Disconnected

Samsung

www.samsungmobile.com

is all that my mobile device would provide me. Just as plain, in black and white. No more, no less. All this talk about detoxing and releasing and digital dumping, my smartphone decided to display it’s intelligence and understanding of spirituality and froze. I guess it realized that the relationship between it and I was strictly parasitic. I just took and took and took. I thought of it as nothing more than a pocket pal when I’m not using it to my advantage. So it heeded my advice and I was cut off! How do you like the irony in that?  No more GPS, no more constant molestation of the screen to enable navigating the interstates of the information superhighway or surfing the waters and exploring the depths of the Blue La”Google” or assault and battery of the keys produced by texting to almost no end, no more social media, no more email, no more onetube, youtube, redtube, bluetube, nick nack patty wack give a dog a phone that works longer than the 5 months I had it even though I dropped it once and cracked the screen(now we’re getting somewhere right; but it happened 4 moths ago and I’ve handled it with meticulous tender loving care since then), NOTHING! My “galaxy” shut down and the severance of the tie between it and I was nothing short of “Epic” As a result of the previous emotional ramble, I am disconnected from the audible world, and it’s safe to say that from the absurd commitment to the personification of this inanimate object, I must be disconnected from reality as well. My issues stem a little further than Sprint Stop and Repair shop. I need a hard reset of my brain. Help me Jesus.

I break everything. I have the Midas touch of the destruction of technology because everything I touch turns to crud. I was diligently and satisfactorily(if that’s a word) using my other option to communicate with everyone while I make arrangements to lay my phone to rest. The computer. So I’m improving my skills of using home row and typing away when all of a sudden the screen goes white.

The internet is currently not able to display this webpage

WHAT?!

I didn’t join any chat rooms, I didn’t open any spam emails, I didn’t go to any questionable sites. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, trying to start a business or join a business, whatever is more profitable, and the laptop decides it wants to take a digital dump too. Fear began to surge through my body because this computer does not belong to me. I didn’t want to break the news to my bedridden friend that I had broken her source of livelihood to the outside world. Damn would that suck. Can we say awkberg?

I’m one of those people who has 27 different skills and has a million things going on in their head that they can’t focus. I’m an aspiring doctor, bartender, flight attendant, physical therapist, midwife, actress, model, stripper, and real estate agent. I change my mind every time I change my underwear; and just so there is no confusion, that is everyday. I’m telling you all that to say this. Before I joined the club of Joint Commision of the Hospital Accreditation Organization and became a medical professional, I was an AT. An AT is an IT that works on planes. So I used to chase wires and fix technical problems and everything was smooth sailing. Or I guess you could say smooth flying in my case. However, when I had my mid 20s crisis and decided to change jobs, I guess all the technical common sense went with it. EXCEPT, the first medicine. If you ever have a problem with anything, be it your microwave, toaster, remote control car or vibrator(and no I still haven’t bitten the bullet and purchased one; and I mean the metaphorical bullet. I didn’t break down and buy a clitoral stimulating bullet. I have yet to buy the Magic Bullet I’ve been pining for. All in due time I suppose), you turn it off and turn it back on. Usually that fixes it. So that’s what I did. With my phone as well as the computer. But alas to no avail. It didn’t fix the problem.

I frantically began to look for the router. Sometimes it just kicks off and if you reboot that, you don’t have to give the soul of your first born to the geek squad of Best Buy to fix it. Want to know the result of that experiment? FAIL! Finding it that is, not trying it.

The next step was her husband. If all else fails, ask a man. Sorry ladies. Did I just take us back to the caveman days? Many apologies if you felt that way. I didn’t mean women in general. That statement was specifically for me. Though, I’d have to say it’s quite appropriate being as though I had no access to anything invented in the last 2 centuries. It could be more or less, but I’m a writer. I never said I was a history buff.

Well I don’t know what he did, and I probably should have been there so if it happened again I could figure it out, but he fixed it. I just kept my distance to prevent anything from happening again.

During the time of my disconnection to technology, it gave me time to think. When I went into the Sprint store, she told me that the only option I had, was to pay a deductible and obtain a new device. She informed me that she could not even transfer any of the contacts from the original device to the new one. By some miraculous act of GOD, she was able to turn the phone on and I was able to view my contacts. I told her that I would just transfer them onto a piece of paper. I expected to get 11 x 7 sheet, but she gave me a tiny almost expired pack of yellow post – it notes.

At first, I experienced the emotion of irritation. I told her I had 100+ contacts in my phone. Why would she give me a pack of post – its? Then I took another look at the names and numbers in my contact list and I began to wonder.

Do I really care about all these 1oo+ contacts?

More importantly, did all these 100+ contacts care about me?

How would writing down all of these 100+ contacts benefit me?

Should I let “what went around, come back around” and let Karma visit these 100+ contacts in the next life of my phone?

In the next moment I made my decision. I reconnected to my sanity and wrote down choice names that took up only 3 post -it notes and handed my phone over to the sales/repair associate. She couldn’t fix my phone and it never turned on again. All I saw was the Samsung screen. The same samsung screen that was there when I came in the store. My contacts are to never be retrieved again, but I didn’t care. I was disconnected.

Samsung

www.samsungmobile.com

was all that I could see on my phone before I came to terms with the irreparable damages. My key to audibly receive the world was damaged, but my spirit had been restored. I put in an insurance claim and in 1 to 2 business days I will be taking pictures, and talking and texting and my parole will be up. I will be reinstated into the institution of the WEB where I’ll writing on walls and getting poked by people I don’t know(yeah I read that the same place you did), but I will go back a better inmate of cyber prison.

I will have disconnected from virus producing parasites. I will have disconnected from the digital drama that was taking up space on my memory card that was causing my mind to run slow in turn causing me to run inefficiently. I’ve rid my mind of spyware and no one else can hack into my mind, body, or soul. I cleaned out all the cookies that left crumbs on my hard drive and now there is only room for the upgrades I need in my life. My beloved Sprint mobile device took the digital dump that I needed and showed me right there in black and white what I have put off for years. I took a “mega-byte” out of crimes of passion done unto me and I jumped off the bandwagon pulled by the Trojan horse carrying me away from my happiness and goals. I disconnected the Trojan bomb put in place to destroy me, but never again will I disconnect from me, Karma Murphy.

As much as things change, that’s how much they stay the same

It’s been a while since I’ve had a digital dump of the lemony snicket series of unfortunate events which is my life. I think Valentine’s day was my latest purge. Did you think the absence of my autonarrative meant that the drama in my life had ceased? Well if you thought that, you are sadly mistaken. Honestly, I’ve been composing a novel, but if I can be honest Karma suscribers, it wouldn’t be  1 binded literal rendition of my life according to me. I think I would need to take tips from the authors of “Twilight” or “Harry Potter” because this is going to be a collection. Volumes of ludicrousy and wonder and disbelief that’s just stranger than fiction. My life. . .

To bring you up to speed, Jerica and I got into it because of lack of communication and everyone and their mother getting into our shit. I’m convinced they were jealous of our bond because you all know that we were smashed together tighter than peanut butter and jelly. Well we both came to our senses and we looked at the people trying to drive us apart, which I don’t think that any of them have a license to operate anything(like if you got that reference, then like again if you realized the facebook reference), and realized, what the hell were we thinking???!!! So now we’re like peas and carrots again.

Her sister Aja and I don’t talk as much anymore because I didn’t make her wedding and I swear it wasn’t intentional. There was a lack of communication there too. I hate it. I miss her everyday. One day I will gain the fortitude to face her and analyze the whole situation down to the cellular structure, so everything can be right with the world in that aspect too. There is a new chapter in her fairytale. She married Themis and she was one of the most beautiful brides I have ever seen. Kim Kardashian didn’t have shit on her(and you know I have a girl crush on Kim and if you didn’t know, you know now) and her union with her Undercover Brother will last a hell of a lot longer than 72 days. I give em 72 years!

I stayed with my parents for a couple of months, went to Texas, Miami, Chicago, VA, and then picked up all my possessions that are not in storage and moved to NYC. I bit the big apple, worm and all(even though it tastes better if it’s marinated in tequila) and didn’t look back. I lost a lot of friends and family that are friends, because apparently if you make it out of the quicksand that you’ve all been drowning in, instead of being happy for you and learning from your example and getting out themselves, they would rather stay there and just hate you for making something of yourself. What did I miss?

Sooooooo in the last 9 months I’ve been to 2 parades, eaten my weight in cheesecake and pizza, dated 2 married men(unbeknownst to me and I will elaborate as soon as I can type the story without puking) partied, gotten drunk, had a pregnancy scare, gained 15 pounds, got hired-sexually harrassed-verbally abused-then fired-now going through the proper avenues to sue his ass, lost money, made it, spent money, saved it, got smarter and dumber at the same time, wished on a star and nothing has changed. If you can believe that.

So at this very moment in time, I’m in Wisconsin. I have yet to see Red, Kitty, Eric, Jackie, Kelso, Donna, or Fez, drink Miluakee’s Best, Eat the famous cheese, or grab my golden ticket to enter the Jelly Bean Factory, but I am here. I came to help my friend Harriet whom had a total knee replacement, since I have yet to find a job and I’m just that fucking awesome. While she rehabilitates, I am her personal chef, chauffer, housekeeper, and dog sitter all in one and it makes me feel damn good about myself to wake up everyday and have a purpose. My sense of responsibility to the nation is somewhat fulfilled because I’m actually doing something productive with my time.

Now let’s board Doctor Emmet Brown’s time travel contraption, back 1 week to my parents house one night where my mother was engaged in a rousing planting and harvesting session in Farmville. I grew tired of the methodic clicking of the mouse that caused truffle collecting from pigs, and fertilizing of radishes, so I decided to retire to the bathroom and moisturize my scalp to keep the luster in my enviable tresses. No more than 10 minutes passed and my mother called out to me as if she had breaking news. I ran back into the living room with the sense of urgency that I thought I needed and was disappointed at the statement that followed.

“Guess who sent me a friend request?”

I was unmoved and uninterested, but I entertained the question and said

“Who?”

I wasn’t prepared for the answer and without words, she motioned the computer to my direction and I almost didn’t believe the image in front of me that my eyes had produced. It was a file that I thought had been closed a long time ago, my ex,  Courtney Potts.

Now remember I talked about him in 09, how he sent me the IM on yahoo messenger? Well since then, I opened a new yahoo account to get rid of him, spam, and any other digital drama that could contact me in that way and to just start fresh. After that, he sent me a friend request on Facebook. That was well before the year 2011. I replied to his request and blocked him and he’s been blocked since then.

While I was frantically collecting Donald, Daffy, Huey, Duey, and Louey and getting them all back in a row, I deleted any and all social networking sites that I was involved with. Once I settled into my place in the Empire State, I rejoined the world of writing on walls and poking and liking anything that stimulated 2 of my 5 senses. However this time, I made my privacy settings so difficult to infiltrate, you would have to be a member of the IT department of the CIA to find me. So if I use my better judgment, which I believe 90% of the time I do, that is the reason why he sought my mother.

Now I didn’t want to get too ahead of myself and let my ego run away with me, even though he’s tried on 2 occasions to communicate with me, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and did a little research. I looked on my mother’s page to see if they had any mutual friends in common. They didn’t. I know, computer glitches happen. I actually did some digging, but alas, the only explanation is that he was checking up on me.

That’s not to say he wants me or anything like that. I’m mature enough to believe that he probably honestly wants to see how I’m doing, but when someone tells you to leave them the fuck alone, wanting to carry on a relationship with them is not something that is as desirable as if the feeling were mutual. So why Courtney? So I did the immature but fed up thing. I unblocked him, yes after almost 2 years, and wrote him an email.

I wrote the email because everytime I think of him, I get upset. He reminds me of a time in my life when I was so stupid and blind and I get mad at myself and I see red when I think of how he treated me. I allowed it, but I was under the hypnotic trance of the devil’s libation given to me under the guise of good intentions and a smile. I figured that if I make it clear as crystal to him, he would get the hint and I would never hear from him again. I’m glad that I don’t get paid to think when it comes to the mechanics of the minds of man because I would be bankrupt.

Flashforward back to the present. I checked my inbox and who do I see a reply from? You guessed it Karma subscribers. Man you guys are so smart. This fool had the audacity to write to me that I need to get over myself, he’s moved on, I did what I did because I wanted to, whether I wanted a ring or not, he wanted something from me but I wasn’t the one(like I fucked someone and got pregnant right?) and that bus has long gone and I need to get over him, because my mom requested him. . . .

Readers, please help me wrap my head around this situation. Does he really honestly believe I’m that stupid? I HAD to call my mother as soon as I could and notify her of this ludicrousy. Did he think I just fell off the turnip truck yesterday?

Let me tell you some things about my mother that although unfortunate, work in my favor in this particular situation. My mother is not computer saavy. She doesn’t even know how to request someone for friends, so how did she send him a friend request? My mother’s technical ability doesn’t span further than Farmville. A couple of weeks ago, I had to give her “Sending an email with an attactment 101”. I just taught her to create a folder so that she could place pictures in it. So how did she send him a friend request?

My mother doesn’t have the best memory. She didn’t even remember this man’s last name so how could she search him if she DID know how to use the computer?

My mother’s spelling is the worse. God help her if her life depended on her being a contestant in a spelling bee. Well ever since she’s known my ex, she never knew how to spell his name. No matter how many times I gave her the correct spelling, she would always spell it how she thought looked right to her. She would also switch the “C” out for a “K”, so please readers help me understand how someone who doesn’t know how to use the computer and onl y knows the incorrect spelling of the first name of the person in question, how would he be sought? Did she hire a private investigator?  Oh yeah, I know. I logged into my mother’s account and sent it to him right? Wrong! I’ve never known, even when I set her account up, her password, and it’s not saved on her computer, so no my greenhorn sleuths. That is not the case.

All that is, is a man trying to rub the neosporin with the active ingredient of bullshit on his bruised ego. Let’s be honest, and we all know that I’m always honest with you, we all know that if I had responded different, he wouldn’t have come up with absurd story. So in order to make himself not feel like an idiot, because he didn’t get the feedback he intended to, he tries to use the interrogation tactic to make me believe I actually did something I didn’t. Was he on the law enforcement team that prosecuted the Norfolk 4? And let me give you this extra tidbit of information. He said that he saw the request and he didn’t accept it because he didn’t know who it was. Then in the next breath he said he thought it was my sister. Is it just me or did he just contradict himself?

I have to set the record straight. I lost all attraction to him when he got another woman pregnant. That proved that he has no respect for my body, his, or hers, because he’s participating in coitus with multiple partners with no protection. He had no regards for my feelings because he would create a child with someone else while feigning a relationship with me. Oh but he tried to soften the blow. He said if I had gotten pregnant, he would have been just as happy. The gall of that bastard is uncanny. There is nothing, nothing, nothing that a married man or an attached man for that matter can do for me. I’m too amazing of a woman and my worth is more than the world’s value in gold, silver, diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, pearls and rubies for me to ever descend to the level of playing second to any woman. Let alone someone that disrespected me and slept with my man. Just because he married her, in my eyes, she’s still a whore. Not to mention, I have morals. I have all the potential in the world and deserve any man I want and he can’t compare to any man that is on my level, so gaining his love, affection, or approval is further away than 5 billion lightyears squared and then cubed. I just think I’m never going to rid myself of this man. He has it made up in his mind that the wick extended from the apple cinnamon scented candle of my heart still carries a flame. And as much as things change, that’s how much they stay the same. Maybe I should go into the law profession, and it may solve my unemployment problem, as well as the “Case of the Ex”. Could you imagine? Detective Karma Murphy. . .

The Saddest Day of the Year

Right after New Years, you look around in the local Walgreens, Duane Reade, or supercenter, and you know it’s coming because all you see is red. Red cards, red balloons, red hearts, red boxes, red everything, everywhere. Enough red to make your turn green and blue at the same time. Green because you want to vomit by the commercialism of this man made holiday, and blue because you’re single and you can’t be a part of it. I know it’s not a big deal and I shouldn’t put so much emphasis on one day. You don’t have to wait for one special day for someone to show that they love you, but no matter how you slice the over sized heart shaped cake, it is a holiday especially for couples and it just reminds you how much no one loves you in that special way. Yes my parents, and family and friends and all that, but that special love between two people that has only been one sided my whole life takes everything in me today to hold back my river of tears.

Who is Saint Valentine and why does his legend torture my single self every year? Valentine was a priest that served in Rome in the third century. Emperor Claudius decided that single men made better soldiers than men with wives and families, so he forbade young men to get married. Valentine was a hopeless romantic and he found this law to be extremely unfair, so he went against the wishes of Claudius and married young couples in secret. When Claudius learned of Valentine’s defiance, he ordered him to be assassinated. It was speculated to be around the middle of February, hence the reason we celebrate Valentine’s Day on the 14th. The Pagan fertility holiday was on the 15th, so they smashed it together and everyone wins.

I’m not a Catholic, or Greek, or a Pagan, but I know I feel as strongly about true love as Saint Valentine. I know that if things went the way I had planned, I would be in Europe at this very moment with Armando experiencing the first Valentine’s I got to celebrate as an attached woman. Instead for the 26rh year in a row, I am alone, bitter, and loathing another man that broke my heart. It hurts more than you can imagine. I don’t want flowers, candy, or jewelry. I just want to be able to say that on a day made for people to show that they love each other, I could finally say I am yours and you are mine.

I don’t know why I’m single. I’m pretty much perfect. I just have terrible luck. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that someone put a curse on my life. There isn’t that much bad fortune  in the world. The things that people tell me, make me want to jump off a bridge.  You’re man is coming you just have to wait, and it will make you realize why it didn’t work out with the others, blah, blah blah. All I know is I’m just so tired of waiting. So tired of my men realizing I’m the best thing they ever had after they give me up, so tired of waiting on Eros to shoot my soul mate in the ass, so tired of February 14th being the saddest day of the year for me. I guess I’ll eat the M&Ms I bought for myself last night and pray for a better outcome in 365 days. Another single day in the life of Karma Murphy.

7 days

It’s Friday, February 11, 2011 and it’s been 7 days since my last day of work. It feels so weird. I haven’t been without a job in 8 years. It feels almost unnatural to wake up in the morning and not have to do anything. Anything at all.

I was in the Midwest before the severance of myself from the hospital where I was employed, and I weathered the blizzard of 2011, flu symptoms, a flat tire, chronic heartburn, and the digestive issues of someone with Irritable Bowel Syndrome with the valor of a superhero. I picked up my Jerica from the airport and she instantly appreciated the temperatures of her own hometown. I was so happy to see her, even though it took the second time around the airport to do so, because the salt and dirt on my windshield impaired my vision drastically. Jerica is my soul mate. Have you ever seen that episode of “Sex and the City” when Carrie said that soul mates are our best friends and guys are the ones we spend our time with, and not the other way around? Well I believe that to the fullest extent. We are the same force of nature. Chocolate Thunder and White Lightening, finally together again. It took a nanosecond to change my mood and 7 days to change my outlook on life. Thank you Jerica.

The weirdest thing happened. Saturday afternoon we embarked on our journey leaving my blood, sweat, and mostly tears behind me via highways 94, 90, 80, 76, and 270. We settled in and I started my unemployment lifestyle. Jerica and I took one of our daily walks and I left my phone at home so we could catch up. I came home and had 7 missed calls from the hospital that I never worked at. See the hospital that I worked at merged with the one down the street from it, but we didn’t move into it when it opened. We were the last ones to move, so I never got to work there, so imagine my surprise when I saw there number on my mobile’s screen 7 times. They called back one more time, and it was the police department. Apparently a guy threatened suicide and he went in to the hospital. The police asked him if he had spoken to anyone and he said my name. WHAT?! Karmalita Murphy is not a very common name and I was the only one working in that hospital, so it’s pretty certain that he meant me. The crazy thing is I’ve never heard of this guy before in my life and I definitely didn’t talk to him. This has me a little worried. What makes someone that I’ve never met before think of saying my name to the police while he contemplates his death? That is so bizarre. I’ve been gone for 7 days and I still can’t shake the drama of the job that shook me loose. I hope the loose screws shaking around in my mystery man get tightened and he’s alright. Even though he didn’t contact me,  I really can’t have someone’s suicide on my conscience.

In 7 days, I found out something I really didn’t want to know, had all my bodily systems go askew,  accomplished a 12 hour road trip,  and got a whole new outlook on life. I don’t know what the future holds for me, and as I arrive closer and closer to the dreaded V-day, my stomach feels as if I’ve swallowed the screws in mystery suicide guy’s head, but I know things look a lot better in this life of Karma Murphy.

The Office buzz around the Water Cooler

I hate moving. Tomorrow is the big day. The boxes, the in and out of the house, the tape, the scissors, the “do I want this, do I need that”, the horror. It’s an absolute nightmare. I wish I could send telepathic messages to the movers and make a pallet on the floor and sleep until they’re done as opposed to taking refuge in a corner and rocking frighteningly with my arms crossed, chin buried between my knees, methodically pulling my hair out. I can’t wait until it’s over, but I’ll tell you what it is better than. Going to work.

I have a nurse that works with me that is about 250 pounds. Her name is Susan, and she is as lazy as a recliner. All she has to do is spend 3o minutes or and an hour with a patient and find them an OB/GYN doctor to deliver their baby. She blocks her schedule a lot so she doesn’t have to work and if we book one of her appointments, she gets mad. Don’t let us have a walk in that needs one thing from her. She treats it as if she has to perform brain surgery. She sits back there and watches movies on her DVD player and she grazes continually. Her office is a replica of Professor Klump’s with the stash of goodies. If we ever have a lock down or we have to be harbored in the building because of a storm, her office would be the perfect place to go because her drawers have enough food to sustain a family of 10 for a week. Maybe I’m wrong for this. She may have diabetes. Who am I to judge, right?

My department head Edith, I like her, but she’s hardly ever there. She is one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met, but she plays both sides of the field. She’s inconsistent with her decisions, but she is very nice. The only thing that I would change is how she treats the guys at work. She doesn’t make them stand on their own 2 feet and it drives me absolutely crazy. That’s the only bad thing I can say about her.

To add on to that, besides my supervisor, there is another guy that works with me. He’s a man by biology, but by everything else, he is such a little bitch. He acts like he’s 5 years old and when he doesn’t get his way, he whines and stomps around the office. He is late all the time and he always has a different story. Instead of just coming in, saying sorry for being late, and changing his clothes and starting his work, he will sit there for 15 minutes and give you a play by play of why he wasn’t at work on time. It is so sickening and he is terrible at reading body language. He can’t look at you and see you would rather have the Ebola virus than listen to his tall tales.  He will argue with you to the death about something you know you’re right about and he’s so selfish. He wanted to take some vacation time, and when he found out I wasn’t going to be there, he said “I hope your situation doesn’t fuck me over” My situation? MY SITUATION? Excuse me?! Sorry my getting fired is going to throw a wrench in your plans. Next time I’ll plan my termination a little better, as to not affect your schedule. What a douche! To make matters worse, Sandra, yes Sandra, asked if they should do a going away dinner for me like they did for Mia. He said if they do, he’s probably not going to go because I never go to anything he invites me to. First off, I invited him to several things that he never came to. Second, his wife had a birthday party for him. It was originally on Saturday, but she changed it to Friday at the last minute. Well, I already had plans for Friday so I didn’t go. Last weekend they had a get together at their house, but I didn’t go because I was packing stuff getting ready for my move. Some people can be so self centered. Whatever; no sweat off my back, and I won’t have to be fake.

Speaking of fake, Mia emailed me a couple of days ago. She wanted me to send her a document for work, which I did, but then she commenced with the small talk. I told her congratulations on her nuptials, and I really don’t know why I did that. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time. She didn’t say much about it which was weird because she pries into everyone’s lives. She was more worried about what was going on with me and everyone else at work. She was asking me things about myself that I know I didn’t tell her. How did she know? Only one way. Sandra.

Sandra and my supervisor are the liaisons between Mia and everyone’s business. If I was getting married, going to jail, or pregnant, Mia would know before any of my family members. I know I may seem contradictory because I don’t want everyone in my business, but I put it all out there in this blog, but isn’t it my prerogative? Trinity is pregnant. Sandra told her that one. Shouldn’t Trinity tell that? She very nonchalantly told me. It was kind of funny. She was like “So yeah, I’m gonna have a baby” . I was so shocked. Every time I asked her a question, Sandra answered. I was like “Damn, can Trinity get a word in edgewise?” I guess I don’t have to tell you Mia knows that the 4th is my last day.

On a happier note, I’m so excited for Trinity. This couldn’t have happened to a more deserving couple. They are the cutest. I swear they are the perfect pair for a Snuggle or Downy fabric softener commercial. I could totally see it. I’m sad to leave her. She’s the only one I’m really going to miss. There’s only one thing I don’t like about her. She’s so awesome she lets people walk all over her. I hate it. I made sure that she wasn’t taken advantage of when I was around. I know her fetus is going to put major pressure on her spine, but I hope it gets firm as time progresses, because I don’t want her to get bitter. She’s so great.

I know there is a group like this at every job. I will probably have a group like this at my next job. Whatever the case may be, for the time being, I get a much needed break from them tomorrow, and I can put them behind me at the end of the week because I will be 4 large state lines away. I will embark on a new journey in my life and no longer be the morose Midwestern Murphy you guys have grown to know. At least I hope so.

Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it

It’s 4:14 in the morning, and my mind will not rest. I’ve rejoined the the dark world of insomnia when I was stirred by the sandman leaving my bed and walking out 45 minutes give or take past the witching hour, so I decided to tune back into this blog that I’ve unintentionally abandoned for so long. The satellites must have known that my stimulated mind needed a palatable distraction, because my two favorite infomercials were aired. Jack LaLanne’s(GOD rest his soul) juice machine, and the Magic Bullet. Get your mind out of the gutter! I don’t mean a self pleasuring tool to get you through those lonely nights. Surprising to most, I don’t currently and have never used masturbatory trinkets, despite my erratic romantic relationships and long periods of celibacy. I mean the personal, versatile, counter top magician that chops, blends, whips, and does any other job in less than 10 seconds. I’ve always wanted both of them. I don’t fall for gimmicks too often, except the well developed professional lies of beautiful men, one being I love you, but I have received very positive feedback about Jack LaLanne’s juice machine, and The Magic Bullet from people I actually know. I know one day I will actually purchase both machines. Just waiting for the right time.

Now if you’ve read 2 of my previous blogs entitled “Detox” and “Commitment”, don’t be discouraged about cleansing your body. It was very successful, and I still encourage everyone in the world to take care of their bodies and take control of their health. Something happened to me that jolted my body back into negative remission. I lost my job.

Last Thursday I got session #2 of microdermabrasion, and I felt so relaxed and rejuvenated. It didn’t come a day too soon because I worked the overnight shift on Wednesday night. I got home at 7:30 Thursday morning and when I woke up, I made a nice brunch. I had an omelet with cheese, mushrooms and spinach accompanied by skillet potatoes, a strawberry banana smoothie, took a shower, and I was out the door. I love spinach. It tastes good and it’s so good for you. It’s full of  Methylsulfonylmethane, or MSM for short, a sulfur that does amazing things for your nails,  hair and skin. Popeye only said that spinach would make you big and strong, but if he would have told impressionable little girls that it contained the infamous beauty mineral, I would have risen off the back of my mother’s shopping cart and screamed to have that verdant vegetable in my diet as opposed to corn which you can never digest LOL. Well the corn breaks down, but not the shell.

I picked up a 12 hour shift for Trinity Vance, a girl that works with me, that Friday Morning. She is amazingly awesome. She is the one that helped me push my car out of my driveway if you remember that story. She is one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met. She took a shift for me so that I could see Jerica, my love, over the New Year’s eve holiday. So last Friday is when I could return the favor.

The big cheese, my supervisor’s, supervisor’s, supervisor came up and asked me if I had time to talk. I honestly told him “Not really” because I had to go downstairs and commence with my work. He said that I needed to find someone else to pick up my shift, because this was important.

I felt like I was walking the green mile. When someone tells you “It’s important, we have to talk”, fear comes upon you. It’s like back in the day when you KNOW you f’d up and your mother says “Come here” . You walk slow because you know once you reach her, shortly after your ass is going to be as tender as Kobe beef. As I was walking to the office for this talk, I was going over in my mind, “What I could have done?”, “Who I cursed out?”, “Did someone complain about me?”, “Was I in violation of anything?” You know even if you didn’t do anything wrong, when someone says “We need to talk”, it can’t be good, however, the question of my job security never crossed my mind.

I have a government job, so I’m under a contract. I signed on for this contract in February 2008 for 3 years. Well I put in an extension in order to transfer to this department. Apparently there was a glitch in disbursing, and my extension was not approved. So my contract is up on February 4th and they just found out 12 days prior. Talk about a whirlwind!

“Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it ‘, is what I’ve been hearing a lot lately. We’ve all seen the movie “Bedazzled” with Brendan Fraser and Elizabeth Hurley. If not, she plays the devil and she grants Brendan wishes and he asks for all these things, but there is always a catch. For an example, he wishes to be rich and married to the woman he is in love with. Well he is rich, but he’s a cocaine dealer, and the woman he loves is married to him, but she hates him and is cheating on him with one of his servants. Then he wishes to be an author and very intelligent and popular with the ladies, but she makes him gay. What gay guy isn’t popular with the ladies? It always seems to work out like that. There is always a catch.

Now anyone who knows me, knows I hated my job and couldn’t wait to leave. However, let’s be real. Who wants to be cast away with the feeling of not knowing what is going to happen next? Who wants the blanket of security snatched off of them? I felt like Linus when he gave his blanket to Charlie Brown for good luck in the spelling bee. I was so sick. I was wishing for something, but that is not what I meant. Cliches don’t make sense. It’s like whoever came up with them didn’t think before they decided to spew such nonsense. The absurdity of these colloquial nuisances make me want to commit acts of arson and give everyone that says them to me a dynamite suppository and light them while they are in a room filled with gasoline. There are so many examples, but I’m going to use my current situation as an example as to not go off on a tangent. I know I said I hated my job, but I didn’t mean I wanted to get fired. I wanted the adverse situations to improve. I didn’t think I had to be specific about that.

With every cliche, I have a challenge question. I’ve been saying I hate my job for a couple months and I wish I could leave. Well that happened. I got what I wished for, in a sense. HOWEVER, I’ve been asking for a good man for 10 years. Wholeheartedly and without ceasing. I’ve been wishing for that for the duration of my dating years. I’ve wanted that more than anything and I haven’t wavered. Where is he? I wasn’t worried about taking precautions because I wouldn’t mind that. So cliche abusers, can you answer that? Where is he?  Or maybe I can answer my own question. Maybe “might” is the key word. I don’t know. I’m still a very wishful Karma Murphy.

Rising drama

So this whole weekend I’ve been contemplating about how I’m going to put my shattered life back together once more. I’m running out of the glue to piece it together and I’m starting to lose the pieces. How many times can I fix it before it comes irreparable. I hope things turn around soon.

I feel like a stereotypical New Yorker, only in a Midwest setting, whereas I’m a tenant of a very flamboyant artsy gay couple who rents their rooms to “aspiring who ever they may bes” from month to month and everyone’s lives are as different as the next. I feel like a character off of “Hey Arnold”. Gives my life some color.

Now we hardly ever see each other and rarely do our lives cross paths, but we may catch a glance of each other from time to time. However, there is one room mate that I have never laid eyes on. His name is Jay, and he rents the room across from mine. I have been living here since September, and if I had ever passed by that man in the store, I would not have known it. Yesterday, that changed.

The other night I decided to try my hand at pizza dough. I was sitting there waiting for the pizza dough to rise and it didn’t turn out quite how it’s supposed to. I was inspired to make pizza because I have eggplant Parmesan and sauce left and I’m tired of eating it. I also have left over mushrooms and spinach, so it sounds like the perfect veggie pizza to me. The yeast was a fail. You have to mix it in water that is 100 degrees, but since I don’t have a thermometer, I had to guesstimate. The first package I used, the water was too cold. I tried to heat it up and I killed it. The next package I boiled the water and mixed the yeast in. I murdered that package too. You are supposed to see suds and that way you will know that it has activated. It was a still as a British cop. I took a chance and mixed it in the dry ingredients. Well after doing the dishes, a conversation with my mom, Armando’s mom, and Jerica, eating 2 eggplant Parmesan sandwiches, and a long overdue load of laundry, the dough was still the same size as when I put it in there. Oh well, I like thin crust anyway. Jerica jokingly said we could have leavened bread which is funny because the fairer side of her blood is ironically Jewish which would be Kosher. Passover is coming up soon anyway right. May as well rise to the occasion which unfortunately my dough did not.

Well I did what any sane person would do and I went to my grocer’s freezer and poked the doughboy’s belly and got the one in the can. Hey don’t judge me. I’m still committed. I still made a pizza. I’ll just try homemade dough another day when I have Jerica by my side. While I was waiting for my half homemade pie to bake, the door opened and these two figures came through. I had no idea who it could be because Miguel was upstairs, Mike and Alvaro(the owners) were out of town for the weekend, and the neighbor across the street had already come by to take out the dogs. To my surprise, it was Jay.

He came in with a fair skinned brown haired(whom I assumed was his girlfriend) woman, cigarette in hand, and retired to Mike and Alvaro’s room. Wow! He already irritated me. He came back upstairs and introduced himself.

Me: Nice to finally meet you(not really)

I’m not a smoker and I hate cigarette smoke. Mike doesn’t even smoke in the house. Why did he think he could? He then advised me that if he had any company to inform them he wasn’t there. I should have known something was up then. His “girlfriend” came down and began a conversation with me for what seemed like an hour. All I wanted to do was go to bed. She was asking for my contact info because she wanted to keep in contact with me. . . .

So this morning before 8 am, the door bell rings. I knew I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I didn’t answer it. I was pissed that someone was at our house that early and even more irritated that no one  went to answer the door. I’m always the one getting up. The icing on the cake was the ashes in the kitchen sink. Who does that? I guess it’s better than cleaning the litter box in the kitchen sink, like my old room mate used to do.

The mysterious bangs on the door continued 3 hours later and I went against the grain and went downstairs to the door. It was a blonde, very obviously not the brunette from last night, looking for Jay. The good thing was I didn’t have to lie to her, because he actually wasn’t there. The bad thing was that wasn’t the last time I would see her.

A little over an hour ago there were melodic knocks and rings from the doorbell floating up to my eardrums from downstairs. I was beyond annoyed. I have to get up early tomorrow. I know I’m awake now, but that’s beside the point. I opened the door and it was the same woman. She looked distraught, so I let her in. She began to tell me the story that shocked my drawers off.

The reason why I never saw Jay until last night is because he stays with this woman. He just uses this place to store his stuff. Well they(Jay and the blonde) went and got a rental car that was due today. So he was more than avoiding this woman. OH SNAP! She had been trying to get in contact with him all day and the only attempt to respond to her beckoning was a text that said “the car is okay and I’m about to drive it” Ha ha ha. I can’t believe the audacity of this fool. The misandry continues.

I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for Mike and Alvaro’s lovers’ quarrels from time to time. I don’t have time for these dogs following me around or taking them out because my dislike for animals is very evident. I don’t have time for this love triangle drama, and I don’t have time for people I don’t know coming in and out of this house. I have enough drama of my own.

Speaking of people I don’t know, Mike came in the other night with a Latin friend with an enviable mane and eyes as blue as the ocean. He was introduced to me as “CUBA”. OH GOD! RUN! My mind was telling me, but my smile gave my attraction away. I began flirtatious banter with this gorgeous man and he called me Mami and made me melt.

Me: What’s your real name?

Cuba: Lazarus

On the way out he hoped to see me and again and kissed me. Wow! Nothing serious, but it made me remember how much I missed the touch of a man. Lazarus, huh? I’d like to make him rise. . .

Oh wait, stop, Are you there GOD, it’s me Karma Murphy, Oh help me Jesus!

Some people should just not have kids

Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all

Remember this lullaby? You should. It was one of Mother Goose’s most famous in the world. It’s been sung to me, and I sang it, but have you ever really paid attention to they lyrics? It’s kind of sad. Who puts a baby in a tree top? Knowing that the bough could break and the cradle would come crashing down to the earth, possibly ending the life of this poor innocent child, why would someone put it up there in the first place? What would inspire someone to write such a song? Where did this notion come from? Well being that I don’t like to be ignorant of things, and I don’t want to talk about things I have no idea about because I’m not fond of sounding like an idiot, I did some groundwork.

There are a couple origins of this little tune.

It was said to have been written in 1872 by Effie Crockett, a relative of Davy Crockett, which could be understood because that guy was wild.

It was said to have been written before the Glorious Revolution as an allegory about the scandal of James VII who was believed to be someone else’s child smuggled into the birthing room to produce a Catholic heir.

The answer that satisfies me the most is that it was written in the 17th century by an English immigrant that noticed how Native American women placed their babies in cradles, and that they would hang them from the lowest tree branches and let the wind swing the cradles to rock them to sleep. He arrived at his own conclusion that the cradle would fall if the bough broke, in lieu of actually seeing it happen. You couldn’t imagine my relief.

But what about the parents that do put their children in those metaphorical trees? What about the parents that neglect their children instead of nuturing them as they should? What about the parents that beat their children within an inch of their lives instead protecting them from all harm? What about the parents that take the very life of the beautiful person they gave it to or created? Sometimes the bough breaks, and the cradle really does fall.

My cousin Aja, the one that is going to get married this spring, is a police officer. That’s a big 10-4. Dirty Harriet we  like to call her. She’s one of Chocolate City’s finest and she may look like a model aside from her height, but she’s nobody to f*** with. She’s the Laila Ali of the Fuzz Club because she’s as beautiful as a butterfly, but stings like a bee ready to let anyone develop an intimate relationship with her night stick if they should ever get out of line.

Well Aja is getting married to Themis, who is also a member of the force. They are one of my favorite couples. They remind me of Detective Eddie Torres and Detective Nina Moreno from that old 90s Fox primetime show “New York Undercover”. They are like He-Man and She-ra, or Super Man and Wonder Woman, who share a passion for justice as intense as the passion they have for each other. They love nothing more than fighting crime and swapping stories of being on the beat and locking up the scum of the city. Well except their son Maverick that is. They are wonderful parents, but they have too many stories of people who should get the Darwin Award in parenting. Aja’s last story was my favorite. This guy definitely deserves to be knighted “Douchebag of the Day”.

So she’s painfully stereotypical of a cop, posted outside of dunkin donuts earning an earnest living. However, the irony is lost on her because she knows she has to fit in that wedding dress so we’re all cutting back on the carbs. Well the man that should have to fill out an application the next time he wants to procreate walks off and leaves his baby in an unsecure vehicle. Now wanting to give everyone a fair chance, she told him about the dangers of leaving your child alone in a vehicle and you won’t believe what he had the audacity to do. He flashed his badge at her. O EM GEE! Are you serious? He just without words said that I know better, but I just don’t care. He’s probably one of those “do as I say not as I do” type pricks that gives out tickets for cruising or going 5 miles over the speed limit. What an imbecile. He literally left his baby in a tree top.  Anyone could come and steal your car with your baby in  tow and flashing your badge wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. Do you know how long a transaction of any kind takes? Longer than the blink of an eye, and that’s how long it takes for your child to be gone. Did you really not have time to unstrap your kid and take them inside? I guess that Dunkin Donuts coffee was more important than the little “munchkin” he had in the back. Some people should just not have kids.

Have you ever been in the supermarket and you see kids just acting an ass?  Have you ever felt victorious when a parent that deserves to be a parent reaches back and gives them a quick concise purposeful smack to straighten them up? You want to give them a hug, but you know that would be going to far, so you then start a telepathic conversation with them which consists of the words “Good Job” and giving them your approval with your eyes. Beat your kids. Beating your kids makes you a good parent. It even says in the bible if  you don’t beat your kids you hate them, but you if you love them, you will beat them and they won’t go to hell. It’s true. If you don’t believe me, look it up. Proverbs 13. I did LOL. I knew it was in there, I just didn’t know where. But nowhere does it say, when the wind blows break the bough on the back of your child. That is just crazy. Spankings are for kids(well adults too if you’re a freak), and time out is for adults. If you feel that you need to go too far, you need to walk away and cool down. If your child does something to make you that mad, you need intervention. Spankings are to hurt the pride, but when your blows injure the person that you are supposed to die trying to defend, your children should be taken away from you posthaste.

What about the part time parents? The guys that say they are going to babysit their kids. Who babysits their own kids? Or the parents that think a couple of dollars and visits whenever the wind blows them that way will substitute for a relationship. Or the parents that will put a relationship or one with the mask of a relationship before their own flesh and blood. Like the mother that takes her child on dates with guys she met on the internet. Are you mad? Do you know the perverts that roam the earth these days. That man can rape you and your child and they don’t discriminate by age. Or what about when the rapist is in the house, and the child tells the mother and she would rather her child suffer than be alone. The world has gone nuts. Remember when GOD told Abraham that he would multiply his generations as much as the sand in the sea(loosely translated)? Imagine if he had these fools to choose from. Help us all because some people should not have kids.

There are so many couples and even single people that would make wonderful parents, but just don’t have the ability to conceive when people like Susan Smith or the parents of precious little Shaniya Davis can have children with no problem, then can take their lives as if they meant nothing. What do you say to a woman who has had consecutive miscarriages and goes to take her trash out after dinner and sees a newborn infant in the dumpster? And you try to tell me that everything happens for a reason. That goes over as well as telling a Jew with a number tattoo that the holocaust happened for a reason.  I don’t know why people like this have the ability to populate the world. All I know is they shouldn’t.

When GOD made the world, HE made the animals first, and then HE made man because man was HIS greatest work because HE made man in the image of HIMSELF. HE gave Adam dominion over the world and the animals and that was passed down through the generations. Animals are beneath us. We eat them, we use them to work for us, we have them as pets and they obey us, but the reality is, scientifically we are all just animals. Homosapiens are just a more civilized breed of animal. Animals have a divine natural instinct to protect the life of their offspring, but what happened to us? If we will kill our own young, does that not make us savages? How civilized are we when we so often let the cradle fall? Are we not any better than the beasts we have dominion over when we don’t catch cradle, baby, and all?

My womb is void of life and it pains me to see what one can do to the fruit of their labor, but one day it will just be a memoir of a Pisces because what I see will never be reproduced. I promise to love beyond my capacity. I promise to protect beyond my ability. I promise to kill at the hint of danger. There are so many people that should just not have kids, but not me. I promise to see my death, before I do wrong to you, because I love you, little mini Karma Murphy me.

Commitment

I made it. I’m so happy for it too. It’s almost unfeasible for me to commit to anything I start, besides a relationship. That’s one of my worst qualities, and I really need to get a hold on it, but I made it. When I woke up yesterday morning, around 7:15, I had a slight feeling of nausea and knowing that I had 2 more servings of the witch’s brew left, I felt defeated. I wanted to give up, and I convinced myself that I couldn’t do it. I went to use the facilities and I burped, and the feeling that I may have needed to take an anti-emetic subsided, and I went back to sleep. I woke up 3 hours later and I felt different. I had a new attitude, and I was determined to finish what I started.

At 10:20 I gulped down the vicious elixir and then again at 12:20pm, and by the end of this process I had passed about 100 duct and organ clogging stones, and I had the cleanest colon in the midwest. It was an invigorating experience and I feel full of energy and revitalized. Don’t I sound like a spokesperson for Jack LaLanne’s juice machine or something? But it’s true. I feel so full of energy. The fatigue is gone and I have a better sense of self. Plus, I don’t really crave all the terrible things that I was engorging my body with before I started to cleanse myself. Even though I wanted to give up, I committed myself to something and I was triumphant.

To reward myself, I decided to tap into my culinary skills which I haven’t done in a long time which would attribute to my dire need for this cleanse, and make a celebratory dinner of vegetable pancit and turon. Turon is banana lumpia. Well what turned out to be what was supposed to be pancit, was actually more like lo mein because I had the wrong noodles, but it was good all the same. It tasted the same. Who knew that oyster sauce was so amazing? Well turon is easy to make. It’s just lumpia wrappers, banana, cinnamon, sugar and oil. You sprinkle the banana with cinnamon sugar, wrap it up and fry. Easy, right? Well. .  .  being that there isn’t a very large Filipino community where I live, there weren’t any lumpia wrappers which would also account for the reason why there were no rice noodles for my pancit. This is how the project began.

As I was walking through the aisles of Wal-Mart, I was talking with my cousin Jerica and I was over-dramatically complaining about how my craving for the fried potassium treat would not be quenched. The feeling of despair intensifed when jealousy was added to my emotions when I heard Jerica and Aja’s uncontainable laughter at the expense of one of Aja’s co-workers. I so wish I was there now. Not only would my heart be in a state of bliss, I would be in the vicinity of Lotay plaza, the mecca of Asian staples, instead of going on this wild goose chase. Or more appropriately, this wild peking duck chase.  I then began to ask her what I could substitute for the wrapper. Spring roll wrapper was one. They didn’t have that. Phyllo dough was another. My excitement grew! I ran to the freezer section because I remembered that an old friend that I met in Europe made the most amazing strawberry filled puffs with some Pillsbury dough which I can’t remember, but the freezer section is where phyllo dough, which he was originally looking for, belonged. Antoni Barcelon’ is my fun loving, Filipino, photographer friend. He doubles as a culinary artist himself. He taught me so many things. I need to hit him up for some more ideas because I’m committed to this health/economic kick I’m on, and to skim on the eating out. Alas, after all that reminiscing, the phyllo dough was absent as well.

So back to the search for the fortune in the cookie, I then asked Jerica how to make the wrapper from scratch. I know this was no easy task. The Filipino influence on my life was very strong and I know all too well that there isn’t a mathematical ratio to compare how fast lumpia goes to how much work it takes to make it. However, I was ready. It wasn’t just about repressing the desire for something I wanted. It was about starting a project and committing to it, and seeing it through to the end. It was proving to myself that I could do anything. Besides, it was just a cup of flour, a cup and a 1/4 of water, and one egg white. How hard could it be?

After you make the mixture, you are supposed to brush it on a flat pan to make it thin and lift if with your fingers when done. I didn’t have a brush(well I do, but it’s in one of the many boxes I haven’t unpacked) so I used what I had. I spooned it out and spread it real thin. We make it work, right? Well  my first one looked like a crepe, but each subsequent wrapper looked better than the first and it yielded about 8 different sized wrappers. I cut up the banana, sprinkled them with cinnamon sugar, fried them in olive oil and the finished product was the picture of perfection. I’m glad that I didn’t give up. I found out something new about myself. Even the crepe wrapper was great and I was committed to building up my self esteem.

Now that I had accomplished something new, I was inspired. I wanted to make a light healthy breakfast, so the idea of tortilla sprung to my mind. Antoni taught me how to make that too. Tortilla is popular dish served in Spain often inside a bocadillo(baguette) or a montadito(mini baguette). It’s potato omelet. It has onions in it and I added spinach(inspired by Antoni) and cheese. This dish takes skill because the turn will make or break the dish. The owners of the house that I rent a room from came home after what seemed like months, and I invited them to have breakfast with me. Now the pressure was on. You can NOT fail when you have an audience, so I had to do my best. I was nervous, but I had committed to making the most important meal of the day for my proprietors, so I had to see it through. I compulsively checked the edges of the egg mixture and my diaphoresis increased as I was nearing the fated flip. I greased the other pan that I was to transfer the Mediterranean mixture into. I motioned over to the sink and meticulously put the empty pan over the tortilla pan and did the flip and do you want to know what happened? It was a success!

I served my guests the tortilla accompanied by salmon frittatas, and the turon I made last night. I took pictures of my creations before we indulged ourselves and I garnished the plates with some spinach I had left over.  I will download them and post them to this entry eventually, but now, my phone is on the fritz. I love to take pictures of my food and it’s a good practice because if I didn’t, it would only be a memory because just like today, there is never anything left.

I’ve been waiting all weekend for my niece Sky to skype me. She has become my favorite IM buddy. I love talking to her. She reminds me a lot of myself now that she is an adult. She is very poetic and has an appreciation for things on a deeper level. She is so talented. I miss her and I can’t wait to see her again. When I was cleaning up the kitchen I heard an alert and I perked up. I couldn’t wait to tell her about my 5 star restaurant worthy dishes and how great I felt after my detox, and whatever else I could think of for us to talk about and I ran to my computer, but when I opened up my computer ready to commence with the latest girl talk, to my surprise it wasn’t Sky. It was Armando.

He’s been writing me lately, taking on the face of a polar bear trying to break the ice, but I haven’t been entertaining it. I wasn’t trying to open up that can of worms because wasn’t that the whole point of the cleanse. If there are any parasitic worms in my body, the objective was to get rid of them. So literally and figuratively, I don’t need them. So I just gave concise to the point answers when he chirped me.

He asked me if I was off facebook which was weird because I deleted him from my friends at the dawn of the new year, but he informed me that he was checking on me. Imagine that. He then began to get deeper, asking me why I wasn’t talking to him and proclaiming that he was trying to communicate with me. Now I’m not an avid user of ginkgo biloba, but I’m sure I don’t need my memory jogged. If my memory serves me right, and it does, he was the one that broke up with me and cut all lines of communication. So I went on my rant.

While I was going off on my tangent, he stopped me dead in my tracks. “Karmalita Ysabel Murphy”(yes he used my whole government) then he went on to tell me how good of a woman I was and how I was his pride and joy and he wished he never would have kept me from seeing him that last time and blah blah blah, he just wasn’t ready for a commitment.

Commitment. Why is it so hard for people? I know it’s hard to commit to a diet, or commit to exercise, or commit to a project, but why is it so hard to a person that will give you the world? It’s not the lack of commitment to another person that’s got me bewildered. It’s the commitment to the lie to keep the relationship going, even though you don’t want it. That’s what has me at a loss for words. A person who is afraid of commitment isn’t afraid to commit to the lie of not being afraid of commitment. Does that make sense?

Everyone have their reason for commitment anxiety, but I don’t know what’s going on in the mind of that man. I know he’s got my mind on him. He got me listening to bachata feeling some kind of way. When I met him I thought it would be like Patrick Swayze “Havana Nights”, but with his 2 left feet it was more like Havana nightmares. It doesn’t matter because “No me digas que no” by Xtreme has me thinking of him because there was no way I could ever tell him no.

I’m committed to my projects, I’m committed to my new sense of self, I’m committed to my new lifestyle, and I’m committed to the expulsion of negativity in my life, but the saying is true. Some old habits die hard. My mental and physical cleanse was pretty successful, but he was the only thing I missed for the simple fact that I just can’t get him out of my system. I guess that makes me committed to the same old me, Karma Murphy.

Detox

I’m starving. It’s Saturday night and I just had my second dose of the Epsom salt and water concoction almost completely regretting the decision to do this cleansing. The taste of magnesium sulfate has without question made the list of the top ten unpleasant flavors to my palate. The noises coming from my abdomen are so frightening that I can imagine the Magic School Bus floating around my digestive system while Ms. Frizzle explains to the students in her class what cataclysmic event is about to take place. The anticipation of the inevitable explosive diarrhea I’m to experience is uncanny and my anxiety is indescribable. My cousin Jerica said that I should have reading material handy, but when you have liquefied matter bursting out of your colon at a speed of insurmountable proportions, the only written doctrine you can conceive of are the scriptures you memorized out of the good book and which one of them you can shout out to the LORD for help.

I went to the spa on Wednesday, and I had session one of my six treatments of micro-dermabrasion. The site of my pores after just one treatment was dramatic, but that’s only half the battle. In order to be completely successful at achieving a radiant complexion, you have to flush all the toxins out of your body. Clear skin is the most rewarding incentive for denying myself the most appetizing aliments in my diet and imbibing in this dreadful cocktail.

I haven’t really eaten meat in the last two weeks preparing for this detox. I must say it’s torture, but it’s important to rid yourself of it, complex sugars, and dairy whereas they are the hardest to digest. The liver is the second largest organ of the body next to the skin and it’s job is to filter out wastes. If you continue to introduce fats, oils, and all the taboo delicacies we all love into our bodies, the liver can’t properly filter it out. Whatever can’t be expelled through the colon, comes out in where? You guessed it. The largest organ, your skin!

I decided to do this detox because my cousin Aja is getting married this spring, and I was appointed one of her bridesmaids. There is no schadenfreude here because the happiness I feel for her is celestial. As a bridesmaid it is my duty to ensure that there are no photographic follies (could you tell I love alliteration?) in her album, so I have to look my best.

When Armando walked out of my life, I lost my glow and I need to get that back. Not only do I need to cleanse my body, I need to detox my mind and soul. Just like my large intestine, I have to let all the debris go. All of the parasitic relationships, all of the negative energy, all of the ill feelings, all of the sadness, everything. Not only do we have to detox our bodies, but we must also detox our brains. Spiritual and mental health are  just as important as physical health and there is no time like the present to make that happen. I’m going to cleanse my whole self, and I aspire to be a literal and figurative toxin free Karma Murphy.