Have You Seen My Childhood?

I've always been basically a grown ass kid. Even as a teenager, as people grew older, I remained childlike. I found that one of the benefits of adulthood was that I could spend my money how I want, and the weirder, the better! I've always known that in some ways, I'm making up for a childhood where I wasn't allowed to bloom. Children were often told that they can do what they want as adults and I took that message and ran with it! And as an adult, no one can tell me shit! So if I want it, I get it. Not harming anybody, so if I wanna buy a 6 foot teddy bear, dammit, that's my business. Go broke putting up Christmas lights on my house and that huge inflatable Black Santa? Yep, bring it on!

Exactly 30 years ago, Michael Jackson was getting ready to drop his HIStory album, which coincided with my 15th birthday, June 20, 1995. Advertisements were everywhere about it. With zero internet to lean on, MJ managed to hold us all in the palm of his hand. I recall bugging the hell out of my father, with the understanding that I had to get the album on that day. I was already a Michael Jackson fan like pretty much all of the planet, but this album dropping on my birthday (of all days) was a sign that this was meant to be!

When I got the cd, a 2-disc set, which included a disc of 15 of his hit singles, plus a disc of 15 new tracks, naturally, I took to the song "Scream" (his single with Janet Jackson) and later "Earth Song." To this day, I will be in my car and play "Earth Song" at decibels loud enough to shock ocean plankton. After all, that is the only way to do the song justice. If you aren't shattering windows and setting off car alarms, you aren't doing it right! The album spoke to my soul, as Michael sang his heart out about the recent allegations he'd faced about sexual abuse against young boys.

When listening to the cd, I also loved the track "You Are Not Alone," a track written by none other than Robert Sylvester Kelly. This was before we were fully aware of the disgusting allegations against him. Being as zealoted as I am, when I switched all of my music over to digital selections, I never bought HIStory, because I did not want to buy the album and risk giving R. Kelly even a dime of my money. I'd buy my favorite singles, but never the album, lest I be supporting Robert's proclivities (this is before the Mute R. Kelly movement).

Recently, I thought to myself that since Robert is nicely resting in prison (where he belongs), I can finally step away and give myself permission to enjoy the album, in its entirety. What I hadn't expected was to be transformed back to that chubby 15-year-old who'd played that album to death! Songs I'd even forgotten about, like "This Time Around" which featured Notorious B.I.G. I thought back on how I'd mentioned something about the song to my ex, David. He thought that I was on hard drugs when I'd mentioned that Michael and Biggie had done a song together. And eventually, I was able to pull out the cd and play the song, to shut him up.

I'd picked up my son from school while going down memory lane, and as the song "D.S. (Dom Sheldon)" came on, I explained to him how Tom Sneddon was the district attorney that went after Michael Jackson, and how MJ was actually singing "Tom Sneddon is a cold man" while claiming he was instead singing about a phantom named Dom Sheldon. Ah, the memories.

Next up was "Childhood." I was transformed back in time. I'd forgotten what that song meant to me. My childhood wasn't happy. I didn't know what a happy childhood looked like, but even at 15, I knew something was wrong with mine. I cried a lot. I was sad and I thought about my death often, even constantly contemplating suicide. I'd spent my young years being physically assaulted, often terrified to go home. I've learned to work through it, but I don't believe my mother liked me back then. My father being a narcissistic puppet master didn't help. Being in the middle of their legal wranglings nearly destroyed me. The song "Childhood" was my escape. How I'd go to my bedroom and cry, and listen to Michael Jackson, who seemed like the only other human being who understood what it was like to have an unhappy childhood.

In preschool, I attended a neighborhood nursery, called Kiddie Cottage. One of my few things I remember was that there was a woman who would occasionally visit the family-run business and us kids lit up. She just seemed to radiate happiness and positivity. I don't remember her name, or what she looked like, but I remember that she seemed to bring something into the room that just made us kids feel better. And in spite of me having limited memories of that young woman, I recalled even then, that I wanted to be like her.

So in my teen years, when I'd go into my room to cry, I always envisioned an older, happy version of myself, coming to me and comforting younger me. And somehow, I always felt better imagining this older, accomplished version of Malika, coming in and telling me/her that I just had to get through this and that when I became an adult, things would be better. "Childhood" would play on repeat, as I cried into my pillow about how much I hated myself, and my life. The only thing that seemed to get me through was my connection to Michael Jackson and the visions older me, coming to comfort me.

As the song came over my song speakers, I was transferred back in time. I saw that little 15-year-old girl, with tears streaming down her face, and I wanted so bad to hug her. To tell her that she'd be okay. I wished like hell that I could tell her that her 20's would be a doozy and to not let any stupid ass dudes knock her crown off of her head. My heart absolutely broke for that little girl. And even at almost 45, with a master's degree, buying a home on her own, mother of a rock star of a son, an amazing therapist, and tons of accomplishments, I felt that wounded little girl, deep in my soul.

In that car, in my mind, I walked into my childhood bedroom, and I hugged that little girl so tight. I told her that I love her and that she did her best. I told her that we ended up okay. And right there in my car, I felt those tears starting to fall. Out of nowhere, huge heavy tears fell from my eyes. My heart broke for her. She didn't deserve it. Any of it. And even though we made it to the other side, and now work in mental health, helping those who need it most, that little wounded girl will always be with me.

Michael Joseph Jackson spoke to my soul, and he understood more than anybody. 

Have you seen my childhood?

Shielded Eyes

When I was about 11, my older sister had a baby. Suddenly her boyfriend and his family kind of became extended family to me and my family. It wasn't uncommon to see my nephew's father and his father's brother hanging out at our home, and his brother even began dating my babysitter. He was always kinda flashy. I'll call him Tobey. Tobey drove a sweet, small red convertible. He had a cute little puppy. He was dark-skinned and handsome. Extremely funny. He reminded me of Eddie Murphy is Boomerang. The handsome fellow with the attractive, pressed clothing. He was also wickedly funny.

Around that time, I was also insanely interested in the news. Rapes, robberies, car accidents, politics, I wanted to see and know about it all. Probably kind of strange for a child that age to be so deeply into watching the news, but even then, I was always extremely interested in the human condition. Anyway, one day, I recall people saying they'd seen Tobey on the news, as I came to understand that he'd been arrested. Naturally curious, I'd ask the adults around me what he'd done, but they always brushed it off. I never got a full answer, and like most kids, at some point I got sick of asking, and eventually forgot about it.

Some point, years later, after Tobey came up in conversation, I asked someone and they told me- he had been arrested for a string of rapes and robberies in Atlanta. There are other identifying things to his crime, but I'm intentionally leaving it out, as I don't want people looking it up and retraumatizing my family. Regardless, I clearly remember those crimes. It was pretty distinctive, and I remember how paralyzing it had been and how terrified women were. The reminders to stay vigilant and lock doors. And the person responsible for those horrible crimes had been the same guy who'd cut my lawn and occasionally slid me and my little friends a dollar bill on occasion.

While in grad school, one my assignments was to do an analysis on an individual. We had to assess the person, based on the individual, and they had to be real. I'd been warned for many years not to attempt to do therapy on the people you know, and I'd never fully understood why. Anyway, around this time, I decided that this would be a the perfect time to do an assessment on Tobey. I took the identifying details about the case and Googled him. I saw that he'd filed an appeal, and I read the details of the original case. Even though I was aware of the nature of his crimes, I did not anticipate the difficulty of reading the crimes of a man who I'd come to love and know. Even reading about the streets he'd driven those poor women on, streets less than a mile from my house, which he'd often visit. 

One particular detail was so deeply disturbing that I had I had to put the case down and pick it up in another day or two. It was simply too graphic for me to read. I couldn't help but to envision how terrified that poor woman must have felt, with two men assaulting her. How soul crushing it must have been to have them touching on her genitals and the fear that she'd likely be killed after the experience (none of the victims were killed). My stomach turned. And while I completely center that those women were the ultimate victims, I still felt hurt, betrayed, and heartbroken, knowing what he'd done.

And while that was clearly devastating enough, I couldn't help but feeling a small degree of sympathy for him. I knew a bit about his family dynamic, and I can only imagine what he'd experienced to make him have that kind of hatred in his heart for women. Knowing that he had a mother and sister in his life, but he still did it. I'd read in the documents that they'd almost assaulted one woman, but she began talking about her faith in God and talking about gospel songs and he let her go. 

Some years later, I again decided to visit reading the details of the case. And when I got to the particularly disturbing part, I had to steady and steal myself. I didn't have to walk away for days this time, but I definitely had to stop reading for a moment and take a breather. That man was my family. And he was a monster.

((deep, sad sigh))

I'm mildly keeping up with the Puffy Combs case. While it isn't the first thing I wake up and look at every day, like many people my age, Bad Boy Records music played in the background for much of my development. Puffy and Mase, in those suits, running around. Biggie's murder. Tupac's murder. Total. Carl Thomas. Faith Evans. 112. Black Rob. The list goes on. So I can't say that it's not at least mildly interesting. Plus the only gossip blog that I follow keeps me with the updates.

I woke yesterday and saw that as the testimony from one man stating that he was often paid to have sex with Cassie and that Puff would be in the corner, masturbating. And then his 3 daughters, 18 and 19 year old twins, all got up and walked out. And while I hope that Puffy spends the rest of his eternity burning in hell for his crimes, my heart breaks for those little girls. I'm aware of the duality that his stealing from artists allowed him to fund the lifestyles that those young women will continue to enjoy, an extravagant lifestyle I could only imagine.

But my heart still breaks for what those girls went through. I'm a grown woman, with several years experience, and I still struggled to learn about the details of sexual abuse at the hands of a loved one. It has to be gut-wrenching to watch the world publicly disclose the sexual details of your father's life. Their dad is a monster too. But it doesn't make it any easier.

Decentering Men, and Centering Myself

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Part of this growth journey is taking stock in myself and my actions, recognizing when I'm off my game and doing better. That's it. So I've been sitting with something that's been floating around in my womanist stratosphere- the concept of decentering men. I've shared how much I've been hurt and damaged by various scenarios involving men, and it's finally hitting home for me what I need to consciously, intentionally do.

Even here. My little bubble, my little safe space, all I do is talk about whatever penis is floating around and how his relation to me somehow seems to impact my whole life. The fact is that it is time for me to unlearn that behavior. I have a whole life outside of men. So why is it that when I'm here, all I seem to talk about is what man I'm infatuated with, even if I'm not even sleeping with him? Something's gotta give.

I'm still leaning away from dating and anything casual, but life is once again smacking me in the face with the understanding that the time has come for me to fully decenter men. I am who I am (and damned good at being her), outside of my connection to any man. As I get ready to turn the big 45 next month, I want to again focus on me, and just me. Which means that I shouldn't just talk about things, I need to be more consciously intentional about centering myself, and my needs.

All of that being said, I intend to begin being more intentional about decentering men. Less about them in conversations. More about my creative endeavors, my traveling, my amazing friendships, my goals, the achievements of my amazing child, and my hopes and dreams. Time for me to dig more into me and mine, because I'm so much outside of men.

I'm loving this growth journey.

Malika, the Manic Pixie Dream Girlfriend

I was online the other day, when I'd learned a term I'd never heard before, the "manic pixie dream girlfriend." Being a woman who loves to learn, I quickly googled the term for a definition. What I'd learned shocked me. Apparently, it's a tv/movie character trope.

According to Google, 

A "Manic Pixie Dream Girl" (MPDG) is a character archetype, typically a young, quirky woman, who exists primarily to provide emotional support and life lessons to a male protagonist. The term, coined by film critic Nathan Rabin, describes this character as one-dimensional, serving as a plot device to help the male character grow, but often lacking a well-developed storyline or agency of their own. MPDG characters are often depicted as bubbly, eccentric, and seemingly carefree, with a tendency to "spark" the male protagonist's life with adventure and meaning.

And I was awestruck by how much I felt like I was essentially reading out my life. One of the articles I read seemed to describe me to a tee! A woman who is quirky, often colorful, and "not like the other girls." A woman who marches to the beat of her own drum, and makes life that much more fun and exciting to the others around her. But one of the things that stuck out to me was that the MPDG was always seen as the accessory. A mere tool, utilized to improve the man's life. A one dimensional character, with no plot line or role in the storyline, with no purpose, other than helping the man grow.

It started to make that much more sense. I'd written before about feeling like an NPC (here) and this just solidified my feelings. That there really exist an idea that free-spirited women are not real characters, just tools used by men, to make them better versions of themselves, with no real feelings, emotions, or interests outside of his scope of existence. What's wild to me is how much I've seen this play out in real time. How I'll take guys to many of my favorite haunts and hideouts and I'll see that little spark in them come alive. How I'll drive guys to my favorite spots for stargazing, and they'll tell me that in their 40+ years on the planet, they've never bothered to look up at the sky at night. How I'll be on the phone with them until the wee hours of the mornings, calming their fears and anxiety. How I uplift and encourage them to follow their dreams, when they feel incapable of getting out of bed. And how it never fails, that the moment I'm having a bad day and need some support, they immediately dismiss me, accuse me of being needy, and are almost disgusted by the idea of me needing anywhere near the same degree of love and encouragement that I've endlessly poured into them.

What bugs me so much about this (in part) is how naturally likeable she is. Like everybody loves the bubbly chicks with the awesome jewelry. No one has beef with the funny, earthy girl. Everyone loves her! But it seems like when her place ends, that's kinda it. Or if she stays with him, she stays relegated to his living accessory. She's not allowed to have bad days or fears and anxiety of her own, lest she pop the bubble of the idea of her being impervious to pain and disappointment.

I took this topic to my therapist the other day. She chuckled when she first heard it, and allowed me to explain it, and I told her that I feel like this is who and what I am to people. She nodded in agreement that I did indeed fit some of that mold.

While I'm in the middle of getting my head together, naturally, I need more bullshit in my life like a repair in my home. And it's not just any repair, either. Nope, it was my air conditioner. I mulled over who to call for this. I called my new handy man (he's cute, but married, and I had to create a rule about no dating anyone who fixes stuff in my house), but he doesn't fix air conditioning. He gave me the phone number for his own ac guy. But as I'm trying to stack bread, I feared calling in a new ac person, scared that I didn't have history with him, so he'd tax me. With all of that, I ended up calling none other than FAMM. Dammit, he's an HVAC technician by trade, after all. And the weather is pretty mild now, but this is Georgia, so I expect my face to be boiling off within another month or so.

I just knew he'd pay me dust, and I wrote him off initially, but he surprised me by being open to fixing  it. He showed up, while I was working from home. Naturally, he looked good. Our energy was different. But I guess in a good way. He told me that he got a job at a local shop, which is why he had to stop by so late in the day. We conversed briefly, but kept it light. I didn't ask questions, I didn't profess to miss him (in part, cuz I really don't). But at the same time he didn't either. He didn't ask what happened the last time we talked, and I wasn't really in a rush to have the discussion anyway. I think that we both finally get it that we just don't work that way and bring too much disarray to one another's lives, and none of want that for ourselves or each other. Its kinda cathartic, actually. That chapter is done and there's no need to revisit it again. Thank God.

I told my therapist today how having Jackson around is starting to soften my anxiety around a future of sex or dating. I appreciate this, especially because he's a therapist himself. We're not going to do anything as far as I can see. I love so much how he's not pressuring me. I guess because there's no reason to. We can just be friends with wild sexual chemistry. I think it's in part because he's not in that space and we just enjoy one another, whether we're physical or not. I really missed his friendship and male energy. I guess we're just made for that. And I'm cool with it.

I feel myself going internal for a while, which is greatly needed. I need to just do me. No dating, no sex. No holding anyone else up. No being some man's accessory. I'm just going to be my own pixie, and only spread my fairy dust where it will be respected. Isn't that all any of us want anyway? Shine on.

Pulling Weeds and Growing Plants, With a Broken Pussy

When I first bought my house, I wasn't overly concerned with the outside. It didn't look like a crack house, so hey, I was satisfied. But as I moved in and started to make it a home, the outside began to matter more. In my 44 years, it was not until I got into this house that I even learned what lawn weeds actually were. Of course I'd heard about them, and I'd heard of people pulling weeds outside of their home, but like I said in an earlier post (here), that wasn't something I was raised doing. I didn't even know what exactly what weeds looked like, but as I started exploring ways to get healthier looking grass, I learned that I have to pull weeds. So somehow, I instinctively knew which little bastards to be pulling. Never even saw a picture of what to look for. My intention is to pull them all and cut this grass down, and then start working on fertilizing what I have and planting some grass seeds.

I'm out there like a fiend in my front yard, almost daily. I'm not sure why I get a bit of a dopamine hit whenever I pull up one of those little bastards by the root. My backyard has it's own issues, which I'm proudly working to correct, but that front yard is going to be it's own project. I get out there and I'm almost hypnotized as I look up and see and immediately pull weed after weed. Perhaps it is the spring weather and extra rain, but I'm seeing my grass get greener and healthier. I've always been a lover of nature, so I guess it only makes sense that I put so much time and energy into building a lawn that most people would be envious of.

Wildly enough, not only am I finally learning how to conquer this yard, I'm also seeing my green thumb finally develop for inside plants. I've killed more potted plants than I care to admit, which has always irritated me, especially with a last name like FLOWERS. I eventually decided to buy an aloe plant, with the hopes that the gel from the leaves would show this psoriasis my face some love. The plant seemed to kinda flourish at first, but then I figured it was growing too big for the pot it was in, and attempted to replant it in a bigger pot. And my dumb ass broke those roots something fierce! I was so angry at myself smh. I decided to allow my little plant a burial of it's own and just let it bow out gracefully, and I left it in its new Hello Kitty pot, to let it wilt in peace. Later, I was at Lowe's (course I was) and I saw a cute little plant. Didn't know much about, but it seemed healthy and relatively easy to care for, so I brought it home. It too was acting kinda funky, but I left it in a window and figured it would do what it does. If it died, it died. But I did at least buy plant food to put in the water. And then while out with my bestie, a woman was selling decorative succulents. I followed her instructions, and the poor thing seemed to be dragging. But I decided to add a bit more water than the woman had suggested. And dear God, it looks amazing now!

In all of these plants, I largely ignore them. They get sunlight, and whenever I remember to get around to watering them, I do. And it's wild to me to see that all I had to do was leave all of them alone, water them on occasion, and I mind my business, let them do the same, and now I have not one but THREE thriving plants that are comfortably living in my home, green and beautiful.

As I moved in and my more experienced homeowner loved ones visited, they'd often mention the many trees around my house. Again, I wasn't overly concerned with them, initially. But day after day of seeing them just made me see and appreciate them more. On either side of my driveway sits two smallish trees. I had no idea what kind of trees they were in the fall. They were naked as a newborn baby, and I feared them either falling, and creating a challenge for me, as I hadn't yet developed my green thumb or bought any serious yard tools. I was assured that they were healthy and not going anywhere, so I let them stay. 

Recently, as I was driving with my son, I mentioned to him the legend about how it is said that dogwood trees were initially thought to be massive and they were used to crucify Jesus. And that the trees felt so guilty, they shrunk up, to the point of no longer being usable in that way. And then, the other day, as I drove home, I saw those unmistakable white flowers on those two trees I was so concerned about. They're dogwood trees! I guess I'm just easily pleased, but I love knowing that I have two dogwood trees gracing my driveway. It just makes it that much sweeter.

I'd set up today to be my spring cleaning day, as I'm not working either job. And I'm not sure how successful I'll be, but I'm trying. I set out earlier to finally burn some twigs, vines, and roots I'd pulled up from the kudzu that was keeping my poor back yard hostage. I'm aware that the average person couldn't care less about the progress I've made in my yard, hell my kid lives here and he doesn't notice anything. But I do. I know the progress I've made and I'm so proud of it.

I'm so in love with how peaceful my life is right now. It's wild that my life is so beautifully boring that the only major concern is pulling up weeds and growing/fertilizing my grass. I've thoroughly enjoyed having my friend, Jackson, back. I didn't anticipate that he and I would ever be close again. When he'd originally pulled away, I absolutely refused to fight for his friendship. I just didn't have it in me. And even when I reached out about the FVIP course, I didn't anticipate that we'd start talking again. I didn't even expect him to to respond.

What sucks about my past with Jackson was how extremely sexual we'd always been. Don't get me wrong, he's my rider (and not like that lol). Even today, when I reached out looking for a good kids' program for my homegirl, he immediately gave me his gym's info. One of my favorite things about our friendship was that he'd match my energy on interest in mental health. We'd always send one another articles about whatever the other had been experiencing, or what we knew the other would find fascinating. Even now, we frequently text one another throughout out days. It's nice to have this back in my life.

I haven't seen him in over a year, but I'd like to. We've discussed meeting up at a coffeehouse one of these days, and I really look forward to it. I know that our meeting will have to be in public, even though I'd love him to see the house. I just don't want to put myself in a position to possibly allow anything to happen before I'm emotionally ready. Although, as the days go on, my overall interest in sex drops even more. I'd told Jackson in passing that dating has my head kinda messed up at the moment. Not surprisingly (for him), he asked what I'd meant, for clarification. When he's present, he's always been attentive about my well-being.

I explained that I've entered a space where I seriously affiliate sex and romance with emotional pain. That even when I meet someone who is gorgeous, I mean drop dead stunning, I tell myself that if I allow myself to get close to them, they'll hurt me. I even get tearful when I think about it. I'm not opposed to dating. I'm opposed to allowing men to use my mind, body, and spirit for a quick release, followed by them acting like (or showing me) I meant nothing to them.

I didn't see it at the time, but I think the professor is the one that finally cracked me. That even though I'd said to him that I did not feel that sex for us would be emotionally safe for me, he assured me that we'd have no problems, and even though we never did anything, the second my guard was down enough to sleep with him, he immediately dismissed me. And he may have been the catalyst, but he's far from the only one. 

As I'm still on my Insecure rewatch, I'm on season 4, and I'm loving how Issa is growing into her own and no longer chasing down Lawrence or Nathan. She's out there "I'm out here growing, and you gotta catch me, not vice versa!" Issa literally went from singing about he Broken Pussy early on, to making moves and creating her own event to uplift her community.

Jackson has been a total gentleman as I navigate this emotionally delicate space. He apologized for being a part of the men who have not always been as kind as they should have and for how I'm feeling. I thanked him for his apology, and reminded him that he did not know. I also took ownership for my past and admitted that there were several men who I'd allowed to spend way more time than they deserved. Jackson also stated that he's ready to redefine our relationship/friendship, however we need to. I'm grateful for that. I'll be honest, I still think about how we used to get down and I even occasionally make small dirty jokes, although I'm aware I'm making them from my home, from behind text messages. Sometimes I think that I'd love to feel him just one more time, but I'm not sure. I just know that at this exact moment, I'm not ready and he and I are both okay with that.

I don't trust myself right now. I've heard the statement "my man picker is broken" and I've never felt so seen. I don't know when I'll be on the other side of this or what that will look and feel like. Will I be happily sexual or will I grow cobwebs down there? I don't know. I'm familiar with the 4b movement, and while I completely get it (on literally every level), I just don't see myself committing to a life completely man-free.

I guess I have the faith of a mustard seed that things will be okay either way. All I have to do is leave things alone, water them and check in on occasion, and watch them bloom. I wonder if I can make that mustard seed grow?

"Fun"

I walked into my therapist's office today, and I knew it was going to be a doozey. Last night, while online, I saw a post that stuck out. A woman explained that men immediately size women up into one of 3 categories- wife, fun, or forgettable. That one stung, because I'd long felt that men met me and quickly categorized me as a fun time girl, even if I never indicated plans or desire to sleep with them. It's one thing to theorize this categorization, it's another thing to see it written out in black and white.

I recall a while back that my former trainer had suggested that I dye my brightly colored hair (here), because he felt that a subtler tone would attract a caliber of better men. And I refused, because I don't want a man who'd immediately dismiss me for my bright hair, without even talking to me. And a year later, I stick with that decision, I only removed my locs because I was ready to. But with some reflection, I now understand more of where my former trainer was coming from.

It's been infuriating to me when I've met men who grow irrationally upset and act as though I've somehow cheated them by not having sex with them. I've come across men who are genuinely angry and act as though I've somehow deceived them, all based on a whole idea about my personality that they developed in their mind. I've had discussions with women who are deemed "forgettable" and attempted to explain how infuriating it is for a man to meet you and reduce you to nothing more than a walking vagina, in spite of your intelligence, education, and accomplishments. And I've heard those women say how they'd love that kind of attention, while I abhor it.

But I guess I can understand why a woman who gets no male attention would be elated to get such adoration. They'd love to be out and meet men who chat them up and want nothing more than to bed them in the worst way possible. And yes, I'll admit that I've had some fun in those times. But I've definitely grown out of it. Sure, bedtime moments have their purpose, but what sucks the most about being the "fun time girl" is that no one seems to ask or care about what you think or want. When you are slapped with that title, the expectation is that you show up, bend over, and pretend to enjoy yourself, lest you make some poor fellow feel uncomfortable for not wanting his creepy attention. And don't you ever try to change your designated station in life by talking about actual dates, relationships, or God forbid marriage. Nope, don't you dare! Guys won't even entertain that conversation with you, or if they do, they'll dangle that carrot of a relationship, until you get hip to the game and eventually realize that it ain't happening and block him.

I grew tearful at how exhausted I get at the idea of men who will place me in the box that they created for me and then play all kinds of sick mind games to keep me there. My dear doc then asked about my childhood. I told her about the relationships with my siblings, and how I had gone from that to a mistake of an ex, followed by the mistake of the ex I got pregnant by.

Coincidentally, I discussed with my doc about my long-term love, Fred. And I admitted to her that I missed who I believed Fred to be, but I don't miss the real him. And then I'd thought about it, and I don't even miss who either of the other exes even pretended to be. Like they were so terrible as human beings, that even in this space of reflection, there is not even a small part of me that misses either or wants either back in my life Seventeen years with Fred, there's bound to be some good memories. Tons of them, actually. Until there weren't. But what kept me with the first ex was that he was my first "love" and my first lover. That was pretty much it. He was mean, shallow, manipulative, and a know-it-all. He had loyalty to no one but himself and I thank God that he got with that lice-infested cum dumpster and left me alone to flourish.

And the ex after that wasn't much better. So even though both of those bastards carried emotional weight, in their own way, neither of them left a positive mark at all. Nope, instead, they left an emotional mess that I've spent years trying to clean up.

But I'm glad that I took this to my therapist today. She helped me to realize how far I've come. That my boundaries are non-negotiable, because I've come to value my peace. That after kissing so many frogs that my love goggles are off and I'm finally able to utilize some serious discernment, by cutting off men as soon as I detect problematic behavior. And learning how to use this discernment is priceless.

Insecure, But Not Really

I'm really settling in to my new house and neighborhood. Unintentionally, the location of my home is in a pretty decent lil neighborhood. I just wanted something in my price range, that wasn't too far out of the city and I lucked up on this little gem. It also happens to be really close to one of my favorite coffeehouses, which is located in a funky hipster neighborhood. I'd already spent tons of time at my favorite coffeehouse, when I lived further out, but now that it's only like a 10 minute drive from my home, I'm able to stop in and vibe there that much more. And to add to the blessings, a friend of mine who I'd met who worked at that coffeehouse, ended up opening a breakfast spot two doors down from the there. I finally managed to make it in for a visit, and fell in love with the food and the great atmosphere, and I now stop in about 2-3 times a week.

Although I go there to mainly stretch my legs and get out of the house, when I have writing or work to do, I still go to my warm blanket known as the original coffeehouse. My buddy loves to give me a hard time whenever I tell him that I can't stay in his place and write at the same time. He swears that I can, but our great conversations about life and relationships is often too much of a distraction. I've also started to become acquainted with many of the regulars, making this place like a mini-Cheers for me. And to add to the awesomeness of the situation, we recently found out that he lives in my neighborhood, like walking distance from my house. He's also a single father of an awesome 10-year-old and I saw her in the cafe today and I told her that I plan to take her for walks with me, which she jumped at the opportunity to do.

It's really cool that as time goes on, I feel myself growing into this new era. My child is growing older and graduates high school in just over a year. I'm out in these streets, turning up, and looking forward to digging into this new and established version of Malika. I find myself walking through these Atlanta streets, attending events and loving my time with some of the most awesome and interesting people around. I can't help but to look around frequently and feel joyful to be able to live this amazingly fun life. And now that my son is entering young adulthood, it makes it that much more for me to look forward to.

I've slowed the yard work for just a second, but Pinterest has been a godsend by giving me ideas for my backyard, since I can't justify the $3k expense for the deck I wanted. I'm looking forward to buying an outside chair set and gazebo and lights, that'll create a perfect atmosphere for me to write outside. And as I get ready for my upcoming beach trip, my high school homegirl stopped in to braid my hair, something I haven't experienced since high school. They're mid-back length blonde braids, that we accidentally created the perfect beach waves on. I love that I'm building the aesthetic to match the era that I'm entering. 

While working from home, Netflix has been my preferred way to pass time between calls. I decided that it's been a few years and high time for a rewatch on the show, Insecure. It's almost embarrassing to acknowledge that Insecure has been a big part of my hotgirl developments. Before I moved to Los Angeles, I saw parts of myself in Issa and saw parts of her fuckery in relationships to my former love of my life, Fred.

Wild how I'm no longer that mindless, stumbling Malika. I'm good and grown Malika. I've landed nicely on my feet. I was even telling a girlfriend earlier today how often I'll hear someone talk about how much they hate their life and the fact is that I just don't relate to that. I go on adventures constantly, my friends are insanely fascinating and entertaining, I'm okay alone or with a group/person, I'm solid in my career, just bought a house, my spirit is amazing, and I'm never lonely. Seriously, it doesn't get much better than this.

And this rewatch of Insecure makes me that much more excited about moving into the era of life where I can adult without being tethered to the care of a young child. Even though he'll always be my baby, now that my son is growing into his own young adulthood, it allows me to focus that much more on delving into who and what Malika is, on her own.

Watching Issa and crew navigate complicated relationships and have the fun social interactions that they enjoy makes me that much more happy to be that woman. And while I no longer anticipate a long-term Los Angeles living situation, I do expect to spend a hell of a lot more time there, once I no longer have to worry about getting my child to school and overall supervision. My season is here and I'm so excited. A season without sex or superficial attachments to men who will ultimately disrupt my peace.

Just me, my margaritas, gym time, the sun and the beach. Turn up, bitches.

F.N.F.

I wasn't completely forthcoming about my previous interactions with my 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 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. 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 they do.

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!