Tubes Tied and Text Tied

Not gonna front, February of 2019 has been a bit challenging to me. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't had shit on anything that happened throughout the whole year of 2017, but still, heavy. To start with, I finally had my day in court with my son's father to get the child support order corrected. When Caleb was in kindergarten, my ex went to court and lied about getting Caleb 50% of the time, significantly lowering what he was ordered to pay. Talk about a punch in the gut. I mean, I physically hurt in that moment. I honestly wanted to drive into a lake. My step mother and incredible friend Christine held me together, in that moment. I considered moving far south, just to get away from him, but logistically, with my job, gas, attending Clark and other things, moving to Newnan just wasn't feasible. On top of that he didn't give me child support for 2 months. May not seem like a lot, but at the time, I was brining home roughly $800 from my part-time job while attending school. My only saving grace was that at the time I'd squirreled away the last of my tax money. But with that 2 months, the last of my tax money quickly evaporated. I had zero food in my refrigerator, and despite my pleas to him, to at least bring some Kroger gift cards or food for his child to eat, my ex was unmoved. Unmoved by the idea of his own child starving smh. In that moment, I contacted his step-mother who was kind enough to give me $60 to feed the kid. Cuz her ain't shit stepson wouldn't.
Moving forward, I tried numerous times to get the child support adjusted. And every damned time, despite it all, my ex was the victor when we went to court.
But this time, I was prepared. I had reached out to a lawyer I went to high school with and she was kind enough to take on my case. She came to court with me, on our date February 14th. That's right, Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day in court with people going through divorces any my child support modification. To make this long story short (I didn't initially intend to include this little tidbit in this blog, but I guess my caramel latte has kicked in, here), my child support order was granted and he ended up order to pay over DOUBLE what he was paying before, in addition to my lawyer's fees.

Talk about a weight being lifted! My goal is now to pay down some of the credit cards I'd used to hold us afloat over the years and then begin putting money into savings for my son. He's an amazing kid and he certainly deserves it. Methinks I'll even treat my little prince to a nice little vacation, either for spring break or this summer.
On other aspects in my life, I'm thinking that within the next two years or so, it may be time for a change on the job front. I love my clients dearly, but I sometimes get frustrated by mental blockages that keep them from reaching their full potential. My goal, while I'm sitting in this quaint little coffeehouse, is to finally start looking up registering to take my social work licensure exam. I'd make a lot more money once I do this. And I know that, but the fact is that I'm still tired as hell from grad school. More studying and chasing people down for reference letters isn't something I want to do. Thankfully I make a glowing impression where ever I go so getting a letter won't be hard at all, but shit, more work! *meh*

So while I'm considering a job change within a year or so, I decided to hurry the hell up and start taking advantage of my insurance, particularly getting a tubal ligation, a.k.a., getting my tubes tied. I tried unsuccessfully to get this done 3 years ago, but I wasn't prepared for the $1k price tag I'd have to pay. And that was actually adjusted for my low pay at the time. What now?! One would think that the government would be lining up to sterilize women making $8.50 an hour working at PetSmart, but I didn't find that to be the case.
Oddly enough, when I first met Pete, I was 36 and largely knew I didn't want any more children. I was kind of shocked when he told me he'd had a vasectomy. I really had to think about that. I was genuinely still on the fence. But once he died and I went through my grief process, once I awoke nearly a year later, I was quite sure that I didn't want anymore kids. I was done. I've been dragging my feet on it, but the time is now. I'm 38 and ready to start traveling and living my life. Wiping noses and asses is not on my agenda, unless we're talking about my parents. I contacted my insurance company the other day to learn that tubal ligation is free. Hot damn!! I was geeked. I read up a bit on it and readied myself. I even called my doctor and set a March date for the referral. Once the referral hits, I can do the procedure almost immediately after.

That night, I had the strangest of dreams. I dreamt that I'd been fooling around with Fred (lawd, I almost typed his real name there for a sec lol) and that I'd gotten pregnant. In my dream, I was too far along to abort the child, so I contacted him to let him know we were having a kid. He was okay with that. But then later in my dream, I learned that I was in fact early enough to abort the child and I contacted him to inform him that I planned not to have it. In that dream he begged me not to term his child. I woke up so conflicted. I went from "shit yeah, burn these damned tubes pronto!!" to still wanting them tied, but not nearly as excited. There is no doubt that I don't want any more kids. Well- scratch that. I'd love to adopt or even date a man who has kids and love on his like my own, but the idea of another 9 months of pregnancy, labor, and mothering an infant ain't in my cards, even a little.
I contacted Fred about my recent desire to get this permanently done, followed by my dream about us having a kid. Fred, Mr. No-Frills, quickly said "we aren't having any kids." Well no shit, Sherlock. But still, my nerves are shot. I contacted two of my riders for the last 25 years, Shaunnika and Courtney. They both agreed (along with the rest of the world) that "Malika don't need no more kids." I told them about my nervousness and they assured me that it was nothing to fear. They even said that they'd come with me to get the procedure done. God, I love them.
My next text was to Ted. I told him that I'd been all on board to get it done until my dream. Needless to say, I didn't mention the particulars of exactly who I was pregnant by in it. Being typical Ted, he told me not to worry. But then he quickly followed with a text that said "good because I like pleasing you" followed by "you felt good yesterday." The only problem is that I haven't seen his ass in two fucking weeks!

He immediately recognized his mistake and apologized profusely. But the damage was done. He sent about 5 or 6 text messages apologizing, but I haven't responded. I mean, exactly how does one respond to that? Yes, I'm well aware that we're open. He is not my man or boyfriend, or husband, any of that. But when I called him the night before and he didn't answer, now I know why. I just can't shake that. Sometimes I want him to contact me, crazy enough. I want him to apologize again. I genuinely have no words for him right now. None. I want to cry. My eyes have watered a little. But I won't let it happen.

I'm not sure when or if I'll see him again. As always, there are a few potentials hanging around, and one in particular I'm growing more fond of. I mean, yeah, the sex was great. But I just don't know how to come back from that.
So yeah, this is how my February 2019 is wrapping up. Tons of growth to begin looking at. I guess I'll start working on my LMSW application now. *sigh*

Chasing Unicorns

A couple of years ago, while Fred was visiting me, we went to see the Miles Davis biopic, Miles Ahead. I enjoyed the movie, but one character in it stood out to me- Junior. He immediately reminded me of my friend, Davis. Junior, who's name I looked up to learn is actually LaKeith Stansfield, possessed the same drifty eyes. Their eyes seemed to hold some kind of secret. Their eyes screamed of an inability to be held captive or captured. A wild innocence, if you will.

I began to follow LaKeith's career, later watching him in Dope, and of course, the show Atlanta. He offered amazing comedy relief in Atlanta as the character Darius. I'd come to admire LaKeith as an actor on his own, but every now and again, I'll look at him and get a glimpse of my old friend Davis all over again.
I've always known that I'd meet LaKeith in passing one day. I tend to be good about knowing those kinds of things. That I'll see people out in passing. Of course I never know when or where, but I always know its coming. So with that said, its only fitting that when Atlanta began filming again, LaKeith began showing up at at all of the Atlanta hotspots. Coincidentally enough, my best friend, Sky, had managed to see LaKeith at quite a few hot spots, including his own fucking house. :/
I've always been a big believer in serendipity. How some stuff comes together just right. That said, I drove Sky to a friend's birthday party on Friday night. While driving, we managed to encounter a gnarly traffic jam, that we were lucky enough to avoid by getting off at an earlier exit. The jam slowed us slightly, but not by much. While in the car, I'd asked Sky if he'd seen LaKeith lately. He said he hadn't. I went on to confess that part of my interest in LaKeith stemmed from how he reminded me of Davis. I confessed that their eyes had that similar inflections that held their loose connection to here. Sky stated that he felt that LaKeith's eyes were a bit less "holding it together" but stated that he agreed in my assessment.
We finally made it to the bar for Sky's final stop. As I drove on back, getting onto the main road, I looked up and I saw him- Davis. My heart leapt. We were just talking about him! I rolled down my window and screamed out his name across 5 lanes in the dark, drizzly night, to no avail. I finally gave up, and drove toward my destination, but I managed to see him again. I called his name again, and he finally stopped. I saw him straining his eyes to see who was calling out to him. I shouted my  name a few times, but I could tell he remained lost. He stood where he was, waiting to see the face of the person who'd been calling out to him.

I pulled up and he smiled. "Hey you," he said. We chatted briefly. It felt good. Calm, familiar, comforting. He asked if I wanted to park my car and come into the hotel where he'd been staying. I said yes. This particular hotel is a known shit hole, but he'd called this shit hole home for years, on and off, so despite the peeling paint, obvious crime scenes, and overall shitty feeling about it, I felt warm being there with him. He offered a chair for me to sit on, but I preferred the bed. I instantly melted.
I'll be honest and admit that Davis and I were both going through a lot when we first met. His mother had died roughly a month before he and I first crossed paths, and shortly after he and I met, my ex and I had our explosive final blow. Neither saw it at the time, but we were both pretty wounded. I talked about losing Pete and how if he'd lived, we would have fucked around a couple of times, and moved on with our lives. Instead, he died when and how he did, leaving me devastated, while simultaneously leading me to a path of calm and insight that I never saw coming. I said to Davis that my grieving period was like "the ultimate therapy lesson, where I was forced to lay all of my shit on the table." I talked a little about Steve. Davis talked about the two primary girlfriends he'd had, and how he'd come back to the shit hole motel after he and his ex broke up a few months back.
Davis, who is a painter, talked about watching his art grow and how he just wanted the money to start following his popularity- a stark contrast from the man I'd previously known, who never seemed to focus enough to make his art as big as it could have and should have been. He'd talked about being on a national t.v. show lately because of his art as well, and even getting paid for it. He took pride in showing me pictures of the paintings and murals he'd completed around the city. I was happy for him. I'd noticed the growth in his art from afar, and I was proud to see it up close. It was also awesome to see and feel that he'd grown on a personal level. I'd reminded him of the painting he'd previously promised me. He asked me what it was supposed to be of, and I said something that reminded him of me. He admitted that would take a lot, but said that he hoped to complete it one day.



Davis asked about Pumpkin and I talked about how my baby is now a whopping 11-years-old. He was floored. I asked about his kids as well. Davis then asked if he could crash at my apartment for a while. One thing that I'd left out up to this point, is that Davis has a vice or two, which contributed to some of our previous issues. And I couldn't have those vices around my son. Not now. I'm shaping him to the man I know he's capable of being and seeing mommy's friend drinking his breakfast is not the image I'm trying to bring forth. Davis agreed that if he stayed with me, no drinking at the house. But then I thought about it again. I couldn't do it. Yes, a small part of me still cares wildly about Davis, but I just can't welcome bullshit into my home and life. Davis understood though. "Yeah, he's too big for all of that." I nodded. Pumpkin is a young man now. Any man I bring into my home needs to be a serious suitor, a husband in waiting. Not just one of mom's "guy friends." I had to pass. But truth be told, if Pumpkin weren't a factor, I would have quickly told him yes. I guess that's just another example of my child saving me from myself.
I'd talked a bit more about my dating life, sharing that'd I'd bought a sex toy last summer, but that I hadn't even used the thing, because to me, sex is more cerebral than anything. I confessed that my favorite part of sex is what he and I were doing, just relaxing and sharing our lives, not just the penetration. Davis surprised me by saying "yeah, I feel like we're having sex, just doing this." I nodded in agreement. There we were, fully clothed, laying on the bed, admitting to how intimately connected we felt.

It was getting late, and I was exhausted. I asked Davis if I could crash there for a few. He said of course. I kicked off my shoes, and lay down next to him. He said that I could take off my jeans too, but I said that I didn't trust human nature in that moment. He understood. We spooned, his arms wrapped around me. I quickly nodded off. I'd set my alarm for a few hours, knowing I needed to get home soon. But I couldn't, not yet. I turned and wrapped my arms around Davis. He pulled me closer. I never wanted to leave that spot. After 30 more minutes, I began to gather myself. I readied to sneak out, to not disturb him. He looked up at me putting myself together and silently began to get dressed as well, to walk me to my car.
Naturally, on my way home, I replayed what just happened. Things we'd shared, how I felt. How I managed to unpack some unresolved feelings I'd had for him. Oddly enough, I probably have more of these kinds of encounters than the average person. Perhaps I'm just more open to it, to these unspoken spiritual connections, brought upon by a kind of recognition. I found myself again, glad to be single. Because if I'd had a guy at home, what I just experienced was non-sexual, but it was so much deeper than physically cheating. I hadn't shared my body, I'd shared my mind and my spirit. Davis is a bit of a unicorn. I guess I am too.