96 Days

I really think that no matter where I live my toilet has special powers. I really do some of my best thinking there. So last night I was thinking about how life can pass you by... By doing what you have to do to survive and that's working. Of course it depends on the type of job you have but for the average person their job doesn't pay them enough to live the exciting adventure filled life that they dreamed of. If they're lucky enough to get a job where they can afford it they usually don't have the time. I fall into both categories in the wonderful world of retail sales. Now before I say anything let me first say I'm thankful for this job because it's allowing me to bring this post to you. Whether you apply it or not is up to you.. (Definitely rambling slightly) But the retail life is terrible because your pay is never the same and you work crazy hours and the holidays make you suicidal. I don't know about anybody else but after being away from my bed and my toilet for 12 hours is stressful enough without the added stress of the 9-10 hours spent working. Once I get home I'm spent. Mentally and physically. So much of the day is spent with customers who quite frankly need you to think for them and that's not calling them dumb but we're "specialists" so we have to know everything about everything and what's best for them. I'm an introvert so I'd rather spend most of the day alone thinking about whatever so after not being able to get lost in my own thoughts the only thing I want to do after work is sit on my toilet eat then get in the bed. I also write, read etc. (can you end a sentence with etc? I'm sure Trav knows) Not to mention I was probably up around 6:30 am. I say that to say this. That was one day and I still have 4 more of those. So the 2 days I get off I have to sleep, socialize, workout, get a haircut, drive home to see everybody, work on a business, pay bills, think about paying student loans and clean up. What if I want to take a trip? What if I wanted to see the world? If you follow my snapchat you would've saw me calculating the days you have off per year and I came up with 96. Feel free to check my arithmetic. I'm not counting staycation days either. To me... 96 days isn't enough time to see the world. 

New Year... New... Me?

"I started at the bottom, blind leading the blind... I did it by myself, so it took me some time" -Rick Ross; Rapper


It's that time of the year. The beginning of the year where everybody is gearing up for change... and others are gearing up to discourage it. One of the most discouraging ills of this beautiful country is that we have a society that prefers to criticize more than they prefer to congratulate. Discourage more than encourage. Don't get me wrong, I know some of it is jokes, but more often than not people actually are critical of those people who set goals for the new year.

Let's dissect it though. I wonder if people ever stop to think about why some people wait for the new year to try to change. Because not only is change hard... it's scary! A new year is symbolic of another chance and that's motivating. Change is a very scary thing because often times the only thing people fear more than death, is failure. It's such a scary thing to put your all into something and it not work out how you hoped. It's also hard to be consistently disciplined enough to resist what ever temptation can detour you from the goals you have set.

For example, if your goal is to get out of a toxic relationship right? You tweet it, you talk about it, you put it in the universe, you actually try to but the feelings unfortunately are still there right? people not only wait for you to go back to that relationship just to say "I told you so", they rarely will try to help you with the process of getting away. But what are friends for? Why aren't we there for each other more without judgment? Why don't we give each other more positive reinforcement?

Another example, your "new year, new me" goal is to relocate to a new city. You tweet it, you talk about it, you put it in the universe, you actually try to but the reality of life is that relocation isn't easy.   If your family is where you currently live, even with money and a job lined up it's hard to detach enough to leave. But instead of giving you positive reinforcement, people will tell you and anybody else that will listen that you're not going nowhere. Those same people will wait for six months to pass with you not relocating to bring back up in your face that "you still here". Now I'm not one for excuses at all, but I know we, as a society, would rather pull you back in the water, than to help you get out.

There have been many crossroads in my life that I had to face. Decisions had to be made that shaped my relationships, my career, my family and my happiness. Some helped two of those and ruined another,  helped one and ruined the other three, and otherwise. The point is at all of those crossroads the one constant was disruption. Meaning, however things were before said crossroad, they would never be the same after. Some people would have just turned around and went back into their comfort zone, I too have done so a few times, but why? Because a disruption is exactly that and a lot of times we wonder why shake the boat if everything at the time is manageable. That fear of the unknown is realer than a Mike Tyson punch in the 80's, ask Michael Spinks. It takes the perfect combination of bravery and faith to take a leap... of faith! Which is essentially what being open to change is!

So while there's "new year, new me" posts from people who are in the same position with the same habits as this time last year, people who will be in the same predicament next year, and people with brilliant and hilarious jokes about said people, don' be ashamed to at least attempt to better yourself with the genesis of yet another year you're here! Even if you don't even believe you're capable of doing the things you're professing, say it enough until you do believe it. Encourage people around you to do the same thing. Share your goals, your vision boards, and your lessons learned overtime that will help this year be better. And if December 31, 2016 comes around and not much have changed... thank God you have the chance to try again! It's a marathon, not a sprint.

 My thoughts


"As long as I'm breathing, can't knock the way a nigga eating!"

Work in progress...

                                                #

If only I loved my husband as much as he loved me.

It was early in the morning, the crack of dawn actually. The only people awake at this time were old people that woke up before sunrise, and then there was me. On the queen sized bed that stood in the middle of the bedroom. My body slumped across it, posing as if I was practicing gaining my inner chi. My husband laid beside me with his arms folded behind his head, firmly positioned on his back. I wasn’t as committed to my sleeping position. I had spent the last five minutes twisting and turning, trying to get into a comfortable spot. I needed to get up, but I wanted to spend a few more minutes wrapped around my husband’s masculine frame. Sweat trickled down the sides of my brow as I tossed the covers around. Still he doesn’t move.

The room is silent. My thoughts drowning me, thinking back to last night. How in love we appeared to be with each other. In front of all our friends and family smiles spread our cheeks high for the entire night. As I start to drift the noise of the ceiling fan whirling above my head catches my attention. It spins on high. The cool air mixes with the warm air from outside. It drowns out the smells of musk. Our scents have mixed together and settled in on the soft cotton bed sheets. I also can smell the liquor from last night seeping from our pores. The humidity is thick, but the slight breeze blowing from outside that pulls some of the air out of the room.

            We were in those months where it wasn’t quite summer and fall hadn’t begun yet. And true to his southern upbringing my husband didn’t believe in cutting the air condition on until the temperature outside hit a certain number. It was hot but with the bedroom windows up and the fan going it was manageable. My hair was already a wild, curly mess after last night so I knew a high messy bun was going to be my choice of style for today.

I moan. I stretch. I touch my husband’s head. I run my slender fingers through his thick dark curls and smile. I love my husband, I truly do. Some days I felt like it wasn’t enough. I didn’t grow up in the best home for learning to love someone. This marriage was my focal point of gaining the essentials on what a woman was supposed to give a man outside of her body. Him on the other hand came to me with the knowledge already implanted. His parents had been married for almost thirty years. He was raised in the church. He was given good morals at a young age. He knew the depths of love to provide to a woman and how to understand. My husband was kindhearted and never hurt a soul. Or he never intended to. There were times during our earlier years of dating throughout college where I ended up with a bruised heart, but he always made it right. He had given me praise telling me I was the first woman that he ever wanted to do right by. So no matter how many times he did wrong something in him compelled him to make it right.

Due to his childhood he had his set ways of doing things. He had his way of loving me. Implanted were rules on how to love a woman, how to care and how to nurture for a woman. The dos and don’ts of love were rooted and I was the fertilizer to encourage it to grow and bloom. His father had taught him that the man was the leader of the household, the provider. The man worked and made sure that the woman didn’t want for anything. I was raised to care for myself and care for a man in a way that made me feel like I was a slave. I turned to books and education to break that unhealthy cycle. Here I was years later trying to balance that beam that weighed heavy.

He didn’t compromise or bend.

He was firm.

He loves me.

I feel sometimes that his love is too much. I get swept up in it and it overwhelms me. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t make me feel special. That he didn’t wrap those big arms around me and make all of my worries go away. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t make sure that I was keeping him first. He took care of everything that a man should take care of within the household. It was a daily struggle for me to allow him to do so.

Last night was no different. Our fourth year of marriage, on the third Thursday of September, we celebrated with friends and family. I was beautiful to him last night. He made sure to tell me numerous times. As we sat amongst others he made sure to make me his priority. His hand never left mine. His almond shaped eyes always stayed peering into mine. His full lips parted before I could separate mine. With every memory that was offered about us meeting, dating and entering into our union he made sure to squeeze my hand tight. I admired him for his courage. Whenever there was a doubt in anyone’s mind he was the force that was determined to keep this thing going.

I am blessed to have him.

Over chatter, glasses clinking from toast, and jokes being traded amongst our table my husband glorified me. Highlighted me for being the love his life. He held my hand tight and lifted my hand every time someone mentioned the size of my ring. He was proud to show me off. He was proud to have proven that we could make it as long as we have, five whole years together. He was sure to show his gorgeous smile as he opened up to our family and friends how lucky he was that I had given him so many chances.

So many chances to get it right.

Husband and wife.

His cell phone rings. Jerks my attention. I roll over him and lean over to the other side of the bed. On a wooden nightstand lies his phone. On the third ring I answer. Caller ID unknown and a series of ten digits radiate on the screen.

“Hello?”

My voice is thick. Harsh. I sound groggy.

CLICK!

There is no answer from the other line. Instead the person has disconnected. I think it is a client. I decide to try the number back and plan on taking a message for my husband. Whoever the person is answers on the fourth ring.

“Sweetie” a woman’s voice chimes through the phone.

Her voice carries the sound of angels compared to my previous groggy hello. After a few failed attempts to clear my throat, I speak.

“Hello? Who is this?”

There is no answer. I only hear my heavy breathing. I am now sitting up with the phone pinned to my ear.

“Um.. I think I have the wrong number.”

“Im sure”

I disconnect the line. I take my free hand, my left hand, and the hand that housed the rock that my husband used to stamp me as his. I take that hand and dig my fingers in to my scalp. With a swift back and forth motion I shake the loose hair that rests on top of head. My curls shake and resemble tree leaves shaking in the wind. I purse my full lips together and they are chapped. I lick them with my thick tongue. I am thirsty. Dehydrated from a night of drinking and celebrating. I can still taste my husband. I had wanted to slip under the covers and place my head in my husband’s lap. I had wanted his moans to fill our bedroom as they had done the night before. There was this trick that I always kept in tow on special occasions, I wanted to be his magician this morning. All the things that I had wanted to do to him.

“Who was that?”

He speaks. The king of the jungle with hair like wool moves. His hands firmly grip my exposed thighs, he squeezes. His hands trail up from my legs to my stomach. This is where he rests. He moves slowly but demanding as he places his head in my lap. I place my free hand, the other still gripping his cell phone, on his curly head. It had been his pride and joy for the past few months. He was a black man that had been oppressed so many years by “the man” and now that he was free he was embracing his roots, according to him. I didn’t care one bit, I just wanted him to cut this mess.

I grunt. “Wrong number.” I didn’t believe the words even as they left my lips.

Without warning he reaches up and grabs his phone. “Could’ve been a client. They probably weren’t expecting a woman to answer the phone.”

I huff. “Mhm.” Moving swiftly, I’m up and out of bed. I head to bathroom to watch the scent of my husband off of me. If you knew my husband you would know there were so many layers to him. The same man that I made love to last night was not the same man that was upset and pouting because I slipped my card out for the bill, last night, when it came. I knew his financial situation and I didn’t want to put him on the spot. So being the woman that I was and all the extra hours that I was working I could afford to treat my husband to an anniversary dinner. If we were alone it would have been fine, but at a table with our friends, to him, it was an issue.

“A man has to be a man Joan. I should be treating you.”

Larry spoke those words to me last night. Being the loving wife that I was I wouldn’t dare remind my charming husband that he was no longer was employed at his fancy web designer job. Although he pretended to get up a few mornings and go into the office until I caught him red handed. He had quit. Walked off his job, tie in hand, determined to do something better with his time and skills. He had spent the last two years at an imaging firm building web pages for clients that ordered caviar as a side dish. Larry was a real down to earth brotha and he wanted to keep his talents in the community, primarily working with black owned businesses.

Now every workday, he sat in our second bedroom, in front of his computer all day clicking and typing. Still no checks were coming in the way they were previously. That resulted with me picking up extra duties at work and somehow I managed to get promoted. Ever since that promotion Larry had become someone I didn’t know. He was mean at times. He said things that made me question if this was the same man that asked me to be his wife two years ago. Now everything was about him being the man of the house and providing. He constantly stated how disappointed his father would be if he knew the details of our marriage.

I spent my days busting my butt to operate above my skill level and my nights making my man feel like he was still the king in this jungle. He wasn’t. At times I envied him for being so selfish. Quitting his job without asking me how I felt about it. After all the sacrifices I was making he only saw how busy I was and how much time I spent working. My husband was selfish, irresponsible and taking advantage of me. Some nights he wouldn’t even touch me. Other nights he wouldn’t even come to bed. Just sit in front of that computer.

And now some woman was calling for him.

If only my husband loved me as much as I loved him.

5pm Freak

There's a fire burning inside of you
That you can't put out
There's another side of you
That few people know 'bout
That quiet storm brewing in your pelvic region
You're begging for the levees to break
You just need a good reason
Class personified, so you've always held this in
A lady first, you want that to be the view
You present to all these men
So these desires you kept deep within
Are fighting for release in the form of sin
How else can you please you?
You've dedicated your life to a man
That don't quite speak to you
Your husband thinks just keeping the lights on
Should keep you
But he's never tapped inside of the Freak, you!
He's never licked your thighs
Like late night HBO televised
He's never closed the blinds in your office
and watched your alter ego come alive
And your coworkers only see the business you
If only they knew after 5pm, the freak, you
We get caught up in life so much, we forget to live
So much cunnilingus men forget to give
He got so comfortable in the routines
He stopped taking advantage of when you wear skirts
Instead of jeans
Now your mind wanders, and your heart no longer flutters
When the last time you had sex
That wasn't under the covers
Wonder about that
Fantasize about repeating your climax
Get lost in the words
Get lost in your mind
Get lost in your passion
Get lost in your thighs!

Thankful

It's been a minute since my last post. But here I am to tell you to forget about the past.  I know some people are thinking that's impossible but it's damn near necessary to achieve what you've been put on this earth to accomplish.  The past usually does one of two things, it keeps us in fear or gives a false sense of security.  Honestly I don't know which one is worse.  They both cause you miss out on what's happening right now, one is just voluntary (fear), while the other I'd say is more involuntary. The past preoccupies you with things, that for all intensive purposes, don't matter anymore.  You may have had a loved one die and you don't want to forget them and you shouldn't.  But you should never dwell on situations, like you wish you would've said something more or done something differently. Maybe you really wronged someone or vice versa, the best thing you can do is forgive; forgive yourself for making a mistake, forgive the other person because you deserve it, yes you deserve to forgive, you deserve to be free of the burden of feeling that someone screwed you over, but that's another post.  All in all, there are so many miracles occurring right now in your life, don't let something that happened 5 years ago, 5 months ago, 5 weeks ago, 5 days ago, even 5 minutes ago cause you to miss out on enjoying right now. 

Happy Thanksgiving 

Hiding in Darkness

"To live is to suffer... to survive... well that's to find meaning in the suffering"* - Dmx; Rapper

Interpretation is an art. For example, if I give a speech to a group of kids,  all of them will interpret what I'm saying differently. Some may have similar interpretations but it won't be exactly the same. Now if a group of kids followed me around during my day to day life for a week they would also interpret my behavior and actions differently. Quietly we interpret hundreds of things every day and ignore another several hundred things, unconsciously. In my observation, one of the most common things we ignore is when the people around us are silently living in a mental hell. Depression is very real and very common. We always hear stories of these random acts of suicide by people, famous and unknowns, and the people around them are in complete total shock. THAT is always shocking me. Me, myself, I'm blessed with a curse. As a writer, naturally, I'm a very observant person because my mind is constantly gathering information to process through literature. It's a curse because I can't turn it off when I want to get lost in the world, lost in love, lost in anything... I'm always a prisoner of my mind. It's a blessing for obvious reasons as it helps me as a writer, and it simultaneously gives me instincts that help me navigate through life. Back to the topic. It shocks me because I sometimes forget that everybody doesn't study people the way I do and I wonder, "how did nobody see this coming?"

I don't have studies or exact stats to base this off of but I'm willing to almost bet that one out of every two people, go thru depression at some point in their lives. Obviously, some people go thru it to a deeper extent, for a longer period, and it's more detrimental to some less strong willed people. I, myself, have gone thru it on a two separate occasions. The second time was more confusing, more real, and more lengthy but it was also more apparent. My friends and family spent hours talking to me daily to help me get things out of my head. That may have saved my life. At no point during this particular time did I contemplate suicide but my support system was in tact. And I'm a very vocal and expressive person so I wasn't one of those individuals who wouldn't want to talk about what I'm going through. However, I'm also typically a very nonchalant person. Not easily emotional. Rarely offended. So my behavior was the complete opposite and blatantly stood out as out of the ordinary to everyone around me. But that's rarely the case. My first stint with depression, fairly early in life, was handled in a more common way. I became extremely introverted and reserved. Quiet. I smiled half heartedly when I was around people. I never complained. I never reached out to anybody. I actually was waiting on someone to reach out to me. When no one did, it made it worse. "Don't they see me?" "Can't they see something isn't right with me?" "Can't they see I'm hurting?" These were the questions I initially asked myself. Then sadness materialized to anger and resentment! "They wouldn't care if I was here or not" "Nobody would miss me if I was gone!" "Nobody is paying attention to me because I'm not important to anybody" "Nobody loves me". In the words of the legendary Geto Boys, my mind was playing tricks on me. This is the more common process of depression.

A lot of times people around us are crying for help and we don't hear them. We don't see them. To give some examples that will help my generation, more so the generation right after mine, relate more. Think of the "hottest" rapper in the game right now, in my opinion, Future. While I love the mixture of dope beats and catchy punchlines, party lyrics and perfectly blended melodies, it is my sincere opinion that Future is extremely depressed! His music is crafted perfectly for the party vibe and for a generation that I think is even more depressed than ever before across the board. Future at his core raps about "a good time". His beats are very club friendly and his lyrics don't have very intricate wordplay. It's an easy zone to get into after a long week when you want to unwind. But what goes simultaneously noticed and ignored is the very HEAVY drug use that he indulges in. I'm not here to play judge or jury, God or any higher power, but nobody needs to frequent that amount of drugs or that frequency of drug or alcohol use unless they're going thru things so heavy that they need to be taken out of their reality every chance they get. Does everybody that like to have a drink need therapy? No. Does everybody that ever takes a pull of marijuana need therapy? No. But anybody that would rather smoke than eat is going thru something. Anybody that can't get thru their day without getting drunk or high or both is going thru something. A person that wasn't a drug user or alcohol user and overnight become a heavy abuser of them, is going thru something. That's just my opinion. It's not all fun and games! The problem is that it's so common now that no one notices that people are literally killing themselves slowly. It takes a certain level of depression to become addicted to drugs in my opinion. It takes a certain level of depression to even be open to certain substances you know will kill you. But people need to escape. The mind is a terrible thing to waste, its also a terrible place to be a prisoner of.

I think of Robin Williams, Chris Lighty, Kurt Cobain, Whitney Houston, and Michael Jackson. All of these highly successful people committed suicide! Some of the biggest stars we've ever had, "they had it all" some would say, but they were miserable! The reality of it is that being rich won't make you happy but ironically being broke can make you miserable. Being famous won't make you loved, it'll make you envied. There's a certain love that a fan can have for you. Your biggest fan. But it's not personable. You can't attach to that love everyday. Once you're off stage, metaphorically or literally, you can't feed off of that love. These people all seemed to suffer from not feeling genuine personable love in their regular lives. People depended on their resources so much, but did they really love the person? I'm sure these people didn't feel that the love was unconditional. Most depression comes from feeling unloved. Even if you are loved. It's not being shown consistently enough or literally how you think it should be. Whether that be from family, friends, lovers, or spiritually. When your needs aren't being met it hurts. People handle it in different ways. Some people become depressed and some become angry and defiant. I see people tweet multiple times per hour on twitter "Can't trust nobody" in some form or fashion. That's a red flag. That symbolizes to me that this person feels alone. And as much as we will act like we don't, everybody needs somebody. Loneliness is a main root of depression because that pain can be deeper than the Atlantic Ocean. When these red flags are presented in abundance and no one notices or reacts to it, it just increases the state of that person's depression.

In conclusion, PAY ATTENTION! People are dying everyday, but it's not just the people daily that stop breathing. There's people you love who are walking around dead or dying everyday and you have failed to notice. That hurts! A lot of times, the same way people don't normally tell people they love them everyday, they won't tell people they're hurting everyday. No one wants to appear weak so they try to deal with everything on their own, but pay attention. When you see people you love acting out of character, displaying their misery, reach out to them. You could save a life. Save love. So many people are hiding in darkness!

#RelationshipGoals

"If you take care of me.... I'll take care of us!" - Joe Budden; rapper

So I have been putting off this particular blog topic for a while because I needed the right inspiration, time, and clear thinking to properly express myself on it. Today, as I'm headed back home I got that inspiration. Pulling in to a gas station I witnessed a cardinal sin, in my opinion. I witnessed a young woman, seeming to be around 25, pumping her gas as, what appeared to be her boyfriend, sat in the passenger seat! Now immediately I'm sure some of you are thinking, "That could be her brother". This would be possible but the way he had his arm around her seat or shoulder area just painted the picture of him being her mate, so that's what i'm going with. Back to the topic. To me, this is unacceptable. I'm just of the mindset that if you're in the car with your girl and she stops to get gas, the man pumps it. Anybody agree? That's a "gender role" to me. 

Daily on twitter people redundantly ask questions about what a man should do or what a woman should do and to me it normally can be described as basic gender roles. I touched on it somewhat in a past blog but let's really get into it. Should gender roles exist? I think so. But in recent memory, masculinity in men have slowly, but surely dissipated! The genesis of this can go back as far as the 1980's but I don't wanna go THAT deep into it. I mean, this is a blog, not a book! But let's just look at the last 5 years in what I would consider "pop culture". There's a growing conflict between traditionalists, millennials, and feminists. Let me say as a disclaimer, that will surely go overlooked by some, I don't have an issue with the ideal of feminism. But I don't agree with everything they consider oppression or oppressive. But I don't have to. My right to have an open mind and disagree doesn't supersede their right to be offended and active. I never want to dismiss the plight women have experienced here. But again, I don't have to always agree.

The main reason I believe the discrepancy in gender roles exist is because men have become less and less inclined to be what I consider a man to be. Because of this women have subsequently been forced to adjust for survival. For example, a "strong black woman" doesn't need a man to take care of her in the traditional sense that our grandparents may have coexisted. So much so that expecting a woman naturally to do the majority of the cooking and cleaning now has become offensive to some. A lot of men now think women should split all household bills, including rent, regardless of the difference in income. There's no right or wrong answer, this is all a matter of preference, but i have to believe that the clearly defined or implied gender roles of yester-generation contributed to the longevity in those relationships vs the microwave era of relationships today. Expectations back then were so concrete that it eliminated confusion, and where there's less confusion there's more success. 

Me, personally, I'm all for gender roles. If a man enjoys cooking and his woman doesn't then of course there's nothing wrong with that compromise but it shouldn't be frowned upon if a man prefers his wife to do more domestic duties. I don't think a woman should pump her gas if her boyfriend or husband is in the car and capable. I don't think women should pay for dates unless it's a special occasion that she wants to. I don't think a man should have to do the laundry regularly. I don't think a woman should have to take our her trash or get her car cleaned or serviced regularly. I think we've gotten so competitive with our mates when that's who you're supposed to be one with, not at odds with! Nobody wants to be perceived as doing more, or giving more, so we do less and give less and our mates go unsatisfied. Resentment sets in, that grows into spite, which then becomes neglect on both sides. Now exit strategies are being formed. 

I love the movie Casino. So many life lessons in that movie. Sam Rothstein was a man of many things but what stood out the most to me was his principles. One of the main lessons I learned was that choosing the wrong mate is very costly. Was Sam perfect? No! Did Sam know of Ginger's past and current hustler mentality when he married her? Yes. Which is why he clearly chose the wrong woman. She had no interest in domesticated life. She didn't want to "take care of home". She loved the game. She also loved her ex. And she loved being Ginger more than anything. Not Mrs. Rothstein. I say that to say, don't give it all to someone who isn't giving you what you need. But in a mutually beneficial and satisfying relationship both parties have to play their role. Whatever that role may be. Most of those roles will be gender specific. Embrace them. Talk to your mate about them. Find the compromise on what works for the two of you. Then thrive in them. Oppression is real but I don't want preference to be confused with said oppression. We're the Generation of the Overly Offended in a lot of cases!

In conclusion, relationship or not, gender roles exist and there's nothing I love more than being a man and embracing certain responsibilities that come with being a man. So the next time I'm walking in a door and a lady is in front or behind me, I'm holding that door. Because that's what a man should do!