F.N.F.

I wasn't completely forthcoming about my past interactions with my past professor in my last post. The fact is that I was immediately drawn to him when I first met him, as my proff. We often joked with one another during lectures. I was older than most of my cohort, I was in my 30s, he was in his 40s and it felt very natural to befriend him. I got A's in both semesters I took as his student, but not for favoritism, I just learned a lot and I enjoyed his class. He made the material easily digestible and I credit him with my being able to get things kick started with the pantry I started, because his class taught me how to adequately defend why certain programs are beneficial to their respective communities.

I don't recall exactly when we exchanged phone numbers, but it wasn't until I graduated and was fully out of school that we started to communicate more frequently. I was out one day and stopped at his house. And all of those animal instincts came out. It wasn't a bad experience, but the truth is that it left me feeling a bit cheap and discarded. Occasionally, over the years, he'd hit me up and share his desire to visit my home late at night, or extended an invite for me to go to his home. And I rejected him every time. In all honesty, I was still broke and figuring out my life when we did what we did, and I felt like he screwed me like a woman with no value. We could be homies, but in my mind, sex was completely off the table, moving forward.

I made it a point to pull up looking damned good when I saw him again. Although it really wasn't for him. I wanted to look good for me. We talked about our lives over the last few years that we hadn't been in touch. I'd asked if he thought about me during our absence. He told me that he did initially, but I'd once mentioned that we would no longer be having sex, and he felt offended that I'd implied that his only reasoning for him being in my life. I gave a genuine apology. I didn't intend to make him out to be some sort of perv, I was more so indicating that I wanted the direction of our friendship to change.

That's a large part of why I was so impressed that he saw the value in me a few weeks back when we hung out. He moved different. He complimented me. He was passionate. We made out that night, and he made it known that I was welcome to come to his home. I wanted to. I wanted to bad. It was all so sexy, and the way he grabbed and kissed on me, it was the passion and yearning I hadn't experienced in a moment. Lord knows, I wanted to throw caution to the wind. But I told him that as far as I am concerned, literally EVERY damned time I have sex, there's drama and bullshit behind it. And I'm just sick of running head first into that fire.

Proff reminded me that we'd slept together previously and there was never any drama or games before. And he was right. And I knew this guy. He's not like the others. But something told me that I needed to head on home. No nookie for us!

 

The next few days we continued to flirt via text. He'd contact me while I was working and I'd text him during his work day. I started to get comfortable. He started to get more familiar. I thought about it and realized that I hadn't had my back cheeks clapped in about 3 months. I mean, maybe, ya know? This isn't the  same guy who was dismissive some years ago. I've grown into my own, and he recognized it. 

Within a few days of dirty texting, I decided that maybe he was a safe space after all. I let him know that I was now open to having a romp or two. Hey, summer is around the corner, and he'd make for a decent situationship. And it seemed like the more I was willing to do it, the more he scaled back. We were supposed to get together one day and he said some family popped up and he had some business to handle with him. Ugh. Okay, family stuff. I get it. But then a few days later, when my schedule was again free, we were supposed to get together.

I woke that morning, planning out my day, and dropped him a text to confirm if we were still to meeting later on. And he saw it. That bastard never responded. And THIS is the bullshit I was talking about!!!! I'd told Proff earlier that he was only into the chase, and he disagreed. But when I was pushing his hands off of me, he was willing to fuck me in the middle of a parking lot. And now, here I am, ready to pull out the pretty drawers and rock his world, and he's leaving me on read.

By this point, I wasn't so much mad at the behavior, as I was about the fact that the assured me that he wasn't with the fuccboi antics, while this sure does reek of fuccboi behavior. That's what angered me. He could have left me how he found me. We could have flirted, maybe kissed and gone about our business. But no, this guy made a declaration that he wouldn't cause distress, but that's exactly what he did. 

I texted him told him that I'm glad that I didn't sleep with him, because it was all about the chase for him. He assured me that wasn't the case. I just texted back "okay." I wasn't about to argue and I wasn't about to give him the space to gaslight me. I know what I just saw and experienced and you aren't about to tell me that what just happened is not exactly what just happened.

As I continue to lick my wounds, I'm still trying to figure out how to lead these domestic violence courses. I've asked around, I've called, I've Googled until my eyes are crossed and for some reason, this process has been long and I'm barely any closer to getting answers on how to get this certification. 

There was only one person who I knew might have the answers. But I didn't want to contact him. He ghosted me, the ONE motherfucking thing I ask men in my life not to do. You can curse me out and tell me that you never want to see me again, hell, at least then, I'll have an idea of where I fall in your life. I'll call him Jackson. He's my former supervisor. I grew a lot under his tutelage, and the last time we saw one another about a year and a half ago, I told him that.

He was never my boyfriend, but he was so damned close. I was so physically attracted to him. He's a lifelong athlete, and lately, he's been focusing on boxing, which has resulted in his broad shoulders. That man and I were absolutely carnal in our hey day. And being that we were both therapists, we related on such a deep level. We'd send one another articles about the field occasionally, and he was seriously one of my best friends. I could tell that man anything. Then one day, he started it again. I noticed him pulling away. Again.

I asked him if there were issues. He denied that there was, but he was short with me. I knew his pattern. We'd gone through it before, but I let it pass previously, because at the time, I was being super needy and clingy, so I didn't blame him for scaling back in that instance. But this time was different. But it was still the same. He was pulling away, and when I asked for answers or clarity, he just shut down.

It was easier to move forward this time. I just didn't have the bandwidth to figure him out. I missed him, and I was hurt. I figured that he just had other things to focus on, and I just needed to accept that I wasn't a priority. And it hurt like hell.

But over the last year and some change that he's been out of my life, I've been okay. I've had far less sex, but I'm okay with that. The fact is that the last year or so that he's been gone has shown me how much men have been a disruption to my peace. Like I told Proff, EVERY DAMNED TIME that I allow someone with a penis into my space, it comes with regrets. Even the situations that are supposed to be casual, end up with confusion and poor communication. Men I've been good friends have turned into mindless pussy hounds. To put it short, I'm tired y'all.

I figured that when I texted Jackson to ask about the courses, he'd just look at my text, but not respond. But I was wrong. He told me that he was unsure, but that he'd reach out to some buddies and see what he could pull together for me. Again, after a year and a half of radio silence, I didn't expect traction from him. But surely enough, a few days later, he followed up. I thanked him. He told me that he was still trying to find more information, and that he'd get it to me when he could. I was appreciative, but I was very much still trying to find the info on my own.

April 1st, historically known as April Fool's Day, ended up being pretty bizarre for me, which I'd mentioned in passing to him. He asked how so, and I explained that it would be a lot to text. He sad that he'd like to hear it anyway, but I was at work. He was busy with something, but assured me that he'd contact me the following day. And like clockwork, he contacted me and asked me about my strange day. I called him and told him about the weird stuff I'd seen. I wanted to say so much about he and I. But I didn't know where to start.

After we got off the phone, I texted him. And I told him that he hurt me bad when he disappeared. He admitted that he knows it hurt me, and he apologized. But it wasn't some "here, now shut up" kind of apology. It was a long, thought out apology, where he explained that he'd had some serious stuff going on in his life and he felt like he needed to back up and that it would be better to not hurt me and include me in whatever he was dealing with.

Like his apology took full ownership of everything. And then he admitted that he never stopped loving me, and that he appreciated me loving him through it all. I'm not sure I've ever had a man pour out his heart like that to me. I was floored. Frozen, even. I asked what what was going on that was so hard. He said that it was difficult to explain over text, and that he'd tell me in person.

Motherfuck. I wasn't lying when I said that I'm exhausted. I'm glad that Jackson is back in my life. I missed my friend. I missed how we'd relate about work and about similar childhood situations. About how it was to grow up considered "ugly" by your classmates and suddenly be seen as a hottie. And how difficult that transition is to process, and live and the strange impact that change has on your mental health, and how we still struggle with self-esteem behind it. The sex was top notch as well.

I'd love to see him and hug him. But I'm nervous. Because even though I love and missed my friend, the last year and some change has resulted in me being pretty gun shy about dating and sex. I love my guy friends, but I'm sick of licking my wounds. I'd seriously rather be alone than to go through another disappointment or another friendship that has ended because some guy doesn't know how to communicate his feelings.

I'm so sick of having men who routinely act like they have to ghost me, because God forbid they have an actual conversation about whatever their issue is. But then, when I start matching energy, their inner rejected little boy will do anything for me to be the warm, friendly Malika they've always had access to. It's like people feel like just because you're a friendly and warm person, that means you're impervious to pain, but that just isn't true. I feel hurt and abandonment, just like other people.

My homegirl suggested that I meet with him just one time, to have him explain what was going on. But I'm scared to see him. I've always been so sexually attracted to him, that I fear what will happen if we get together. I've already decided that when we meet, it will be in public. I can't bring him to my home, and no meeting at night. I just don't trust myself. I'm tired y'all. 

Yard Work, Fam!

When I was a kid, I vividly remember my father doing yard work on our home. He'd be out there, setting several small fires, to clear out the leaves and debris in our yard. And it never occurred to me that once my parents separated, the yard quality soon fell apart. When my mom, sisters, and I moved to our newer home, the only lawn maintenance was the occasional teenaged kid who came buy with a lawnmower, for $20, until my mom finally hired a regular lawn service.

Moving into my house was great, but it did not occur to me that I'd be on the hook for the lawn. I was blessed that my cousin, Tene, was moving into an apartment from a house, as I moved from an apartment into an house, and she allowed me to take all of her lawn items, including a leaf blower and lawnmower. I was initially nervous about maintaining my own lawn. I'd never mowed my own grass before, and I feared looking like a dork in front of my neighbors. I was even willing to pay my friends $50 to mow it for me, but to no avail. I guess grown ass folks aren't trying to be out there like that.

I finally tried to get out there to mow it for the first time, and I realized that my lawnmower wasn't working, so I called my cousin, Doc. He paid to get it repaired for me, and as a housewarming gift, he hired a friend to help him come and do yard work, including pushing back some brush in my back yard. Up to that point, I really hadn't paid attention to the back yard. I was just so happy to have a home, and I didn't really anticipate spending much time out there anyway, so what was the point, ya know?

Doc and his friend, Boobie, (actual nicknames- gotta love the South) went out there and began clearing the much grown-in back yard. There was even two metal clothes line poles that had long-since been covered by bush and vines, and I'd had no clue they existed. The two men worked hard, until a wasp nest was threatened and both took a couple of hits. They apologized for leaving a half completed job, but I was just ecstatic that my yard had at least been trimmed, they had nothing to apologize for.

Occasionally, I'd run into both men, and they'd mention the need to finish their work in the yard, and again, I'd assure them that all was well. When moving into my home, on of the first things I'd purchased was a rake, and since there are so many trees outside, I occasionally have to go outside and tidy things up, especially since the previous owners didn't do much to maintain things.

When Doc and Boobie were clearing the brush, they'd also created a small pile of wood logs. I'd planned to build a fire pit, but hadn't gotten to it. I'd also started collecting sticks as I found them, and put them in a separate pile. But one day, when weather turned, and the stack of twigs got big, I decided to burn them. And while burning them, I kept looking for other things to burn. My rake started getting more action. I looked at the downed trees that Doc and Boobie never got around to, and I bought a chain saw and broke them down myself. And into the fire those wood blocks went as well. And even though I'd completely burned my first set of downed branches, I soon had another pile.

My mentee, Bre, joined me for the first burn. While adding things, I started to look more at the brush Doc and Boobie had started on. I knew that my first rake wouldn't do the trick. I'd need one especially for digging out the land, so Bre and I walked into Lowe's, where I found it. We'd also looked at some pruners. And strangely, lately, whenever I have an hour or two between tasks, I find myself outside, either bagging up leaves or using my chainsaw to cut down branches. And after buying my pruner yesterday, I loved using it to clean up some of the tougher branches. It's almost like a high for me. 

Sometimes, I'll step back and admire all of the land I've cleared. It isn't a lot of land, about 4-10 feet, in various spots. I made it my goal to at least go back to the clothesline poles and expose them. I am willing and able to do more, but this fall, I saw deer outside several times, and I want to leave enough for them to saunter around. Yesterday, I finally got close enough to prune all of the ivy off of the clothesline poles. It was so cathartic.

The wild thing is how natural this feels. I was so hesitant to start doing any yard work, and just the other day, I literally ran outside during my 15-minute break at work, to bag leaves. It's almost like a drug for me! And as dig into this yard work even further, what amazes me the most is how no one ever taught me anything. My dad never said to me "come here and let me show you how to clear this out." Nope. Doc and Boobie didn't go "and this is how you cut down a small tree." None of that. I almost feel like I was bred to do this.

When I was talking to my father, once or twice, he'd brag about getting around to clearing out his back yard, but I didn't get it. It didn't seem big to me. But I certainly get it now. In having a last name like "Flowers" I've always been annoyed by my inability to keep a potted plant alive. Even in this home, it seems like no matter what I do, they wilt and die. But I can go outside, grab practically any tool, and bring beauty and order back to my personal space.

It even made me think about Doc and my dad, both Flowers men, and how naturally they took to yard work. I know that my dad spent some time on a farm, and the people there literally almost worked him to death. They were his family also, unfortunately. But as I'm looking further into my spiritual lineage, in addition to my last name, I'm genuinely wondering if I honestly do have a natural connection to this. Next, I'd like to add some bushes and flowers that bloom around my house. It only seems right.

The other day, even though I had a date to prepare for, and didn't want to get to sweaty, I still occasionally ran outside for a 15-minute "yard quicky" where I removed some brush and added branches to my new burn pile.

Thankfully, I managed to make it into my date as a non-sweaty mess. He'd ordered me to dress it up, and I did the damned thing. Folks get so used to me in my jeans that they forget that I can pull up when the moment calls for it. He'd grown his beard out and he looked nice. He looked so distinguished. He didn't mention my dress, but he rubbed on my back throughout the date, so I'm pretty sure he noticed it. 

When the date ended, he passionately invited me to his home. Lawd, I wanted to go! But I admitted to him that I'm just not in a good space to entertain a man in that way. At least, not now. Funny enough, my therapist, Dr. R has mentioned to me that I needed to start dating men that made more money. I've explained how difficult that is these days, but she has remained undeterred. She'd likely get a chuckle out of him being my former professor, but he definitely makes more. He's also a bit older, well-traveled, and he's in my field, although he works in a different area. I always enjoy being able to talk shop with peers.

Not sure what'll happen with him. I'm remaining guarded though. Meanwhile, all I'm focused on is learning to manicure my yard appropriately. So as the world around me turns, I'm watching it all turn green, while I'm starting to finally attract the kind of energy that I need and deserve in my life. I guess my green thumb doesn't just apply to my yard, it applies to my spirit as well.

Learning to Let the Spirits Guide Me

I walked into my home the other day. Because the cats sometimes try to make a run for it, I'm always intentional about making sure the door is closed behind me. As I pulled the door closed, I felt an interruption of some sort. It felt like someone had pulled it from the other side, or like something was in the way. I stopped quickly and looked to see what was there. But it was nothing. Nothing was there. The day was particularly windy, and I'd wondered if a strong breeze made it tough, so I continued to see if the wind was the culprit. But it wasn't. Something (or someone) pulled that door, and nothing can convince me of otherwise.

Yesterday, I found myself chatting it up with my supervisor, a Nigerian firecracker of a woman. For some reason, I opted to ask her the meaning of her last name. She laughed, and explained that she came from a long lineage of witchdoctors, and that her name was affiliated with that history. I went on to share with her about my own history of the unknown and how I'll experience things moving around my home, randomly. And how it's not just this home, it's been several places I've lived (here, for more info on that). My amazing coworker explained that my gift is likely somehow  affiliated with family lineage. She explained that I'd had a seer, psychic, or roots worker in my family in the past, and while others kind of got "lost" spiritually, I somehow continue to use my gifts, because I'm more in tune with them, and that I have more empathy. I'd never thought of it, but I definitely have psychic gifts as well. There have been many times that I've seen or felt things before they happened, even once in a dream. It was interesting to hear her say that it was about family history, because my other friend had said the same thing.

It took me back to recalling that I don't really have to focus on revenge for those who have wronged me, simply because my spirits always do the work for me. Even this morning, I learned that a court case where I was fully willing to go in and pay to shut this other party up and go away previously, has been cancelled. It's hilarious and amazing to me. The even wilder thing is that I tried to pay this money earlier, when I was first told to do so, but there was an incredulous block that would not allow me to. I was pretty much told that I needed to hire a lawyer to pay this money, but naturally, I wasn't going to do that. It's amazing, even then, the spirits were like "hold on to your money sis, we got you!"

Interestingly enough, before I was aware of my spiritual guides, I'd noticed that whenever people try to eff with me, it isn't uncommon for them to either suffer, or whatever mess they pull magically catapults me into further greatness. It's like the more folks try to make me fall, the greater my trajectory in life gets. I'm not complaining, keep it coming, I'll take all the blessings I can get!

So like I said, I got a notice that I had to go to court, and I was fully prepared to pay, to make this stupid incident go away, once and for all. I'm blessed to say that $500 won't break me, and I'd gladly pay it to make this other person get the fuck out of my face. But once again, my spirits said "nah" and they took the reigns. I'm impressed. I'm genuinely learning to fall back and let my spirits guide the journey. I'm seeing that I really don't have to worry about anything, all I gotta do is protect my body, my mind, my spirit, and my energy, and then keep my nose clean. And they'll do the rest.

Speaking of legal stuff, about 13 years ago, I was in a particularly rough space. I'd gone to jail for fighting my shitty ex. I was ordered to attend Family Violence Intervention Program classes. I was furious. I shouldn't have to do this! Spending that money, and time just seemed like an extra slap in the face, on top of everything else I had to deal with.

Wildly enough, while attending the classes, I was in Little 5 Points one day, and I saw the cop who arrested me. I froze and went in an opposite direction. I sat on a bench and needed to compose myself. I knew that I needed to speak to him. I went back to him, and I began weeping. I hugged him. And I told him "thank you." I hated that I went to jail. It was embarrassing. I knew I didn't belong there. But being there was what I needed to learn once and for all that I needed to stay the hell away from my son's father.

I'm actually still in touch with some of the women I met at those groups. I'm so proud that we're all doing amazing. A few years after, I thought that I'd like to lead such groups, but that motivation got lost in the sauce. I've spoken before about working at my part-time retail job, but the fact is that the money isn't doing what I need it to do. I'm trying to save money for a house emergency, plus I want to make some trips soon, in addition to my son going away to college soon. My savings is almost depleted. I need to get some money up, and fast!

I need to reinstate my social work license, and I considered going back into doing some private therapy, for extra cash. But then, for some reason, those FVIP classes recently came back up for me. I decided that this is the perfect time for me to apply to lead these groups. I can make more money on the side, while continuing to work in mental health and provide support to women who are in the same position that I once was. Sometimes, when I work my crisis line, I explain that I often use my own history as a motivator, to support others. And after 13 years, I'm no longer embarrassed about my night in jail. It motivated me. It brought me here. And I'm grateful. Once again, my spirits knew what was needed. Coincidentally, I'm in a much better place now to lead these groups, than it would have been if I'd tried when I first wanted to. I've actually had 4 jobs that consisted of me conducting groups, and I consider myself a bit of a pro at it. I was event joking with someone that I could lead groups in my sleep. So my personal and professional experience now makes me a much better candidate. I know that I'm ready.

On top of all else, I have a date coming up. I almost chuckle to myself when I talk about it with my girlfriends, but the guy is my former college professor. I'll blame my daddy issues, but when I first met him, he exuded power and connections. I was drawn. We've hung out a couple of times since I graduated, but I don't think he ever took me serious.  I rode by his house recently (it's on a road I happen to travel occasionally) and I hadn't seen him in a few years, so I decided to text him to say hello, and we've been chatting since.

I don't have any intentions, and I don't really want a boyfriend at the moment. I'm certainly not going to sleep with him, but he's encouraged me to dress up, and I look forward to doing so. It'll be the first time I've dressed up for a man, in a while. It's also the first time in a while that a man was intentional with planning something for us to do. 

Once again, my spirits are leading me to live my best life. An annoying (metaphorical) mosquito has been told once again to kick rocks and leave me alone. I'm about to embark on going full circle and supporting women facing domestic violence issues, and a guy with some business about himself has taken interest in little old me. It ain't a winning lotto ticket, but I'll take it.

Actually, I'm starting to see that I actually did win the spiritual lottery. And I look forward to using this to move me forward even further.

The End of an Era- Of Sorts

A good friend of mine is going through a divorce, and I've been tagged as her wing-woman whenever we hit the streets. My joke is that I'm considered the "back outside friend." Whenever a friend is newly single, or if she needs a night away from the kids, I get a call like the Bat Signal. I magically appear with mimosas and me and my homegirls appear in night clubs, drinking and living it up. The issue is that I'm old and I can't do it like I used to could!

I went with my friend, I'll call her Monica, for one of my last nights at the old MJQ location. There were about a week of shenanigans there. I hadn't gotten the chance to check out the new location, unfortunately. With the last location, whenever I got a hankering, I could throw on some clothes and run out the door, and in 15 minutes, I was greeting my guy bestie, Sky.

The new location is settled in the middle of  Underground downtown Atlanta. So while before, I could park in a neighborhood and walk on up, now I have to circle several blocks, until I get a spot or be willing to pay $20 to park, neither of which, I'm partial to. I went last night, and thankfully, we landed a parking spot, not too far from the action. It was pretty cool walking in, as I've walked in Underground several times before. It always brings kind of a familiar vibe.

We followed signs until we landed in front of it. And the line was far longer than I've probably ever seen at MJQ. Like all other times, I stopped and greeted my bestie. I remarked that he was right, this crowd ain't like the rowdy bunch that existed on Ponce de Leon Ave. The people somehow lacked the- I dunno, the diversity, the hipster edge that we all loved about the area. We bypassed the line, naturally, and walked on in. And it was- I can't describe it. It wasn't as exciting. It was far more urban, which only makes sense, as it is literally in the middle of downtown. Even the men in the area just all seemed so young. I pretty much sat down and played with my phone the whole time we were there.

I finally grew exhausted, around 2am, and suggested we leave. I didn't dance, nor did I really want to. I went in, looking for that old familiar vibe. MJQ Concourse was previously like an old friend. A warm, familiar hug, whenever I needed it. And much like Buddhism teaches me, nothing is forever. Impermanence. I just didn't expect to lose the love of my 20s, 30s, and early-to-mid-40s. Monica suggested we go back, but I told her that my days of running the streets at my big old age is mostly behind me. She suggested we do some day-drinking activities, which I'm far more comfortable with.

The next morning/afternoon, when I finally stirred, I recalled that a girlfriend had given me a pass to the Atlanta Black Expo. I got dressed and headed down, deciding to see what kind of networking opportunities existed there. My girlfriend, who is also my coworker, has a journal she's releasing soon. She's also a wellness coach, and into branding. It was pretty dope to be among my element, with so many business owners. As I went back through my blog recently, I discovered that I've been talking about my books for a pretty long time time. I try to be more of a woman who is about doing than talking, but this book has tested that strategy. This book refuses to rest, until I get her in the hands of the public. She stands tall, waiting for me to finish with my distractions, no matter what.

Initially, I tried to have 30k words, and I'd considered myself completely done at the time. But somewhere, I read that the book should have 40k words, which meant that I had to get back to the drawing board. It took a while, but just the other day, I finally hit my word count. I'd even added another chapter, during my recent visit. And as my book deals largely with womanhood, there's much more content to add, being that the political climate has shifted. I'm thankful for that, at the very least, it gave me far more cushioning. I've read and reread the first chapters so much, my eyes practically cross whenever I look at them, but now I need to look at the last chapters as well. This takes me back so much to graduate school, where I had to write a whole book for my conceptual paper. And during that process, I learned how difficult it can be to read and reread the same words over and over again. It's like its only form of torture. And my dumbass decided to sign up for it again smh.

Nevertheless, I'm so thankful that my homegirl had me pull up. I volunteered to sit at her table, while she walked around. A young lady visited us at some point, asking about social work. I gave her my opinion of why I feel it is an amazing field, and she asked me for a business card. I really hate that I did not have one to hand to her. I was in the room with so many authors, coaches, and even a person who prints tshirts and other supplies, like cups, keychains, and pens. Things I'd like, in order to expand my brand.

So while it seems that my leisure time at MJQ is slowly closing out, I'm thankful that I'm rejuvenated and intending to get started on my books yet again. I'm ready to crank up my Instagram posts, and to read and reread until my wires in my brain explodes. At least the word count is ready this time. Saying goodbye to one old friend, ain't so bad when you have an amazing new friend to curate and share with the world. Time to spend some moments at home and make it happen.

Bring it on!

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 and live a life I absolute love! 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.