Past, Present, and Future

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tricks or Treats?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ain't No Way

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going With the Flow and Reaping the Rewards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekend Vibes, While Life Piles On, Preparing to Fly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Problems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DARVO

Brandon and I have bonded over our shredded shit shows that were once called relationships. It feels good to be able to lean on him as another person who was wounded by someone that they let in too deep. I've also leaned into Reddit as a way to learn far more about how patriarchy has been an absolute menace to society, making my decision to remain single that much more vital. Don't get me wrong, I don't think that all men are trash. I just think that patriarchy has taught far too many men and women that women are weak and stupid, and are for the sole purpose of being used, abused and discarded by men. In other words,  "I'm good luv. Enjoy!"

Anyway, I stumbled across a Reddit board the other day, where a woman talked about how her boyfriend of 8 months showed his entire ass when she refused to allow him access to her bank account. Many of the commenters referred to his behavior as "DARVO." I happened to have come across the term recently when I was listening to a podcast where a woman discussed how a man infiltrated a bunch of doula/lactation online groups, and caused a lot of confusion, including encouraging the mostly female respondents to do porn. The weasel went on to sue the women that began sharing information about him in order to warn others. To add insult to injury, the bastard lives in Hawaii so many low income women (and mothers at that) were having to spend money they did not have (and taking away from their children), just to fly to Hawaii to fight him for charges they did not deserve.

After hearing this term repeated twice in a really short time, I decided to do a quick Google search. My jaw practically hit the ground.

It was all too familiar with a few of my exes, and most recently Theo. There was a moment in time when he acted an entire ass and later on tried to make it seem that he was the actual victim. I didn't respond, because I knew that what he was claiming was an offense was just manufactured drama to take away any responsibility for his bad choices and refusal to change. He wasn't a victim and I wasn't going to allow him to pretend to be one.

Anyway, it also sounded similar to quite a few things Brandon had gone through with his addict ex-girlfriend and her unwillingness to admit fault in a few of their issues. Brandon was just as shocked as I was to know there was an actual name to this tactic. He then admitted that yes, his ex was quite proficient at playing the victim role whenever he pointed out some of her poor behavior.

During our conversation, I asked him how things are with his finances, especially since he pays his ex-wife (mother of his children) a pretty large sum of money for child support. Brandon admitted that his ex-wife told him that she's currently seeking a higher paying job, because she recognizes that anything could happen with him and she'd need to be able to care for the kids with no help from him.

I was floored. Poor financial management was a large part of what led to their divorce. "If only she'd had that mentality when y'all were married," I offered. "That's exactly what I said," he countered. Brandon had also told me that his ex-wife had been going to counseling and that she admits that she may have slipped into a depression, leading to a lot of her lax behavior toward their household and her overall responsibilities while they were together.

Then I asked Brandon, "you ever thought about getting back with her?" "Hell nah!" he quickly answered. "Well," I started. "It might be worth you giving it another shot." 

I talked to him about how much he's spending in child support to care for the children, well over what a judge would order. Things with his most recent ex-girlfriend (whom he'd left his wife for) are dead in the water. This woman is the mother of his children, and they had over 10 years together. Plus she's taking the time to work on herself, including therapy and taking a bigger role in being responsible for her finances. The fact is, all the issues he previously had with her, she's working hard to resolve them. And unlike the ex-girlfriend who thinks he'll stick around, the ex-wife really sees and values what he brought to the table and would like to remain with him, especially after seeing that he'll dip if she doesn't straighten up. I also offered that his eventually divorcing her for a woman who (at the time) did all the things he told her he needed, showed her that the man she thought would never leave, could and would in fact, leave. And not just leave, but set up home with another woman. His ex-wife saw the writing on the wall, and stepped up to get him back.

Brandon also admitted that his ex-wife has offered that he can come back home any time he's ready, and has routinely tried to sleep with him, although he has declined to not blur the lines of their relationship. I told Brandon that quite honestly, had my ex put forth half the effort his ex-wife did when we separated, I would have seriously considered getting back with him.

It made me think about something I read recently where Shaquille O'Neal discussed Nia Long's long-time partner being caught out there with a coworker. Shaq said that with everything he's accomplished and all the money he made, what he wishes he had most is the thing he screwed up the most. He said he hurt his wife and missed his family.  He remarked how he missed being able to come home to those 6 people that made him feel the most important. And that really stuck with me.

Sometimes I look at my life and I honestly think to myself that my ex and I would both be doing a lot better had he just opted not to be such a raging asshole. I mean, I'm certainly not eating beans out of a can, and nor am I carrying a Birkin bag on my shoulder. But I am a far cry from making $8/hr at Petsmart. My refrigerator is full, as is the tank in my 2022 Honda HRV. I travel pretty comfortably now, flying around several times a year, and I even just finally opened a Delta Sky Miles account. He and I would be making well over $100k as a unit, and probably about to buy a second or even third rental property. But he chose violence. So we will absolutely NEVER get back together. Lord knows that I tried to keep us together. But just like Shaunie, I reached the point of no return and I opted for my peace and sanity over a man who didn't value the ultimate gift I'd given him. And just like Shaq, he has to sit with knowing what he missed out on.

Meanwhile, Brandon admitted to being surprised to hear me say that he should return to his ex. He knows that historically, I wasn't all that fond of her (more so, after I witnessed a bitchy thing she said about him). But I give credit where credit is due. She lost out on a good man, and while in the process of working on herself, she's closer to getting back her husband and living the life that she wants for herself. And I'm not mad at that.

Detachment

So I've been Buddhist for nearly 15 years now. Not sure if it's okay to call myself that, but I align myself with the principals, although I could do much better in practicing. But in following Buddhism, I have grown pretty enamored the concept of "mindfulness" which stems largely from Buddhism and Hinduism. Buddhism has given me strength and purpose, when I felt at my lowest. I'm not traditionally one to go and say "XYZ religion saved me!" But I can definitely say that Buddhism played a large role in my development, down to the business that I started, followed by the book I finally finished.

While I've read about Buddhist principles for 15 years, it has only been recently that I have allowed myself to fully grasp and implement mindfulness in my life. While Buddhism can be a little difficult to grasp in some ways (it's literally so simple, that it's complex), I have gravitated heavily toward mindfulness and all that it encompasses. Letting go, moving forward, forgiveness, self reflection and accountability- all things I had to struggle to learn to embrace. And the most recent of the principles that really grabbed me was detachment. 

I did not recognize how much my new lifestyle really started to take hold of me until a few weeks back. I'd been spending a lot of time with Jon and I liked him, although there were a couple of things I'd been wary about. Jon is a great friend, and I learned a lot from him. But I was hesitant to keep seeing him in a romantic way, because I was unsure of his intentions. Sure, I like him, but I'm not really in the market for a fuck buddy at this point in my life. I've acknowledged that I cannot have sex without getting attached, and I no longer want to attach myself to a man emotionally, unless I know that we are moving toward a relationship. No judgement to others, but I have decided to establish more boundaries for who I allow to access my body, and for what reasons.

I saw Jon recently, and after a little drinky drink on his couch, I decided to ask him the question that had been plaguing me. I looked at him and asked "are we fucking or dating?" Jon looked thoughtfully for a second, before answering "I feel like we're fucking. My dad is in his 80s and still doing him. My dad mentioned how me and my brother are both single. I'm enjoying this." And then he followed up with "I know that's not what you want to hear." My response almost surprised me, "all I wanted to hear was the truth."

Wow. Yeah, I'd enjoyed my time with Jon. But I wasn't glued to him. I didn't cry. I wasn't even sad or bummed. He simply told me what he wanted and I accepted it. I didn't try to convince him to be with me. I just accepted it. And that felt good! I was proud of myself. Because I learned to be in the moment and detach, I wasn't focused on what I expected our future to be, I just worked with what was in the moment and I responded appropriately. That level of freedom felt almost intoxicating.

In looking within, I had to accept that my attachment to people and things stemmed in part from my fear of being alone or without. I've always felt that my role in life was to be of assistance to others. And while I still try my best to help others, I no longer feel that is my obligation. If someone loves me (romantically or platonically) and we hit it off, stellar. If not, that is okay too. 

My attachment to items is a bit different. For a large part of my adulthood, I struggled as a member of the working poor. I would often buy items in bulk, things like dish washing liquid, laundry detergent,  toilet paper, toothpaste, lotion, and paper towels, all because one of my biggest struggles stemmed from being down to my last $20 and being low on gas and needing to buy deodorant and toilet paper. So when times were less lean, I tended to stockpile household items, fearful that the day would return that I'd be down to my last $8 and needing bar soap and hair grease.

And since graduating school, I'm fortunate that I am no longer merely $50 away from homelessness. I can afford to get my nails painted professionally (they are currently neon yellow and I couldn't be happier). And at the same time, I had to accept that the dozen perfumes that I have are a bit overkill. It was finally time to just use what I have, and allow the pile to dwindle.

My move last year to California taught me that as well. I had to toss several items, and still ended up moving way too much stuff with me. As I set my sights on moving back, I have promised myself that next time around, far less unnecessary items will make the trip. Time to start using what I have and want, and purging what is only taking up space.

The other day, while working from home, my former boss stopped in briefly. He hugged me tightly before we caught up. He looked around my living room and zeroed in on the books on the bookshelf. He pulled out a book about psycho therapy, before putting it back. I then pulled it out, examined it quickly, and handed it to him. "You don't want this?" he asked me. "Nah," I shrugged. In spite of my tossing over 100 books before my move last year, I still held on to at least 100 books, which were quite heavy to move cross country. "You're not using this for work?" he probed again. I assured him that I do not need the book and will not miss it.

It served as yet another reminder that I am fully allowing myself to detach. While I previously held on to books by the shelf full, I no longer need them to validate me or make me feel safe or worthy. If me passing on that book brings him joy or will help him to be of service to others, I was proud to pass it along to him.

I've long viewed life as a journey. The ebbs and flows, the goods, the bads, the uglies. I'm here for it all, as it twists and turns. And I'm loving how much detaching is now part of my story. It's like we all pick up pebbles as we go through life. And some of the pebbles are ugly and jagged, like low self-esteem and insecurity. And after relinquishing those pebbles, I'm learning that I can walk a lot further with my hands empty and my heart full. I'm enjoying this.

Addictions Aren't Just for Drugs

I have a homeboy who got divorced around a year ago. When I met him nearly a decade ago, he was head over heels and firmly dedicated to his wife. As time went on, she started slipping (in quite a few arenas, to be honest), and he too began slipping. And he slipped into the arms of his female best friend. In spite of his wife having a baby in an effort to save their fleeting marriage (never a good idea), he pulled the plug anyway.

My homie, who I'll call Brandon, was giddy like a school girl when he'd started to realize that his best friend might actually be "the one." She possessed everything he felt like his ex-wife was missing. She was supportive of him, financially and emotionally. Make no mistake, Brandon is no slacker. But like most of us, he occasionally needed $20 to eat between pay days. His wife, (in spite of working full-time) would always either claim not to have it, or talk shit about him needing it (although he was the breadwinner of the home, even during those times when she squandered the bill money or incurred late fees because she couldn't be bothered to pay bills on time). Meanwhile, the best friend gave up the money, no questions asked. And once Brandon's money started to straighten out, the best friend reaped the benefits of believing in and investing in him.

We were happy for Brandon, although guarded. Things seemed so rushed. He went literally from his marriage, straight into the arms of his best friend. I'm not a hater. I want to see my friends happy, and doing well. My issue/fear was that between both relationships, there'd been no time for him to decompress. I encouraged him just to take some time to fuck around and feel around for what he wants and needs in his next relationship. But the man was undeterred, and in love. He wanted his best friend.

Around the same time things started to fall apart between me and Theo, Brandon confided in me that things weren't going well with him and his best friend either. He'd talked about her ex being around, and he almost left because of her seeming refusal to let the dude go, even though he clearly had no intentions of wifing her the way Brandon did. Also, she spent a lot of time at casinos. Like a lot. Like a WHOLE LOT.

I listened patiently to Brandon. I know that he wanted things to work with her. But between my woman's intuition and professional experience, I knew that she had a whole lot of trauma to work through, before she'd be capable of giving him what he wanted and deserved.

As time went on, she continued to struggle. At least the guy from her past was no more, but Brandon started to see more cracks. I was cautiously guarded in telling him that I think he needed to toss her back. I assured him that I never thought that she was a bad person, but she just had tons of shit she needed to address. He waffled. He saw the red flags. But he was in love.

One of the things that kept coming up was her time at casinos. He identified it as an issue early on. I tried hard to explain to him that addiction is addiction. So often people justify their addictions by pointing out things like "I haven't lost custody of my kids" or "I get up and go to work everyday" to downplay the issues they are facing. I saw her justifying and I pointed it out to Brandon. He agreed that she was justifying, but they continued to have conversations where she swore that she was done with the casinos. I knew she wasn't. But it wasn't my place to plainly say it.

I tried to explain to Brandon that the average addict needs to address whatever leads to their addictive behaviors, otherwise they either relapse or find another, just as harmful, addiction. Again, he was in love. Honestly, I started to feel like he was hiding the worst of it from me, fearful that I'd again encourage him to rethink this relationship. But hey, he was in love.

A few weeks back, Brandon confessed to me that he'd ended it. He could no longer deal with it. He started to see that she wasn't quite as ready to face her demons as he'd hoped. They tried to continue to work on their friendship, and cohabitating was a big part of that, as they'd just signed a lease. And in all honesty, he never wanted to lose her as a friend. But he learned that not only was she lying to him about her time spent at the casino, she' also lied about her old guy friend. He was blocked. But now he's not.

I can't lie, her guy friend reminded me of my time with Fred. How up until fairly recently, I was willing to possibly sacrifice any chance at a real relationship, to keep Fred in my life. Like all of the other things I've had to stare down, I had to look at Fred and determine if he was worth sacrificing a healthy relationship with a good man. The answer is of course, NO.

But Brandon's best friend isn't quite at that point. I can't help but to almost sympathize with her plight. Granted, my addiction was never drugs or casinos, but I definitely got a dopamine fix from my time with Fred. Working in addiction allowed me to see how attached I was and how non-beneficial that attachment really was. It also allowed me to identify other addictions I wasn't even aware that I'd had.

If it wasn't for the fact that this is really hurting my friend, I'd almost sympathize. She doesn't even recognize what she's giving up, all while chasing her high. It almost reminds me of something that happened at one of my jobs. A woman was so dedicated to her sobriety. She had my last name, and although I could never say it to her, I considered her my cousin, so I cheered her on that much harder. She'd been in rehab several times before, but this time, we just knew that she was gonna make it to the end and get her kids back. But then one day, she decided she was done. She wanted out. Some old ass dude pulled up in a shitty car to pick her up from rehab, despite her being only halfway done with the program. We all begged and pleaded with her. "Think about your kids!" we'd plead to her. "You've made so much progress," we said. She was undeterred. My "cousin" left.

To make it that much more painful, the next day, her kids came through to visit their mom. But she was gone. No one had told them. It broke my heart to imagine those poor kids showing up, hopeful that this would be the time that mom would get her stuff together and get the kids out of foster care, and they could all be together again. But mama picked her addiction, over doing what was best for everyone else. Just like Brandon's now ex-girlfriend.

Working in addiction taught me so much. Namely that most people don't know that they are addicted. That most people have to hit absolute rock bottom before they'll admit that they have a problem, and even then, some still won't. That some people will justify and even choose the most fucked up situations, all because their addiction is familiar.

Kinda sad, ya know?