Here we go again…

Weekends. They aren’t much different than my weekdays. I wake up early, I have things to do and I take action. Yesterday’s todo list consisted of grocery shopping, dishes, laundry, and planning, organizing, catching up with a friend and family, Instagraming, Netflixing, Facebooking, and resting. The rest came when I fell asleep sprawled across my bed with every light in my apartment on and 3/4 of the cabinets open. I looked like a mad woman train who had literally ran out of steam. Or a child who has been going all day and is stopped in her tracks but the sleep monster.

 

Ah, well…thats how weekends go. They are little more flexible and free than my weekdays but they compete in productivity. I get a lot done. Always. So today, I’ve realized, I didn’t really rest. I want to go to the beach, but I have two books I want to read, a book club at 7, and planning to do for the work week. I don’t think I’ll stay to watch the sunset as previously decided. Something has got to give. So, in true Cassandra fashion…I’m writing my goals down here, so that I can get to them.

Today:

  1. Close cabinets
  2. Pack for the beach
  3. Go to the Beach
  4. Be free at the beach (work or don’t work, read or don’t read, whatever…and take pics)
  5. Leave before sunset (you have planning, cooking, Book Club, and sleep to get)
  6. Book Club, plan, cook, sleep
  7. This list is too long.

 

Revised list:

  1. Plan for tomorrow
  2. Go to the beach
  3. Book Club
  4. Sleep

This blog was for me, but I hoped it help you. #prioritizerest

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My theory about me

I’m so glad my password was saved and worked this time. I change passwords nearly every week. The range is from Spotify to bank sites to my amazon acct (not really that one is locked in tight). I gave my students an assignment to write about their theory of themselves and here is what I gathered about Cassandra (me).

 

Cassandra is complexity at its best. Resting #)$*@ (stone for the PG audience) face with a heart the texture of a marshmallow encased by ceramic pieces. She loves herself, she loves God, and she is learning to truly love others. Cassandra is driven…almost to the point of madness. She is an idea machine and her brain moves faster than the speed of light. She’s like a flickering lamp, constantly illuminating with ideas yet exhausted by energy expensed. Rapid fire ideas frustrated by the speed of man. Men. Cassandra is a lover. She loves children. Beaches. Change. Growth. A natural girl.

Mourning Divorce

I knew this would be a process, but geez! A week ago I had another dream. I have reconciliation dreams. Dreams where he comes back or he stays…or we are together. They are never beautiful. I always wake up with a feeling like “why can’t I stop dreaming this nonsense”. I’ll do a better job of capturing the feeling next time.

Its like an annoying reminder that we could have pushed through, could have made it, but…he wasn’t cut out for the struggle. And honestly, he wasn’t built for me. I’m a fighter, I’m tenacious, I’m a handful of love and energy and adventure…! I have my flaws and they are the same things that make me beautifully fearless and unique and strong.

I just finished a sermon series on relationships and I’m taking away a newfound appreciation for my singleness. (Its great for EVERYONE- single, married, divorced, dating, engaged)

Click and enjoy: https://youtu.be/H7h5BHax06c

For the past several months, I’ve been flirting with the concept of contentment in this stage, but its solid now. I go as I please, I travel solo dolo, I have friends visit, and I really just pursue purpose on my own terms. God is in the driver’s seat and I am learning to trust Him fully. I still mess up and start trusting myself and my own understanding, but I have taken Proverbs 3:5-6 to heart:

Proverbs 3:5 King James Version (KJV)

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

 

 

I feel like writing

Its funny that I don’t have anything specific in mind. I’m just going to begin typing and see what comes out.

Dance. I joined a contemporary class and its challenging. If I walk into class with heaviness in my heart it shows up in my movements and in my patience with my progress. Last class I was pissed. The instructor was moving too fast and I didn’t remember much as I was expected to run through with a group of two- the other two in my line.

I was irritated. I didn’t remember. I needed more time. I wasn’t ready and I hadn’t mastered these moves, so why on Earth would I want to “run through it with my line”? I struggled through after two suggestions to “feel the movement” and do what I could remember. Still sounds absurd, but I’m trying to apply that to life.

 

  1. Feel- be in the moment.
  2. Cast off the concern of perfection.

Story.

Of.

My.

Life.

 

One day I’ll get there. I’ll dance like no one is watching. Like the steps are mine to create. Like each movement is perfect without rehearsal. And until then…I’ll check the mirror but look at it less. More feeling, less thinking. More in the moment, less planning. More living, less analyzing my life.

Starting now.

Hair

“You change your hair everyday”. False, but I understand that I do maximize the freedom and creativity my coils provide me with- I can switch thing us quickly. In fact, I’m headed to the states soon and I plan to purchase hair and stuff it in my luggage. Braiding hair, Marley twist hair, a latch hook, widely misrepresented as a “crochet hook”, and few hair ties, curl formers, and bobby pins. Whew! Thats a lot- I might need gel, too. We shall see.

Anyway…this post is a confession. A few days ago I resented and was ashamed of my natural hair:

it shrinks

it requires constant care

it falls out when “protective” styles are taken down- although I hear this is typical, it hurts my soul seeing the collection of coils looking like a lambs wool along my shower, counter, and sink.

I had to take out my last style a little early. I can’t have my fake hair looking nappier than my natural curls. So…I was faced with a decision, wig and switch (cause its hot) or natural hair. I focused on potential reactions and if my wig laying didn’t require braiding, which is time consuming and sometimes hurts AND my wigs weren’t blonde and black/red (hella bold), I probably would have rocked them. Instead, I did a wash and go and today a bomb twist out.

 

But thats only after contemplating:

dreads

weave

braids

cutting

and….wait for it…

RELAXING MY HAIR.

My coils LITERALLY WILL NOT stay straight enough to showcase my length and this makes me look and feel different than I want to. I look more less conventionally beautiful. No big hair to wear as a crown. I feel more naked and exposed, less masked and “protected”. I’m just being honest.

I named my hair some years ago and Shea has to be offended that I’ve spent more time with her clothes than with her. So she’s been free for a few days now and we are relearning one another. Last night twisting wasn’t so bad. And I found out she HAS grown, she’s ACTUALLY REALLY TALL…she just wears flats that hide her long legs. I am falling back in love with my coils one moisturized twist out at a time.

“You change your hair everyday”. No.

You Change. Your hair everyday.

 

Notarized.

I paused a Netflix movie to post this. So…you know its real.

Today, I scrambled to get documents notarized for my Work Visa. I’m about to leave the US in a matter of months to pursue a job abroad. I will be teaching 4th grade all subjects in Costa Rica! Excited is an understatement. I didn’t realize how much paperwork signing/applying/verifying would be required. I still don’t even understand if I sent everything perfectly. And being born abroad doesn’t make the process any simpler. Its confusing and annoying and very systematic even though no human being can explain the process considering my rare circumstances.

The notary at the bank (my shared branch because I still bank with an out of state credit union) did all my paperwork for free. He didn’t have to, but I am so appreciative. I saved $25. Then spent $20 for a document I forgot to have notarized by him and later paid for at a postal store that probably overcharged me.

Anyways…I sat at his desk and remembered the last time I had paperwork notarized at a bank. It was January of 2014. Divorce papers. I cried as I signed each page. I had gotten there at 4:59pm, right before closing after my ex kept asking when I would sign. He left me January 4th and the papers had January 10th on them. This had to be mid January. It was heartbreaking and I’m sure super awkward for the notary (a woman who kept her composure). I cried loud and deeply as I signed all thousand lines requiring my signature. I felt defeated. I was a little embarrassed. Not that I was crying- I needed that. I was embarrassed that my marriage had failed and this document was the proof.

So…as I sat in the office today. I almost cried again. Just in remembrance. Of a marriage I mourned and laid to rest. Divorce is a tragedy. I survived a tragedy. I overcame and rose above a tragedy. And 3 years later, I signed documents which I’d like to refer to as freedom papers. I’m leaving the US. I’m leaving (dis)comfort. I’m leaving what has been familiar. And I am so excited that now I understand the foreshadowing. At a bank alone. In an office with a stranger. Making a life changing written declaration. My life is changing.

I can never ever say I won’t survive. Or things won’t get better. Or I may not make it. Those statements are simply untrue. I will rise. I have been Notarized.

https://www.thebalance.com/what-is-a-notarized-document-315434

A notarized document is a document that has been marked with a stamp (or “seal”), which indicates that the signature on the document is legitimate. A notary watches you sign and then places the stamp near your signature (along with information which allows others to track down records related to the signature).

I’m crying.

Will.

Did I tell y’all I don’t do that often. So when I do. When I start to cry, I take time to feel that emotion that caused me to break through my stone wall of guardedness to the point of tears.

I need a minute.

I could see why you didn’t or wouldn’t have respected me 10 months ago. When we first met, how we met. Who I was when we met. I was me, but a different shade of me. So I could see how you could think this treatment was acceptable then.

But we’ve spent time together. You know me. I know you. I shared me. You shared you. I thought I feel in love. Enough to demand distance. To be hurt by the distance I demanded. To second guess my decision to put me first and cover myself and protect my heart. The one thats patched up from the pass. So its just not okay for me to be treated this way. Will, you know me. Or I thought you did. And if you know me, enough and this is acceptable to you. This is true to your nature. You’re okay with your behavior then I was wrong. And the worse pain is the kind you realize you initiated.

I have no words. I’m so sad that I can’t get angry. So angry that I’m only really sad. I’m depleted. I’m empty. I’m worn out. And I don’t understand how things can go so South so quickly and so clearly.

But you still follow me on Snapchat. Do you know I can see you watching me on Snapchat. I’m irritated that Snapchat has made it into a very serious very deep very real blog post. I’m crying. And part of it is because you would rather follow me, watch me, admire me, see me from a distance than get close, stay close, be close.

That is some bull shit. And I hate to cuss in a post. I just can’t identify if its me or if its you. No, its absolutely you. But if I thought I loved you, then its also completely me. So now I’m over here sad. Do I delete, block, ignore, agress, assert, retreat, suppress.

He is showing you. Believe him.

Stop having access to me and not being accessible to me. I’ll control that.

I cried and showered. Seems appropriate. Now I’m listening to worship music. This is the only way I get empty and full at the same time. Its an hour past my bedtime and I just want to cry more. Feel more. Lean in and on God even more.

I’m not mad anymore. I’m still sad. But that will pass. I was supposed to grade papers and uber-plan for tomorrow. Plans are done. Grading is not. Its okay. I need this time. This is necessary. I deserve to feel this. To feel and then to be over it.

This thing happened. And I realize that I am just really tired of settling. And I’m uncomfortable giving my energy in empty places that cannot reciprocate. I want to forgive and let go and then not repeat the pattern of prostituting my gifts, and my calling, and my encouragement and my love. I am not cheap. Nothing about me is inexpensive. I’m costly. And that’s okay.

I need a top 5. Pourers who pour in. And they need to be real people.

The pourer-intoers are never lacking. I’ll be choosy this time.