Past, Present, and Future

I'm chilling in a coffeehouse, with a fresh manicure, and the world is right again. There are so many things to love about this time of year, but I love how it tends to lead to reflection about the previous year, and the hopeful things for the following year.

I'm still a bit perplexed about the rollercoaster that 2022 was early on. I was in a shitty (short lived) relationship, in extraordinary pain from car accident because of said dude, I had just started a new job after a long string of previous bad jobs, the new job was crappy too, still decompressing from having to move back to Atlanta from L.A. and having to rebuild my bond and trust with my son, after my ex pumped his head full of lies about my me.

At some point during the year, things began to shift in the opposite direction. I finally had enough of the shitty dude and decided that his problems were no longer my concern and put his ass out. I obtained a job that helped me feel more confident about my ability to be efficient and effective, and then I finally landed pretty much endgame of the jobs I'd been hoping to land since I finished grad school.

I was supposed to meet with Devon today. He told me he had more ideas to share for my book. I'm kind of taking a backseat on the book (just through the new year), although I'm still keeping it in mind. He and I are going to meet up early Saturday instead. I love and appreciate that Devon is so dedicated to helping me push this forward, while so many of my exes always blew things off that were important to me. Not only is Devon talking to his network for me to help me move in the right direction, he genuinely seems to be just as passionate about it as I am. Anyway, we were supposed to meet, but my family is visiting town for the holiday, and we made plans, especially since this is the first holiday after 2 loved ones passed away. Alas, plans changed last minute, allowing me to get these nails done and decompress for a few before I go grab groceries for tomorrow.

While in bed this morning, I read an article that showed various methods of husbands using "weaponized incompetence," which is where someone pretends to be bad at something in order to 1. no longer be responsible for caring for it in the future. 2. avoiding responsibility if it is done poorly. Suddenly, I was taken back.

At my son's birthday party, a few years back, while he was trying to urge me to go to counseling with him, my son's father said to me "I still remember the good times we had." And I briefly jogged my memory and explained that I didn't have the same good memories. I said to him that I'm sure they existed, but at that particular moment, I was honestly having a hard time recalling any good memories. But the article today slapped me in the face with the truth. I had no good memories, because there were no good memories. At least not for me.

But of course my ex had the good memories. He had good memories of the relationship, because I was good to him! I remember how I'd see him balled up on the couch, and although he'd always claim that he didn't want a blanket, I observed his body language, knew he was cold, and brought him one anyway. He only told me towards the end of the relationship, that he appreciated that I used to do that. When I learned that he loved frozen candy bars just as much as I did, I made it a point to always keep them on deck in the freezer. One year, I realized that he and a few of his relatives shared close birthdays, so I reached out to them for all of us to have a family celebration together. All of those little things that someone does to show you that they love you and they're paying attention to you? I did them.

And what did I get in return? I got insults. I got called stupid, and bitch. I recall him following me to my bedroom and hurling insults at me, hoping I'd open the door and fight with him. Sometimes I'd win, sometimes he'd win. But who really "wins" when you live like that? I remember the countless lies. I remember him picking me up from the hospital after giving birth to his child, with fucking HICKIES on his neck. I remember some other chick calling my phone and telling me she might be pregnant by him. I remember him bringing some "childhood friend" into my home, another bitch he was fucking. Say what you want, but I never showed up at a dude's house and tried to play nice with whoever he was dealing with. Grimy ain't my style.  My son  recently said in front of me and a friend of mine "I still remember when dad hit you." I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life.  I remember him allowing his absolute garbage of a "friend" to slash my fucking tires and break my windshield (which my dumb ass ex had to pay to replace). I remember him sitting back quietly and allowing his family to attack me and accuse me of ruining his life, in spite of the fact that I got pregnant based solely on the lie on top of lie he told me when we first met. On top of that bullshit, he continued to try to attack me and harass me, even after we broke up and he was openly fucking the booger wolf he ended up with because I left him. 

Good times? Fucking really?! Where?! WHEN?!

(So now that I got that out of my system)

So this morning, something in that article brought it out for me. I didn't erase any happy memories. They didn't exist. At least, not for me. Thinking back on that mess, it's really quite insulting for him to make such a horrible relationship all warm and fuzzy, just so the doesn't have to deal with the consequences of how terrible he was, and hoping that he'll slide comfortably back into a relationship with me. It's almost as if in his mind, I'll always be there waiting in the wings for him, no matter how horrible he was to me, and he put that mess on full display by suggesting we go to counseling, as if we'd hit a minor bump in the road of our otherwise loving relationship.

No wonder I didn't go to counseling with his ass!! Who wants to return to that shit?! I'm sure he did have great memories of me. I was loyal, funny, kind, understanding, naïve, and downright stupid. But that's my story, I was there, and I own my role in it. He had an amazing woman who was kind, loving, creative, fun, and supportive. And in return, he was allowed to show his ass every fucking time he wanted to. And he ruined her. At least he's another woman's problem now.

I was definitely bitter for a long time. But I'm not now. I'm the opposite. I don't consider myself ruined either. I'm still that warm, amazing woman that he first met. But he'll never in life get the chance to experience her awesomeness again, and I'm fully fucking okay with it. I finally found the joy in being alone. I've learned the value of blocking out men and not feeing apologetic when I needed to mob out, based on all the red flags. I now have the power and the knowledge to run like hell if stuff is crappy early on, rather than standing firm in the shit storm, hoping it gets better. I'm finally looking ahead at retirement. I put in time for my spring and summer vacations last night at work. Obviously going back to L.A., but considering spending time in Denver also.

I'm focused on my son, making sure he feels loved and supported. I'm focusing on becoming the best woman I can be and being unapologetically outstanding. I'm focusing on moving back to L.A. once my son graduates high school in  a few years. I love me. I like me. 2022 has been a hell of a year, and a hell of a ride. 2023 is almost here. Bring it.

Tricks or Treats?

I wasn't able to attend the rocking Halloween party in the Hollywood Hills that I'd hoped for. My girlfriend expressed to me that her people hadn't gotten back to her in a decent time, so she started to lean toward the idea of us not attending. During that period, I started to look at my coinage and determined that I needed to stay put and start saving. My child has cost me a good amount of money over the last few months, and I finally told him that if the plan is to save money for him to go away to college with some spending money, we'd have to reign it it. He sheepishly agreed.

The fact is, I really need to get more control of my spending as well. I don't regret my traveling, and I'm already looking forward to a few more trips, it's just that in the meantime, I need to get some savings up before I hop another plane. But Cali is always in my line of sight.

Anyway, a week before party time, my friend called me and said that she still plans to go plus there was an invite to the Playboy Mansion on the agenda. My inner feminist was definitely torn. I mean, I technically could have still gone to L.A. with her, especially with the invite of a lifetime on the table. But I was committed to staying, plus I'd promised my young adult nephew that he'd be with me at the nightclub I had plans to attend. And don't get me started on the skeevy history of the Playboy Mansion. Reluctantly, I held firm that I should remain in Atlanta. Pretty glad I did. My friend missed the Playboy party because of airline crap and her time at the party in the Hills was cut short because of logistic issues. I would have been salty AF if I'd spent all that money to show up, only for the whole trip to be b.s.

The weekend came and I remained focused on having a sexy costume, not something I normally do. I gotta admit, it felt nice getting eyes all night, although I'm openly not really looking to date at the moment. I'm enjoying my current space of working on book 2, while working on further centering myself. I ended up meeting Trinidad James and got his phone number. Wasn't really trying to date him or anything, but he and I have a lot of mutual friends and I wanted to get to know more about him. I texted him a few days after we met, and his vibe was kinda off, so I aborted mission.

The interesting thing about that weekend is that my best friend was performing, so I stopped in, wearing my sexy genie costume, so he could take a picture. While there, I was surprised to see Devon step in. I froze. I knew I had to say something to him.

I'd first met Devon about 16 years ago, while I was working at Borders Books in Midtown. He was always a nice guy and we got along well. We happened to have a lot of mutual friends, as social media makes it easy to find out. Nothing much ever came of it all, in particular because I got pregnant around the same time.

Devon and I continued to see one another running around town. We'd always promised one another a hang out session. The time finally came for us to hang out. Poor Devon, when we finally did hang out, I happened to be in a pretty bad spot, because I was dealing with the breakup with my son' father. I was tearful. Angry. Confused. And Devon was patient. He was kind. He allowed me the space to be vulnerable, without trying to blame or take advantage of me. 

As I came out of that fog, I started to realize how much of a massive thank you I owed to Devon for that. We remained online friends, and every now and again, he'd comment or post something and I wanted so bad to inbox him and tell him how much his support meant to me that one night so many years ago. I just never could, without my fear of opening up that night. So when I saw Devon, I knew it was only right that I take the time to tell him what he deserved to hear.

He smiled then came over to me and hugged me. I immediately told him how much I owed him for that night. He told me that he barely remembered, and asked me to jog his memory. I shared with him how I was going through a break up and I was a tearful drag of a mess throughout the night. He said that it was all vaguely familiar, but regardless, he was glad to know that he was there for me and whatever was going on, he sensed that I needed a friend that night, and he opted to be it.

I had to run, but we agreed to exchange numbers, so that we could meet up and talk more. We met up at a local coffeehouse a week or so later. During our next meeting, I talked about my career, how my life greatly improved since breaking up with my ex, and how in spite of some occasional setbacks, things have been pretty good. Devon discussed separating from his son's mother and how he's been navigating since then. Because Atlanta is so damned small, coincidentally, Devon knew my ex's rebound skuzzbag in passing, and he confirmed that she was the walking mess that I knew she was. I also talked to Devon about my book project and the hurdles that it entails. He suggested that we link up again to discuss the book further.

Devon walked me to my car, like the gentleman he is. We hugged. But it was kind of a long hug. A nice, warm hug, of embracing a long lost loved one. I instinctively pecked him on the lips. He smiled.

A couple of weeks later, Devon contacted me. I guess I'm kind of jaded about men, but I was thinking that it had been a while. But then he texted me and mentioned that he'd told a friend of his about my book and he wanted to pow wow about some ideas. Damn. So we'd been out contact, but he was looking out anyway in the meantime. Color me impressed.

We agreed to meet for breakfast a couple of days later. It was warm, light, and familiar. We talked about traveling. He discussed his time in Africa and Brazil. He talked about his upcoming trip to San Francisco, and I told him how much I've walked across the Golden Gate Bridge 3 times over the last 5 years and it remains one of my favorite things to do, while San Fran is one of my fave cities. I told him that San Fran is also close to Yosemite and not too much of a drive from Reno and Lake Tahoe and suggested he take a quick detour if able. I asked if I could join him, if my scheduled allowed. He said he'd welcome it.

While there, my best friend happened to be in the area, as there was a Christmas Market in the neighborhood. My bestie stopped in and greeted us both (Devon and my best friend have also known one another for years). Afterward, Devon and I agreed to vacate and walk around the neighborhood and check out the items on sale. We laughed, we talked to the vendors. We almost stopped at an amazing coffeehouse in the area, but they were booked for the day. We agreed to stop in another day to check it out. We shared our favorite music and I threatened his life if he didn't eventually listen to Kendrick Lamar's DAMN. album, while encouraging him to check out Tyler the Creator's music when he gets a chance. At one point, we walked by a window, and I stopped to look at us, bundled in our full autumn attire, sweaters and coats. I joked that we looked like a couple from a Black romance movie. He snuggled with me and chuckled

He walked me to my car. While in the whip, we discussed the book further. I told him the gist of it, in addition to what I plan to do to market it, and who my target audience is. He told me some things that he felt would make the book more marketable. I shared that writing the actual book is the easy part, so I learned. The difficult part is finding a publisher that would love and push my book, like it was their own. As a creative, your art really is your baby and you want someone who will push the hell out of it, like their life depends on it. No one wants their blood, sweat, and tears to be thrown in a corner and ignored by a publishing house that doesn't see the vision that you do. Devon told me that with the availability my new job offers me, I should look at self-publishing. I told him he was right. I asked him to be my manager. He said he was hesitant to take on the role, but would offer consulting. I promised him "if I make money on this, I got you. If I eat, you eat." He nodded his head in acceptance.

As the day wore on, he said he had to get to the gym and I had to fetch a laptop from the repair shop for my son. We hugged. We kissed. We made plans to meet this week at another coffeehouse, another one of my faves that I knew he'd appreciate. He said he looks forward to it.

I drove home, taking it all in. It was so much, but so simple. I'll be honest and admit that I'm a bit jaded right now. I have literally lost count on how many times I've had a good time with a guy for him to turn around and be a mess and a half. I no longer get the hearts in my eyes and feel my heart stop beating when I spend time with a guy. I just don't think have any more of the "butterflies in my stomach" reserve. 

More than anything, I'm glad that my bullshit meter now quickly rules out men who are either going to waste my time, break my heart, or both. I actually went on a third date with a guy recently, only to realize that he's got a bit of problem with the bottle, and for me realize that I need to find a graceful way to make an exit. I'd be fucking stupid to take on another man with a substance issue after what I've seen in my personal life and at work. 

I haven't given him the "if I fuck you, we go together" speech, but that mantra has become a regular part of dating me, and if I see potential with a guy, he hears it. Part of keeping me from giving in too early is also my refusal to have him come to my home or going to his home. The good thing about working in the evening is that it severely limits the access men have to me too early, and significantly lowers our chance of hanging out late at night and ending up naked together after getting too comfy too soon.

I didn't give the speech to Jon (more so because I was just trying to get over my ex at the time) and I feel like our friendship will never be the same. Kinda sucks, cuz now when I hear his brother's music, it just doesn't have the same ring now.

Wild how all of this played out tho. I went from thinking I'd have a wild Halloween weekend in the Hollywood Hills, to building a stronger friendship (and possibly more) with an old friend of mine. How's that for #NoRegets, huh?

Ain't No Way

I'm enjoying the new job. Meeting a lot of people, learning a lot. It's a pretty sweet gig. I even hung out with one woman from my job today. We both work from home, but she happened to live in my neighborhood, and after telling her about the sweet Christmas decorations I scored, she met me at the store to get her own.

We both shared our thoughts on what we've done. I talked about the trainers I was paired with, some far better than others. My coworker talked a little about her husband, not that I pried. She seems happy, excited to decorate for the holidays. I jokingly gave her grief for having me out buying things the moment we got paid.

Anyway, this evening at work, I had a trainer I enjoyed. We had a lot in common, and like all trainers, I asked him the best way to keep my nose clean. He said that I'm doing good so far, which was all I needed to hear. As the night wore on, I got a call from a woman, seemingly desperate for answers.

Apparently, the woman's husband recently got a potentially terminal cancer diagnosis. She went on to share that her husband has had issues with substances in the past, and she fears that he is out getting high at the moment. The woman had only had limited interaction with the man, as he had mostly been gone for days on end, since the diagnosis. The woman was desperate for help, for answers. I listened to her practically pleading for some sort of intervention, anything, to save the man she loves.

My heart truly broke for her. I've seen what cancer can do and I can only imagine how a person would feel to learn that their spouse has it. Not only did I witness it in my own family, with Ali, I worked in hospice briefly and saw up close and personal what happens to families struggling with this diagnosis. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Devastating only scratches the surface.

I explained to her that legally, there really isn't much that can be done. Police can be called if there was some sort of imminent risk to him or others, but there didn't seem to be any. I suggested that she call local non-emergency numbers, in hopes they will send out a mental health professional, but even that can only do so much. Technically getting high is not illegal and he is well within his rights to decline any medical interventions he may need.

I told the woman that I could have outreach done to the man to ensure that he was safe. She agreed, thankful for any help that could be given. I called the man and- he answered. He was possibly under the influence at the time, because he was almost jazzy. The man shared that he was fine and he wished his wife would not worry about him, he just needed time away. Now as I try to keep this as vague as I can (HIPAA is no joke), but pretty sure he was high as giraffe coochie.

It broke my heart that much more. To hear the woman's desperate, emotional pleas to save her husband's life and bring him home so he could seek treatment. And then hear him being almost annoyed that she cared enough to reach out to get him help.

It made me wonder all over again if marriage is worth the headache. Had she been anyone else that I knew privately, I would have told her that what I would do in that situation is to cut my losses. He wants to be sick, run the streets, then bring his ass back home (after making me worry like hell about him), so that I can nurse him and take him to doctor's appointments and wipe his brow?! And after years of dealing with his drug use too?! Tuh!!

I make no secret of my plans to return out west to live for a while. I want to bask in the sun and enjoy fresh fruit, and live by the beach, and spend my weekends hiking and exploring. I want to date beautiful men (or not), I want to do whatever makes me happy. I'm not necessarily against marriage, I'd be down for the right man/situation. I'm just against intentionally taking on the problems of another human being, when my life is so easy on this own. And this here was problems!

I told my guy trainer how my inner Black woman wanted to tell her pack her shit and start mourning him, because at the rate he's going, it's only a matter of time. But obviously, I'm paid $17/hr (the big bucks!) to shut the fuck up and follow the prompts. I joked that I've somehow become the homegirl that tells her friends to leave her man any time he fucks up remotely. 

*"He sneezes too loud?! Girl, you don't gotta take that, leave his ass!" 

*"He ain't taking you on dates and you're still giving him snatch?! Girl, you don't need that, stop fucking him and leave him!"

*"He ain't making you orgasm?! Oh hell no, he needs to be packed and ready to move out by the time you get home TUH-DAY!! Let him go give wack dick to that other chick!!"

The coworker and I both discussed how once you reach a certain age, you see what a bad marriage can do to people. How people gain/lose weight, lose their hair, lose their money, and their minds. People literally take years off their lives, all in an attempt to save someone that really seems not to give two shits about them (blame the drugs in their case, but still) and really don't wanna be saved in the first damned place.

She is either a better person than me, or a better wife than me. Cuz...