Spite- The Ultimate Motivator

This time of year is among my least favorite. How the days get longer and sunnier, calling for me to strip out of my winter duds, and into some sun dresses in bright, floral prints. And I'll shower, get ready to get my day started, only to be betrayed by the sunshine and walk out into ignorantly cold weather. I've spent most of my time in my new house in my bedroom, but as the sun beckons to me more, I've migrated to my living room, where I can fling open the drapes and watch this deceptively bright star light up the area. I almost got rid of the ottoman chair I originally purchased a few years back, but my freakishly tall child admitted to a fondness for it, so I draped throw over it and committed to keeping it with us, where I now work, next to my massive living room window.

One of the good things about this time of year is that being inside gives us more opportunity to look around and learn more about ourselves. I know that some people are uncomfortable with the thought of looking inward, but I credit most of the progress I've made in life to my ability to look backward and forward and assess my role in it all. Anyhoo, I saw something online recently, during my winter hibernation, about spite. And it made me think back a bit on my own life.

Ya see, I've never been much of a competitive person. Yes, I've had my moments in life, but I'm not one to wake up and sleep spite (except for the one or two people who truly had it coming- they know who they are), but nothing drives me like hearing that I can't do something. 

During high school, I had a boyfriend named Armond. He was the traditional all-American boy. He was a running back for his football team, at the private school where he attended. He made good grades and looking back, he was one of the boys who all the girls would have tried to sink their claws into. He was going places. And I liked him, and I even loved him as much as I could. Looking back, I believe he was drawn to my free spirit. He didn't exist in the same world that I did. No rules, just do what feels right. I wasn't super religious and I abhorred social norms, even back then. He was the church boy. He was straight out of the Cosby Show. I was the poet/creative between the two of us, and he'd occasionally express a talent for poetry or singing. He was clearly on his way to a good life, and he eventually landed at a well-respected southern college, where he played football.

And while I brought out his poetic side, I couldn't fathom knowing he was making honor roll the whole time we were together, while I was barely getting by with C's and D's. I was absolutely not going to let that man come out looking smarter than me, especially since I knew I could do the work. So I did. Granted, I never did quite get up to honor roll, by then the damage had been done. But I give Armond many props, because my competition with him was ultimately what led me to getting my head out of the clouds and back into the school books. And had I not been competing with him, I honestly do not think I would have graduated on time. Because I was not going to lose to that man.

Working a crisis line, when people indicate current or past thoughts of suicide, our protocol is to help the individual create a safety plan. And one day as I navigated wrapping up a call and asking the person about their safety plan, they said to me simply "spite." That was it. No calling loved ones, no prayer or meditation, no breathing exercises. Nope. SPITE. This person's whole motivation for staying alive was to spite others. I'll be honest and admit that I got quite a chuckle out of it. But hey, if that's what keeps you from downing a bottle of pills when we got off this of phone, in the words of the great philosopher, Andrew Caldwell, "who are me to judge?"

There was also another great achievement of mine that was motivated by spite- my master's degree. That's right. The thing that made it all possible happened because a couple of shitty exes routinely questioned and berated my intelligence, as a part of regular emotional abuse. Every time I read a book or said something remotely intelligent, I was met with rolled eye and exasperated sighs, as if I'd asked why the sun and the moon hate one another. I'll show you who the really the idiot really is.

Looking back into my young years, sometimes I get frustrated, thinking how much further I could have gone in life had I not allowed myself to be surrounded by people who seemed to derive joy from making my doubt my own capabilities, rather than pouring into me, lovingly. But I guess it doesn't matter as much now. I'm a loud and proud late bloomer. The fact is that I was in my early 40's before I felt like an actual adult. While some of my friends were buying houses 10+ years ago, I was struggling as a part-time cashier at Petsmart. And while I'm sick to my stomach thinking how much cheaper my lil old house would have been 10 years ago, I'm thankful that I made it, though.

I took all of that negative energy, all of the name-calling, the drama, the blame, the energy zapping, and I let it fuel me to getting my master's degree and get a job that pays me enough to comfortably support myself and my son. My grass is mowed, my cats are fat and happy. My refrigerator is full, as is my closet, and and my bedroom is painted. And I've reached the necessary word count on my first book, and I'm finally entering the editing portion.

Spite moved me forward to get my master's degree. Not bad for a dummy, right?

Secrets Keep You Sick

I worked at a rehab a few years back. It ended up being the most toxic environment I ever existed in, but that's a different story, for a different day. Anyway, there were always these cutesy little statements to remind the clients to continue to walk the path of sobriety. One of those statements was "secrets keep you sick." And I agree, especially as Alcoholics Anonymous largely requires people to own their shit. I'm a bit of an open book myself (ironically, something I'm working on myself, I need to scale back being so open in my personal life), but I can definitely see how certain secretive behaviors can be bad for a person.

A few weeks back, I decided to take a walk down memory lane, and I looked back at my blogs from the last couple of years. It's kinda cool to look back on moments I'd completely forgotten about, as I focus on the here and now. One of the blogs I'd stumbled across was here. In it, my good friend Brandon was caught up with a woman who was a complete mess. I'd begged Brandon over the years to leave this woman where he'd found her, but he was determined to make this relationship work. I'd even said in the post that I felt like things were even worse than Brandon had let on, and it seems that I was right.

Brandon had told me some time ago that he was still living with her and occasionally sleeping with her. I'd hit him with the tried and true advice of "don't stick your dick in crazy." He assured me that there was no emotional attachment, just the midnight visit every now and again. I reminded him that even if he was done with her in his mind, in her mind, those sneaky links meant they were still connected.

I can't lie, I was pretty frustrated watching it from the sidelines. I guess it's my history with narcissism and abusive behavior in relationships, but I learned that those people cannot be saved. Nigga, run!! But Brandon remained hopeful in her promises to go to therapy and that "this time" would be different. 

Brandon finally admitted to me that not only were they occasionally midnight buddies, they were still very much a couple, until he'd finally had enough. Although he'd initially told me that he was done with her and only remained there as a her roommate, after xyz offenses, he had in fact held onto her for years. I do kind of wish he'd been open with me that he was still trying to make an honest woman of her, but I get it. He was hoping to work on things with her and emerge with the new and shiny version of her that he'd hoped to eventually carve out. But thing about broken people is that they have to actually want help. And no degree of praying, playing, or pretending will ever cover that up.

At some point, maybe a month ago, Brandon finally had enough. He concocted an elaborate plan, where he'd move all of his things out, while she was at work and completely block her on everything. I wanted to write about it before, but I decided against it, as it isn't uncommon for friends of friends to read my blogs, in hopes of finding out what their loved ones are up to. I didn't want the cat out of the bag until he was completely free.

More than anything, I was glad that Brandon had decided that he was done. I recall the stories early on, and I knew back then that she was trouble. But as my previous post repeated "he was in love." It just shows how much shame will keep us quietly glued to others. We revel in the secrecy, while trying to make sense of the shameful mess in front of us.

I'm not quite sure how I knew that things were worse than he'd let on. Perhaps it was my strong intuition, or the way he seemed to gloss over what most people would call glaring red flags. Out of respect for him, I'll refrain from sharing some of the most egregious behaviors she exhibited. But it just goes to show how love can blind us from obvious flaws and how shame can scoot us in to the closet of secrecy. Hoping to show a united front to the world, while behind closed doors, we do all we can to maintain our peace while walking on eggshells to keep who we believe to be the love of our lives, from having an explosive tantrum. And while that person may put on their best for the people they hope to impress, at home they're a ticking timebomb, who you do your best to not set off. 

As he'd decided that he was done, I sent Brandon a link to that particular blog, and to his credit, after reading it, he proudly proclaimed "I was a dumbass!!" and I appreciate his honesty and candor. It takes a big man to own that not only is the relationship over, but he ignored not just flags, he ignored red stop signs, flags, flashing lights and personally crafted billboards that told him that she was for the streets. No judgement, I've certainly made my own mistakes in love.

I'm just glad that Brandon finally left, but I hate it for my poor  friend that he had to endure what he did. The good is that he finally made it out of the clutches of his narcissistic ex and he'll be able to quickly identify those signs in the future. The bad is that, knowing what I know about being one of their victims, he will spend months, if not years trying to make sense of what the fuck happened and how lost he got in that mess.

While we're talking about secrets, I guess I'll let you in on mine. Ugh. So yeah, the Fine Ass Maintenance Man (a.k.a. FAMM) is still in the picture. I know I'd sworn him off. I saw those red flags that waved the first date and I knew that I needed to toss his gorgeous ass back into the sea of penises. And lord knows I tried. It had been months since we'd seen one another. And although I thought about him on occasion, I'd made up my mind that we'd run our course and it was time to part. I was very much making peace with being alone.

But as I learn to tackle home ownership, I found myself unable to turn off my lawnmower one day. I knew there was too much gas in it for it to run out on it's own. I called my cousin, Doc, only to remember that he was out of the country. There weren't too many men for me to call so that I could learn what to do. Ugh. I had no choice.

"Hey you" he answered in that jazzy, melodic voice of his. "Hey," I started. "I know it's been a while, but you told me to call you with any house issues and I can't get my lawnmower to turn off." He immediately knew that the spark plug was the answer and he navigated me to shutting off the power. I asked if he was still working at the previous apartment complex where we met, and he told me he was not. Since then, he'd just been winging it, doing solo HVAC and handy man work.

We'd occasionally shoot one another text messages or quick phone calls to check in afterwards. And I'll be honest and share that every time I'm in a room with that man, I want to strip him down with my teeth and tie him to my bed. Although I pride myself with how indifferent I'd acted toward his presence when we were in person.

But then, one day, I got that hankering. Against my better judgement, I called him one evening and told him that I had an itch that needed to be scratched. He told me that he'd be happy to help me with that. Yeeeah buddy lol.

I was kind of ashamed to post here that I'd backslid into his arms and life. We were doing just fine, on opposite sides of the world. He and I recently laughed about how different we are. To his credit, there are moments where he makes a "just fine" place holder. And other days, his inconsistency rears its ugly head and I remember what I'm dealing with and why I left him alone previously. I also remind myself regularly that he's really just a fun thing to do until something and someone real shows up.

A while back, I was out checking my mail, when a neighbor stopped me to point out the leak that was in front of my yard. I hadn't noticed it, as it had been raining a lot, I assumed the water in front of my yard was just runoff. I wasn't sure exactly where the water was coming from and I tried to call the county, but they were less than helpful in determining who was on the hook for the repair. One day, I was out in the yard and I saw an extremely lush area of grass that sloshed under my shoe. Shit. FUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK.

I'd checked again with my cousin, and he assured me that he knew a guy who could take care of it and give me a fair price. Another day, in passing, I'd mentioned to FAMM that I was about to have to pay for this stupid leak. He stated that he'd be willing to take a look at it, and if not too big of a repair, he could fix it. I was so thankful then that I'd been smart about squirreling away bits of money. Obviously I'd pay him for the work, although he agreed to charge me far less than I know others would.

He came to my home that first day, wearing all black. I watched as he dug a deep trench in my gorgeous grass. He was covered in mud, head to toe, by the time he was done. And I gotta be honest. I felt almost animalistic watching this man knowingly dig up my yard. Something about watching him know what he was doing was sexy af. Men are so soft these days that it's so refreshing to come across a guy who isn't afraid to get dirty and knows how to take care of a house and vehicles. I also appreciate knowing that he's able to make repairs and remodels, like my bathroom flooring and closet door I want installed. I even gave him a key, although he has no need for it at the moment. It's more so that he an access things to repair them when I'm away. But I'm always in awe watching him work. I told him how much I love it when he's in problem-solving mode.

Speaking of secrets, dude is absolutely not online and I'm a bit mystified by that, but I get it. When I first realized that he was my middle school classmate, I attempted to find anything I could on him. I reached out to friends from school, and none of them had been in touch with him. I recalled him telling me how he'd taken the acrobatics he'd done when we were kids, and he'd been flipping with the Atlanta Hawks as well. I loved hearing him talk about traveling during his teenage and young adult years.

No doubt in my mind that had the internet been around when we were kids, there would be dozens of clips of him doing backflips and summersaults all over Atlanta. He admitted to me that every now and again, he'll still do a flip, just to see if he can. All of those amazing acrobatic talents, coupled with his ability to rap, sing, and produce (his mother was a pretty well-known singer during the 70's), and he has zero online presence, except for the Facebook page he only occasionally uses for Marketplace. I'm trying to get him to be online more so that he can at least drum up business, since he's an entrepreneur now. The man is his own secret.

I guess at the end of the day, we've all got our own quiet thoughts and moments, that we protect for whatever reason. Sometimes, it's shame. Sometimes, we just don't want to hear anyone's mouth. Other times, we just want to exist in our own bubble.

Secrets can definitely keep you sick. But oddly enough, they can also keep you sane.

Snow Day

I've always loved a good snow day. For years, come the cold season, I anxiously watch the weather reports for 2 weeks out, hoping for the snowflake icon that indicates that it's coming. Whenever the much-desired snowflake is posted, I keep an even closer eye out for the hourly forecasts. I'd watched a few weeks back when it was posted that on a Monday, we were to get a dusting. I anxiously counted down every hour, and watched as the forecasts slowly changed. It got cooler, but no white stuff.

But as I watched for the week, I saw it again. The coveted snowflake. As always, I continued to keep an out for it. I checked in as frequently as I could, to make sure that it stayed on the websites. I sat back and watched how every hour, the weather shifted from warm to frigid, while also keeping an eye out for the needed precipitation as well. Nothing chaps my hyde like seeing super cold weather, while the air is dry and the sky is blue. It almost feels like the weather is taunting me, knowing that I'm like a junky, chasing the high that only that glorious snow could bring me.

When I saw that the forecast called for it on the upcoming Friday, I was elated. I'd already had a fridge full of food, but I stopped to grab a few snack for my larger than life son and a few fruits for myself. I worked through Thursday, occasionally stopping to look outside of my windows, to make sure the sky did what I needed it to do. Sure enough, the dark clouds rolled in, as I feverishly refreshed the weather website, to ensure that it was still coming. 

I woke up Friday, and I immediately looked outside. I smiled brightly as I saw the lush, green world I've known to flourish outside of my window, was suddenly blanketed by frozen perfection. I snacked only on fruits and salads, as my spirits gave me a good talking to about eating well. But suddenly, I was moved to do something I hadn't thought of in a while. I didn't want to risk wasting this anointed snow day. I decided then that I'd take an Adderall, to combat my ADHD brain and get to work.

And almost immediately, I began working on my bedroom. I'd been dragging my feet previously, but this time, the brain fog was clear and I was a woman on a mission. First, I tackled the clothes in my closet, dragging some items to the trash and clearing up valuable close real estate. Then I took out the floating shelves I'd purchased at Ross two days ago and placed them above my bed, with the color coordinated knickknacks I'd bought for just this reason. I straightened bookshelves and then went into my long-ignored office and began placing things in the right area. Just a few days ago, I purchased a bed frame, after my last one fell apart (last time I buy a cheap one), and I paid my son to put it together. I cleared my clutter, and even remembered to say a prayer, and light some sage at my alter.

I'm not a religious person, but I continue to feel like this snowy weekend was made just for me. My child and I trash-talked one another as I swept through my house like a tornado, cleaning everything in my path. I'm slightly annoyed by the pile of trash in my kitchen, but I know that it's all going right into the dumpster when I step outside again. I couldn't be more at peace right now. I'd been saying for the last few months that I intended to take a long-weekend for myself just to breathe and get some things together. And although I did leave work early on Friday, because my power went out for a few hours, it was a pretty easy day while I was there. I don't even feel the need for my long weekend anymore, even though I'll likely take one soon. I also decided that now is also the time to start planning another trip with some coworkers. We initially wanted to go to Europe this year, but because I'm trying to get up my savings to pay down my car and get ready to get Pumpkin into college in a year and a half. But once my little one is living on campus, it'll be time to do some big traveling again.

Speaking of long trips, before the fires in Cali started, I'd been considering taking a trip out there to float around for a few days. I'd already been so heartbroken by the fire in the Grapevine Mountains, outside of L.A., but seeing whole fires rip through Santa Monica is beyond devastating. I'll likely catch a plane out at some point and just rent a car and get a hotel for a few nights, just to take it all in. L.A. is still very much a second home to me, and even though I'm not as hyped about the Olympics there in a few years, I still wish nothing but healing for her. Who knows? Maybe in a few years, I'll still make my way out there anyway. I messaged all of my people in L.A. (the 3 or 4 of them) and thankfully, they're all good. 

I hadn't factored in purchasing a house a few years ago, when I made my plans to return to the West Coast. But this won't stop anything. It is quite possible to do and have it all. It's also possible to live the life you want and while you work toward following your dreams. 

Even if your dream is just as simple as a weekend snow day.

Spiritual Baddie

I'll never forget the first time it happened. I was in the family home in Decatur, I was about 18. It was roughly a few months after I'd learned that I had the ability to speak to the dead, when my dear cousin, Tracey, had passed away. We were in the kitchen, my mother and I. She sat at the kitchen table, and I stood at the sink. And suddenly, out of nowhere, a key that had been used to lock our sliding glass door flew into the middle of the room. Mom and I both froze. The key had been held up through a rubber band that we hung on a hook, and had the key dropped the way it was supposed to, it would have fallen straight away into the trashcan below it. But it didn't do that. It flew into the middle of the room.

My words were "that's physically impossible!" as I tried to process what had just happened. Out of nowhere, an item had just flown across the room in front of us. I immediately tried to make sense of it. I'd already spent a lot of time talking to my dead cousin, but I somehow knew that it wasn't Tracey because I could always feel when she was around. This wasn't her. My mom then said "alright, Joanne!" her recently deceased cousin. Yes! Joanne! That had to be it! That was the only reason that the key flew into the middle of the room, right? Right?!

At some point, that memory flew far back into my mind, replaced by other memories, just like the time I had a party at my apartment and unbothered keys flew off of my tv in a room full of people. TWICE. Another time, I was in my old apartment and I watched with my own eyes as a hat flew across the room. By this point, it was years later, and I'd grown a bit more accustomed to this happening, but it was still a tad spooky. I decided early on that I needed to lay some ground rules. Like look, we're in the same space, it is what it is. We won't have any problems as long as you don't physically appear (I'm okay with talking to ghosts, but seeing them appear in front of me is not something I'm ready to deal with) and my other rule is no throwing dangerous stuff. Like sure, knock some headphones around, but don't go throwing knives or heavy items. And to this spirit's credit, it has stayed within those parameters. Honestly, I never felt like he or she meant harm, but still, we gotta keep this above board. But with my recent move, I'd noticed it happening a wee bit more, including my pill bottle last night and my toothpaste this morning.

Up until recently, I'd kept these happenings to myself. I've come to accept that many people are uncomfortable with the topic of death, so when you start talking about proof of the afterlife, people really freak out. Plus, people start immediately asking you to speak to their loved ones and you gotta just explain stuff you don't feel like explaining.

But as the movements started happening more frequently, I figured that it might be time to look into this- to get answers about who or what this spirit is and what it possibly wants from me. I called my mother to ask if she remembers the moment of the key from the old house. She told me that yes, she did remember it. Must have left quite a mark, because she'll readily admit that her memory is not nearly what it once was. I'd asked her if she'd had any similar moments since then. She said no. I confessed to her that it has happened several times to me since then. Its a known fact in my family that I'm able to speak to the dead, so I think she may have been a little surprised, but given my spiritual gift, not too surprised.

On Christmas, I was with my family, Ali's widow, his brother, and our other cousin. Since his death, we've gotten much closer and spend many holidays laughing and catching up. Anyway, later in the evening, as we sat around, I'd asked if any of them had encountered having items at rest suddenly fly across the room. They all paused briefly, before assuring me that it never happened to them. I mean sure, since Ali died, there have been signs and dreams, but nothing so vivid.

I was always able to put it in the back of my mind, but the more it started to happen, the more I felt like I needed answers. I took to Google and looked up items flying around a room and learned that this particular spirit is called a poltergeist. Another thing that threw me (ha!) was that this spirit followed me to several places. It didn't happen in the same house or apartment, I literally went all over, and it still happened. That being said, if the homes I was in weren't haunted, it's gotta be me or something, I guess.

I know that my bestie, Sky has some gifts as well, so I decided to see what he thought it might be. He agreed that it sounds like a poltergeist. I told him that felt so weird to say, especially since everything I saw online said that poltergeists tend to be evil spirits, but I don't think that mine is. Or was? Sky joked that the movie wouldn't have been nearly as big of a hit if the writers decided to make the ghost a bore. I guess he was right there. But he didn't have answers much more than that.

Next up, I decided to all another homegirl, I'll call Anna. I knew that Anna had gifts as well and might be able to get more insight. Anna said that she felt that the spirit might be trying to tell me something. She shared that she felt that the spirit was telling me that I needed to go back to doing my spiritual work, which I can agree with. I have an alter in my room that has traces of both Ali and Tracey, but I have not done enough to honor my ancestors in ceremony recently. I haven't even saged my home yet or lit a candle in remembrance. Coincidentally, I'd been thinking recently that I wanted to learn more about African spirituality. At least more reading up on African gods and goddesses, or even African astrology.

Anna also stated that she feels that I am protected by several spirits, connected through lineage, that do not play about me. And although I'd never outright thought or said it, I've long since felt the very same thing. Anna never mentioned her, but from a very young age, I've felt my father's mother looking down and protecting me. I always felt that she and I would be very tight, had we walked this planet at the same time. I even remember talking to her spirit when I was a child. She died before I was born, but that never stopped me from feeling close to her. 

Anna went on to share that there are quite a few people who feel very perplexed by my ability to seeming slide through some really tough situations, things that would destroy nearly anyone else. It seems that my angels have practically picked me up and dragged me out of some real doozies and people who wanted or expected me to fall flat on my face can't figure it out. Crazy thing is that I can't exactly figure it out either. I've known for years that someone or something bigger than me was making sure I was good. I also don't consider it much of a coincidence that most of the people who have done me dirty have suffered on a deep mental, spiritual, psychological, and even physical level, after the fact. And I've always been thankful for my spirits. And whenever I make it to the other side, I plan to continue the mission of looking out for others.

So I guess Anna inadvertently gave me the answer that I needed. Yes, I got some spirits watching my back and telling me to get my spiritual life in order. Be thankful. 

And I am.

***

So yeah, my pumpkin is a young man now. He's 17. He's kind, loving (in his own way), thoughtful, and highly intelligent. We've started discussing college and I'm so thankful that he's been cooperative helping me put together minor projects on the house, as we make it an actual home.

About a month or so back, The Boy and I decided it was time to get a second cat, to keep our first cat, Oliver, company. Pumpkin came with me to the shelter. We'd seen a large tabby, and were seconds from grabbing it. But decided to look around a bit more. And that's when we saw him. A huge white furball, 17 pounds. The Boy and I immediately knew that he was coming home with us.

In the car heading home, the massive creature managed to claw his way out of the box and walk around the car. I couldn't stop, so we had to pray that the kitty didn't do too much, until we could safely get home. Crazy enough, the lil rascal jumped onto my son's lap during the ride and very much let my son play with him. I pulled up to the house and my son anxiously walked behind me, afraid that I'd drop our new friend. I got him in, and the lil jerk went straight to my son's room, hiding under his bed and in his closet. He eventually came out, and even let me pet him once or twice. But it was clear that he belonged to Pumpkin. I served to merely empty the litter box and buy the food.

Speaking of food, the kid's new passion has been popcorn. Ironically, the smell of popcorn is one of my least favorite smells on this planet. I can honestly handle cigarette smoke way before I can handle popcorn. And God help you if the popcorn is burnt and leaves that horrid smell in he house.

Anyway, recently the Boy decided that he wanted to experiment with popcorn from a few seasonings he's heard about online and he's always careful to make sure to air out the house, so he doesn't have to listen to his mother complain about the smell. We'd also taken on the task of cat sitting my baby sister's cat, Evie, for the holiday. 

Evie and I were in my bedroom when my son came in and said "she's in here, good" and walked back out. I heard him cursing. I immediately jumped up to see what was wrong. My son had left the back patio open, and Oliver and our new white cat, Louie, had gotten out. I feel like I literally watched my child deflate in front of me. He apologized so hard, and I assured him that it was okay. Although I wasn't really sure, I assured my child that the cats would be back. I could genuinely see my son's heart break as he feared that both of the household cats were in the wild and may never be seen again. Watching my baby weep about those cats being lost absolutely destroyed me. And while I wanted so badly to rescue him from what he felt, I felt so proud in seeing how much my adored both of those cats. My baby loved those cats with his whole soul, as evidenced by how he felt at them being gone.

Naturally, as a mother, all I wanted was to protect my baby, and have him feel better. But making things worse, I was on an important call at work and couldn't immediately stop to take care of this. I assured my son that I was wrapping up a call and that I'd get with him as soon as I could. As I worked on finishing the paperwork, Pumpkin came in and informed me that both of the cats were under the house, in the crawlspace. Whew!!

It was bad for the cats to be outside, obviously, but I could deal with at least knowing where they were. A few minutes later, my son walked in holding Oliver. I felt relief for the first time in what seemed like forever. I can't front though, I cursed at the little bastard. Because I know Ollie and I know that he was the ringleader in their little escape. And in true cat fashion, Oliver looked at me like he had no idea what I was mad about, as he fell asleep at the foot of my bed.

When I was free of my call, I bundled up and walked outside with my son. He'd been keeping an eye on the entrance of the crawl space and he indicated a desire to stay out there for at least another 20 minutes, to see if Louie would emerge. I convinced my son that we'd lock the entrance when we were away, she he couldn't get out without one of us being there to grab him. Afterwards, Pumpkin came back inside. I knew that he worried about his cat and this was the first night since we'd gotten him, that he wouldn't be asleep at the foot of my son's bed. But at least we knew where he was.

As Pumpkin got ready to lay down for the night and my call was done, I decided to walk outside to see if I could get him. I'd stomped around in the house, hoping the noise would scare him. I even attempted to crawl underneath the house, only to learn that I am not, in fact, about that life. I made it about 5 feet before I knew that wasn't going to happen. I locked the crawlspace door for the night, and went back inside.

I called FAMM. As an HVAC technician, it was literally his job to go into crawl spaces. I was desperate. I know cats are pretty smart (some of them), but I was terrified that the jerk would somehow get hurt down there and I couldn't live with myself if my baby's cat died from a simple mistake of leaving the door open to air out the smell of popcorn. And I knew my child would never forgive himself if that cat got injured somehow. I texted FAMM "I'll pay you $100 if you come over here and grab my kid's cat from under the house." No response. I figured he was asleep. Nothing else to do but wait, I guess. I went to bed.

At 7am, FAMM called  me back. I explained the dilemma. He told me that I had nothing to worry about. He told me that he had some appointments to get to that day (the coldest and hottest days tend to be his busy season), but if his schedule cleared or if he had time, he'd come see what he could do. That sufficed and I went back to bed. Around 10am, my son announced to me that he'd gotten Louie out. The natural order was restored in my house again.

I was glad that my baby got his cat back. But I was so proud to know that my son was capable of loving someone or something so much. Not to make it about me, but the fact that my son has that level of love and compassion in him shows me that I'm doing okay over here. Way to go Malika, you Spiritual Baddie.

On Being Needed

I'd always thought he was cute. Almost too cute, even. We were social media friends, who'd seen one another around the way in the Atlanta music scene. Years later, I saw him on a dating app. I'll call him Eric. I was feeling quite froggy, unsure that he'd match with me. Moments later, I saw that he'd swiped on me too. I froze. I don't recall who then messaged who first, but he told me that I looked familiar, and I shared with him how we knew one another. And the conversations continued from there.

I grew to enjoy going to Eric's home. He lived in a bit of a collectivist environment, but I didn't care. He lived off his art, and he didn't make a lot, but again, I didn't care. I loved that we could talk for hours about music. I loved that we shared dozens of mutual friends and we enjoyed telling stories about our time with those friends over the years. A girlfriend of mine knew him and she suggested that I smash and pass, but that's never really been me. Even in my casual encounters, I tend to develop deeper connections, that's just how my brain is wired.

I knew that my therapist would oppose me getting with an artist who makes significantly less than I do, so I conveniently left his existence out of our sessions (lord knows there was plenty of other things for Dr. T and I to talk about anyway). The fact is that my dear doc has been married for probably 30 years now and isn't born and raised in America. Dating is a whole different animal out here. Plus, if you really like someone and you're both committed to working through things like differences in finances, they don't have to be a death sentence on a relationship. Right?

I closed on my house in September, with plans to be in by the first of October and spend the full month moving things in. As I got closer to October, I gathered good friends and family to help with the larger items, while I moved the small things myself. My male best friend, Sky helped. Dex came through. My cousin helped take the large furniture in his truck. It only felt right that I ask Eric to help me. He'd ridden shotgun as I stopped by my new house one day to drop off a few items. I asked one evening if he'd help move something. He agreed, but as the time drew closer, he bowed out. No bigs, right? Another time, I'd again asked for his help. He again agreed. But he then disappeared when it was time to show up. Thankfully, another friend was available. The final time, I was supposed to come to his crib to hang, but my calls went unanswered.  I knew then that things would never be the same with us. I was well aware of what this meant.

I'd told my homegirl previously that Eric had seriously been in the running for boyfriend. I loved his friendship that much and even though he and I had never even kissed, I felt warm and comfortable with him, and the sexual attraction was definitely there. I once admitted to him that I wanted to kiss him and he let me know that he'd have no issue with me doing so. I'd even said to myself that I'd be okay with him being a house husband, as long as we were on the same team. And then this shit occurred.

I licked my wounds, and went on about my business. He'd occasionally inbox me, but I kept it short. I'm just over men playing me to the left and then reaching out for my emotional support and high fives, after the fact. I've decided that I'm no longer going to make it a point to stay friends with men who dodge me. I'd wondered how he was, but I still kept my distance. 

One day, I was hanging out with my cousin, and since Eric lived nearby, I decided to bring him over. My cousin essentially has a small nightclub in his basement and Eric came alive when we walked in. He admitted to me how inspired he felt in that environment and asked if we could return for more parties. My cousin took to him as well. I assured him that we would come back in the future. We sat back and drank with the host, relaxing together for the first time in ages.

Eric ended up drinking more than he was ready for, so I dropped him at his crib. He was in pretty bad shape and I was afraid he was going to hurl in the car, but thankfully, he didn't. He stumbled on into the crib and passed out immediately. 

I dropped him a line the next day, to ensure that he was okay. He told me that he was embarrassed for not being able to handle his tequila better. I joked that he should have held up like a champ. I'm surprised I was able to drink so much and still be okay. I guess my tolerance is growing. I'm still far from being a heavy drinker though. Anyway, while we were on the line, I asked if he'd want to stop in to paint something on my bedroom wall. I'm starting to settle in well, and I finally decided on a theme that I'm thrilled about. The time that we were talking happened to be close to midnight, and he said that it was too late to start the project, and I agreed with him. Then he made a sly comment that the time was pretty much booty call hours and he wondered if that had been my intentions. I joked that while I'd truthfully had it in the back of my mind that it could possibly happen, it wasn't why I'd made the invite, I really did want a painting. I reminded him that we're both moderately attractive heterosexual adults and that thinking about sex with the other party at midnight would be a natural response. Ugh, my inner shrink always had a way of making an appearance, doesn't she?

Regardless, he accepted my statement and we agreed to another day. I guess I was in my feels, so I took the time to tell him how he'd actually been in the running for boyfriend before and that I was disappointed that he just fell off when I was moving. Truthfully, I'd thought he was on some flaky shit. Then Eric dropped something on me that I didn't see coming at all. He felt bad about not being more of a provider. Damn. I thought he was just mindlessly blowing me off, when it turned out that he was feeling insecure and inadequate about our financial discrepancy. 

I told him that I was clearly aware of our differences in finances, and I'd thought it over early on, and it never mattered to me. I told him that normally, when a woman makes more, if she's dating a man with less, she doesn't care if his money isn't good. Her personal needs may be met financially, but she still has other needs, like emotionally and mentally.

That happened to coincide with a conversation I'd had with a guy friend just earlier in that day. I said to him how it's weird that so many men need to feel "needed" and they resent women that don't need them. I said to my friend that essentially, that's how my baby daddy got left by his last bitch and why I left him too. People who only stay when they need you, are using you. When that person no longer needs you, or when something or someone better comes along, they'll be on the first thing smoking. But when a person wants you for the real you, the relationship is better. It's mutual and the person is much more likely to stay and work things out with you, even when you're at your worst. The issue is that many men never learned how to value to being likeable, so all they know how to value is bringing money to the table. And when they can no longer buy women, because women don't need their money anymore, they fall apart. My guy friend even said to me that he was in a group of men recently who agreed that they'd rather be needed than wanted. Which is quite possibly the most asinine shit I'd heard in a while.

I called my bestie the next day to chop it up with her about the new development. I told her how ridiculous it was that he was so insecure. That I'd never done or said anything to make him feel bad about his situation. I also pondered to her why he'd never done anything to make his financial situation better, if it was so stressful for him. It made me think back on on my own career successes.

Basically, I went to grad school because I was sick of being the broke friend. I wanted to be able to do for my friends what they'd been able to do for me. I wanted to buy them dinner and drinks. I wanted to be able to pay my bills for those months when my shitty ex tried to withhold child support. I wanted to be able to pay my rent with a single paycheck. I didn't want to have to squirrel way money from each check to pay my rent. Lord knows that buying a house wasn't even remotely something I'd thought about early on. I'd set my sights on  $50k a year. That was all I needed to be able to pay my bills. Grad school was one of the most stressful periods of my life, but it allowed me to feel like an adult. Granted, $50k ain't a lot. But that's all I wanted at the time. So I worked towards it. I didn't resent the people who had it (and a lot more), I worked my butt off for my seat at the table. And then here comes the resentment.

To be fair, I don't believe Eric ever resented me. He just felt inadequate. But there were definitely other men who resented me. I remember that my ex would say to me "you're just saying that because you don't need me!" as some kind of insult, when the words and thoughts had never even come from me. I didn't get it at the time. I got it after we broke up. He wanted to be my world. He wanted to be my alpha and omega. He wanted to be "my person." But the issue with him and so many other men that need to feel needed, he never stepped up to make himself needed. You wanna be needed? Shit, bring dinner home! You wanna be needed? Rub my damned back! You wanna be needed? Tell me how much you value me and love what I bring to your life! That's how you become needed. You make my life so easy, that when I look up, I realized that you've handled all of the tough stuff before I even knew it existed. Even my son knows that on Tuesdays, you take the trash out and that you bring it up afterwards. I never have to remind him. That's how you become needed. Not by sulking because it doesn't happen on it's own.

Another thing I've had to notice is that the resentment isn't just financially motivated many times either (again, not talking about Eric here). But I feel that it can also stem from overall confidence. Being a Black woman is a bitter double-edged sword. Because we cheer one another one. We are definitely a crew of cheerleaders. And it can be hard to hate yourself when you surround yourself with other women who love you and pour into you unconditionally. And I realize that due to patriarchy, slavery, etc., Black men haven't been afforded the same conditions and environments that encouraged them to love themselves. So often, this large communal divide has been created largely because we don't hate ourselves as many of our Black male counterparts do. 

Not sure what's gonna happen with Eric. I got some other shit cooking that I'm still figuring out. I might just take my friend's advice to smash and pass. I might spend more time and slowly build with him, to see how we can fully support one another. I might just stay homies and never cross that line. I'm unsure.

But what I do know is that I don't want to be resented for pulling up my big girl panties and doing what I had to do to live my best life. Is that so much to ask?

You Get What You Get, And You're Gonna Like It Too!!

I'm 2 days out from Thanksgiving and I can't front, I have so much to be thankful for. Not just the house, but how much my life and relationships have flourished. I linked back up with my teenage bestie, and amazingly, we both completed our undergrad degrees and even got our master's degrees in social work, so we often talk shop and deeply understand one another. My child is growing so much mentally and emotionally, and I could not be more proud of him. I've gotten a little out of shape (because the second half of the year was kind of a doozy), but I just bought new running shoes and started jogging again. I just got back from a quick trip up north, where I got to spend time with my family and my bestie, Daisy. Overall, I definitely cannot complain.

Coincidentally, I had a moment recently that really let me know how far I'd come. I'd bragged a few years ago about how amazing the skin on my face is, with very minimal washing. Skin was bright, radiant even. And then one day, it popped up and got comfortable and I've had to make peace with this lil bastard since! This stupid psoriasis saw me thinking too heavily of myself and decided to disrupt alla dat! Seriously, it could have landed on my foot, like my son. Or my neck, arms or back. NOPE! This psoriasis felt me getting to be too comfortable with my looks and decided to do something about it smh. Been roughly 2 years now, so nothing I can do but treat it as much as I can and go about my day. The fact is that if someone like Kim Kardashian has psoriasis and can't do much about it, with all of the money she has, ain't a damned thing I can do but accept it.

But then recently, something else happened. My beloved nose ring, which I'd had for years, started to puff up. Well, not the ring, obviously, but the skin around it, on my nose. Now, I wasn't a stranger to this. A few years ago, when I still had my stud, my skin would occasionally puff up, and a dab of Neosporin a few times a day, managed to take care of that. However, for some reason, it wasn't helping much this time. The fact that I tend to pick at the skin on my face didn't help much either. I'd tried many things, and the puffiness would go down, but then puff right back up. The pierced skin seemed to be getting bigger and puffier, even pussy. I'd tried tea tree oil and witch hazel, on top of many other things, but the bump just wouldn't leave. 

I read about how to heal bumps that weren't going away, and I saw a recommendation to try some antibiotics, so I decided to go visit a doc and get some meds. The doctor came to me and quickly announced that antibiotics would not work, simply because I had a keloid. I froze. "I'm sorry, a what now?!" I'll admit that I let my previous bias get to me. I envisioned a massive, intrusive blob on my face, that would be large and hideous for eternity. How the eff could I, of all people, get a keloid?! I'd had my piercing for years, with no issue! How is this possible?!

I looked online at how to heal piercing keloids. It said the one thing I'd never really considered- removal of the piercing. I'd gotten my hoop in Alaska, in March earlier this year, replacing the stud that called my nose home for years. I realized that I didn't have much choice. There was no promise that the keloid would go away either way, but at the moment, it needed to go and I had to do whatever I could. I sat in my car at a nearby QuikTrip and googled how to take it out. With some work, I finally got it out. But I still had this large, ugly ass bump on my nose.

And while battling my new enemy, called Keloid, I had another attack on my face. A goddamn fever blister popped up on my lip at the same damned time. What pissed me off the most about the fever blister was that I didn't even get these damned things being nasty. Nope. I had a previous client who showed up at group one day with one. This particular client quickly became famous for mindlessly eating and drinking things she was not supposed to. One day, on the way into work, I'd stopped by Starbucks and mindlessly left my cup unattended for a few minutes. I came back, saw my cup, and moved it to my office. And a few days later, it appeared.

I was pissed. I was outraged! All the wild shit I did in my 20s and 30s, I avoided something like this! And all it took was a wandering client and unattended coffee to make this happen. The first, last, and only time it happened before recently was about 6 years ago. And now, here I am with effing psoriasis, a keloid, and a damned fever blister at the same time. I hated it. It took so long to embrace how I look, and all of a sudden, all this shit was attacking my face all at once!

I'd wondered if I was having issues with my immune system. It just seemed so odd. I'd looked online about weakened immune systems, and everything I read kept starting off with stress as a cause. I couldn't relate. I wasn't stressed at all! I finally broke down and called a local nurse line. I explained my symptoms and she said something similar- "are you stressed?" I told her of course not. I just hung up, annoyed.

Honestly tho, I had to really think about the last month. Rather than just hiring a mover or renting a van, I opted to move in short trips, because it worked well before. Not this time. I should have taken time off work, but I did not. I continued to work both jobs, while making several trips, to move both delicates and large furniture. And on top of that, my mom was coming to my house to see it, so I was taking time between calls to finish painting my bathroom. I hated that I had so much to do, with so little time to do it. And I my hair may not have been falling out, but I had to accept that perhaps I really was a bit more stressed out than I'd given myself credit for. Perhaps it's that I'm normally so chill, that this slight uptick in activity really was messing with me?

I stepped back into my freshly painted bathroom, looked at myself in that mirror, with psoriasis, fever blister, and a keloid, and I looked at the Frankenstein staring back, and said to her "you still that bish!" And you know what?! I meant it!! I didn't see a monster in the mirror, I saw an amazing, intelligent, accomplished woman, who had some spots on her face. I marveled at realizing that a few years ago, I would have imploded at this. Not this time, nope. 

I said to myself that the world is gonna get whatever version of the me that I have to give it and ain't a damned thing they can do about it. This is my favorite part of being good and grown. I don't let the superficial stuff define me. I got my peace. I'm surrounded by amazing people, I have plans for the future and I love myself like never before. 

The keloid had since dramatically declined and the fever blister has healed, the psoriasis is definitely hanging on tho. And I look back at that lesson that The Universe brought to me, to show me how far I've come. And I'll take it all!!

Likeable, But Unliked?

I've kinda scaled back my social media presence lately. The older I get, the more I value my peace, and too much online energy really messes up my groove. While once a person who posted on Facebook daily, I now opt to only check once or twice a week. I follow several groups that keep me in the loop. I also intentionally don't watch the news. Anything I need to know, someone will inform me. It works so far, so why fix it, ya know?

Anyway, last night, I decided on a quick check in. I landed on a post from a woman who described how she'd planned a birthday cruise for herself, and footed the bill, including the bill for her boyfriend to join her. She went on to talk about how her boyfriend was a complete wet blanket the whole time. She then said that next time, she'd simply leave the dude home.

I looked at the comments, and at over 1.1k of them, they all said the same thing. He doesn't like you, toss him back!

I was nearly nauseous reading those statements. He doesn't like you. It hit home. I felt the light bulb go off. I hated how familiar it all was. He didn't like her. Just like so many men didn't really like ME. I went back through my recent memory and I finally got what I'd buried for so long. Those guys didn't even like me. Damn. So many men that I'd shared my time and my body with didn't even like me. What have I been doing this whole time?!

I think what kept me shielded from this for so long is that I'm Malika. Everybody likes me. I'm funny. I'm kind. I'm thoughtful. I'm affectionate. I'm loving. What's not to like, right? I've realized in the past that some of the men I dated ultimately disliked me because they hated themselves and they felt threatened and intimidated by my ability to love myself, while they struggled to do the same. They were initially drawn to my outgoing personality, but they grew to resent it, because they struggled to be liked, confident, and social. I've seen it an identified the behavior in many men and women, and because of it, I've gotten to be far more selective about who I allow in my personal space. But the comments from those women made me really deep dive and see how many men truly didn't like me, I was just convenient. Whether it was sex, time, attention, emotional support, or any other resource, and because I'm a giver, I was an endless supply.

I needed badly to process this new info. I then called a good friend, to get her thoughts. She admitted that yes, most of the men she dated didn't really like her either. Somehow, it felt comforting to hear another woman admit that most of the men she'd dated were equally as guilty. I still struggle to make sense of it. I can't fathom giving my body to someone I can't stand. Yet, so many men seem to be comfortable with the practice. Not that anyone asked me, but that's disgusting on every level.

I guess I needed this revelation. Because moving forward, I intend to be a hell of a lot more selective about who I entertain and I plan to watch their behavior like a hawk. Because I like and love myself. And I refuse to let anyone else's inability to do the same, somehow become my burden to bear.

And as I received this realization, I've also seen the political changes since the election. And I've seen some pictures floating around that perfectly sum up my feelings about everything going on. 

And now that I'm seeing that there are men who willingly hold space in my life, while simultaneously not caring for my well-being, I shall now fall back. This ain't my fight anymore. For those in my life who have shown grace, or will show up and show love later, I'll always fight to protect them, regardless of race or gender. But the others? Nah. Let it burn.

"Please Don't Give Up On Me"/"I Don't Know Him"

I'd reached my breaking point. It was a long-distance thing, and because we'd had so much in common, I continued to coach him on what I needed and wanted. And nearly every time, he delivered. I was smitten and I appreciated his effort. But what else did I need that I never got? His physical presence. Sure, we could sit on the phone for hours and discuss our favorite Stevie Wonder records and dissect the greatness of Marvin Gaye. We talked about house music and coincidentally, we knew many mutual Atlanta heavy hitters, and whenever I'd tell him I ran into such-and-such, he knew them well. We were both book lovers, who happened to share a love of biographies.

In many ways, he was perfect. And because of our commonalities, I let his physical absence slide. But it started to get old and I told him that. Initially, it was due to his job. He had quite possibly the worst working schedule an individual can have. But still, I worked around it. I made the journey to see him early on. Only one time though. I needed to know that we meshed, and we did. Well, sorta. There were some things that were left to be desired, and because I liked him and saw potential, I told him. I believed in him enough to give him the chance to see it through.

And eventually, the job was no longer an issue. I was excited. I'd already convinced him that the job was dead weight and he needed to do something else, so he was in the process of interviewing anyway. He had a side project to work, which he did. We texted throughout the day, and that evening, he updated me about the gig he'd just completed. He assured me that if he was paid in cash, he'd come down the following day.

I checked in the following day, wanting to know how to plan out my weekend. That's when he casually told me that he needed to drop something off to a friend way later in the day and he'd hit the road then. The issue was that it would take several hours to get here by car, so rather than drop the shit off early, he'd leave late. I already knew what that meant. I didn't feel like hearing "it's kinda late to get on the road, so I'm coming another time" because that's exactly what was going to happen. I casually texted back "No worries." And I meant it. I wasn't mad. I was fucking done. 

For several months I'd accepted excuse after excuse of why he couldn't appear. The job was no longer a hindrance, he'd just been paid well for a gig, and could easily drive to see me. But once again, there was some bullshit going on. I festered. I chatted with a girlfriend of mine and the more I talked to her, the more I knew it was time. I texted him a nice little message, basically saying "I enjoy your friendship, let's keep it that way." 

I meant it too. I really do enjoy and appreciate his friendship, but the space he was attempting to occupy was not being met with the attention I'd require. It's one thing to be a guy that I'm fucking, it's completely something else to try to be my man. I was done with feeling like everything in his life took priority, and it finally hit that I'd never be number one, even in the get-to-know-you stage. I'm glad we never did the do, even though we'd talked about it. How could we? I never saw him.

He texted me back that he had plans to come to town the following weekend. I informed him that I already had plans, so whatever. Truthfully, his response agitated me even more. He just casually blew me off, in spite of me warning earlier him that he was on his last leg, and he just assumed that the following weekend would be better? Nah, playboy. Think again.

But then he texted me with those words. "Please don't give up on me." In an ideal world, that would hit different. But it didn't. It struck an all too familiar chord. I had another man once hit me with the "please don't give up on me." And what I took from being asked not to give up on him was me seeing that he knew that he was fucking up, but he went full steam ahead with it anyway, with the expectation that when he was ready, he'd show up and show out.

I told him quite honestly then that I need to be with someone in closer proximity, and so does he. He didn't respond. I've wanted to call him, but I decided not to. I will at some point. Just not now. I continue to think that he's a great person. Just not great for me. I'm glad that I was wise enough to let Hot Girl Summer Malika do her thing, while testing out the waters with dude. No need to shut off my steady supply of attention and back scratchers for a maybe, ya dig?

When I envision myself with a significant other, I see someone who cannot wait to be in the same room with me. Someone who would move heaven and earth to see my smile in person. A man whose only wish in life is to see me and feel my lips on his one more time. And I've had that from men before. Granted, they all had some funky shit going on too (which is why I left them alone, obviously). But this ain't it, and I think it's time we stop pretending that it is.

I feel myself entering a season of contemplation. I think I'm going to scale back on dating for a while. I need to get my funds and my mind in order. I'm so glad it's fall. Time to get back to writing and being goal oriented. I bought my house (hallelujah!), but now the goal is to pay down some bills so I can work on some household improvements I want to make and paying down the actual home. I don't want or need the distraction of false promises, I've had more than enough of those. Time to focus and plan.

***

Tiombe Lockhart does an amazing version of the song "California Dreaming." I loved it way before I'd ever made a decision to move there. I didn't even know that one of my faves, Robert Glasper, was on it. No wonder I've had this song in rotation for over 20 years now. Anyway lately, the lyrics have been hitting pretty heavy.

"All the leaves are brown
And the sky is gray
I woke up in the world
And I was still here
I wouldn't have this day
If I was in L.A"

And honestly, on some of these dreary days, I think how much I'd love to just hop a plane and go sit on a beach in California. Not like it's fun in the sun weather there now. But it ain't this. 

When I was still dealing with Fred, I'd use any excuse to take a long weekend and go see him. But the last time I saw him was- well, just that. No need to rehash it here. But it was time. It was beyond time. He's done and said some fucked up things over the years, however this one just pulled out the last shred of interest I had in him. I didn't cry. I was cried out by then. I didn't even spend days or weeks mulling over it. Yeah, I vented to some friends, friends who knew for years that I could do much better, but that was pretty much it. 

Fred was also pretty annoyed that I told a mutual friend of his that he and I had been doing the nasty. I think he felt more annoyed that I'd managed to destroy the pristine image he'd managed to build for himself. The more I learned about L.A., the more I understood his draw to it. Millions of people go there regularly, to create their new identity. And I showed up like a hurricane and swept away his precious reputation. I'm not apologetic either. Don't do bullshit to me and then expect me to help you maintain your good boy reputation. I don't have shit to hide. No one can hold a damned thing over my head, and I live that way on purpose.

He still comes to mind, on occasion. It sucks that all of my L.A. people pretty much left. They were priced out and sick of the crime. It sucks, because normally, I'd have Fred pick me up from the airport, and then I'd go brunch or shop with homegirls and pick someone to crash with for a day or two, before returning to my mundane life in Atlanta. But that life and those resources are gone. My high school bestie is here, and she happens to be from L.A. We've discussed flying out for a weekend, and I'm sure we will eventually but like me, she's lining up some ducks and paying down bills first

But even though he's no longer my go-to L.A. guy, I still look back fondly on him. At least on the old version of him that I continued to believe in. I knew that guy, and I loved that guy. And I still do. I still love and cling to the person I knew who made me feel special, who loved me and traveled with me and confided in me and supported me, and stayed on the phone for hours, and partied with me. I really do love that version of him. But this guy? This guy right here? I can't help but to go all Mariah Carey. "I don't know him."

I have no idea where my long-term beach cutie went. Perhaps it was a mirage. Actually, I know it was. And in some strange way, I'm grateful for the act he put up. I loved that act, and I believe in my heart of hearts that the same act loved me too. I think I'm grieving that period and that act. And it's okay to grieve it, but it's time to embrace reality, not who people pretend to be, but being surrounded by real people. People who are honest and genuine, and loving.

I continue to be amazed at the beauty of the people around me. They are loving, intelligent, kind, supportive, all of that. And the more I work with lonely people, who are at their lowest, the more grateful I am to have individuals who are flawed, but sincere. Individuals who possess loyalty, integrity, and a heart as big as all outdoors. 

So I may be entering another season where I sit back and pour into myself. It also helps that I just had a small operation that put me out of commission for a while, not that I was planning anything anyway. No centering men. Nah. Just writing, focusing on my child, my money, my goals and my future. My new way of living is to let the trash take itself out. Seems to be easier that way, ya know?