Here and Now

When I was younger, I was never much for planning. Or dreaming for that matter. There were always things I wanted to do- but mostly, I just lived in the moment. I can remember being in a club one night back in my early twenties when I met this guy who seemed ultra full of himself. He talked about money a lot (an instant turn-off for me) and how he had this life plan...blah blah blah. I sipped my vodka cran and feigned interest (unsuccessfully) for entirely too long. When he seemingly grew tired of talking about himself, he asked me a question I'd never been asked before. Well that's not true. I'm sure some variation of it had been asked on a job interview but never, ever in a club. "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I can remember thinking, 'I dunno dude- but I see myself on the dance floor away from your boring ass in less than five minutes.' It just seemed pretentious. Who the hell was he to judge my ambition or life plan? And how the fuck was that good conversation for a loud nightclub? I felt like telling him to kick rocks in his hard-bottomed church shoes.

Needless to say, I've never been big on that question because I don't have an answer for it. Some may call it lack of ambition or lackadaisical but I just see it as living in the here and now. Men plan while God laughs. Isn't that the saying? Maybe it's because most of my life has been lived on whims and circumstances- I haven't really seen a blueprint yet that I've followed to the letter. It might benefit me to set some short-term goals. But I think I have plenty of those. Pay down this astronomical debt. Take another writing class. Bake a red velvet cake from scratch. Call my rental office about the weak ass water pressure. There's a fine line between stagnation and perpetual movement. I am the line. I could chalk that up to me being a side-walking Cancer or being a fan of serendipity. Or maybe I'm just not into long-term goals. Whatever it is, I don't know how to be any other way. I can't project myself into the future. I've never owned a planner. I know where I plan to be next week; at work, biding my time until it's time to be...wait for it...at work! But those precious moments between jobs, the rest and relaxation that seems to be amiss lately, is something I can't plan around. At lease, not while I'm in the here and now. I just have to be in it, get through it and live the life that's meant for me.

Forbidden or Just Bitter?

I like idioms. Always have. Always will. But I have a particular aversion for one. "You're comparing apples to oranges." I know what it means but that doesn't make me me hate it any less. What good does it do to say that? Are they not both fruit? Are they not both a joy to devour once ripe for the picking? Both are round, sweet and juicy and is that where the similarities end? One keeps the doctor away. The other has no rhyme but plenty of reason. If one is sour, simply pick another off the tree. I suppose it's a matter of taste. Pulp vs. Pectin. Rind over smooth skin. This Apple/Orange thing never bothered me much until a burning question seared a hole through my soul. Which one was I? Fortunately, to one who appreciates an overflowing cornucopia, it matters not.

Nothing makes sense anymore

They found Whitney Houston in a hotel room earlier tonight. For the first time since I received it for Christmas, I wrote in a journal given to me by an old new friend. I Googled how to find my higher self because of Suzy Soro. Tonight I struggled to remember the password to sign into this blog when at one time I could remember certain entries on here word for word. Tonight I held the one I love like I was never going to see him again. I've never done that before. I told him how much he was teaching me to appreciate this life. Tonight I was supposed to tidy up. Wash dishes. Separate the laundry. Instead, I listened to the one Whitney Houston song that made it into a dream I was having four years ago while visiting Atlanta. In the dream I was crying uncontrollably. I was sitting on the back stoop of a log cabin. I don't think log cabins really have back stoops but in the dream, there I sat. Crying. Whitney's voice belted through the dream; more than mere background music. Tonight I thought a lot about irrational fears and moving closer to my purpose. Google turned up a site that recommended keeping a journal and asking questions to my higher self. It said that at first, my ego would answer but to go deeper. And once the answers started to sound wiser, more grounded- then I'd be on the right track. That possibly, my higher self is answering. I don't know if abandoning my cleaning routine was part of the plan. I'm not sure that I haven't already mourned for Whitney through that dream. I wonder if my friend even realizes the gift she gave me; me to myself through a leaflet of ladybug decals and a book of blank, lined pages. All of the unwritten questions with answers yet to be found; all of these unseen connections that I'd be a fool not to respect. Nothing makes sense anymore. But at this moment right now, I am unafraid.

I'd like to think that's a good start.

Thankful Pt. 2

So here's the thing. I didn't think I'd write through this medium again for a long, long time. But that's the thing about writing. You don't move it; it moves you. In the past few months the trials and tribulations enveloped me like quicksand. But suddenly I can breathe. It occurred to me today that one revolution around the sun changed more than the seasons. It changed my perspectives, my outlooks, my outcomes. It changed me. As it very well should. This same time last year I was grateful to be alive. I came within what I resolutely believe was within inches of my demise. I was wild with fury and prepared to fight for my life. But it went the other way. I lived.

I've never been a religious person. Spiritual yes, but far from pious. My moral compass has hardly ever pointed due north- but it has steered me where I was meant to be. It's what I call faith. I've experienced enough loss to know love. I am wise because I've been foolish. I'm compassionate because I've known suffering. At my most honest hour, when I question the landslide like Stevie did, I can say that I've handled the seasons of my life to the best of my ability. I'm a work in progress and I will make no apologies for who I've become along the way. It sounds cocky but truly- it's me at my most humble and imperfect.

Kanye had the right idea. In a sense, we all live by our own scripture borrowed from others. We apply what we need to our own existence. I've never fully known what to hurl and what to hold, so I keep it all to survive. Experience. Memory. Intuition. Compassion. Instincts. These are what I hold close. It's why a term like 'No Church In the Wild' resonates with me. Because every thing can flip in a New York minute no matter how unfathomable; and your mind is decidedly your own personal Heaven or Hell. In one revolution around the sun I've learned to be equipped. And to be thankful.

Overdue Conversation

Lately, the entries have been sparse. The ideas have been cluttered. I know when it's time to bow out. I know there is reason for the departure of my creativity. It's time to get back to center, redirect and refocus. Rather than fill this blog with useless drivel- I'm making the decision to close up shop. The next thing anyone will read by Jayne Neverow will be my book; a dutiful collection of my firsthand experiences in laughing, loving and living. I know I have an incredible story to tell in its entirety. It's time.

And so it goes; one journey ends and another begins. Every step of it has been authentic and fulfilling. I appreciate you all for taking a walk with me through This Bug's Life. With all that I am- I thank you. The faithful Bug readers, the passers-by, the quiet watchers and the vocal commentators. You have all made it worthwhile. Feel free to re-live the misadventures and musings through past entries. Stay tuned for Conversations with a Ladybug. Farewell thee well.

On a bright night

"You'll always know the reason why we could have had the moon and the sky."~S. Adu

Streisand once sang that on a clear day you can see forever. But on a clear night- I've seen never. All the things that could never be; just by looking up at the bright night sky. It's a terrifying gift. A blissful tragedy. A beautiful cruelty. And it never ends how it starts. Blooming dreams vanishing to stark nothingness. But it was more than that. It's always more than that. More than two spread legs. More than a handful of troubling backward glances or plates of lovingly prepared food gone cold. It's the ocean in your bedroom. It's the rainbow in your jail cell. The realization that everything good and right and happy will hurt like hell once it ceases to exist. Because none of it is yours to keep; not when it was never yours to begin with. Frida Kahlo knew it. I know it now. We all know it when the moment of truth arrives. But somehow that doesn't make it any easier, does it?

The Listy List

It's that time again. You know what time. When I fill you in on all the random and ridiculous things that occupy my life and times. The odds, ends and off the wall stuff that comprises This Bug's Life. Without further ado... The Listy List.

Hot Like Cajun



So the mercury climbed big time in NY a few weeks ago for two long days. It was hotter than the devil's balls out here; hitting record-breaking temps of up to 110 degrees. Now picture that with no AC. That's right. I have no air conditioning at my place by choice. I always got through summer with a spritz bottle and a high powered fan. But this heat was life changing. I had an epiphany- or I might have just been delirious from the heat, I dunno. I got through it with popsicles, multiple showers and more creative uses for ice cubes than Do the Right Thing. Oh, the pool helped too til I almost drowned. More on that later.


Let Me Out

I've had some time to ponder it and without the aid of a very expensive therapist I realize I have some serious trust issues stemming from my childhood. You see, my two older sisters thought it would be fun to zip a six year old into a suitcase. (Honestly, I thought so too.) They just didn't bank on my hair getting caught for two agonizing minutes. When they finally got me out they convinced me that our trip to Disneyworld the very next day would be nixed if I told my parents what happened. Those lying bitches...


Got ta Got ta , Na Na Na!





Okay, I really don't see what everyone is so open about when it comes to the new Kanye West and Jay Z song, Otis. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying it's wack. I actually like the energy they both came with but the sample for Try A Little Tenderness is damn near the whole song. C'mon already! I like hip-hop samples to be a bit of a brainteaser. You sort of recognize it but not quite until you look into it. Now that's a song. Call me overly critical but production-wise they should have tried a little cleverness.



Sugary Coco Goodness



This Bug is officially addicted to Coconut M&M's. I know I'm late but I don't care. I'm about to cop a lifetime supply and stash them in the freezer because I know that 'limited edition' means they're testing it out on folks and it may never see the light of day again if the sales disappoint. I usually hate all coconut related chocolate. Mounds and Almond Joy sounds more like a movie I'd like to watch when no one else is around. But those little brown, white and green beads are what I believe little girls are really made of. Sugar and spice can't hold a candle to them. It's Yumma!


Dip, Dip Dive..




Let me start by telling you all that I know how to swim. Got that? I can swim. So no one was more surprised than me when I took a dive off the board and didn't have enough air to get to the surface. I went from assenting to struggling in seconds flat. Then I panicked. From underwater I heard the whistle blow and before I knew it- a really hot lifeguard came to my rescue. Really. Hot. I came up dripping wet, gasping for air, my string bikini top heaving between breaths... He held me up from behind against the corner of the pool until he was sure I was okay. Rumor has it that I did all of this on purpose just to get felt up by the Adonis statue with a pulse...but really I still don't know what happened down in that deep water. Truth is- I was scared shitless.


Fiyah Burn, Ya Betta Learn



A word to the wise: Smartphones are stupid. For all the fantastic apps and convenience they supposedly provide- it hardly seems worth it when my overly sensitive touchscreen calls people at ridiculous times of the night, shuts off all of my networks whenever it feels like it and uploads pictures to social networking sites that are not fit for anyone's eyes. Try not to harp on that. Just know that my phone is appropriately named the Torch because there's some hot stuff in there and sometimes...that's exactly what I'd like to do to it with some lighter fluid.


F.O.H!





Speaking of social networking-I almost never entertain ignorance online but a friend of a friend (and I use that term ever so loosely) made me pull out the big guns last week. Foolishly drawing comparisons between someone reacting on instinct and a group of adults publicly abusing a child was worthy of my wrath. I'll spare you the details but I will say that I verbally kicked her soapbox right out from under her. I didn't want to do it but she was so blissfully ignorant that I was forced to make her miserably knowledgeable about what's right, wrong, racist, funny and not fucking funny at all.


Shoephoria





I don't know if it was the sexy strappy leather, the jewel and pearl embellishments or what- but when I saw them, I had to have them. They're ethereal- if one can even describe a pair of shoes in that manner. It's kinda like what a mermaid would wear on her feet. If she had feet. Either way, this mermaid has them now. I know what you're thinking. Mermaid, Schmermaid. But did I mention that I really can swim?


Subtle, My Ass...



I wish I could tell you that this ad isn't from a real catalog that came to someone at my place of business. I wish I could tell you there is no such thing as adhesive patches to stick in your panties so you don't clear the room out after having Cheddar Broccoli soup for lunch. I wish they didn't seriously charge $19 dollars for a trademarked product they had the nerve to name SUBTLE BUTT. I wish the tiniest part of me didn't wonder for a split second what that patch must smell like at the end of the day once peeled from its right place. I wish these wouldn't make a great stocking stuffer for some people I know. I wish...



And now, a peek into This Bug's twisted sense of humor. Enjoy or be offended. Either way, blueberries are the bestest!



Peace Out, Cub Scouts!