Going With the Flow and Reaping the Rewards

Last year, after Ali died, I knew that I had to take some time for myself before I started working again. It was almost like having to learn how to breathe again. Part of that time out was my dedication to finally finish writing my first book. There had been so many changes in the past year and some change since I'd started it, it only felt right that my cousin, Paperboi Pimpen (as he called himself, being a writer) would be the one to inspire me to finish my work.

I'd tried to chip away at it, but life just wasn't working that way. Taking much needed time off to work on my great masterpiece while grieving and healing just felt right. I initially made a goal of writing roughly 300 words a day. Every now and again, I surpassed that number, although 300 remained my goal. The book is for Black women, utilizing Eastern philosophy to live their best lives and I'm pretty proud of it, although I think that I may need to add a bit more to it.

I submitted it to my mother's friend, who is a publisher. I hadn't heard anything for a while, to the point that I'd almost forgotten about it. Then when I did remember it, since I hadn't heard anything in a while, I considered finding my own publisher. Little did I know then that finding a good publisher is far harder than writing the book. People often complain about the difficulty of writing a book, which I'm here to tell you is utter horseshit. Finding a publisher is way harder. After spending an afternoon fruitlessly looking for a local, Black owned book publisher that fit my niche book was not nearly as easy as I'd assumed. I wrote down a few things to possibly look into, but nothing panned out. I decided to just to wait to hear back from mom's friend instead.

The friend finally hit me up yesterday. I was  done with work for the day and so excited to hear her thoughts. I told her that even if she didn't find the book to be up her alley, I hoped to hear her thoughts anyway. She told me that she really appreciated the book and enjoyed how in depth I went in explaining Buddhism in layman's terms. She went on to say that she also appreciated that the book was geared towards Black women. I was excited. Then she broke to me that her publishing company focuses mainly on Christian works, so she felt that it wouldn't be a good fit for them. Shucks. On a good note, she said that she felt that her editor (who is also a publisher) would possibly like it and she agreed to pass it on.

That really motivated me to stay hopeful that this book may see the light of day at some point after all. In the midst of all that, while I was proud that my book was aimed at Black women, I decided that I wanted to give the same support to women overall, regardless of race. I had an idea to do a book about feminism and Eastern philosophy, but of course, I plan to put my Malika spin on it. Much like my last book, once I got the title for the idea, it almost started to write itself. I'm genuinely excited about this next book. I also love how my leap into observing and studying patriarchy is inspiring me to help other women lead their full lives, regardless of how they've been told they are supposed to live.

I'm out of training at my new job now, so my hours will allow me to write during the day (my most creative time) and work in the evening. Another blessing is that I had to buy an ignorant amount of books to research for my last piece, so I'll have plenty of research sources once I get into the heart of this new book. I before I even knew I'd be starting my  new job, I decided to turn my home dining room into an office. I guess it was nesting, before I knew I was nesting. But now that I actually work in the office, I can't really write there. I have tons of work equipment cluttering the area, and I spend so much time the for actual work, it's lost it's creative zeal. I mean, I'm thankful to have such a bright and sunny work office, but it no longer inspires me to write. So back to the coffeehouses I go. There are far worse situations to be in.

On a relatively sucky note, I'm not going back to L.A. for the Halloween party after all. My connect on the party learned that her friends have been leaning toward attending a massive party in Beverly Hills on Sunday instead, which she and I both cannot do, because we both have to get our kids to school that following morning. But on a good note, one of my favorite local night clubs will be hosting a fun Halloween party that Saturday night.  I mean, I was really looking forward to hitting L.A. again, but my funds are depleted and I really need to start focusing on saving more money. I was ready to sacrifice for my bucket list item, but no need to spend the coins if it isn't for something over the top.

I'm glad the weather has changed. I tend to do better at writing when things slow down. All I want to do this time of year is cuddle up with an oversized sweater and post up in a coffeehouse with my laptop while I tap to my heart's content. The local coffeehouses in my area are so cute and offer a nice little retreat, which is all I need at the moment. I also intend to start planning for the lifestyle brand that I've been toying with. This feels amazing. I'm inspired, with no major stressors. I've got some major projects to undertake. My book, in addition to working with some local leaders to increase awareness of fentanyl testing strips, in honor of Andrea. She'd be so proud of me. I miss her.

Weekend Vibes, While Life Piles On, Preparing to Fly

Last year, before I left L.A. I'd started on a bit of a quest to meet a few new friends. One of the guys I'd started talking to was a local named Jason. Jason had just moved back from Las Vegas after he broke up with his daughters' mother. Jason was staying with family, but struggling. Never the less, we met up for pho and had a great time. I made it known that I'd be relocating home to Atlanta soon, and we realized that had we met at a different time, we possibly could have worked as a couple. But things were what they were, and stayed in touch anyway.

Time did what time does, and moved us on along. I was back in Atlanta, and Jason had gotten a girlfriend he was mad about. They eventually broke up and he admitted to me that while he initially thought he wanted a relationship, it occurred to him that wasn't the case. Jason and I continued to chat over the year, commenting on one another's posts and occasionally checking in via chat messages. He recently mentioned that he hadn't eaten, when I asked if he needed a few bucks to grab some food, he agreed. I sent him $20 and wished him well. He later on mentioned being in the hospital. I inboxed him to ask what happened. He said to me "multiple abscesses on prostate." I told him that he'd better be okay. He assured me that he would be.

A few weeks back, I finally got my much needed, much delayed tax return. It was highly needed earlier in the year, but by now, I just paid down a few bills and decided that I'd head back to my new second home. I booked a flight for the sunshine and traffic of L.A., excited to touch down, yet again. It recently occurred to me that I've been in and out of L.A. so much that I don't even know how many times I've been now.

I intentionally selected last weekend, because with my upcoming job changes, I knew that taking a regular weekend out would be difficult with my son's schedule and mine. I debated pushing back my trip, but decided to stay on. I'd alerted Fred and my classmate, Amber and decided that having a weekend away was just what I needed.

I hadn't heard from Jason in a few days and I figured that while in town, I'd meet up with him for coffee, or possibly stop by the hospital if he was still there. I went to his Facebook page and saw the plethora of pictures of him. I felt a lump in my throat. I've been here before, so I already knew what it was. I scrolled a little, just to confirm it. Gone. He was gone. I boarded my plane on Friday, he'd died two days prior on Wednesday. I cried.

Granted, Jason and I weren't besties. We weren't super tight. We'd only met a year ago and in spite of us remaining in touch, we weren't best buds. But that was my dude. He was a genuinely good guy, who did right by others. And he's gone now. That makes 5. FIVE people I know that have died in 2022 alone. FIVE.

Fred picked me up from the airport and dropped me off at the hotel he helped me to find, called Hotel June. He went home, leaving me early the next day to entertain myself. I was in West L.A., close enough to the water that I could smell it, but far enough that I sure as hell couldn't walk to the beach. I wandered along the strip close to my hotel and decided that in all of my grief, a nice joint or edible would hit the spot. I was thankfully just a short walk from a dispensary. 

I explained to the woman inside of the dispensary what was happening and told her that I needed something mellow. I'd scaled back from smoking weed (not that I was ever a heavy user), in part because it always knocked me out. Even though I was never a heavy smoker, on the rare occasions that I did, I felt myself rendered incapacitated for 8-12 hours, followed by a massive nap. I have no clue how so many people exist like that, because I certainly cannot. Plus I was lucky to have a job that does not test for drug use. I figured, what the hell?

The woman at the counter suggested a pineapple joint. I left out and pretty much found a quiet corner to enjoy myself in. I gotta admit, it felt damned good to be able to unwind, without fear of a cop. I was in a state where marijuana is legal, and I didn't have to worry about any random drug tests on my job. What a world, right? I debated whether to bring that small piece of heaven home with me, but decided against it. My job is pretty coveted and the benefits are bananas. The last thing I want is to ruin it all for a $15 joint. I'll be back and get another one when the time is right.

Fred came by an hour later and we headed on to the Promenade, an outdoor mall. We enjoyed drinks at the Cheesecake Factory, before heading over to Santa Monica, where we walked to the carnival and then on to Venice Beach. I feel more and more at home, the more time I spend in L.A. I loved being at the beach in the middle of October. Granted, it was still relatively chilly for the beach, so there was no wading, and with my freaking luck, it was actually kind of drizzly early on, adding to the drop in temp. But still, it felt like home.

The following morning, Fred pissed me off (of course) and I had breakfast with a girlfriend of mine who went to grad school with me. Fred suggested we head over to Issa Rae's coffeehouse, Hilltop Coffee in Inglewood. That was actually my second time being there. Glad we got there early, because by the time we left, the line was literally out the door. It's a bright, open air space with great food and amazing drinks. I look forward to the day that I can go there with my laptop in hand and post up in a booth by the windows and create to my heart's content.

Anyway, we discussed professional issues we were experiencing in our careers, and of course we discussed men. My friend was aware of things with Fred, but I also discussed my overall dating life and how I feel that most men I've encountered have been nothing more than a noose around my neck and I felt no desire to tie myself down in anything other than a healthy and productive relationship. I found myself talking about the last two car accidents that I'd had, and how they led to stuttering. I also explained to my friend how at times, when I discuss those accidents, I begin stuttering again. Sure enough, I literally began stuttering profusely as I talked about what happened. I always hate the sympathetic stares I get whenever I stutter in front of loved ones.

After a couple of hours, we decided to head on to LAX. I told my friend how much I really didn't want to leave. I hated that I had to board that freaking plane. I wanted to stay and enjoy the sunshine and explore even more of the city and state. My friend said that the cost of living is killing her and that she hopes to return to Atlanta soon. I told her that hope she's still around when I move back.

I boarded my plane heading back home. Funny how I'd almost decided to cancel the trip, and I was only there for a day and a half, but it was just what I needed. Being there energized me and reminded me what I'm working towards.

My son is 15-years-old. A bright boy, who will undoubtedly be able to care for himself. He's so independent, intelligent, and thoughtful, I know that he'll do well. My son and I are quite close and he knows that I'll always be around if I'm needed. But I'd be lying if I said anything other than, "I WANT TO MOVE BACK TO L.A." I will acknowledge that moving back to Atlanta when I did was just what I needed. I got to spend time with my cousin before he passed, and truthfully, I would not have gotten the good job that I have, had I not returned. And this job has set me up for even more opportunities in the future. So I'm even more ready than I knew I could or would be. Now if I could just find a possible boo thang with some freaking sense to spend some time growing together with during cuffing season.

I mean, I occasionally dip a toe in the wonderful *sarcasm* world of online dating. And I met a charming gentleman that lives nearby. I asked him today if he has any children. He told me that he has six of them, the oldest being 21, the youngest is 5. He asked if that was a problem. I'm happy that he was honest, so I wouldn't tell him "HELL YEAH, THAT'S A PROBLEM!" But I mentioned to him that a relationship could never be, because of my plans to move cross country in 3 years. But the fact is, bruh, you got 2 whole decades, (half my life!) with another woman. Y'all have have had wins and losses, birthdays and holidays, births and deaths, sorrows and celebrations, all wrapped up in two decades. PLUS y'all gotta coparent, because you have a young child (and some teenagers) to continue to look after. Yeah, I gotta toss his ass back. I've been very intentional in not having more children. Why would I get with you now and have to start over? I'm done wiping noses and putting down children for nap time.

Reminds me of another guy I'd met. When I asked about his children, he said "I have 3. The oldest two are 21 and 22" with no mentioning of his youngest. Naturally, I asked about his other child. "She's 6" he finally 'fessed up. I explained to him my desire to begin traveling the world soon. He shared that he too wants to travel the world, however he wants his daughter to be able to travel at times too, hoping to make her well-rounded. I can certainly appreciate his desire to show his daughter the world, but all I could imagine was some child ruining my cruise around the Mediterranean, all because she was cranky and past her bed time. I ended things shortly thereafter. 

Three more years. That's it. Just 3 more years and I can move back and live the life that I want. I'm hoping to tie my tubes soon. I don't want to experience any other connections that will hold me down and keep me from living the life that I want. I don't want to be tied to anyone else, for any reason other than love and mutual respect. Lord knows that I'm also looking at retirement. The goal is to pay off my car note, build my savings, and raise my credit score in the meantime. Once my child is out of high school and in college, I can focus on my retirement. With my current job, I can retire at 62, as long as there are no major issues, like kids.

I love my baby. He's my world, and I don't resent him for a sec. Although, I'll be honest in admitting that I had no clue what I was getting into when I had him. And now I know. And with that, I'm good on having another one. I want to be free. I want to languish at the beach, and attend dance parties, and I want to not have to answer to anyone. I just want my freedom. Just 3 more years. Ain't it great?

Good Problems

I drove up to North Carolina to spend time with my bio mom (I know...). On the way up, I listened to some Usher tunes, which reminded me of a good night I had some years back.

A girlfriend invited me to a party she was bartending for. The owner of the home is a well-known musician and he would periodically have a live band in his basement, jamming out. Since my friend was stuck on the bar, I knew I'd have to schmooze, not a problem for me. While there, I ran into a woman that is pissed at me about something that happened literally 20 years ago. I saw her and detected her energy, so we silently agreed to remain on opposing sides of the room, although I occasionally peeped her giving me the stank eye. I think its ridiculous that she's so opposed to me. We were kids and her hands aren't exactly clean either. But either way, I wish her well. Truth be told, I wasn't mean mugging her back because I don't care enough to do so. She could wish death on me, or she could go home to a shrine of me while she lights a candle and repeats my name, followed by my birthday and favorite color. I wouldn't give a shit. Never the less, I wasn't there for her anyway.

I heard an Usher song that I'd never heard before, and walked to the DJ booth to find out what it was, so that I could download it. It turned out to be the song "That's What It's Made For" from the Confessions album. I occasionally chatted up strangers, when I peeped the trumpet player, quite a good looking guy. But he looked familiar. I walked up to him and introduced myself and asked if we'd ever met before. He told me his name, and as it turns out, we had not met previously. Didn't matter, the introduction was done and I was glued to the handsome stranger for the rest of the night. Every now and again, I would look up and see Ms. Stank Eye mean mugging me even harder once I'd clearly made the acquaintance of the handsome trumpet player. I assume she meant intimidation by the sharp looks, but the result was my inner glee watching her seethe as I playfully chatted up my new friend.

As the night wore on, the signs were there that my new friend could definitely get the goods, and he was interested as well. We discussed our plans for the early morning (I had to work at Petsmart, and he had to play trumpet at his church). As we started to leave, one of the homeowner's friends stopped the trumpeter and began discussing music. I sat patiently on a nearby barstool as the musician danced seductively between my legs.

Their conversation went on longer than I would have preferred, but it eventually ended. We were both clearly exhausted and tried to find ways to make a rendezvous work. My work uniform was at home, but we were 30 minutes from my home, and he was an additional 30 minutes out. We eventually relented that there was no way for our schedules to allow us to dance the forbidden dance. We hugged one another good night, and never saw one another again.

While in North Carolina with my mother, I shared with her various stories about my life, including my interactions with Civil Rights icons like Dr. Lowery, Andrew Young, and John Lewis. I then went on to share with my mother that I hate wasting food and often stuffed myself after spending time in Fred Hampton Junior's prior organization, where we fed hungry people of Atlanta. As we talked, it occurred to me that I've had some encounters with some pretty impressive people. I even admitted to my mother that I tend to be attracted to men with access to power. And quite honestly, my quick wit and outgoing nature gets me into many rooms that someone like me would normally would not be in.

While driving home from North Carolina, a girlfriend who has many Hollywood connections asked me if I wanted to join her for a Halloween party in the Hollywood Hills. I damned near crashed my car! WHAT?! ME?! Halloween party in the Hollywood Hills?! SHIT YES!!!

While in Los Angeles a few years back, I drove silently up and down the Hollywood Hills, coincidentally while The Weeknd's song "The Hills" played in the background. I was actually looking for the Hollywood sign, unaware that it is unlit (therefore, unfindable) at night. I was amazed at how well the song really did capture the energy of the neighborhood. You could almost feel the rich decadence and secretive debauchery. I told myself then that I wanted to attend a party in the Hills one day. I didn't know when or how, but I knew I wanted to at least kiss that world, before returning back to mine. I reached out to another connected girlfriend in L.A. to ask if she had any connects that could get us in at a party, but alas, she did not. 

I eventually landed back by the Chinese Theater before a security guard informed me that the stupid sign wasn't lit up and I was wasting my time looking for it at night. Thankfully Fred served as a tour guide and led me straight to it a day or so later.

I arrived at a coffeehouse in Charlotte on my way home and called my friend with my laptop in front of me, trying to find out how or if I could make this possible with my work schedule. I'd actually had plans for Halloween in Atlanta, the first time in forever. I was looking forward to my weekend of drunken antics in my hometown. But a Halloween party in the Hollywood Hills?! How could I say no?!

Welp, I'm heading home, but all I can think myself is how amazing it is to be able to live this sort of life. I'm a social worker from Atlanta, Georgia, but I'm able to live the life that dreams are made of. I hold court with beautiful men and I get invited to amazing parties where I further expand my network and experience even greater times with even greater people. I'm not saying I'm the shit. But I'm not saying that I'm not the shit either.