weekend not wasted

have you ever played monday morning quarterback on your weekend? or felt like it went by too quickly - so quick you can't imagine what you got out of it?

this weekend i managed to get lost.
twice.
which made me late.
twice.
for two separate meetings.

i think i need gps in my car. it's a shame i'm too paranoid to get it. if i ever need to get away, they can track me... (says the genius who would probably forget to throw the cell phone, a.k.a. homing device, out the window while on the getaway mission...)

i actually like getting lost while i'm driving. that's how i learn new stuff like shortcuts and where that place is that i've heard of but have never seen before. forgetting for a moment that being late was embarrassing both times, forgetting that i was disappointed in myself for having been late, and forgetting for a moment that the second time was especially annoying because i was simultaneously hungry and running out of gas, getting lost was cool. i have a good sense of direction, as in which direction i was coming from before i got lost, and a decent sense of north, south, east, and west. but city blocks have slants that go north north east, or west south west for example. or you can follow a number street in a grid system that won't let you go from a to b without some twists and turns.

i'm pleasantly tired...

or you can know two highways are parallel and try to drive between them to get from one to the other, but maybe there isn't an on-ramp where you think one should be. kind of a metaphor for a lot of other things, but anyway, since this post is getting out of control and i am reminding myself of O, let me get to the rest of the weekend. LOL!

i got my face painted at camden family day where i "volunteered." (they already had too many volunteers by the time i showed up so there was nothing much for me to really do - but i hung around anyway and pitched in where i could.) i usually get a butterfly but this time i got a sun. i witnessed a virtual mob scene where they were giving out free books. i wish all the people who have umpteenth negative things to say about camden could have been there to see the excitement on those kids' and parents' faces as they left with as many books as they could handle. i was one of them. my cousin's kids could use some books, so don't think i wasn't digging superfudge, the mouse and the motorcycle, roll of thunder hear my cry, and biographies on black people out of the piles of free books. don't assume that we don't want our children to have knowledge or that we don't care about them. don't assume our kids can't read or don't want to read.

i helped a friend and some others brainstorm for this wonderful project she has going and growing. i am so proud of her - first for the project itself, and second for having the wisdom to know that it's good to ask for help sometimes. handled some business with the sorors. got some time to spend with friends and cousins. my baby cousin's parents don't know it yet, but i'm going to adopt her one day. i also hung out with my "fake" nieces who are really my best friend's nieces. pure joy being around their little honest faces! oh yeah, and i got some new sweaters and jeans. can never have enough skin tight blues. i got my oil changed and my tire patched and my transmission fluid checked (cause he ain't running right - and yeah, i said "he" not "she"). my baby has to go in the shop. not looking forward to being car-less while i get him worked on. but it will happen in the next week or so. nj transit here i come...

i flirted a bit with the cashier when i made groceries today. shameful, i know, but he was cute. and yeah i said "made" groceries. shaddup. new jersey notwithstanding, i am a bit southern and country by legacy - get me angry (or around another southern accent) and watch that virginia vernacular play out on my chameleon tongue... LOL! my parents aren't coming for the holiday, but i am still cooking a small pot roast, candy yams, baked macaroni and cheese, collards and kale, and of course, sweet potato pie. it'll be too much food for just me, but i'm sure i'll find somebody to eat it. friends will come by. and/or maybe i can take some plates to some people. but i won't feel right unless my house smells like food and my windows are all steamed up on thursday. thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. i'm looking forward to the cooking and the eating. i'm a part of at least three families around here, so i'll be sampling and driving all day thursday (provided my baby is feeling better).

felt a little down after i got the groceries home and carried them upstairs to my place by myself. unloading my car without help always has that effect on me. i put the groceries away and mused awhile... and then some afro-cuban jazz

shaking it, breaking it, sashaying it

on the radio had me up, shaking it, breaking it, sashaying it - whirling and leaping around the room doing my best impression of someone who knew what she was doing, and just like that, the lil' spell was over. i'm pleasantly tired from the weekend. grateful for every experience i had, and every blessing i was able to take advantage of. and not mad that i have to go work tomorrow. i have to pay the costs of these weekends. this luxurious life ain't cheap - gas, food, leisure time, general overhead - it all costs money, so i have to work. so went my weekend. not wasted. spent with loved ones doing things i love to do - service, socializing, quality time with the friends and fam, shaking my booty, and uh, getting lost.

ask and receive

...you sho as hell right somebody owes me

a why,

a how,

some type of explanation

of why my hood is so burnt out...

i passionately yelled these lines from a poem of mine, "used to be," at an open mic a few weeks ago. the words vibrated along with the similar experiences of many of my listeners, who told me after i got off the mic that they completely understood what i was talking about. fast forward to now. i spent yesterday evening getting through the first few chapters of, "Camden After the Fall: Decline and Renewal in a Post-Industrial City," by Rutgers history professor Howard Gillette, Jr. apparently, while i was away getting an education, professor gillette was running around my hometown compiling information in order to give me and anyone else who cares "some type of explanation."

it's really something interesting to grow up in a city that carries stigma like indelible freckles. from the time magazine article that asked, "who could live here?" that came out when i was in elementary school to last year's crime ratings that declare camden the most dangerous city in america, the place just can't shake its shadow. i won't front like camden's reputation is wholly unfounded. but having lived there, and having it woven into the story of my life and my social consciousness, i am tied through emotion and nostalgia and genuine concern to the life and times of this city and its inhabitants. shoot, i'm even trying to figure out how to get back in. so yeah, i went to rutgers-camden's bookstore and paid full price for the hardback, hot-off-the-presses copy of professor gillette's book.

thumbing through the pages looking for familiar images and names, i see memories from my life. reading my city's post-wwii story fuels my imagination - i imagine my mom's family and weave what i know about their lives into the story that gillette tells with the intelligence and perspective of a good historian.

i am tied... to the life and times of this city

i am learning so much (and exercising the noodle - thank God for too many sociology courses and a decent vocabulary). in the book, the pictures (i wish there were more) show so much - i can actually see the shopping district that my grandmother told me about that no longer exists. i see pictures of white folks living and working in the streets that i've grown up associating with darker hues. i even see a picture of my high school classmate, whose dad, once the mayor, still plays a pivotal role in my city's destiny.

but what's more interesting is that camden's story is about so much more than camden. any inner city could relate to the social and economic phenomena that gillette discusses in his book. i've seen camden lurking in north philly's streets, walked in camden while in the "wrong" neighborhoods of baltimore and richmond and d.c., and heard camden's stories in the verses of countless rappers from brooklyn, compton, chicago, and the south bronx. my hope is that people who didn't have the privilege of learning firsthand about the futility and misguidedness of judging inner city dwellers will actually read this book or something else like it - especially people in the immediate surrounding areas. it highlights an important truth: today's bad inner city conditions cannot be solely blamed on some supposed inferiority of its inhabitants, who are of course, overwhelmingly, people of color. urban decay is bigger than that - more pervasive than that. and i just got this from the first couple chapters (even though i already knew this from experience). i can't wait until i get through to the back cover...

anyway, i really like that two-week turnaround thing. maybe my next poem on the mic will demand a monetary fortune... i figure it's worth a shot.

when i miss him

i missed him yesterday. (the intended beneficiary of my "honey i'm home" letter.) i had good news to share yesterday, and i couldn't share it with him because he just isn't here for me to share it with.

*sigh*

i miss him at moments just like that. when i want to share my joy and i scroll through the phone book in my janky cell phone looking for people to share it with. and after i've called my parents and best friends and homies, and even exes i'm still cool with, and shared the good news... i still wind up feeling like the celebration is incomplete, because... sheesh, i don't know why i have this need to share such a moment with that special someone, but i do. that someone who would truly know and understand why my joy is such a joy to me. someone who'd know what it took for me to get there. someone who would congratulate me with a kiss. someone who might even sweep me off my feet into the hug that you can't get from parent or homegirl or homey or ex.

now that i look at what i've just typed, i have got to be the most melodramatic woman on this planet. it's really not like my joys are less joyful just because i don't have him to share them with.

is it?

shoot, i am doing the damn thang. self-sufficient. independent. surrounded by friends and family. leading a lifestyle that i like. making friends, having fun, enjoying my youth. truly autonomous and free in this my adult life. i don't need him to make me happy. i know this for sure. if i have to go it alone, that doesn't take away from this beautiful life i'm living.

does it?

of course not.
... of course not.

she picks her nose

glory picks her nose when no one is looking. she uses profanity. sometimes she uses profanity a lot. she's not a virgin either. she really really likes sex a lot. don't let her discretion fool you. she wouldn't ever want to be called a freak or disrespected based on her healthy appetite, but um, yeah... glory doesn't go to church every sunday. as a matter of fact, she only goes to church when she feels like it. and get this: it's not because she isn't a faithful person. she just likes sleeping in on sundays. and she likes staying out late on saturday nights. glory often wears clothes more than once before putting them in the hamper. and sometimes she goes weeks without doing laundry. she is the worst procrastinator that she knows.
and glory is a hypocrite because she will dance to music that goes against everything she claims to stand for. she always sounds like she's all down for uplifting the black race and ever

a damn shame

ything but she has yet to do community service that impacts any one person for any longer than a short period of time. glory is hard headed. and sometimes irreverent. rude. politically incorrect when maybe she shouldn't be and politically correct when it's most annoying to be. she talks over top of other people before they finish because she has no patience. she gives unsolicited advice even though she knows better. sometimes glory will eat ice cream for dinner. glory sometimes is amused by the smell of her own flatulence. that's a damn shame. glory prides herself on her honesty but sometimes she still doesn't know how to be bold with the truth when it matters most. glory has road rage. and violent tendencies. which is funny because she really has no desire to get into it with anyone (coward!)

vain heffa...

glory thinks she can write. vain heffa... she's too picky with men. and judgmental in general. she can't stand how her father thinks he knows everything yet to hear her get on a soapbox, it's obvious that she is just like him. sometimes glory lies by omission and creative truth telling. and she knows better. she lets her dishes sit in the sink overnight. and if she doesn't feel like taking a shower, she doesn't until she feels like it. sometimes glory makes promises with the best of intentions and just doesn't keep them because of her own agenda or because she was overreaching in the first place. glory's need to get along with everyone and do good to everyone and extend love to everyone just might be more narcissistic than altruistic - jury's still out on that one. glory is lazy. glory doesn't take care of her car like she should, but will be the first one to play "woe is me" when it stops running and she catches a car payment like how r. kelly catches cases. oh yeah, sometimes glory thinks she's funny and she isn't. but when she's not trying to be funny, people laugh. at her, not with her. (she's paranoid, too.) glory is always fronting like she's harder, less sensitive, and more aggressive than she is - she really needs to stop but old habits die hard. what's worse, she loves herself in spite of (because of) all these things (and others she won't allow herself to mention while referring to herself in the third person).

can you hear me now?

my mobile phone is a worthless piece of excrement from the most dismal and smoking pit of hades and i rue the day the resources were ever wasted on its manufacture, especially in light of the fact that it hasn't worked properly since some distant day last week.

and to paraphrase a comedian i often detest, my wireless company can kiss the darkest part of my posterior. you offspring of unwed parents, to the molten banks of the river styx i condemn you, donning drawls doused in the most flammable of rocket fuels. may your eternal torture give you at the very least a small hint of the inconvenience and frustration that i feel dealing with your incompetent, inconsiderate lack of both service and utility.

try it

if i was given the opportunity to say something to other black people in this country, and i was somehow guaranteed that my words would be heard and heeded by all, based on what i am feeling today, this is what i would say:

it's okay to love yourself. maybe your surroundings or circumstances don't tell you what you want to hear. but that's okay because within you lies the ability to tell yourself love, tell yourself strength, tell yourself potential, tell yourself power, tell yourself happiness, tell yourself safety, tell yourself to dream.

it's okay to dream. it's okay to love your neighbor. it's okay to open the door to trusting other people. close it if need be, but nothing beats a failure but a try. try to forgive those brothers and sisters who have hurt you. try to forgive yourself for hurting others. try to believe that the way things are now haven't always been this bleak (because they haven't - once upon a time, we spoke to each other when we passed in the streets, and once upon a time, we checked in on our neighbors, and once upon a time we pooled our resources so that not one of us would fall by the wayside).

tell yourself to dream...

try to believe that we can reclaim and renew and redirect our love toward each other. try to believe that that would change us for the better. that that would change our world. just try it. don't dismiss it off hand. have faith in whatever it is (you know what It is) that has us all still standing here after all our ancestors went through. have faith.

believe that we can learn, we can achieve, that we won't tear each other down, that we have the ability to disassociate poor from apathetic, and money from true success, and fear from respect.

it's okay. just try it.

just try considering what our ancestors would think, what would they do - they got us this far, let's expound on their persevering vision and strength. just try considering what our children have to look forward to, what they need from us, and how much better we can provide for them. just think about it.

i know we can.

you have to know we can.

if we all know we can, imagine the outcome. let go of fears and reservations and doubts and just imagine the outcome.

and then, as one of my favorite bloggers might be apt to say, THINK IT HAPPEN. make it happen. do it happen. prove it happen.



on a another note, may all my beloved sorors of Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Inc. have a productive and happy founder's day tomorrow, as we continue to think/make/do/prove it happen. thank you for counting humble me amongst your ranks of those who have the vision to implement greater service and greater progress. luh y'all.

james, james, james

i love james evans, sr. been loving him for years. one of the realest black men on t.v. of all time. now there are some good images of black men in the media, to be sure. but when you talk about who's my favorite, it's james evans, hands down, no hesitation. james was a proud man. he worked when given the chance. he loved the mess out of his wife, and communicated that to her regularly and lovingly without embarrassment or prodding.

the unsung hero, the one the statistics miss...

he lovingly fathered his children. found a way to balance lightheartedness with the hard stuff. respected the Lord but recognized that God put james' destiny into james' hands - and that james was no slouch. he believed in old school discipline and made sure his children knew it. he believed in busting somebody's behind if need be if they messed with his family - america wasn't ready for james, so the show balanced out his strength with a comedic temper. but even in his temper tirades, john amos made sure that after he furrowed his brow and shouted and threw around an insult or a curse or two, he would be quick to put love in back his eyes so that although you knew that james wasn't playing, you also knew that was he not the simple minded angry black man harboring an inability to reason and love that some people to this day still believe black men characteristically ail from. i thank john amos for challenging the age old american tradition of perpetuating the distortion of the strength of black men. in addition, james encouraged the talents in his children - he was proud of his son's art, his other son's brainpower, and his daughter's sweet spirit. james' relationship with thelma and florida was so beautiful. there was always a gentle word for them. always a generous hug. always a soft spot - not that he was dominated by the whims of a spoiled daughter or always bested by intellectual or emotional superiority by his wife - not in the least. the household was his - and yet florida never had to shuffle and drag her feet because of something her husband forced on her. florida and james shared a mutual love and respect and a balance of household leadership not seen since john amos left good times. florida never stayed up all night wondering where he was or where he spent his check. james never brought home a bunch of disrespectful foolish friends to intrude on the sanctity of their place. he was a man not unlike my dad - the unsung hero, the one the statistics miss, the black man with a character that one could take seriously. the black man with a character that one could love. i could point out where other black husbands and dads on t.v. fall short of james' mark, but far be it from me to make it seem like i'm not glad those images existed too. it takes all kinds. but let it suffice to say that i just love me some james, was glad that good times had a james, and am glad that in reruns, we will always have a james.

hero

my hero... my best friend... she dropped what she was doing cause she heard the foreboding tone in my voice. she listened to my subdued, sullen words as they grew harder and angrier and then pained and choked with liquid sorrow. my issue, an issue that she is only one of a select group of trusted few to know about, had managed in its characteristic fashion to unexpectedly intrude uninvited upon what was otherwise a peaceful day. i needed some ears to absorb the blow of all the emotion which was sure to follow. i needed someone to witness the sound of my tears streaming down this forlorn face, to witness the sound of my sniffles, the sound of my futile attempts to control the mucus and salt water that made me grieve for the woman who produced them.

sometimes you need to know someone is listening.

she listened. she put on her it's-okay tone and ministered to me with its concern. she patiently encouraged me through silence and the occasional word of support to continue to talk it out, let it flow, honestly, in all of its raw ugliness. she told me that she understood. she didn't admonish me when the tears stopped flowing and i tried to pretend by giggling that the floodgate of powerful emotions hadn't just broken loose. she let me know without saying so that my emotions didn't make me weak, didn't make me anything other than human, didn't make my imperfections or mistakes or feelings anything other than a reality that could be dealt with. i needed a hug, and she wanted to hug me, but we were on the phone, so i had to settle for continuing to talk until my emotions came back down to a manageable equilibrium. she and i talked until i didn't remember why i called her in the first place, until i did remember but didn't feel the same rage and sorrow that prompted me to break down, until i didn't mind getting off the phone and being left with the silence that was left after the click. i understand now why it's good that emergency personnel stay on the phone with callers even after the appropriate units have been dispatched. sometimes you just need to know someone is listening. i thank God my best friend was listening. i love her for it.

pros and cons

pros
it makes for great poetry
privacy
the ability to be selfish at will

the freedoms...

no pressure to cook when i don't feel like it
the freedom to flirt at will
the freedom to sample all different kinds of men
strengthens character by reinforcing the need to be self-sufficient
no sacrifices of time or money necessary
no compromises necessary

no pressure...

no pressure to change or to stay the same
no being worried for someone else's safety or wellbeing
no wondering if i've settled for something less than what i deserve
no waiting for the other shoe to drop
no pee sprinkles on the rim
no fighting over covers
no snoring in my ear
the freedom to come home when i want without calling to check in
no constructive criticism on my cooking, style of dress, hair, choice of friends, or decision making
no rationing time to my friends and family
no struggling to be understood or to understand communication
a lower cell phone bill
no monopolization of my television
no pretending everything's okay so as not to cause worry
no enduring silly excesses of protectiveness
no patience with things i have to struggle to understand
no struggling to contol jealousy
no having to listen to someone else's problems
no feeling powerless in the face of someone else's problems
walking around naked without inciting a riot

no compromise...

no fighting for room in bed
no forgiving morning breath, belches, and farts
no witnesses to my morning breath or belches or farts
no having to hang out with other couples cause i'm too slow for single people
no unexpected surprises
not having to go through what others experience

cons
missing out on great poetry
the other side of the bed is cold
always carrying everything myself, fixing it myself, making the decision myself
having to climb up on the counter to reach the top kitchen shelf
self pleasure instead of in house pleasure
no one to be as excited about my joys as me
no one to listen to my stupid problems
not inciting a riot when i walk around naked
no spontaneous tickle fights or wrestling
no embraces on demand
no miscellaneous emails or text messages to make me feel thought of
noone yelling at the tv on sunday
noone to appreciate my food

having to put on a brave face...

flirting is accompanied by trepidation
first dates
deciding whether or not to give someone the time of day
no one to welcome me home or call home to or come get me if i'm stuck somewhere
no one to make me feel safe and protected (stereotypical and sappy, yes, but very real)
having to break up with people
getting broke up with
no compliments coming from the sincerity of one who already has nothing more to gain
no one to fuss at me about how i don't take the best care of myself
no security in knowing i'm in a good thing and don't need to entertain others
no sweet surprises
no ring and kids on the horizon
wanting to be slower than single people

no license to open this heart.

quiet evenings at home means being alone by definition
no license to open my all to someone who wants to see what's in this mind and heart
having to settle for flirting
having to settle for hope
having to put on a brave face to save face when the world makes this seem like a race
no in-house masseuse
no sharing dreams
living with the reality that this may be as good as it gets
those damned statistics
no cheerleader
it's a scary world out here
constantly having to pit my wisdom and patience against an understandable longing
not getting to go through what others experience

(happy birthday grandma and nadia...)

simple pleasures over the weekend

autumn leaves are a simple pleasure, the way they pop out against the backdrop of a blue sky that lacks the heavy humidity of summer. the brisk chill of morning - just enough to make your fingers nippy, but with a hint of warmth because the sun hasn't started lying to us yet - is a simple pleasure. blogging is a simple pleasure. the satisfaction of eating a homemade sweet potato pie slice after lunch is a simple pleasure. getting emails from friends is a simple pleasure. having time to spend with friends is a simple pleasure. add to this list having clean drawls because the laundry is done, potting a plant cutting because the roots have come in, hearing an expectant mother fawn over her child, and having a friend do something nice for you just because she knows she can.

having time to spend with friends is a simple pleasure.

enjoying the peace and comfort of your own place is a simple pleasure. talking to God for no particular reason except to say hi is a simple - no, a profound - pleasure. getting the ailing car from point a to point b without incident is a simple pleasure. having the memory of good hugs is a simple pleasure. hearing my parents' voices over the phone is a simple pleasure. getting the crust just right is a simple pleasure. the warmth and smell from baking all day that hovers in my place is a simple pleasure. sharing terence blan.cha.rd's latest cd with friends and talking about the virtues of fer.tile grou.nd's performances with like minded music lovers is a simple pleasure. my best friend's mashed potatoes are a simple pleasure. seeing that my cousin's baby girl has outgrown her walker because she walks so well is a simple pleasure that makes me proud (though wistful because her innocence is fading so rapidly).

such things do much to outweigh the chores of paying bills, making adult decisions, bad dreams, and first dates which incidentally happen to be last dates.

cozy

woke up to sunlight and the sounds of steve sparrow under the softest covers on a mattress of satiny peace, remembering the feeling i felt leaving jus words last night after sharing the best part of myself with people i respect and admire. offering them my most sincere smiles and hugs and applause and encouragement and sisterly concern and advice and willing laughs and listening ears. i give in earnest - i offer out of love. but i'm selfish. cause i offer the love i look to receive. when i'm on that stage, karma brings all that positive energy i give right back to me, giving me the courage to try new things with my poetry, giving me the confidence to read what's in my heart, knowing that i'm amongst my people. it's not often that you receive what you give in equal or ample measure from people. from the Creator, it's to be expected. but sometimes His creation is so self-absorbed that they have no true interest in giving of themselves. so as most folks come to eventually find out, there's no point in expecting to be offered love - if you're going to pour love out of yourself, you need to be surprised to see it fly home to you like birds in spring. except where i went last night, i've gotten spoiled. i've been respected like the queen they call out in their poetry, like the sista they care about in songs, like one who is loved just because that's what we're supposed to do for each other. and never in my life have i seen black men and women loving each other like they do when we watch each other on the mic and share each other with our words - you don't get that at the grocery store or in school or at work. and no offense to our churches - but sinners feel comfortable in our presence, and still leave with positivity to chew on and inspire them. i know God is present when we gather. and i keep wondering if this is what it was like in africa, before there came people to hate us and confuse our love. i wonder if the ancestors watch us and smile and feel solace when we sow our knowledge and humor and spirits into each other. so no wonder i leave feeling beloved and cozy the mornings after. no wonder i find myself drawn to the scene like people are drawn to the light in the eyes of that special someone. there is love there. and it makes me cozy.

time

there is a time for everything,
a season for every activity under heaven.
a time to be born and a time to die.
a time to plant and a time to harvest,
a time to kill and a time to heal.
a time to tear down and a time to rebuild.

God has made everything beautiful for its own time.

a time to cry and a time to laugh.
a time to grieve and a time to dance.
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
a time to embrace and a time to turn away.
a time to search and a time to lose.
a time to keep and a time to throw away.
a time to tear and a time to mend.
a time to be quiet and a time to speak up.
a time to love and a time to hate.
a time for war and a time for peace.

what do people really get for all their hard work? i have thought about this in connection with the various kinds of work God has given people to do. God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God's work from beginning to end. so i concluded that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to enjoy themselves as long as they can. and people should eat and drink and enjoy the fruits of their labor, for these are gifts from God. and i know that whatever God does is final. nothing can be added to it or taken from it. God's purpose in this is that people should fear Him. whatever exists today and whatever will exist in the future has already existed in the past. for God calls the past to account.

solomon, "the words of the teacher," ecclesiastes 3:1-15 (holy bible, new living translation)

perception...

something in me felt a little uncomfortable about putting this issue out on front street, which is exactly why i know i have to blog about it - flying by the seat of your pants to keep confessionals real but just removed enough from the core of your being is challenging and fun and requires creativity - all the stuff that i LOVE about writing. so here goes...

from what may become a classic movie for my generation, amy heck.erl.ing's c.lue.less:

TAI : Do you think she's pretty?

CHER :No, she's a full on Monet.

TAI : What's a Monet?

CHER : It's like a painting, see? From far away, it's OK, but up close, it's a big old mess.

sometimes i wonder if i am a monet. i don't mean physically. i think i have a healthy balance of self-esteem, realism, and modesty. there are some women that look good to everybody, some that don't look good to most, and then there are the rest of us that clean up nice and generally do alright, which is pretty much where i land. so that's not what i'm talking about.

i am talking about the substance of who i am. i have lived enough life and experienced enough relationships to know that unless i am purposely being opaque (which happens sometimes out of shyness or distrust), i tend to leave a good first impression on people. as in when they first meet me, they generally get along with me, can chat freely with me, and aren't offended by any major vices or assaulted by scathing character flaws. and this generally serves its purpose in superficial relationships with those people who are most likely to be called "acquaintance" or "associate" or casual "friend." but with the exception of close, long time friends or family members, who are apt to sincerely tell you how wonderful they think you are, relationships are tricky, and more specifically, new relationships with the less fair sex are tricky.

why do men show interest in you and then over time, the interest wanes? i mean, of course, meeting people is an exploratory process, and flirting and dating are ways to explore new people to see if you like them. in any case, people will be drawn together or will drift apart after a certain amount of discovery. but in light of the ephemeral nature of the initial attraction, the thing is, why all the enthusiasm at the outset?

…am i a Monet? ... a "big old mess?"

is it because upon first impression, you are the best thing yet to your new friend? is it because your new friend is just happy to have a new friend in you? is it because your new friend needs you to believe in their interest in you so that you will be more open to their advances? actually, i suspect that it is some combination of all of these reasons. and sometimes (but hopefully not often) we can add to the mix that they are just using manipulative means for selfish ends.

contrast this enthusiastic rising action i just spoke of with the falling action and conclusion in the plot. you see, the basic story structure consists of an introduction, rising action which leads you to a climax, which is the high and turning point of the story, and then falling action which brings you to some conclusion. think of our little explorations between the sexes as stories, in which the introduction is just that, the rising action is the rushing amplification of being sweet to each other, the climax is when it feels as good as it's gonna get between them, and the falling action and conclusion between the people happens when the climax doesn't start a whole 'nother story of some perennial love fest, so the exploration gets old and comes to its inevitable demise. now this divergence of paths - rising action on a longterm love or falling action leading to a breakup - may happen for any number of reasons. but for women the conclusion often leaves them asking, "am i a monet?"

well, am i a monet? am i the type of woman whose personality draws you in... to a point? at which point you discover what amounts to you as a "big old mess." i have heard sisters ask this question time and time again. was it me? what did i do? why me? is there something i should change? am i easier desired than to deal with acquired? shoot, am i easier acquired than consistently desired? i know this isn't just a woman thing. i have beloved guy friends that wonder the same thing, though not so much on a painstakingly personal level as it seems women do.

y'all.

no for real - y'all.

stop it. i knew the answer to this question before i began typing this post. and hopefully most of you know the answer to this question during your single intermissions between explorations with potential paramours. it's not so much that something is wrong with you as it is that not everybody is for everybody. the operative word here is exploration. that's why you can walk through an art gallery and what may appeal to the tastes of one patron may not appeal to the next. but that's okay. because there are plenty of works in the gallery. but the only way to see what else is in the gallery is to walk through it, checking out different pieces, imagining them in your space. ya feel me? people buy monet's paintings, and van gogh's, and bobo-the-who-is-that's depending on their tastes.

the operative word here is exploration

i am such "a keeper" in my own right. a damn good woman, a damn good friend. but that perception won't be universal to every man i meet. to some men, i may look better from a distance than up close, but they have no way of knowing that until they approach and see what's there, hit that climax and realize that falling action is the path that the exploration needs to take. to other men, upon approach they may like what they see, but that doesn't mean that i complement their space well, which, you guessed it, will lead to falling action. but to one particular man (with very good taste, if i do say so myself), what he sees when he will look at me - the view from a distance, the view under different lighting, and the up close view of my Creator's very brush strokes - will please him and intrigue him and complement his space, "big old mess" and all. (let's hope i want to hang at his house, and if so...) let the perennial love fest begin!

i really should put this post into word count just to see how long it took me to say "beauty is in the eye of the beholder." hope you're not mad you read all this for eight words... thanks for reading it anyway, and have a blessed day :-)

friday mornings

every friday morning i was eager to get to school to laugh with my friends about what we saw on the cosby show the night before. the show was funny and it had black people on it and one was a doctor and another was a lawyer and their kids went to college... wow, college... like my parents wanted me to go to college. if i wanted, i could grow up to go to college like sondra and denise and become a doctor that delivered little babies like cliff. and i could live in a house with expensive artwork and go on homecoming trips with my family to a historically black college and have my own room like clair with french doors - "inside... outside!!!"

the older i get, the more i see

i kinda understood what dr. cosby was doing when i was a child. i knew there was a difference between married with children and the cosby show - that there were shows with "good" families and shows with "bad families." i also knew there was a difference between what's happening and the cosby show - that there were black people on tv that you laughed at, and black people on tv that you laughed with. i also understood on some level that there's room for all kinds of entertainment. but i think that's as far as it went.

watching cosby reruns today, i find it amazing that i sat through some of those episodes, that i watched and understood them as a child. but i realize that i watched them with a child's understanding in the same way that children witness the adulthood of their parents with a child's understanding and inquisitiveness, watching them for clues and habits and behaviors. maybe i didn't have the comprehension then that i do now, but that's how children learn. and so i learned. the cosby show was like a field trip. there were cameo appearances from famous people like lena horne and dizzy gillespie and miriam makeba - names i wouldn't have known from the hood, not in my generation anyway. nancy wilson and phylicia rashad sang moody's mood for love. framed black art adorned the walls of the home. "hillman college" became a symbol of the destination i wanted to leave home for. bill cosby was basically being the black mr. rogers. y'all remember mister rogers - the one who would teach children about the world around them by speaking plainly and breaking it down? well, his chocolate counterpart was heathcliff huxtable.

i remember hearing that the show was unrealistic because most black people didn't live like that. okay, so maybe most don't. but did that make the show any less valid as entertainment? it was funny. it made us laugh every thursday night. and let's not forget the mr. rogers factor. besides, did good times reflect all of black experience? of course not - we don't all live in the projects. but that's the thing - we are not all alike, our experiences vary, and the cosby show showed just one of many experiences.

what's interesting is that the older i get, the more i see in the show. things i understood in 1985 were seen from a different angle in 1995 and here it is 2005 and i still pick up things from a different angle than i did before. time and life experience give me new lenses with which to relate to the story lines and understand the character traits. i myself have been denise, headed towards flunking my college classes because of bad study skills. i myself have been vanessa, ready to defy convention for love, and ultimately too scared and unprepared to take the chance on it. i understand now why cliff and clair were so mad at sondra and elvin about the wilderness store and i also understand now why they put off law school and med school. i so understand why denise left hillman to go to africa and why she had such a hard time settling down. maybe one day i'll better understand why sondra went on a rampage when the grandmothers took her babies, or i'll better understand denise and martin's challenges with a precocious three-year-old.

my "friday mornings" have changed now. instead of singing kenny and b.b. king's "i gave you seven children, now you wanna give 'em back" to entertain my classmates, i now think of the value of seeing b.b. king and lucille when i was a kid and having had exposure to that part of the black experience. i'm not saying the show is the end-all be-all of television. but it does tell facets of our story - our culture, our family values, our history, and our challenges - very, very well.

customer disservice

so after shopping my friend and i wanted to eat. neither of us had eaten yet that day and she, being pregnant, wanted real food, so we went to ____ to get linner (as it was late afternoon). we walked in and stood in the foyer. this is one of those eat in/salad bar/sit at a booth/pay at the register establishments. in the foyer, there is a cashier and a hostess podium. while waiting to be seated as the sign requested, we talked about the lack of commercial development in our old neighborhood and whether or not there was some c-o-n-spiracy scheme to disenfranchise the area or if it was just a case of individual investors being afraid to chance their investments on our beloved but very much maligned 'hood.

somewhere in the course of this conversation, which lasted maybe about 5-10 minutes, i noticed that we had been entertaining ourselves for quite some time, even though there was a hostess standing at the podium. there were at least three employees in the foyer as well. and not one of these people acknowledged our presence, advised us of any wait, or offered to seat us. i turn to my friend and say, uneventfully, "i'm ready to leave now." my friend agrees. we left, grumbling about bad service. we didn't contact the manager or admonish the employees. why bother? we wouldn't have been telling them anything they didn't already know, and we didn't feel like being angry black women. we just wanted to eat.

…why it had to be all that?

so in the car, we thought about a place where we could get the same fare without having to tour all of God's creation. we simultaneously (we are fraternal twins separated at birth - we have to be!) suggested the _____. the _____ is a diner in our own city. i like patronizing the diner because it's been a staple of the community for years - a popular breakfast and after-church spot. i have spent many a sunday morning gobbling home fries with my parents there. the place holds memories. i jokingly said to my friend, "at the very least, they'll seat us, cause they have to get us out of the doorway." many 50's style new jersey diners don't have foyers - you have to seat people right when they get to the door, or they'll be blocking the door.

lucky for us, the place wasn't crowded. we walked in and the cashier/host was on his mobile phone. he asked us smoking or non and seated us immediately. how nice! except he was on the phone the whole time. it smacked both of us the wrong way, but whatever. at least we were seated.

... "at least" being the operative words. my friend and i sat and chatted for maybe 5 or 10 minutes, again, about stuff - i don't know what... and then it dawned on me that we had no waitress greet us or bring us water glasses or take our drink orders or even holler to say she'd be with us in a sec. which may have been excusable, if the place was swamped. i would say there was one dude at the counter, and maybe four other parties in the whole place. and i know there were at least four waitresses that we saw walking around during these 5 or 10 minutes. and we knew this because we were seated by one of those stations where they keep the flatware and ketchup and syrup and stuff, and waitresses were coming directly past us to get to these things during these water-less, attention-less 5 or 10 minutes.

when you're hungry, 5 or 10 minutes is a long time.

when you've already left one place for bad service, leaving the second choice is not easy.

i gave my friend a look. she knew what it meant. i asked her if we should go. she said that we would just have to eat immediately (as in fast food, which she didn't want) at the next place. i soooo did not want to have to leave in search of another place to eat. i started counting softly and slowly from ten to one.

somewhere around three, one waitress turned to another and signals her to cover our table. i hesitate on two. this heifer (sorry to malign you cows) walked in the opposite direction from us. *sigh* i kept counting. even slower than last time. finally, on one, not one but two waitresses come with smiles and eagerness to serve. mm hmm. after which point the original heifer who walked in the other direction asked us if we were being served. the rest of the meal passed uneventfully and we enjoyed our food and conversation and even stayed a lil while after the meal to talk. but we cut a dollar out of her tip.

all i'm sayin is, why it had to be all that? and why come the last two times i went to wa.l-mar.t i had to leave my stuff in line without purchasing it because something just didn't sit right with me about having 21 registers and opening only 3 of them on a doggone weekend, while staff members mill around the drawls or beef jerky somewhere talking? why can't i ever get someone at the phone company to address my problem without having to endure several transfers and having to explain the reason i'm calling several times?

okay. vent over. such is life. i'm cool. til the next time some bovine excrement goes down.

weekend recap how comes

how come i had a good weekend
how come i missed floetry's cd release party and am kicking myself
how come oh well gotta suck it up
how come customer service is so bad
how come i love when men make me laugh
how come i don't love when men make me mean like that dude at the party
how come if you can't read my body language tone of voice and curt responses you are so not smart enough to try to kick it with me anyway
how come i had to be blunt
how come i hate being blunt but i am certainly capable of it
how come i hate when men you are rejecting think you are playing hard to get so if they just try harder you'll like that
how come dammit no i don't
how come i was about to get one of my brothers to block him
how come i'm glad it didn't come to that cause i was able to slip away through the crowd
how come just venting that is allowing me to let it go... til it happens again
how come men wonder why women wear blocker rings
how come i didn't plan on any parties this weekend but stumbled into two
how come a poem happened to me in the midst of a show and i had to write in between performances so as not to disrespect the artists

…how come i hope i contribute something of value

how come i can't control when poems happen to me
how come that one poet is so free
how come that other poet is so funny, and that one too, and that other one
how come this poet makes me feel appreciated
how come this other poet gives good hugs like my good hugs
how come i don't believe in half azz hugs
how come that other poet makes me feel special as a poet
how come this one poet makes me feel special as a woman
how come that poet over there makes me aspire to be a better writer
how come this other poet makes me aspire to be a better person
how come this poet over here really makes me want to pick their brain and learn from them
how come that one makes me feel cared for like family, and as a matter of fact, that one, and this one too, and that other one
how come i look up to that poet
how come i love the way that poet received my encouragement
how come that's why i hang around
how come i hope i contribute something of value to the poets who contribute to me
how come i'm too shy to name names but does it really matter
how come i just had to share that though

steering wheel

it's like i blinked and ten years ran away, never to be seen again.

when i look in the mirror, i see a woman. what happened?

i can drive. i work full time. i pay bills. i am responsible for all the cooking and cleaning and shopping. i pay taxes. this is serious.

this is not an i-want-my-childhood-back post. i enjoyed it and it was great and long live the memories. fact is, just about everything i did when i was a kid i can still do. so i'm ah-ight on that front. my thing is, what now?

…find a way.

make a way.

since i'm in charge, my life is a result of my choices. so if i get bored or unhappy, it is my job to make the choices that will change my life. if there's something i want, it is my job to go get it. i am the bottom line. that sure is a lot of responsibility - wow. but it's cool - i like that, cause with that responsibility comes power.

growing up i would watch adults trudge through life, complaining. complaining about their jobs and taxes and boredom and all kinds of stuff. i never understood that, cause i figured that an adult can do what they want to do. my parents told me i could achieve anything i wanted and reached for - if i could, as a child, then why couldn't an adult? i know now that just up and doing whatever you want to change your life is easier said than done. there are expectations, societal pressures, obligations, debts, blah blah blah. but i mean, really, wasn't joe clark right when he said all he had to do was stay black and die? in all things, be good and honorable and loving - don't trample over the integrity of other people. but for goodness' sake, take account for yourself! muster up the courage to take the class, or drop the job and look for another one, or get out there and start dating, or lose the weight, or whatever it is that's getting your goat. find a way. make a way. if you really want it you can make it happen, and if you can't believe that, then you deserve to live in the rut you've allowed yourself to get imprisoned in. you deserve the restless nights and constant worry and general malaise that comes from giving up and trying to maintain the status quo until death.

i only got one childhood, and i'm glad it went the way it did.
i only have one 2005 to live in.
and i may not get any further than my pillow tonight. (if i don't, tell my parents i love them.)
it's by the grace of God that i am living and breathing and typing this blog.
so i will choose, every day, to take charge of my choices and steer my life.

cause i'd rather not be like the majority of raggedy attitude having sheep. i deserve better. and so what if i don't? i'll seize better, if i have to. my Creator made me a dreamer with long arms and a strong grip. so i will keep reaching and grabbing.

spreading the word (lowercase w)

i ain't had no decent rest cause i been on some insomniac kick. got like two hours sleep in the wee hours of tuesday morning before work. how bout that is not cute? how bout i'm trying to figure out why i didn't fall asleep earlier tonight, instead of staying awake, blogging in the inaugural hour of wednesday, acting like my vision ain't getting impaired. LOL! i think i got to that point where you're just running off of straight adrenaline. you know how lil' kids get when they fightin' sleep - rubbing their eyes and finding stuff to do to keep from crashing. which is why i'm writing aimlessly right now. but see, i have to write every day. every. day. putting words together to paint pictures is no less important to me now than brushing my teeth. and this surprises me. yeah, i know i'm imaginative and creative and piscean and stuff - yadda yadda yadda. but there's a difference between casual interest and passion, and i'm becoming acquainted with the nuances of that difference.

and it's a little scary. because the enthusiasm i have for writing poems and prose and filling in my blank journal and blogging is just more than i expected, and it's certainly not something that i'd planned on. the feedback i get from family, friends, and strangers encourages me to keep expressing myself. and beyond the quest for communicating well, there's definitely an emotional element to this development in my life - sometimes the blank paper or the blank screen is such a friend - my welcome listener who never gives me grief. and after i pour out the contents of my mind, i can see things in what i've written that help me sort it all out and understand myself and the world better.

y'all should see me gushing about it. trying to convert the willing. "do you write? have you tried it? you know what, seriously, it is so good for you - no, seriously, you really should try it if you get a minute." next thing you know i'ma have people ducking and running the other way when they see me coming, like when i used to grudgingly turn my saturday morning cartoons down when strangers knocked on the door. but imagine how tickled i was when three of my friends created blogs yesterday after checking out mine - i feel like the more, the merrier!

anyway, i'ma try to get some sleep like i got some daggone sense. may the creative force be with you!

where's my theme music???

today i am wearing, among other things, my glasses. which make me look smart and mature. which i have hated passionately since 1987. the glasses which have been on punishment since 1992 when i got my much treasured contact lenses. the glasses which i only wear when i haven't gotten enough sleep the night before or my spring hay fever is outta control. the glasses which are confusing people at my job. which helps me understand that lois lane may not be as out of step with most people as i always thought she was. which makes me want to create another identity for the glory i am with glasses on.

what is that?
a bird?
a plane?
it's geeky girl to the rescue! sharper than a sharpie marker! quicker than your stinging-est paper cut! able to leap tall thoughts in a single bound - it's that geek with the glasses on!

where's my theme music?

climbing out

why is it that when you stumble into a hole, climbing out is so hard? in case you couldn't tell by my posts lately, i have been ministering to myself, hard, to get out of a hole i'd stumbled into. literally and figuratively, it is difficult to gain traction when it is raining. there is nothing like waking up in the morning to sunshine streaming through my windows. but gloom and rain? pshhhh, are you serious? that's a sure cue to roll over, get nestled in the covers, and dismiss the world outside my door.

but okay, that's not all. say you climb out of the hole. now you have to gain momentum. well momentum is something you have to work for. it doesn't just come to you. you have to make a conscious effort to get upright, face a direction, train your eye on a destination, and get that posterior in gear. key factors here are energy and attitude. athletes use mental and physical conditioning and electrolytes and carb loading and stuff. scholars use coffee and dollar signs and recognition and the pursuit of knowledge. the faithful use prayer and praise and fasting and holy scriptures. clubhoppers use the saturday night mix in the ride on the way to the velvet rope. what do you use?

i've been talking. a lot. to mom. to best friends. i am truly my father's child - i could never take a vow of silence, i'm telling you. talking and being honest about things i'm going through helps. because no matter how scary things may seem, once i run 'em by someone else, it's like their looming threatening stance just gets shrunken down into manageable stuff. holding in the scary things and mulling them over just makes them even scarier. so i'm glad i have three women that truly love me and are willing to listen. love for mom is just a given. me and mom are tight - she is my best friend, my most trusted confidante, my most honest but gentle critic, my strongest supporter (alongside my dad). my two best friends and i have been a trio for over half our lives since we've been playing double-dutch together. i don't have sisters. but they are better, cause they love me by choice, not by default. God willing, one day, far away from now, we'll be cackling through false teeth together. we are the stereotypical group of friends you read about in novels or see on t.v. i'ma have to blog about this bond another time - it deserves more respect than these lil' piddly lines...

i've been keeping up connections with my family too. visiting, talking, just being a part of a family. my cousin's baby girl just celebrated her first birthday! i visit her on the regular - i was there when she started walking several steps at a time. it was a pleasure to watch her wear her first birthday hat and stick her little hands in the cake. i am so proud of my cousin and his wife - how they are involving the whole family in their smaller family's joy. they make me smile about things to come in my own life. i tease and play with my cousins' children, ask them how school is going, hug them, show them love and interest in who they are becoming. i thank God for their parents, cousins who ask me how i'm doing, if there's anything i need, if i'm coming out with them the next time they go out. i am so glad i live near my mom's family. there's no security like belonging to and being claimed by a good family, even if they are crazy.

then there are always thursdays at the open mic with my other family. i have posted time and time again about how much that outlet is good for me. it's a place where i go and express myself like i can in no other place. i can share ideas there with like-minded folks, and shoot, different-minded folks too. it's really a place where love gets exchanged. listening to each other and sharing our talents with each other is really an act of love.

service to others is another one. i volunteered at a charity walk - and it made a lil' difference in the world and with me. i'm looking forward to some more projects coming up with my sorority sisters during the holiday season. makes me feel good - useful to somebody else on this planet besides myself... matter of fact, *shameless plug coming* give to the juvenile diabetes research foundation - research may help us find a cure.

then there was a house party - what a treat! i actually had a good time bonding with and making new friends and hanging out in an atmosphere that made me feel oh so welcome. it's almost hard to believe i've only been in the area for a little over 6 months and here i'm already making friends that i look forward to seeing and keeping up with.

you know what else is good? just being at home. i love my place. it's small but comfortable and cozy. it's a reflection of the things i like most about myself - it's full of color and plants and music and art and the scents of food and incense. just being at home, looking around at the comfort i've created for myself, is like looking into my soul and seeing someone i really really like... it's self-affirming just to spend time at home.

running over those things i've learned about the presence and the love of God gives me the motivation to do any of the things i've mentioned before. if i didn't have that faith, why would any of this other stuff in my full life matter...

i've climbed out of my hole. and now i'm facing a direction. and my eyes are getting trained on a destination, at least for now. destinations change. goals evolve. but for now, for today, i'm on my way somewhere, and it feels good to know i'm not standing still or stuck in a hole or hiding under some covers somewhere. i got caught in the rain last night with no umbrella - and it didn't faze me. i was moving with too much determination.

vibration

i realized today how important it is to me to have a fair chance to say what i have to say. and that absent that chance i feel a lack of power and autonomy. and that that can be problematic.

i thank God for the ability to speak and to write.

wrote a poem about it.

going to read it at my favorite place this evening.

looking forward to it, as always.

i love thursday!

honey, i'm home

baby, as i left work this evening, i was preoccupied with thoughts of what i would fix us for dinner. chicken, maybe some spanish rice, and some broccoli. i know i fix broccoli too often, but i can't help that i like it so much. i was wondering if tonight would be a good night for that red number i bought that you don't know about yet, 'cause something tells me i have the stamina for a good long night tonight. and even though that's crazy, and i knew you weren't going to be home when i got there, i only had one thing on my mind while taking the backstreets to avoid rush hour traffic: i had to get home to spend time writing this letter to you.

i probably haven't even met you yet. and whether i have or not, negro what is taking you so long? let me tell you, i am tired of this single mess - aren't you? when is that part of you that is looking for me going to finally dominate the part of you that claims you're not ready? how is it that i can be so ready for you but we aren't courting yet? honey, i hope you're not this late for everything in our lives together...

i mean, i know that our courtship will not be easy for either of us. my problems with trust make me guarded and difficult to understand at times. i know, sweetheart, that that is not your fault, and you shouldn't have to pay for past hurts and inconveniences that other men have caused me - i will try my best to be as understanding of that as i can be while i struggle to open myself to the possibility that you are worthy of my effort and worthy of my trust. i know it will be hard for you that i insist on taking things slowly so that i don't fall hard in love with you right away, possibly setting myself up for a heartbreak that i could have avoided if i'd just been a little more wary and a lot less eager. i know it will probably be hard for you to not take it personally. awww, baby, my heart goes out to you. you might be tempted to think i'm testing you for the sake of a power struggle, but that's not it at all. maybe you will understand that it's easy for me to forget that i even have power in our relating to each other, cause i'm so busy worrying about the power you have to injure my pride and wound the optimistic part of my spirit, if you so choose. if you can just be patient enough to get through my insecurity (use a wide tooth comb baby, not a fine tooth) this love will be worth the patience and effort, i promise.

i won't mind yielding to your advances once i feel secure that your intentions will always be good, and considerate. 'cause i'll know then that even if our courtship hits rocky points, you will still make the effort to be as considerate about how i feel as i will about how you feel. see, at that point, that's when you will begin to see the boundlessness of my adoration for those things that i like about you. i won't be so reserved anymore with my expression. that's when i'll start talking about us in the future tense. that's when you won't get indifference from me when you start talking about us in the future tense. that's when i will begin to love you. not the love breezes i felt for you the first time i saw someone interesting in you when we met, or the love gusts i felt the first time we kissed, but the real strong devastating gale force love that will intimidate even me with its relentlessness, strength and intensity.

i want to talk about my spirituality with you. i want to listen to music with you. sit in the dark and listen to your breath while you sleep as i talk to God about how well i want Him to take care of you and give you the desires of your heart, to strengthen you and keep you safe from harm and in good health and in sound mind and in sound faith. i want to debate with you about anything you want, from music to politics to black nationalism to whether or not weird science deserves to be shown on cable 5,387 times a year to whether ch.eetos are better than dori.tos. i want to kiss every inch of your physical being. i want to make you understand your Creator's love for you that much more by showing you love through my actions and letting you see your value through my eyes. i want to make love to every facet of your mental being. except the parts you want to keep to yourself. cause i don't want to inhale all of you at once. i want you to strip tease. i want to always have something to discover, because i want you to always grow - i want to help inspire that growth - i want to be inspired to grow because of you. i want to share my life of wonderous discovery with you. and i want to know that you feel my love for you in my sweet potato pie just as much as when you know i love you by the way my breath quickens when you near me. i want you to recognize that i need your embrace on the regular, to give me a home like no other to come to when i need to feel love - not just know it's there, but literally feel it, around my shoulders, up against my skin, tightening and loosening with your breath like the ebb and flow of the ocean water, giving me release, giving me strength. this is what i want most from you - that peace, that security of knowing that you continually and consistently will make the choice to care about me as i do for you.

i want to know that you love the way i look, not because of the texture of my hair or the color of my skin or the warmth in my smile. not because of the curves of my body or the way that i walk, but because when you look at me, you recognize love in my gaze, and that that love is more beautiful to you than anything my parents could have endowed me with. because the love you see in this face is yours, all for you, faithfully and truly and timelessly, against all challenges, and even in light of your flaws and mistakes. because as you love me like how my Savior loves the church, i plan to radiate that right back to you, giving as the Lord gives, abundantly and without timidity and without failing. i am so in love with the idea of finally being able to do this for you one day that i am crying as i write this. i know i was made to love you.

i know it won't be easy all the time. i know. but when we get to the point where we realize that we can make the choice, every day, every incident, every breath, to do good to each other above all else, i think we'll be okay. i haven't met you yet, but i miss you. ain't that funny? one day we'll read this letter together and you might think i was just wiling out one day, writing about a love i just imagined that has nothing to do with what me and you really truly share. but that's not true. i don't have to know you personally yet to know what i want to do for you. or what i want from you. i'm writing this so you'll know you were on my mind even before we found each other. that i loved our love so much that i put time into it before it came into fruition. just like my mother loved me before i was born. just like God knew me and purposed me from the beginning, so have i come to love what we'll create together before we've even met.

so that when we join in passion and when my body erupts and my eyes roll into the back of my head and i start stuttering and bucking, it's not just your body i'm making love to - it's the beauty created by your choice to love me and my choice to love you. it's the selflessness with which we see each other as part of one whole. it's the carnal manifestation of a spiritual communion that takes my speech away and renders me capable of only hollering and gibberish because there are no words to describe the beauty found there. and i can't wait for us to get each other to come. there.

well, no, i can - i have to. because when i got home tonight, you weren't there and the closest i could get to spending time with you was to write this letter. i'm just hoping that you'll soon come to rescue me from dating purgatory, so that we can get our bliss on. just please don't wait until i don't really believe you're coming anymore, cause then it'll be that much harder to recognize you when you get here.

i love you,

your woman, your help meet, your muse, your confidante, your courtesan, your baby, your sugar, your spice, your wife.

brown thumb

so glad i have houseplants. my home would be incomplete without them. i don't have pets. i like animals, i really do. but my last pet will probably be my LAST pet. precious kitty that she was, i had to move and couldn't keep her. it was too much, emotionally. so in order to have something else living in the house, i opt for plants.

plants are great pets. no noise, no fur, no pooper scooper, no food, no vet.

but when i wake up in the morning and see sunshine flooding my beautiful green bamboo sticks and the deep purple wandering jew i'm rooting, i feel good. the bamboo makes me think of righteousness and strength, cause it's tall and straight and so green it's like purity. the wandering jew looks so calm and comfortable with itself. i have plants in every room. they make each space they inhabit feel a little bit more like a home, more cozy, more charming. like the funky looking cactus in my bathroom. or the sprawling plant with deep dark heart shaped leaves in my kitchen.

i have a few plants that i picked up over a year ago that i raised from dixie cups. i rescued them from the foo.d li.on when they were having a clearance sale on dilapidated easter plants. they were so little and seemingly insignificant. but now they are big and strong, greener and repotted a few times over. i am so proud of how i've nurtured those plants to their current happy state - one grows tall and reaches up towards the ceiling. the other grows long and stretches itself over several feet. one day it might cross an entire room.

i have this other plant with such a personality. i can take one look at him, my biggest plant, and tell if he's had enough water or not enough, and whether or not he's had enough sunlight. his leaves turn towards the sunlight so much that i have to rotate him every once in a while to keep him from growing lopsided. the way his leaves bend and perk and wilt is really something, as i can tell what every movement means. it's fun to explain his expressiveness to visitors and then demonstrate by giving him water or sun and then see him 'talk back' maybe an hour later, like "thanks, it's about time i ate," or "you're right, this side of me needs some sunlight."

it's important to me for me to not be the only living thing in the house. having the plants ties me to my mom and her sisters who have all kept plants around for as long as i can remember. there's something cool about being able to keep something alive, knowing that it's an art to learn how to do so. when i get the opportunity to do so, i'll probably garden too, like my aunt does. she grows marigolds, but she also has collards, kale, snap beans, and tomatoes. which, by the way, taste very good. my parents have a grapevine, and every summer the grapes get bigger and sweeter. all the neighborhood birds love their yard. my dad has an uncle that grows huge heads of cabbage. i never liked cabbage that much. but i suspect he gets something out of it. just like i get something out of cultivating life in my houseplants. it's like a spiritual thing. not quite like making a cat purr or having a dog befriend you, but it's definitely got its own merit.

singsong

rain, rain, go away...




that's it.
just go away.
what?
you thought there was more?

strength

if moses, when he was standing before the god of egypt, was for one second distracted by the fact that he had spent half a lifetime as a mere country shepherd and not as a leader or as an orator, he just might not have been able to focus on his mission to tell the powerful monarch to let the israelites go.

and we wouldn't be calling harriet tubman moses, if she had allowed herself to get distracted by the fact that a black person was supposed to be inferior and incapable, let alone a woman, let alone a slave.

not that i am necessarily anywhere near as important to the well being of a people as either of those moses-es. but i'll take my lessons where i can get them.

funny how epiphanies follow the raggediest of times in your life. i suppose we receive them (or more likely, we are more open to understanding them) right after the raggedy moments, because that's what we need most in order to get our momentum back. i was just now sitting here, minding my own business, doing what i know i have to do to get from point a to point b, and it suddenly dawned on me that i almost forgot who i am because i am too busy allowing myself to be distracted.

*cue the celestial "aaaaahhhh" while clouds part, and one brilliant sun ray beams down on my grateful smiling face*

let me break this down. i am fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of the One who created me, and His fingerprints are all over me. now from the moment i got here, i have managed to make some mistakes. but at the same time, i know that all along, i have been watched over and nurtured with just the right life experiences to make me ME.

i am awesome. my very existence tells the story of the love of my parents. my mentality and my successes thus far in life are the manifestation of the love and attention of my mom and dad, countless family members, friends, teachers, acquaintances, pastors - they have all sown life lessons into me and have made me knowledgable, wise, multifaceted. they have encouraged me to express the beauty i've learned from the world around me, and in that vein, i have grown creative and loving. i have been blessed to be a sponge soaking up what good things i've found throughout this life, and i am enjoying becoming more of myself with every blessed breath. i am on my way somewhere, and not knowing exactly where, i have been learning through various experiences to hone my faith and learn how to trust the benevolent Force of Life to get me there - wherever there is - unharmed and better off for the journey. whatever faults i have and whatever mistakes i make are there for the fixing - i might have them, but i don't have to be defined by them. that makes me a real person. that makes my humility make sense. that makes me better understand why i need a connection to the Divine more than i need oxygen. and that knowledge and that connection make me strong.

stronger than what i've been going through the past few weeks. stronger than the distractions that have been thrown my way. stronger than i've been giving myself credit for lately. sensitive, yes - but flexible. fallible, yes - but amenable to change. i refuse to let these distractions - which will only amount to the size of a grain of sand in the vast beach of my life - keep me from my purpose. i could only articulate this just now, but my soul knew it when i got up from bed this morning, praising God and rising weightlessly because, for whatever reason, the yoke on my shoulders was gone. or maybe it is still there but i just don't feel it anymore, because i am stronger than these distractions. i am more valuable than i have taken the effort to remember in the midst of these distractions.

i love myself - where i've been, where i'm going, who i am, and that i am alive.

distractions be conquered. distractions be damned.

survival

i don't even have to find a reason to keep going. i keep going because i have no choice. i keep going because i fear stagnation and regression more than i fear forward motion. it is not easy, because i have trying times, like the one i am going through now. but what am i supposed to do? stand still and worry or bust my behind to move forward?

sometimes i marvel at my ability to keep going. this is why i believe there is a higher power that is benevolent. i know that i alone do not have the strength to keep fighting and trying and struggling. my faith isn't even mine - i don't give myself that much credit anymore. some One is pulling for me, pushing for me, vouching for me. i know this as sure as i understand that i am typing these words.

i know that i am too sensitive to deal with the sometimes overwhelming amount of difficulty in this existence. everywhere i look there is pain, suffering, misunderstanding, struggle, complication. hinduism and buddhism have so much truth... i, like most of us, have learned to accept such darkness as a part of reality. i built up a certain tolerance for images that are sorrowful. i internalized the biblical prophesy that a wicked world will only increase in its wickedness before this mess implodes on itself. i can actually sit through the evening news without crying. but every once in a while my piscean nature and my estrogen open me wide to a flood of tears for all of it - all of the ugliness that i feel powerless against. that's how i spent my weekend. it was rough. my parents and friends got me through.

i understand self-medication now.

i don't drink at all or smoke at all, nor have i ever done drugs, because i fear excess consumption and addiction. my intuition knows that a false escape from reality is more than i would be able resist or control. i choose personal relationships, music, and writing to console this tear stained spirit.

i keep going because i must. in the face of my personal problems, the problems of my loved ones, the problems of my community, my people, my nation, my world. i must. not just me, but all of us. it is truly amazing how some of us manage to grow and flourish and bloom in the presence of all these weeds, but we do. the others - the "lazy," the "crazy," the outcasts - i forgive them for the vices we label them with. there, but for the grace of God, goes me.

i am not afraid of death. i am open to meeting my Maker. i have a feeling that in my dying breath, i will welcome what follows. but before y'all jump to conclusions and try to put me on suicide watch, i am in no rush to hasten that poignant moment. i have some moving forward to do. there may be some ugliness i can conquer before my peace comes. the only way to know is to keep going. ride this thing til the wheels burn off.

new day

every day is a new day.
evolve or die.

i am sad

i am sad. suddenly sad because once again the realization has dawned on me that i am not mature. there's nothing slow about my development, nothing overtly immature about me. but when i am in certain situations, i lack a certain amount of poise, restraint, wisdom. i am sooooo green sometimes. and that makes me sad. cause the only thing than can get me to ripen is experience. and i know, from what experience i do have, that experience is not easily gained. experience is often painful, confusing, unsettling. i know that it is in these painful moments that we gain the substantive parts of ourselves. those building blocks of memories, feelings, observations, and realizations that mature us from green to ripe. but i don't like pain. i want the benefit of wisdom without the trying times that necessarily precede such wisdom. the bible doesn't say that you simply reap. you have to sow in order to reap. sowing takes work, labor, sweat, dedication. and sometimes, pain. in these situations, where i look back and wince at mistakes i've made, i am really increasing as a person. it just doesn't feel like it. it feels like i need to quit - run and hide from any eyes that might see me falter. being green is embarrassing. it's easy to forget that all of us start out green. it's easy to forget that an unsettling amount of us never try to ripen, either hoping it will happen by serendipitous accident or never caring whether or not their ripening occurs. i suppose my mistakes shouldn't shame me so much. but i've never liked blushing - it's a horrible feeling. i really must be too proud of myself to feel as raggedy as i do when i get caught showing my fallibility. it's not easy being face to face with your own shortcomings and imperfections. i suppose i should extend more mercy to myself. i suppose i should seek out people who are willing to love me despite those weaker aspects of myself, so that when my slip is showing, so to speak, they'll nudge me lovingly, and be understanding of the fact that we should all be allowed some elbow room for error. i suppose some of my sadness is brought on by my irrational fear that noone knows how to tolerate my imperfections and that noone wants to be merciful to me. it's ridiculous and a bit self-centered to think that i am the only person who extends understanding to the shortcomings of others. God made me. that means i have value. someone else He made is able to see that value, and look past my hanging slip to the sweet dreamer, the lover, the friend in me. i suppose that if i find myself feeling silly in front of someone who supposedly cares about me, then maybe i should either allow them the opportunity to not laugh at me instead of assuming they will, or simply find new company who actually won't, because they choose to love me instead of judge me. i know in my intuition that God didn't make me this fearful. i rue the day this world corrupted the unafraid glory i was when i was born, and turned me into this quivering insecure person.

the o'jays were wrong

there is this song, that i am sure is older than me, that i love. when the o'jays cut "living for the weekend" they were really on to something. but they were wrong. at least in my case.

i ain't living for the weekend. i like the weekend, don't get me wrong. being off from work with impunity is never, ever, a bad thing. but my week revolves around THURSDAY. (happy thursday, world!)

why thursday? it's not payday... the cosby show and a different world have ended over a decade ago... gotta go to work friday morning, so you can't act a fool all night...

why thursday? because thursday is open mic night. YAAAAAY!!!! open mic night is so important to me that when i crafted my new october's resolution schedule to kill procrastination, i crammed all seven days of my week into six so that i could wile out and do whatever i wanted to do on thursday. man, if you don't know, you betta ask somebody. i love me some thursday. the whole day at work is so much better, because i have the evening to look forward to. i get to go home, shed my work persona, put on my own persona, grab my marble composition notebook with the binding falling all apart, and go be around some black people around my age who want to share their art and who ain't trying to get in a fight and mess stuff up for everybody else. i get all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.

not to say that there aren't places to go during the rest of the week. it's just the thursday crowd is a lil' bigger and a lil' louder (and a lil' more liquored up, which translates into more fun cause a lil' juice gets people a lil' loose).

i wonder if i can get eddie an' 'nem (who is that new boy in the o'jays? looking like he my age? i ain't saying he can't sing but shouldn't he be at least 50? you know, to match the rest of the group?) - anyway, i wonder if i can get eddie an' 'nem to cut a remake just for me: *singing off key* "living for thurs-daaaaaay, (dun dun dun) living for thurs-daaaaay (dun dun dun), living for thurs-daaaaay... cause that's when i pa-arty dow-own (down down down), dow-own (down down down), dow-own (down down down), dow-own (down down down)..."

confidence comes from doing

my chicken soup is as good as my mama's.

i didn't know that until yesterday when i attempted to make her chicken soup. it's really more like a stew cause the broth has a thicker consistency, but i call it soup anyway. and i've seen her make it countless times. and even though i've been on my own for some time, and i've been cooking ever since i've been on my own, i've never tried to make her chicken soup. now let me explain my mama's cooking ain't nothing to play with - this is no small matter we are talking about here. everybody feels this way about their own mother's cooking. but i am especially proud, because i know other people like my mom's cooking, too. at holidays, she gets requests from the family-at-large for certain dishes. and my friends rave over mymamagreens. and mymamapies. my goal in life in cooking is two-fold: to be as good as my mama at the stuff i grew up eating, and to incorporate more foods into my menu, like the stuff she never made, for example, burritos.

i never brag about my cooking. because my mama has thirty years of pleasing my dad under her belt. i've got, like, six. cooking mostly for myself. so needless to say, my confidence level really isn't all that big.

night before last, i thought it would be a good idea to cook a big pot of something. that way, i could spend less time cooking and spend more time adjusting to this new schedule i made for myself (part of my new october's resolution to stop procrastinating). i had a lot of chicken in the freezer, so i figured i'd try the soup. so after work yesterday, i went shopping for a few ingredients, came home and called my mama (who lives several states away) for pointers, and then, nervousness aside, i started my soup. i was hoping it wouldn't turn out bad, cause i was cooking a lot, and i would have hated to have to eat a big pot of nasty soup. i took my time, listened to my mama's advice, and it turned out to taste really, really good! so i called her to tell her, and i explained how i made it, and she had to inform me that i made too much soup for the amount of chicken i used. wet blanketing my joy. humph. y'all know she just did that to put me in my place, right? that's alright, bless her heart, cause she was right, and if it wasn't for her talking to me every night of my childhood while she cooked (giving me cooking lessons i didn't even know i was sitting in on), i would either be malnourished or broke all the time.

but i'm still coming for that number one spot...

also, my plan to pull procrastination out by the root is in full effect. the soup thing gave me cooking confidence. so i sat down, and created a plan. and that act alone is giving me confidence in my ability to achieve the goal, now that i can see it in black and white on paper.

trying to get on the wagon

hi everyone, i'm glory.

hi glory.

and i'm a recovering procrastinator.

anybody got a copy of the twelve steps? i might need those things. like now. cause this procrastination is just so hard to break. one day at a time, my foot. more like, one half-hour at at time. one to-do list item at a time. one task at a time. this procrastination is affecting my life, seriously. my self esteem, eee-ven. i have got to get it under control and out of my habits for good before i lose my mind ( and a couple other important things, too). i have gone through phases of being either on-point with getting things done or totally out of control. and what little psychobabble i've ever heard leads me to believe that the procrastination is most likely the symptom of a bigger emotional issue. *sigh* which i suppose it behooves me to figure out. ("behooves" LOL, that word is out there...) i'll worry about that later. see? there i go again.

i am sooo on the i-can-do-it-myself tip that i ain't trying to get no professional help. besides, i'm cheap (and have very limited means). besides, i'll probably never get around to setting the appointment, anyway. LOL! i think the only reason i'm trying to deal with this problem now, after having dealt with it most of my life, is because i am facing a monumental task and i literally cannot afford to mess this up. i will need to pull procrastination out by the root to get this accomplished. i'm already starting a month behind schedule...

which means, i have to change my way of thinking and doing darn near everything as soon as possible. on my own merit system. *play western shoot out at fifty paces tumbleweed music here*

my mantra thus far, as i try to conquer this new october's resolution, is, "the best way to keep the stress from happening is to just get. it. done."

that's working. a little. a teensy tiny bit. because yes, i realize that the stress my procrastination is causing is hemming up my progress. it makes me seek out the least stressful situations and atmospheres i can create for myself (like a do-nothing and don't-worry-about-it-you-can-deal-with-this-stuff-later-weekend), and then i revel in that space, prolonging my return to thinking about and dealing with the stress of my obligations and responsiblities. which is why i was up late last night, handling business i should've handled during decent waking hours, missing out on sleep, cause it had to be taken care of and i didn't trust myself to do it right today. damn shame.

i might need to come up with some kind of reward and punishment scheme for myself. that's hard to do, seeing as how i am my only boss, so if i want to slack off, i can give myself permission to do so (and i often do, which is how i got into this situation in the first place). why oh why don't they have patches or gum for people who are trying to quit procrastination? i need some help here.

maybe i can find a self-help book. good luck going to the store, finding it, and reading it promptly...

suggestions are welcome and encouraged.

observations

funny how there are some things you know cerebrally... but you don't really know them know them until you live some life and pay attention to the things that are going on and the reasons why they are happening. seriously, if i didn't take the time out to reflect on the experiences i have by writing or meditating on a regular basis, i would truly be missing out on so much personal growth. as the result of one weekend, i can pick out a few standouts...

communication is important.
in the absence of honest and open communication, assumptions can really steer you in a bad direction. under the awning of honest and open communication, the most amazing knowledge might be opened to you... and life could get happier...

every new moment and every new breath brings the opportunity for change.
we are autonomous creatures, and those of us with able minds and bodies who are able to disregard fear have a myriad of opportunities available, with which we can effect change in our own lives and the lives of others. stagnancy is a result of choice. change is inevitable, but being proactive takes the realization that we can steer the direction of this inevitable change.

change shouldn't always be entered into lightly.
i am an emotional creature and sometimes i want what i want. but thank God He gave me the ability back up and think. cause for real, impulsiveness ain't cute sometimes. i had this great idea... and then i thought it through... and realized maybe i needed to pump my brakes and with good reason. the Word says there is a time for everything under the sun. an appropriate season....

sometimes willfulness and determination are more trouble than they are worth.
see the above. could i make it happen now? yeah. does that mean i should make it happen now? no.

you never know the impact you can have on someone else's life, even when you're not paying attention, so tread carefully and lovingly through this life.
found out today that someone thinks highly enough of me that something i must have done or some way i must have acted has told this person that i could be of useful help to them. i am honored that they noticed something good in me. when i wasn't even thinking about showing something good in me. what's interesting is the flip side of this. i wonder how many times somebody has noticed something bad in me cause i wasn't even thinking about it. i guess i need to try to remember to offer my best self as often as i can, cause i never know who i may help or hinder through my actions.

i like realizing that certain people i know make me want to be my best self - those are the people i need to keep in my life.
i like the me that i become when i am around certain people. people whose energy and whose concern for my welfare makes me try to project positive energy and value my own welfare. people whose presence puts me on my p's and q's. you know, they just inspire me to be nicer, more generous, more creative, more beautiful. i need to keep people like that around me. then i can feed off of them and they can feed off of me and we can become superpeople! LOL

not being alone is good. being alone is good. having the opportunity to balance both is priceless.
this weekend i had the distinct pleasure of spending a lot of time alone, writing and reading my poems, spiritually cleaning house, listening to music, praise dancing by myself, getting down to james brown by myself - stuff i can't usually get lost in when i ain't by myself. i am so thankful for that time! just like i am thankful that i spent hours on the phone with my mommy. and hours hanging out with my best friends. not being alone is good, too. no (wo)man is an island.

never overlook the wisdom of respecting your blessings.
i almost forgot how great my life is cause i got to thinking about what it could be. silly rabbit. my life is really really great. i am really abundantly blessed. really.

love is the point. the point is love. the purpose is the knowledge and understanding of what it is to love.
this came to me in the fuzziness of just waking up and letting my mind go wherever it was sposed to end up on saturday. i wrote pages in my diary about it. months from now, i'll page back to it and see if what i wrote still rings true about it, and if not, i spose i'll flesh it out some more...