Out, @$%&ed spot!

It's a quote from Shakespeare.  Macbeth to be exact. Act V, scene i.  Lady Macbeth sleep walking and talking, feeling all kinds of guilty because she was the mastermind behind her husband's shanking of Duncan.  She tries in vain to rid herself of the "spot" of blood that taints her conscience.

So, I finally got my teeth cleaned today.  It had been an embarrassingly long time since I last had my teeth cleaned (can't remember the last time I had dental insurance, and I still don't, but they had a $99 summer teeth cleaning special at the Student Health Center dental clinic, so I said what the hey), but I wasn't overly worried about it because my dental hygiene game is on point.  If there's one thing I absolutely pride myself on, it's the state of my teeth.  I obsessively take care of my chompers.  Brush at least twice a day, floss like it's the last step in the plan of salvation.  I don't play.  Ever since I got my first cavity at 19, I became a born again flosser.

The hygienist who cleaned my teeth was all chirpy and cheery about the state of my teeth.  All my x-rays looked good, my teeth were beautiful, she said.  She said that whenever I get a job offering dental benefits that she would recommend I opt out because with my teeth, I would save money just paying for a yearly check up out of pocket.  I was all beaming and excited.  But then the dentist came in and gave me a once over before I could leave.  And he said I had a teeny tiny cavity.  Very minor, mind you, nothing to be alarmed about, but a teeny tiny cavity nonetheless.  (The hygienist later said she didn't say anything to me about it at first because it was so minor she didn't think the dentist would recommend getting it fixed.) A filling I had slightly cracked, and a bit of bacteria got in.  Did I want to see it?  He gave me a mirror to hold up, and there it was, reflected in his little tooth mirror inside of my mouth, on the back of my first molar on the upper right hand side.  A tiny black spot.

Oh.  Em.  Gee.

My brain went into full Lady Macbeth mode.  How dare a wretched little black spot decide to manifest itself on my molar?  This cannot be.  No, ma'am and no, sir.  Nawl.  Nah.  A tiny black spot does NOT have permission to exist on a SINGLE ONE of my carefully brushed, obsessively flossed teeth!  Do you hear me, denizens of the underworld of oral bacteria?!  I have a (very infinitesimally, completely unnoticeably) discolored tooth, and I am NOT here for it.

I wanted to karate chop and drop kick the air.  I wanted to throw myself onto the floor and pitch a two-year-old style screaming fit because a tiny black spot had utterly dashed all of my glorious dreams of superior oral grandeur.

One tiny spot.  A cornucopia of shame.

"Have Done" List

I always make "to do" lists, so it's time for a "have done" list.

Have Done:

1. Submitted a revision of my last chapter of analysis to my adviser.  All that's left is a revision of my intro, and then, on to the conclusion.  I still have a bit of work to do, but I'm SO CLOSE to finishing.  I can't believe it.

2. Made homemade chicken noodle soup.  I'm really proud of myself, like, I feel legit.  I saved a couple of carcasses from roast chickens P and I had.  I picked off the little fragments of meat, put it aside.  Broke the carcasses up and browned the bones in some olive oil.  Added celery, carrots, onion, thyme, a bit of rosemary, some pepper, 3 quarts of water and let that sucker simmer for an hour and a half.  Afterward, I strained the chicken stock, then put it back on to simmer for about 20 mins adding some fresh onions, carrots, celery, and other seasonings to taste.  While that was simmering, I boiled just about a cup of dried egg noodles.  After that, I added the egg noodles and the meat I set aside, and let it simmer for about 5 more minutes.  Ridonculous.

3. Spent the past three Friday mornings praying with my husband for one hour.  It started as a prayer chain at our church the first couple of times (you know, individuals or families sign up for an hour), but then we wanted to keep doing it together on our own.  I'm the worst with consistent spiritual discipline.  I know I am.  But when you're doing it with someone else...there's just something very powerful and motivating about it.  Setting time aside to pray together has bonded us in ways that nothing else can.  I wish we would have started doing this a long time ago, and it's something I really hope we continue to do, in some way, in the future.

Flowers

My first anniversary flowers are dying.  They said, "We're done.  Enjoy our decaying beauty."

Snapshot

Getting ready for church this morning.  My husband was already dressed, and I thought he was sipping his cup of coffee on our green couch waiting for me while I fiddled with my hair for the thousandth time.  "Honey?  Honey?"  Where was he?  Not on the couch.  The door was ajar and I found him standing outside with one hand in his pocket, the other holding his to-go cup.  He was enjoying the beautiful morning, and I was taken by the sight of him.  Relaxed in a suit and tie, staring out into nature.  I wanted to capture that moment and press it so close to me.

On the Job Training

(Sigh.) That dirty dirty D.

It's getting done, though.  I turned in my intro before my anniversary, and now I've plunged back into tedious editing.  Trying to have a revised version of my second chapter of analysis submitted to committee by the end of the week.

I've never written a dissertation before, (and in the mighty, powerful name of Jesus, I will never write another one), but somehow it's getting done.  Mind you, there are all kinds of tips and tricks out there.  All kinds of Dissertation Writing 101 out there for me to take advantage of.  Not to say that I haven't consulted anyone or any resources to help, but in the end, it's kind of like, ey, saddown and write.  That's what it comes down to.  Sitcho self down, stop playing games, and write.  Tips and tricks be durned. 

Now, in order to saddown and write, you have to prepare yourself.  You have to have done some extensive reading, note taking, organizing and outlining.  If you just saddown and write with no plan and no preparation, it's a recipe for disaster.  But my point is that at some point all the tips and tricks and advice come secondary to actually getting the thing written, and you can't worry about whether you're correctly following step five of Dissertation Writing 101 or what have you.  At some point you have to just do it and trust in your ability as an academic that you're going to produce something worthwhile.

I started thinking about all of these other things that I'm doing now or have done that have all kinds of advice, tips, etc. attached to it, but in the end, you just have to prepare, go for it, and trust:

1. Going natural.  It's been almost a year since I last got down with the Soft and Beautiful burn your scalp up to straighten your hair out creamy crack.  And my, my, my, there is everything under the sun out there to advise black women on the best ways to "transition."  The best products to use.  The best twist-out techniques.  But at some point, I had to stop being afraid I was going to "mess up my hair," stop being discouraged by people who warned me how hard it was going to be, and somehow just figure out a way to make it work for me and my hair.  And so far, so good.  Bantu knots? Yaaaassss!

2. Getting married.  We did pre-marital counseling, read books and did all the things you do when you're about to get married.  I listened to advice and tried not to get too annoyed at the people who always wanted to warn us about how "hard" marriage is.  But once we said "I do," we were the ones who had to wake up next to each other every morning from there on out.  We had to jump in there and trust each other and God to make it work.

I have a feeling that all of the other transitions we have coming up are going to be somehow the same way.  Moving to another state.  Starting a new job.  Starting a family.  Sure, you have to prepare, but in the end, there's only so much you can do.  In the end, I feel like we all just end up jumping in and getting on the job training.

One Year

Yesterday my husband and I celebrated our one-year anniversary.

Time flies.  It's so cliche, but it's the only thing I can think of to say to describe how unbelievable it is that we have already been married for a year.  We still have our wedding vows taped to the mirror in our bedroom.  We still have unopened, unused wedding gifts in our little storage unit.  We haven't even dried ourselves off with all the towels we received as gifts yet.  We wash clothes once a week, and we just keep washing and reusing the same towels.

They say the first year is the hardest, but if this is the hardest its going to be, I think we're going to be fine.  Contrary to popular belief, we are not these adorable little lovebirds who flit around from love cloud to love cloud.  At least not 100% of the time.  We've had our moments of conflict and discomfort and uncertainty.  And it hasn't been the end of the world.  What initially drew us together is what always draws us back together.  Believing in that, knowing that, is one of the most comforting, secure truths about our marriage.

What I've always said about my husband is that who he is is what I need.  I feel like it's my slogan for why I married him.  There's something holy about the whole thing, why he is who I need.  Even though I still don't believe in the idea of "The One," I do believe God brought us together.  And I do believe God knew something, all along, that I couldn't have ever known about myself and my needs.  There are many reasons I am who I am, and there are many reasons my husband is who he is, but one of those reasons is us.  Who we are together.

There are so many profoundly spiritual aspects of marriage I've pondered that parallel the dynamics of our relationship with God.  Love, forgiveness, acceptance, communion, communication, intimacy.  Even the idea that you can never really 100% know a person, there's something about them that will always remain a mystery to you, but that love demands you take a chance on them.  It takes faith to commit yourself to someone for life.

When I look at my husband, sure, I'm pretty happy that I lucked out with a handsome guy.  An adorable dimple when he smiles.  Thick eyebrows over long-lashed, deep set, downturned hazel eyes. He has smiling eyes.  The kind that smile to a greater degree than his lips.  I'm also pretty happy he's still taller than me when I wear heels.  But more importantly, when I look at my husband, I see a man who simply loves me and wants to make me happy.  I see a man who is going to be a wonderful father.

I know so many things can change.  People change, situations change, goals change...so many things are subject to change.  I realize that.  How we are now is not how we will always be.  But that doesn't have to be negative.  I just have a lot of confidence that we will change and adapt to change together.  At the very end of his wedding vows to me, my husband repeated this line: "My love for you is here to stay."  That's one thing I can be sure of that will not change.  For either of us.