Somehow, each year is always like the last when it comes to "remembering" my mother. Whether it be her birthday or the anniversary of her death, I'm always left feeling a certain way, a way that in no way involves closure. Out of all the dates and all the loved ones, her dates are the ones that are forever etched in my mind. July 2nd, June 5th, and today, May 31st. I can still remember words and actions, and reactions, yet, I still can't remember her voice or her smell - those things aren't brought back by time or through photographs - apparently, neither is healing. I don't really know when I'll ceased to be affected in this way.

For the first time in a long time, I was able to take some flowers up to the cemetery on one of her actual dates. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't cry. Not because I no longer needed to, but because I had Miss J with me. It was a very quick visit, I couldn't risk losing it in front of the baby, she wouldn't fully understand, or maybe I'd like to think that she wouldn't understand so that she wouldn't be left with the task of comforting me. I was once comforted by a complete stranger on one of my cemetery visits, although I'd much rather be comforted by my grandmother, but she refuses to visit the my mother's grave with me. I try to understand why.

There isn't anything left to say except that I am affected the same in year 18, as I was in year 1.

When you lose your parent(s) before you have formed your own identity, do you ever recover?

The past couple of nights have been laced with insomnia. I have been tired, but unable to hush my thoughts. This is the part that I hate, the PTSD-esk phase - when the events and words that were said, keep replaying themselves over and over in my mind. Every time I'd close my eyes they were forced back open by my feelings about what was said and what went down, and by his reaction to me in my entirety and in my vulnerability. I think I'm still in shock. Its not like we haven't been here before, but this time was different. This time set the tone for there not to be a next time. I wasn't ready for that. It was unexpected and unwanted.

And you know what else I hate? Not knowing what to do with left over love. This love hasn't reached its expiration date yet, and now I have to place it back on the shelf, although it has already been assigned, and pretend that it doesn't exist, even though it stares back at me longingly. Pretty pathetic huh?

"I wonder why the obligation to declare one’s purpose exists at all" - T. Allen-Mercado

Upon my lifelong quest to discover who I really am, and in the aftermath of my most recent mental break, I read the Moms of Hue post (which I encourage you all to do) of my blog sister T. Allen-Mercado, and was moved into expression...

Tameka, I didn't know that we were allowed to wonder this or to even question it at all. So much weight is placed on defining one's life's purpose, building a career, living one's destiny. What do those things even mean? Ever since I was accepted to Cal, I have felt pushed and prodded to define my life's purpose, and before I was accepted to Cal, I thought I already had. I had always loved to write, was scolded by my grandmother for "never wanting to do nothin' but write", was exposed to journalism in school, and so that's what I wanted to do with my life back then. I wanted to become a journalist. I wanted to become an investigative reporter, a creator of "new media" before there was New Media - in an effort to show the world what good could be found in the inner city. To create a space for my own voice to yell out from beneath the concrete and be heard.

Now, with those demanding questions that you spoke of being hurled at me - So, what are you doing now that you've graduated? What can you do with a degree in Gender & Women's Studies? So, you wanna do social work? What kind of job are you looking for? You're not going to grad school? Why not? Administrative Assistant? Oh. - And the judgmental statements - $10 an hour is better than $0 an hour/ Did you think you were gonna come right outta college and be the CEO of a fortune 500 company?/ I thought you had drive and determination/ Your minimal salary requirement is too high. It all has shattered my self confidence and my self esteem, and ingrained in me that a life without purpose is a life that isn't worth living.

After revealing my lack of life's purpose and my belief that $10 an hour was not going to pay rent in a safe environment, I was dumped by the person that I thought understood my struggle. Not only dumped, but kicked while I was down... lack of drive and determination, remember? This morning, I found myself on a 24 hr crisis phone line, crying to a man asking me to tell him what was wrong when I had no words, feeling 5150ish.

I guess I say all of this to say that I hate the quest for the American Dream. Like your wondering about purpose itself, I hate the very fact that there is a quest for the American Dream because its just a trope to drive the world towards submission and homogeneity, and those who resist or get lost in the hype, go insane.

Its funny how, when you're trying to make moves, challenges just pop up outta nowhere. This morning's drive was the most uneasy I have ever driven. The sound of metal grinding against metal with each stop and start. That "clinking" feeling under my feet. A sign that I have ignored the BRAKE illumination for way too long. So, now I will pay the price. Not with cash, because that I don't have, but in time and resources. I am about to officially be immobile, at a time when I really need my transportation to be reliable. If I do land a job, which I am sure will happen now that I have this new reality, what will I do? How the hell am I supposed to get there?

And this would happen the week that I am responsible for transporting 2 kids to school, 25.17 miles away from each other. I'm still convinced that a BREAK isn't too much to ask for.

I managed to get myself out to two temp agencies last week. It was an interesting experience. In the first meeting, I felt sort of like a day laborer, trying to prove that I was worthy enough to be chosen for "the job". I was sized up, via assessment tests, and found to be both under-qualified and unrealistic. Nevermind the fact that I have spent a considerable amount of time as a learner, thinker, and multitasker - being given tasks, developing road maps, and following through. And nevermind the fact that there is a little thing called "training" and another one called "instruction". Bottom line, I strongly feel that, in an area such as the temp agency, one should not be held so tightly to the all-knowing assessment test, especially when said test tests areas that were not previously required knowledge in previous positions and/or academics. The "assessment" isn't really an assessment at all, but rather a grade-school type standardized piece of shit, put together to make you compete against your own god-damned brain cells. I don't know about everyone else, but I hate feeling as though I am a rat on a fricken wheel. And my second bottom line - If I were to get an assignment, and I was asked to perform a specific function in MS Word or Excel, then I'd either figure it out or asked to be shown once and I'd take it from there. The fact that I was holding a certificate that stated that I typed 53 wpm, but scored a big 35 wpm on their test is further proof why standardized tests are pieces of shit and why I politely told Ms. Lady that I was worth more minimally than she was trying to tell me.

If my education level, and my experience didn't place me in a higher bracket of worth, I would have never been recruited by agency number 2, and offered a position that was paying a salary that would have made Ms. Lady burst into laughter. Not that my meeting with agency #2 was THAT much better, but at least I was actually meeting about a position that was already on the table, and "assessed" accordingly. Now, I'm waiting to hear back from them about whether or not I measured up. I'm hoping I did, because, mama literally needs a new pair of shoes. Holes are not sexy when they're in your shoes, especially during impromptu Bay Area rain and hail storms.