Social Security

Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all. Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature.

-Helen Keller

I'm sure I've used this quote before, but after this week...I felt the need to revisit.

A hell of a week ladies and gents.

But let me start with the burning question you all have been asking via text, email, phone calls...

No. I did not take my permit test. I'll get into why in a second, and then maybe, by the end of the Pity-party violin quartet concerto, you won't even care.

(Baton up...and...)

I was going through a break up.

In retrospect, it was pretty much the worst argument we've ever had. And you know when you reach that "Tina Turner" moment where you're just kinda feeling like.."fuck it"! I won't take a raw fist punch from you and keep my gloves on just because I'm aware that you bruise easily. Punch me again and here's what you get..."

And so I let it rip. ...logically. It was sorta like...

You know how Cosby could (past tense) be funny without cursing?
Yeah...well I fully know I can be brutal without calling one single name, or using profanity.

I'm not proud of this, but it's a defense mechanism finely tuned over the years.

So things were...out of wack. So out of wack, that I could feel the water slowly creeping above that crack in the ice-pond. Nobody fell through and in the end...though I'm not sure if either of us feel it was the 100% right decision, we're still walking. Gingerly.

However....

THIS did not stop me. I had shit to do and a blog to write damn it!

I still geared up...but first, I'd need to shake off the uglies.

I met up with some good people Friday night (happy birthday Judes!) had too much to drink and decided that Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" would be my theme song for the moment.

Because fuck it. It's true.

I also decided that I'll need to reconnect with a few more good people, slap a perm in Shervons head and make some amends. Which I did....all with a big unsure pain in the center of my chest.

NOW...

Monday rolled around, and we're back in peaceful negoiations. And I begin thinking "Shouldn't I be doing something to make things...solid again?"
So I get busy trying to think of this new realtionship-solidifying tactic. Real busy.

On the other hand, I've got shit to do....with this nagging feeling that I shouldn't take the test...

Earlier that day, I'd gone online just to take a practice quiz one more time, and the DMV site was down.

So I figured I'd just...you know...refresh my skills by reading... fuck.

I'd left my book home.

Bad ju-ju...but I headed to 34th street anyway.

"The test costs $65. This includes two road test tries..." the woman with red and white George Clinton braids informed me.

WHAT? When in the hell did this test get so damn ....?

I mentally scanned my bank account balance and I could see Prince lighting a cigar with my test money. Shake that off Nye. It was well spent bonding time. (Yes, but what about the tambourine and the tank-top stupid?- SHUT UP!)

My bank account vision was soon replaced with one of my apartment, lit only by candles, because hey...lights are overrated. Yep. That got me.

OK. I guess today may not be the day...

Defeated? Sure. But being the Tenacious Ree I am, I vowed to return the following week...(dough permitting). Oh and while there, I got another book, just to leave in the office.

Then Tuesday came.

Earlier that day, I got smacked with a batch of some cold hard truth-cakes and this, my friends, had me contemplating a lot of things. Long story short, I was decieved and that shit never feels good. And what sucks is, I couldn't reason it, rationalize it, make it what it wasn't. It was exactly what it was... and hey Nye...deal.
So I did. Nothing more to it...it's just... life, right?

Right.

So now Wednesday, while catching up with Esso over dinner trying to talk each other off the ledge, my phone rings.

Fuck.

Emma Johnson was so much to so many. The last time I visited her in the nursing home, she was humming this tune that will forever stay seared in my brain...and in the minds of the entire nursing home staff. She'd sing it over and over. It made her happy...and hearing it made the staff happy. They all vowed to find this song. So did I.

A massive stroke left her speech sporatic. Full of stutters and incomplete thoughts and a huge lack of vocal control. She wanted to join the conversation. Tell you she was happy. Annoyed. Hungry. Loved you. She couldn't. And it angered her...so she'd just hum her tune...and tune out the pain...for three years.

Though one time, an employee sat outside with us on a warm fall day with a guitar and began strumming old R&B...and Emma, to our suprised, finished each and every song with such clarity...we knew, just KNEW...she was 100% with it, no matter what the doctor said. It was then we understood. She was just...tired of trying.

Emma suffered another stroke. Her breathing was labored.
At around 5AM yesterday, we'd get the news that Emma was gone.


The funeral director was NOTHING like David from Six Feet Under.

He wore a cheap suit, his empathy came across as an empty fake pain, and the whole experience was sorta like buying a car, except this deal MUST be made before you leave the office.

"Small chapel fits 75 or you can upgrade..."
"Will you be creamating or burying?"
"You can get this pressed wood casket in greyish-blue, white..."
"Will the family witness the cremation?" (Oh hell no.)
"How much will the insurance cover...?"

...a whopping grand. Which meant we only had to kick up four G's to get it all done.
Yikes.

The women at the nursing home were devestaed.

"We really loved Ms. Emma."
One even sang the song. The song I'd failed to find.

We dropped to our knees to open her boxed up belongings, which read, "Johnson, Emma. Expired 12/7/06". Getting back up was not easy.

At 6pm, Lito and Delores were in the air. Leaving from JFK airport on their way to Barcelona, Spain. I was supposed to be on that plane, but of course, I would have missed...everything.

Seriously beginning to wonder if everything happens for a reason or if shit is a HELL of a co-winkie-dink. I mean, I didn't go Christmas shopping yet...and I'm usually done by now. I just kinda felt like...I shouldn't. Just like I felt like I shouldn't go on that trip.

I don't know how to end this one guys, I'm sorry. I usually have a neat little bow at the end, but this really is about re-learning (again) that you can't be afraid to let things go. No matter what it is.

Maybe it's your metrocard.
Maybe it's your relationship.
Maybe it's your faith in another's word.
Maybe it's this wonderful woman who's life touched so many.

Whatever it is...sometimes, you gotta be fearless. Stare it striaght in the eye and say "goodbye."

What I'm looking forward to is saying "hello"...

To what? I have no idea. LOL...

So it's a do-over people. Save your pennies.

It's going down for sure next week.

Yo quiero Taco Bell...

-Nye