buying a house. Shoot. I took her by there while it was being built, wanted her to see it. Can't blame Grandma, she loves me. She was happy and excited, and I guess she had to say something.

"How long she been reading my blog and how she know about it?" I asked.

"Da.kari gave it to her before he got married. She's been looking at it everyday."

Sh**.

Me and my brother Milk and Cookies haven't been on the best terms. We had a big fight before he was shipped off to his new military post. I won't get into it, but let's just say, I expressed a couple of concerns to him. He was doing a few things that damn near upset everybody (like marrying some chick, for example) and I told him about himself. Somehow, he got things confused, like I was hating and/or really gave a damn. I feel like this... do you. I was just shocked that folks were discussing this, yet smiling all in his face at the same time. Someone had to say something, and I said something to him...

I see this as some "get back". Yo, that's cool.

And I will deal with him later, whenever I catch up with him.

But anyway, I was floored at this news. Just speechless.

It was like I was a balloon, and someone just came along with a big pin, and popped me.

Busted. Deflated.

I've felt HORRIBLE, an emotional mess every since. Haven't wanted to blog or anything. Not at all.

I've always been one to keep my emotions wrapped up tight, deep inside, hidden away. But whenever I think of this, I have to hold back the tears. I have to go and think about more positive things.

And those positive things don't involve blogging, especially since that is at the center of why I'm upset.

My mother is reading my blog.

Me and my siblings have had some serious discussions in the past about our mother. I know for them that there is nothing worse than the three of us gathered in the kitchen and I just BLOW UP about how I feel about things.

They get along well enough with her. But they meet the following conditions (and this is the ONLY way to be on my Mother's good side):

1. Say all the things she wants to hear.

2. Do the things she wants you to do.

If you can do that? Heeeeyyyy. She likes you.

If not. Well, you're in the dog house.

And don't worry about that. I'm sitting in the doghouse. I'm there to keep you company.

This is the very core of one of my worst idiosyncrasies. If I even catch a whiff of you being the type of person who needs their ass kissed, or their ego stroked... I don't talk to you. I don't give you the time of day. NOTHING.

It's almost like I disappear off the face of the earth.

Let's just say, there are a few people that I'm in the doghouse with. I am very high on their "Sh** list".

This is the reason I haven't gotten a promotion at work.

A couple of coworkers have said "lee, You're a great judge of character. You know you can read people. You do be right about people?" or "Lee, why didn't you tell me that "So-n-So" was like that?"

I'm not a good judge of character. I just know that I have personality that don't mesh well with others. I can't stand shady folks or being in the midst of chaos. Plus if you got a lot of peeps around you kissing your butt, I ain't dealing with you. I'm just honest enough to know what I'm not going to deal with. What I'm not strong enough to deal with. So that puts me in a bad way with people. That's fine, because I'm not spending my time stroking your ego, or saying what you want to hear. I'm the worse "dancer" you see.

I don't DANCE.

Because after all, come on, let's be truthful, here: where does it all get you? So I gotta say what you want to hear, or there is a problem. You know that's finite, don't you? You know there's no good end to that situation, right?

Because eventually, you're going to mess up. You are going to mess up and say or do the wrong thing in this relationship. Let me correct that: this fake relationship. Because you know it's FAKE, right?

Then what?

Hmmm...

I have two columns I put people in... You are in the fake relationship column or the real relationship column. You either INCREASE me or you DECREASE me.

Don't get it twisted. I've been in the good and bad columns my ownself when it comes to people. If I'm in your "decrease" column? Run from me as fast as you can! I am of no use to your life.

With all that said... Man. I have NO idea why my mother would be reading my blog. I mean NO idea. None.

I mean, I hate to say this, but this is someone who isn't too fond of me. And I am putting that... lightly.

Someone asked me once, since I was such a nice person, always wanting to see people do well, etc... if I'd come across anyone who has problems with me.

I told them, all the time. One of the many examples: "My mother"

Yeah, there are other people out there who got isshas with me. And I assure you, the gist of the problems folks have with me is the following:

I didn't say all the right things that they wanted to hear.

I didn't do the things they wanted me to do.

They were taken aback by that. Of course what I said made me look psycho.

But I know I have failed miserably at saying the right things my mother wants to hear, or doing all the things my mother wants me to do. And I got tired of being punished terribly for such. After all, I'm pushing 40. 40 years old. I don't have the tenacity to watch what I say or do. Nor should I have to.

I should be free to be me.

So I don't bother trying anymore. I'm polite enough, but I keep it moving. And in the past couple of years, I have cut waay down on showing up at family gatherings. It stresses me out too much to get myself mentally geared up to be in her presence. Holidays are suppose to be special times. They are not special times for me. They've become more important to me these days though, as I have friends who I spend that time with. And I do that on purpose, so I won't be alone for the holidays. A holiday is one of the rare days I have off from work, and I'd rather spend it alone doing some things I like to do, but I do make an effort to be around people these days.

So, I have NO idea as to why she's reading my blog. I just don't get it. I just don't.

And hence, my notion to delete the whole blog. It bothers me to delete something that I like to do, but I really don't want to get in "trouble" because of something I say here. I am being me. I mean, I say things I want to say here. I don't

I can't stand being "watched". Can't stand it.

This is MY blog. Mine.

Yet, I feel completely violated.

I have no right to say that, though. This is the internet. The internet is free. I totally understand that. Plus, my blog is 5% personal, and 95% funny. No blog fighting here. No bashing going around these parts. Pretty happy for the most part. It is more of a writing tool of sorts, because I know you don't know this, but I work on certain elements of my stories, parts of which I use elsewhere. Heck, I sometimes print things out, and completely rewrite them as a personal exercise for a writing technique I'm trying to refine. Just last week, I read aloud and turned in a revamped version of one of the Fancy That posts for class, posted here on this blog only a few months ago. That manuscript is 75% finished. That blog post is about to be part of one of the latter chapters of the manuscript of the same name.

I have personal journals, and even a batcave blog laying around for more personal stuff, you know.

That being said, when you read "LadyLee. . . The Original Oldgirl", you're getting a small glimpse of all that I am. Really, you are. I am an extremely reserved person, who likes being alone, and likes very quiet activities. I don't know, I like a lot of "peace". I remember a while back, one of my long time friends came over to my place once, and she said that she wanted to sit there a moment longer, because it was really really peaceful and quiet. I really liked hearing that.

That's one of my goals: total calm.

Because I am one who doesn't like chaos. I'm allergic to drama. Don't want it in my house or around me. Trust... if I gotta think TOO hard about what's going on with you, I will probably make myself pretty scarce and hard to fine. If you got a bunch of mess going on, and you're not doing anything to take care of it, well, I'm ghost.

Let's just say, you better run up on me at a stoplight or a Wal-Mart. And even then, the convo will be very short.

This blog represents that really small outlandish, creative side of my personality, a part of me that needs stimulation from time to time...

With that said...

I had my Women's Journal Writing group meeting yesterday. I really love getting together with this group of women, because it is a chance for me to work on something that I've spent most of my 30's working on: Expressing my feelings and opinion without FEAR of repercussion and punishment.

Before we go through our homework assignments for the month, we pray, then we each have to take a minute or two to talk about what has been going on in our lives since we last met together. This is difficult for me to do at times. I say the norm: I work waaay too much. My health is up and down. I am doing a ton of writing, and writing classes are going well. Things are pretty much what they are, really.

But this time I told them that I found out that my mother reads my blog. And when I told them, I was so upset and so choked up, that I could hardly get the words out. I did all I could to keep from crying. I really did. (I tend not to cry in front of people. I am hardcore. I usually cry about whatever when I am alone). I was so upset that I was shaking.

We all talked about it. They pretty much told me that I shouldn't do it, because I am the type of person that HAS to write, and I really enjoy the whole blogging thing, as it is a part of me and my writing. They had things to say that really made me think. And think hard.

And some of them thought that that is just my Mother's way of getting to know me.

I don't agree with that. That would be something normal, but I don't buy that. It's sort of how my BFF LadyTee tells me from time to time "Yeah, Lee, I talked to your Ma the other day. She asked how you are. I told her you were fine. She told me to tell you that she loves you."

LadyTee gets a earful after she says stuff like that. She listens quietly to my rants. She knows firsthand how my Mama can "flip the script" on you. I ain't falling for no more tricks. Those days of feeling "duped" and "hoodwinked" are over.

Those words, "She loves you"... I don't know, they are as foreign to me as some ancient Martian language. I don't comprehend them. Wish I did, but I don't.

And why do such words bother me when I hear them (albeit second-hand)??

I've been spending time pinpointing things that disturb me lately, and writing pages upon endless pages exploring those things in my personal coffers (journals). And I suppose it has to do with something that I've been praying about.

I know one of my biggest prayers on a prayer list (the #1 thing, really) I made at the beginning of the year was the following:

"God, please show me my heart. Please show me who I am."

That's simple enough, I suppose. But at the same time, very very complicated.

Why? Because I rarely meet people who know who they are, where they are going, and who they want to be.

Well, I want to be one of those people. With those attributes comes clarity, purpose, and peace of mind.

My prayer life is highly intangible at best. I don't care much about praying for fancy cars, jewels, and what not. I am more concerned about intangible things, because those things are FAR more real to me than all things tangible.

I'm real big on being the best person I can be, to getting to a point where I am 1000% honest with myself and willing to make changes. Just getting to a point to whatever I do, I am doing it from my heart. And not just saying that, but knowing that. I'm extremely clear on whether I am doing things from my heart or I am doing things out of jacked up motive or with an agenda in mind. I think I've written my thoughts concerning agenda and motive in pasts posts. So that is always heavily on my mind.

If I so much as catch a whiff of myself doing something with ulterior motives in mind, I DO NOT DO IT. Simple enough.

My biggest thing... My biggest fear: I don't want to get 70 years old, and I am set in my ways, and I'm unable to make changes and I have a crappy effect on myself and all the people who surround me.

I think I would just slit my throat if that was the case.

When people think of me, when I'm long gone, I want them to think... "That chick LadyLee was a good person. You know, she said something that made my day a little brighter or set me on the right track. When she thought of me, there were no ulterior motives, no personal agendas. There was nothing behind it, no strings attached. She did things out of the goodness of her heart. She only wanted me to be the best person I could be, to do the best I can."

More importantly, I want to think that of myself. May take me the rest of my life to get to that point, but just like the next person - I am a work in progress, under construction until the day I die.

This whole situation has made me sit back and realize something else about myself:

I've been angry at God about something.

Please don't look at me in that tone of voice.

Let me explain.

I know in Journal Writing meeting, I rarely talk about my issues with my mother. Why? Because several of my journal writing sister's mothers have passed since I've been in the group. (I've been in the group for 3 years). It is VERY uncomfortable for me to talk about it, even though I need to. I don't know, I guess that I feel like I'm being "disrespectul" to them. I think once, we had to write about our biggest fear, and I wrote a 3 page thing on how my biggest fear was that I would become like my mother. Anytime I write something like that, I usually write what I call a "phantom" answer: an answer that I have for the group that is more "acceptable". Yes, I do the exercise for myself, and I learn from it, but I won't DARE read it out loud to the group. That day I did. I only did it because our journal writing leader put her foot down. She wanted us to be honest with the group, and not write the "nice" answer.

And the biggest reason behind that is because I am ashamed of my situation. I'm supposed to have, especially as a black woman, a wonderful fulfilling relationship with my mother. I don't have that, and I don't remember ever having one, even as a child.

But like I said, several of my journal writing sister's mothers have died. I sit there and we all cry together. But I'm not only crying because my fellow journaling sister is in an immense amount of pain. I'm also crying because I am SO angry.

And I ask God the same question everytime.

"God, how could you let this happen? How could you take away her mother who loves her and who she loves?"

A horrible question to ask, a horrible thing to think, really. But I don't get it. I would give anything to have a mother that I was close too. I mean, I have been very stealth with my business from as far back as I can remember. Even now. VERY STEALTH. Always careful to say the right things, do the right things. ALWAYS careful, because I know the reprocussions of having a opinion or even a single thought of my own in my head that went against my mother's. Trust me, there is hell to pay for THAT.

The past few years I've been free from that to some extent.

So, I would never understand the whole "point" of a woman losing her mother. One of my favorite authors just lost her Mom. I get angry about it, because it is tragic, and a lot of this is going on lately. Why God would allow a close mother-daughter bond to be broken by death...

Oh, it infuriates me to no end.

I dont' understand such a thing... And I probably never will. I guess some things are not meant to be understood.

My pastor said something that I wrote down in my notes, and put quite a few asterisks next to:

He said we all have those doors in our hearts, those doors to places we shut off from God. They are pretty bad areas, all nasty and dusty, that really need to be cleaned up. Yet we shut the door, keep it locked tight. We don't want Him dealing with it. We trying to hide stuff. Even though He knows about it, we hide it. ALL of us have that, myself included, he said.

Maybe a week prior to hearing that from him, I told one of my blog sisters, who seems to be having a problem in an area that I don't have a problem in, that I'm pretty convinced that God is not only interested in our "pretty" perfect prayers, or our prayers about everyday things, but MUCH more interested in us being honest with Him about those dark dank areas of our lives. I knew this because I'd spent time praying about certain areas that we were discussing, and I don't have many challenges in that area. I'm a 100, no a gazillion percent sure of that. And my pastor confirmed my thoughts.

But I don't pray much about my mother and myself and our situation. That is a part of my life I keep pretty much hidden, locked off behind a door in a back corner of my mind and heart. You know, it's like that closet you throw everything into when you have company. You hide stuff, where no one can see it. Your house looks all neat and clean, but there's some junk hidden off in that closet, or under the bed, on in the basement.

You get my drift.

I've said a lot just to say this: I want some peace on this situation. I don't want it hanging over my head. I don't expect to ever have a relationship with my mother, because I don't trust her. My Auntie, my mother's sister, is who I have gone to when I'm hurting or I need advice. She listens, gives sound advice. She chastises if necessary. I don't have to worry about her using it against me later. Thank God for that. I've only recently thanked her for being a surrogate Mother. I would've thrown myself off the roof long ago if it wasn't for her patience with me, if she wasn't there for me. I'm a bit too shocked and choked up to talk to her about this situation, though. She reads my blog, so she'll probably call me.

But like I said, I want some peace on this situation.

And I know for me... it does NOT mean shutting down my blog.

NO Blog Shutdown.

That would be like cutting off one of my fingers. No, I don't need all of my fingers, and this is one of the "fingers" I don't need, but that don't make it right.

I will continue to blog. I like my blog. Will it cause me problems with my mother? I don't know. And since I haven't been concerned about such things in years, then I really need to let things be as they are now. I will continue to blog.

No matter what the repercussions are.

If my mother reads, then she reads. I have nothing to do with that. I will not be controlled.

I am more interested in being me.

In growing.

In finding me.

In expressing my thoughts, feelings and opinions with no FEAR of repercussions.

And most importantly... and this is a hard one.

In God showing me my heart, and giving me the heart to change what needs to be changed, in order to be all that I hope to be.