Black ass poems. Black ass stories. Black ass art. Black ass life. Black ass love. Black ass hate. Black ass parenting. Black ass depression. Black ass mania. And other stuff too.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Takeback
'Member the other day when I said I was gon stop cussin'? I'm not. But I will stop saying "crazy."
Update
So I am making a new commitment to myself to be easier with myself, my body, my stress, food, with my head. I went so see my therapist yesterday. Yesterday, and the few days leading up to yesterday were in the collection of days I call low days. I've talked heavily about my uber up mood days and dangerously low mood days quite a bit on this blog so don't act all brand new on me. You know how they say don't go shopping when you're hungry? Well, going to see your therapist during your low days is kinda the same thing. Figure it out.
She suggested, and I use suggested in the loosest way it can be used, I go and get checked out in a hospital. Me: Yeah ok, maybe I'll do that sometime next week (sike). She: Yeah no. Now. And that went on for a minute and I acquiesced (insert your own version of the drama that went on between her "suggestion" and my actually going to a mental hospital). Anyway I went, along with a dear friend who I knew wouldn't let me just get up and leave, and wouldn't stress me out either with questions and comments I didn't want to hear. And this is wrong but I'm still human so hey, I sat there and compared my "condition" to those around me and figured I was pretty ok. And because my concern is bigger than I can carry sometimes, I thought about how even during my lowest days there are others who...who...well, there are others that's all.
I saw a doctor who examined and spoke with me. I told him about my out of control up days when I'm talking and moving so fast if I didn't know my own self I'd think I was on crack. And about my low days when I just felt...well..like...um... I told him about the simple things I can't seem to manage at any given moment. We talked deeper about blah blah blah and he asked me more questions than I felt like answering, but whatever, I was there. Then more talking and tests and in the end he diagnosed me as being bipolar II. Is it being or having? Anyway, it wasn't a big surprise. I had been feeling off for quite some time now but dangerously offoffoff for at least the last six months. Prayer is always a part of my day, so is journaling. About four months ago I started back exercising more, because I had fallen off. So based on my paranoia, anxiety, tears and quick temper and other things, I agreed to try meds for awhile. It's a low dosage, but let's just see. You know? That's a rhetorical question, by the way, please don't send me your thoughts about what you think I should do.
Having said that, operation decrease stress is on. I tend to present well so I seem like I can take on more than I really can. I will let my fires burn and rush to put yours out, then take time after the burning to let you rest your head on my bosom and pat pat pat and all the other stuff we black care taking women do. Then, because sweet baby you have been through enough, I no thank you, your offer away to help me with my almost burned down house (if there is an offer). My "help" and "taking care of" don't honor you or me when I give at high sacrifice to myself. And in the name of what? That you will think I am a good friend? Person? Woman? There is obviously some payoff or the actions wouldn't persist. The cost, my sober self knows, is more than the payoff. So the meds, I'm finger crossing, will keep my moods even. My thoughts clear(er).
So I have, even though a little reluctantly, gotten off of my beautiful butt (yeah I said it, judge yourself) and am doing something about taking care of my mental health. Truthfully, I'm proud of myself. I'll keep you posted. I always do.
She suggested, and I use suggested in the loosest way it can be used, I go and get checked out in a hospital. Me: Yeah ok, maybe I'll do that sometime next week (sike). She: Yeah no. Now. And that went on for a minute and I acquiesced (insert your own version of the drama that went on between her "suggestion" and my actually going to a mental hospital). Anyway I went, along with a dear friend who I knew wouldn't let me just get up and leave, and wouldn't stress me out either with questions and comments I didn't want to hear. And this is wrong but I'm still human so hey, I sat there and compared my "condition" to those around me and figured I was pretty ok. And because my concern is bigger than I can carry sometimes, I thought about how even during my lowest days there are others who...who...well, there are others that's all.
I saw a doctor who examined and spoke with me. I told him about my out of control up days when I'm talking and moving so fast if I didn't know my own self I'd think I was on crack. And about my low days when I just felt...well..like...um... I told him about the simple things I can't seem to manage at any given moment. We talked deeper about blah blah blah and he asked me more questions than I felt like answering, but whatever, I was there. Then more talking and tests and in the end he diagnosed me as being bipolar II. Is it being or having? Anyway, it wasn't a big surprise. I had been feeling off for quite some time now but dangerously offoffoff for at least the last six months. Prayer is always a part of my day, so is journaling. About four months ago I started back exercising more, because I had fallen off. So based on my paranoia, anxiety, tears and quick temper and other things, I agreed to try meds for awhile. It's a low dosage, but let's just see. You know? That's a rhetorical question, by the way, please don't send me your thoughts about what you think I should do.
Having said that, operation decrease stress is on. I tend to present well so I seem like I can take on more than I really can. I will let my fires burn and rush to put yours out, then take time after the burning to let you rest your head on my bosom and pat pat pat and all the other stuff we black care taking women do. Then, because sweet baby you have been through enough, I no thank you, your offer away to help me with my almost burned down house (if there is an offer). My "help" and "taking care of" don't honor you or me when I give at high sacrifice to myself. And in the name of what? That you will think I am a good friend? Person? Woman? There is obviously some payoff or the actions wouldn't persist. The cost, my sober self knows, is more than the payoff. So the meds, I'm finger crossing, will keep my moods even. My thoughts clear(er).
So I have, even though a little reluctantly, gotten off of my beautiful butt (yeah I said it, judge yourself) and am doing something about taking care of my mental health. Truthfully, I'm proud of myself. I'll keep you posted. I always do.
Dear God
Thank You for this perfect gray day. Really. Thank You for a mindset to see it as perfect. Thank You for existing, living, breathing in my son. Thank You for Your love. My request for the day, there's a job out there that would have me blog about what I want to blog about and pay me what I want. Will You work that out for me? Thank You.
Seriously
Me
Seriously
Me
Just this
When I'm ready I will write about my day yesterday. It will be soon. I am well. I am happy about being alive. Happy is good. What a cheesy free write. But this is what you get. I must write though. Even choppy cheesy sentences. When I don't I get stiff. I start to hide. That's just my way. So this is what you get. I love you. I do.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Dear Lot
You don't know me but from time to time your story crosses my agenda. On some lecture, some study, some conversation. Now I can't truthfully say that I know you either as I am...after your time. Really I have only read about pieces of probably the lowest hours of your very long life. Those pieces though Lot, shape my judgment of you.
To get to my point, and so that you know, I am a mother and a daughter and in my years I have known plenty of fathers. My confusion (judgment really) is how you sacrificed your daughters for the safety of two strangers. I don't know any father who would do that. In fact, most of the fathers I know "wish a man WOULD"...Lot, did you see A Time to Kill? Maybe it wasn't an easy decision for you. Maybe it didn't go down like it was written. The maybes are infinite. Please pardon my cynicism, that's just my way. It front seats my anger at how women and children get pushed to the back when conflicting issues arise.
There are so many sections of this story that razor my female and parental sensibilities, my southern baptist upbringing, my Malcolm X for social justice, not to mention my penchant for alcohol, rap music and socially offensive language. See Lot, I would have been among the sinners afire in Gommorah had you met me on any random day. Perhaps had you met me some time before my meditation or morning journaling you would have deemed me ripe for destruction. But then maybe you would have thought me righteous after and hour or two over tea or coffee with me at Starbucks. After you perused my blog or saw me perform poetry on BET. Most people I know think I'm quite wonderful. Though I have my around the way girl ways. Bamboo earrinigs, at least two pair, a Fendi bag, a bad attitude (maybe you get it).
I am curious, in your conversation with God, why did you stop negotiating? Why did any have to die? God was a quick yes to all of your counter offers. And if there was just someone who had to go as sacrifice because of the sin, why didn't you offer yourself? Since you are in the sacrificing game and all. I mean, you for the world instead of your daughters for the men would have been a much better legacy I think. After all, you were already a hundred I think. I'm not being fair. Perhaps maybe all of this is just bigger than my female understandings can hold. I hope you have a nice day though, Lot. Thank you for taking the time for someone like me.
We cool?
Jaha
To get to my point, and so that you know, I am a mother and a daughter and in my years I have known plenty of fathers. My confusion (judgment really) is how you sacrificed your daughters for the safety of two strangers. I don't know any father who would do that. In fact, most of the fathers I know "wish a man WOULD"...Lot, did you see A Time to Kill? Maybe it wasn't an easy decision for you. Maybe it didn't go down like it was written. The maybes are infinite. Please pardon my cynicism, that's just my way. It front seats my anger at how women and children get pushed to the back when conflicting issues arise.
There are so many sections of this story that razor my female and parental sensibilities, my southern baptist upbringing, my Malcolm X for social justice, not to mention my penchant for alcohol, rap music and socially offensive language. See Lot, I would have been among the sinners afire in Gommorah had you met me on any random day. Perhaps had you met me some time before my meditation or morning journaling you would have deemed me ripe for destruction. But then maybe you would have thought me righteous after and hour or two over tea or coffee with me at Starbucks. After you perused my blog or saw me perform poetry on BET. Most people I know think I'm quite wonderful. Though I have my around the way girl ways. Bamboo earrinigs, at least two pair, a Fendi bag, a bad attitude (maybe you get it).
I am curious, in your conversation with God, why did you stop negotiating? Why did any have to die? God was a quick yes to all of your counter offers. And if there was just someone who had to go as sacrifice because of the sin, why didn't you offer yourself? Since you are in the sacrificing game and all. I mean, you for the world instead of your daughters for the men would have been a much better legacy I think. After all, you were already a hundred I think. I'm not being fair. Perhaps maybe all of this is just bigger than my female understandings can hold. I hope you have a nice day though, Lot. Thank you for taking the time for someone like me.
We cool?
Jaha
We'll see
I am declaring a moratorium on saying the following words: fuck, fucking, muthafuckas, motherfuckers. It won't last long. But for now that's what's up.
My article for Be Good To Women Day 2012
Happy Be Good To Women Day! To the women ready to let the men love and appreciate us today and to the men who love and cherish us. Again, happy Be good to women day! I will say though, without quoting rape statistics and ranting on health care and domestic violence laws not in our favor, in the face of the abuse we allow to happen to women, that today is “Be good to women day” I am faced with acknowledging my own conflicting visceral responses to the slogan and because this journey would be better with company, I ask that you do the same.
When I hear “Be good to women day” there is a part of me, as a woman, that exhales and wipes my brow like… “Finally, it’s here.” I mentally put my feet up, relax and honor myself, women in my family, my women friends, acquaintances and ancestors. I take time to accept myself completely. Enumerate where I went wrong and what I did right. I also admittedly hear “Be good to women day” as a woman in an abusive relationship might hear “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Like, “Yeah, right. Give me the teddy bear and the wilted flowers and smile and then go back to your verbal and physical abuse tomorrow.” And even though cynicism rides in the backseat of this conversation I, as a woman, mother, daughter, friend, sister, am honored. I already told you, my emotions were conflicting.
While I understand that “Be good to women day” honors and celebrates all women, I will speak specifically as an African-American woman. I am often disheartened when I see, hear, hear of us shutting down our brothers with our pointed fingers and those four razor words You. DON’T. Get. It! In response to our struggles, our paths, our lessons. When there are men right there in the thick of it with us trying to get it. Trying to get us (as if we are an easily gotten group). While we relive our abuses, health issues, family problems there are men there, hanging on in there. Thank you, brothers. Thank you. Thank you for having to deal with your own drama and carrying our load with yours.
All of that said, how can we create authentically honoring and celebrating women on “Be good to women day?” Well the creation can be an individual thing. One may choose to publically present flowers and speech while another may declare new resolutions to ending violence against women, and still another may use his voice, power and presence to protect, love and honor women. Whatever the actions I am thankful that this day exists.
When I hear “Be good to women day” there is a part of me, as a woman, that exhales and wipes my brow like… “Finally, it’s here.” I mentally put my feet up, relax and honor myself, women in my family, my women friends, acquaintances and ancestors. I take time to accept myself completely. Enumerate where I went wrong and what I did right. I also admittedly hear “Be good to women day” as a woman in an abusive relationship might hear “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Like, “Yeah, right. Give me the teddy bear and the wilted flowers and smile and then go back to your verbal and physical abuse tomorrow.” And even though cynicism rides in the backseat of this conversation I, as a woman, mother, daughter, friend, sister, am honored. I already told you, my emotions were conflicting.
While I understand that “Be good to women day” honors and celebrates all women, I will speak specifically as an African-American woman. I am often disheartened when I see, hear, hear of us shutting down our brothers with our pointed fingers and those four razor words You. DON’T. Get. It! In response to our struggles, our paths, our lessons. When there are men right there in the thick of it with us trying to get it. Trying to get us (as if we are an easily gotten group). While we relive our abuses, health issues, family problems there are men there, hanging on in there. Thank you, brothers. Thank you. Thank you for having to deal with your own drama and carrying our load with yours.
All of that said, how can we create authentically honoring and celebrating women on “Be good to women day?” Well the creation can be an individual thing. One may choose to publically present flowers and speech while another may declare new resolutions to ending violence against women, and still another may use his voice, power and presence to protect, love and honor women. Whatever the actions I am thankful that this day exists.
Yep, it's Red Stories time again
Join me Saturday night at 7pm at Vibrations for another Red Stories. 7pm at 2435 Manchester Bl., Inglewood, CA 90305. The feature this month is Socks and there will be other special guests. It's Women's month so ladies come out wearing your big hats (not required of course) and yes brothers we want you there.
See you Saturday. I love you. I do.
See you Saturday. I love you. I do.
My horoscope today
Intuition enhances communications of all kinds today, Virgo. If you've been thinking about doing some writing, this is the day to get started. Your mind is particularly expansive, and your imagination is working at a very high level. Insights that might not normally come to you add new depth and dimension to your writing, whether a poem, novel, article, or letter to a friend. Make the most of it!
Well alright then.
Well alright then.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Alice the Poet's big hat birthday tea party (we fancy huh)
Photos by Alice the Poet, Reverdia, Alice's sister's husband, Somebody Else and Somebody Else. (You like the way I give credit.)
What I've noticed about myself
I've noticed that I seem very willing to fight for my safety but am willing to sacrifice my happiness. Somewhere I learned this. I think many young girls did. What's good about this learning is the unlearning. The conscious letting go of that behavior. The ding that goes off in my head when I whatever my happiness away for the sake of anyone, anything. It's the small voice in my head that repeats "I matter. My happiness is important."
I saw this posted on Bassey Ipki's tumblr
And then this comment from my XOJane piece about Trayvon
Chris Barnes wrote:
You really ought to be ashamed of yourself. As a journalist, it is your responsibility to do a little fact checking before deciding one what to write. To wit - it is becoming more and more clear that Treyvon was not the innocent little kid the popular media trying so hard to make him out to be - and that the neighborhood watch guy very well may have been in a life-threatening situation. For your edification, I give you this story:
http://articles.orlandosentinel.com/2012-03-26/news/os-trayvon-martin-zimmerman-account-20120326_1_marijuana-report-press-conference-gated-community
Me: I still haven't stopped crying about this.
Chris Barnes wrote:
You really ought to be ashamed of yourself. As a journalist, it is your responsibility to do a little fact checking before deciding one what to write. To wit - it is becoming more and more clear that Treyvon was not the innocent little kid the popular media trying so hard to make him out to be - and that the neighborhood watch guy very well may have been in a life-threatening situation. For your edification, I give you this story:
http://articles.orlandosentinel.com/2012-03-26/news/os-trayvon-martin-zimmerman-account-20120326_1_marijuana-report-press-conference-gated-community
Me: I still haven't stopped crying about this.
The love we give
Good morning beautiful people. I'm up this morning getting ready for the day. I was just thinking about my drive home from xxxxxxx last night. There were a few major accidents that were really hard to just pass up without sending out some kind of prayer. One car was completely turned over and on fire. Another car was smashed against the middle wall like it was on a scene of a way too violent for kids movie. And then there was another I didn't know what was going on but the traffic was completely stopped for twenty minutes. And that's a long time. And then long is relative because what's twenty minutes when someone needs help?
So last night I was presented with opportunity after opportunity to take the focus off of myself and send out healing energy, love energy, peace energy to others. And by doing this of course, I shared in the energy I sent because really, what we send out to others is what we give to ourselves. Even the negative energy. Because after all, we are only all one, right?
Send good energy out today at least to yourself. And if you can't think of love to send to yourself, then send some to me. Or someone on the side of the road.
I love you. I do.
J
So last night I was presented with opportunity after opportunity to take the focus off of myself and send out healing energy, love energy, peace energy to others. And by doing this of course, I shared in the energy I sent because really, what we send out to others is what we give to ourselves. Even the negative energy. Because after all, we are only all one, right?
Send good energy out today at least to yourself. And if you can't think of love to send to yourself, then send some to me. Or someone on the side of the road.
I love you. I do.
J
Sunday, March 25, 2012
What makes me sad
Geraldo Rivera said that Trayvon Martin's hoodie was as much to blame for his death as Zimmerman, the man who shot him. So, with that logic, is a woman's skirt as much to blame for her rape? I thought we were past that. We're not though.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
In my head
I had a dream night before last that I was in jail. And as I have never been to jail before, it looked and felt all Oz and Scared Straight enough to me. Tami from Basketball Wives was in with me and we were buddied up and she was showing me the ropes. The jail ropes. Don't eat over there. She stare you down, you stare her down right back. He gon try to hit it, watch yo back. Occasionally she would flip her lip and go ape on someone who, in my opinion, didn't deserve it. Afraid will never describe how I felt. If ever I longed for a V8 or Calgon take me away, or if the earth could actually swallow me up, oh to be Enoch and just be not anymore. If there was anything I was certain of, it was that I would not survive that place. And it was only a dream; but who knows from dreams when you are dreaming?
I woke up the next morning in thank Jesus shout that it was a dream. But my dream, as my dreams are, was only a visual description of my mental world. The fear that I felt when I was in jail is how I feel when my mind sells me out for someplace better. That's what it feels like. Like we were cool and then all of a sudden things seem to shift right before me. Transformers. The tears fall, the sadness ensues and lately I keep having these episodes where I can't seem to do the simplest things. I was in therapy for about a year last year up until October. And I'm tired of talking about crazy about last night episodes and sadness clouds that loom so I contacted another therapist. We meet next Wednesday morning.
I know it's time for me to see someone again because I have seriously gone off on myself and too many folks in the last two weeks for super nothing stuff. I'm afraid of talking to my friends because of some random blow up that might come out of my mouth. Because that's how it happens. I could be casually talking, texting, Facebooking ('cause that's a verb) and out of the blue I will just go IN, Son! Then I make it worse by being super apologetic as if that helps. Then I'm all embarrassed and wish I could just "I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home" the whole thing away.
Years ago I met with an herb "doctor" who examined my eyes and told me I have a chemical imbalance. I've heard of that but I don't know what that means. His lame response was "Well, you know what a chemical is right?" Me: Umm, right. "And you know what imbalance means right?" Me (thinking): That you're an idiot. So I never saw him or anyone who called themselves an herb doctor again.
But back then I wasn't "trippin'" as much as I am now so I just put the whole thing in the whateverrrrr basket and moved on. Plus, there was no Internet back then so I couldn't just Google ('cause that's a verb too) chemical imbalance and like I said, it just wasn't serious enough for me to go to the library about. And no, I didn't have health insurance back then either. Judge yourself.
Alas, March 2012 and it is that serious now. Wednesday night I was driving home and had this...this...I don't know, this heavy so heavy I was afraid to go home. Before I go on here, to my family and close friends who may read this, I get that this is not where or how you would want to find out about this, but think about me and how much I don't want to have this conversation with you and answer questions I can't even answer for myself. Anyway I was driving home and felt...afraid. Of? Being with myself I guess. So I drove to the hospital. I've never done that before. It was almost 10:30 and what was I gonna say? Um, I feel...um...sad and um I was like wondering...The closer I got to the hospital the more anxiety I felt. But I could feel a voice telling me to just keep driving to the hospital. So I did. When I got there I was scared to pull into the parking lot because I couldn't figure out how much the parking would be. I was adding and subtracting and carrying ones and it was crazy because I had enough on me to cover the parking. I knew that the whole parking money thing was silly and that at the bottom of it was that I just didn't want to go in. So I didn't. I drove home and on the way home for some reason couldn't figure out how to change lanes. So I drove like 20mph almost the whole way. I could feel myself, my real self, outside of the me breaking down telling me to get it together. Yes I made it home and then, as if I needed to break down further, I couldn't figure out how to unlock my friggin' car. By the time I got inside I was so wiped out. But the cloud. The cloud was still there. Now, I don't have episodes on that scale everyday, but everyday it's something. Even if it's just the tears from nowhere.
But today was pretty cool. There were tears, but tears are regular now. But it was a good day. Not posting or responding or like ing anything on Facebook. Not texting or calling or just saying hi today. Although I did go to a birthday party today and thankfully it was just two blocks from where I live. I enjoyed myself and got through it without being too weird (I think). That's the other thing, I over judge myself. All the time. For now I am just happy to be home and making soup for my son and doing laundry and writing this whatever this is and watching television with my son, who is one of the few folks in my life I have not gone bezerko on. And with all this Trayvon going on that I have justifiable anxiety about, I am happy to be here with him on this Saturday night watching a marathon of the silliest show ever that is actually called "Ridiculousness." And nothing is better than this right now.
I woke up the next morning in thank Jesus shout that it was a dream. But my dream, as my dreams are, was only a visual description of my mental world. The fear that I felt when I was in jail is how I feel when my mind sells me out for someplace better. That's what it feels like. Like we were cool and then all of a sudden things seem to shift right before me. Transformers. The tears fall, the sadness ensues and lately I keep having these episodes where I can't seem to do the simplest things. I was in therapy for about a year last year up until October. And I'm tired of talking about crazy about last night episodes and sadness clouds that loom so I contacted another therapist. We meet next Wednesday morning.
I know it's time for me to see someone again because I have seriously gone off on myself and too many folks in the last two weeks for super nothing stuff. I'm afraid of talking to my friends because of some random blow up that might come out of my mouth. Because that's how it happens. I could be casually talking, texting, Facebooking ('cause that's a verb) and out of the blue I will just go IN, Son! Then I make it worse by being super apologetic as if that helps. Then I'm all embarrassed and wish I could just "I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home" the whole thing away.
Years ago I met with an herb "doctor" who examined my eyes and told me I have a chemical imbalance. I've heard of that but I don't know what that means. His lame response was "Well, you know what a chemical is right?" Me: Umm, right. "And you know what imbalance means right?" Me (thinking): That you're an idiot. So I never saw him or anyone who called themselves an herb doctor again.
But back then I wasn't "trippin'" as much as I am now so I just put the whole thing in the whateverrrrr basket and moved on. Plus, there was no Internet back then so I couldn't just Google ('cause that's a verb too) chemical imbalance and like I said, it just wasn't serious enough for me to go to the library about. And no, I didn't have health insurance back then either. Judge yourself.
Alas, March 2012 and it is that serious now. Wednesday night I was driving home and had this...this...I don't know, this heavy so heavy I was afraid to go home. Before I go on here, to my family and close friends who may read this, I get that this is not where or how you would want to find out about this, but think about me and how much I don't want to have this conversation with you and answer questions I can't even answer for myself. Anyway I was driving home and felt...afraid. Of? Being with myself I guess. So I drove to the hospital. I've never done that before. It was almost 10:30 and what was I gonna say? Um, I feel...um...sad and um I was like wondering...The closer I got to the hospital the more anxiety I felt. But I could feel a voice telling me to just keep driving to the hospital. So I did. When I got there I was scared to pull into the parking lot because I couldn't figure out how much the parking would be. I was adding and subtracting and carrying ones and it was crazy because I had enough on me to cover the parking. I knew that the whole parking money thing was silly and that at the bottom of it was that I just didn't want to go in. So I didn't. I drove home and on the way home for some reason couldn't figure out how to change lanes. So I drove like 20mph almost the whole way. I could feel myself, my real self, outside of the me breaking down telling me to get it together. Yes I made it home and then, as if I needed to break down further, I couldn't figure out how to unlock my friggin' car. By the time I got inside I was so wiped out. But the cloud. The cloud was still there. Now, I don't have episodes on that scale everyday, but everyday it's something. Even if it's just the tears from nowhere.
But today was pretty cool. There were tears, but tears are regular now. But it was a good day. Not posting or responding or like ing anything on Facebook. Not texting or calling or just saying hi today. Although I did go to a birthday party today and thankfully it was just two blocks from where I live. I enjoyed myself and got through it without being too weird (I think). That's the other thing, I over judge myself. All the time. For now I am just happy to be home and making soup for my son and doing laundry and writing this whatever this is and watching television with my son, who is one of the few folks in my life I have not gone bezerko on. And with all this Trayvon going on that I have justifiable anxiety about, I am happy to be here with him on this Saturday night watching a marathon of the silliest show ever that is actually called "Ridiculousness." And nothing is better than this right now.
Church lady hat Alice's birthday day!
Good morning wonderful people. I'm up this morning getting ready for the day. Heading out soon for Alice's birthday party. We are all wearing huge church lady hats! So exciting, 'cause I have been wanting to kill the game for a long time. It's on ladies. So glad I'm feeling well today. Wasn't when I got up this morning but I was like hell to da naw and created greatness for the day. I used to wake up and say "ok Jaha, this is going to be a good day ok?" But now I have to say at least every fifteen minutes, "looka here Jaha, let's just get through these next few minutes as best as possible." In the last two weeks I have wigged out on everybody in my life, with the exception of my son, mom and sister and maybe one or two others. Seriously, I am majorly requesting a do over. Please. For real, if in the last two weeks if you thought it was me or you, smart money is on that it was me.
Today though, today I'm going to have a good day. Even if I have to keep taking myself to the bathroom by the ear and giving myself something to cry about. Or however the black spanking mama saying goes. Thank God I didn't come from that and that I didnt become it. Anyway, enjoy yourselves today.
My church lady hat is better than yours!
Today though, today I'm going to have a good day. Even if I have to keep taking myself to the bathroom by the ear and giving myself something to cry about. Or however the black spanking mama saying goes. Thank God I didn't come from that and that I didnt become it. Anyway, enjoy yourselves today.
My church lady hat is better than yours!
Friday, March 23, 2012
My Virgo horoscope
Extra money may come your way today as a reward for work well done. Perhaps you're getting a substantial bonus, or maybe you're slated for a significant raise. Either way, Virgo, you're going to be in pretty good financial shape. You're going to be feeling very optimistic about your future, and therefore your relations with others will be warm and congenial. Spend the evening celebrating!
Now that's my kinda horoscope.
Now that's my kinda horoscope.
Free write before the turn in - Be good to women day
I'm writing an article for Be good to women day. I did it last year and it didn't seem to be as big a challange for me as it seems to be this year. Why? I don't know. I guess because it seems like writing an inspiration to folks who don't want to be inspired. Maybe because the theme of the WomanPreach weekend was "Not on My Watch!" Yes with the exclamation mark. And we discussed the abuse happening to women and children on all of our watches. So Be good to women day sounds like a real reminder, like oh yeah, be good to women. Today. I'm blah blahing and this is the warm up I need to do before I actually write sometimes. I haven't been writing lately. Not writing writing. Like what is writing writing? Ok the article is due today and now I'm just stalling.
Whatever.
Whatever.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
My day so far
Much better than my night last night except the fly buzzing around is about to make me hold my breath until I fucking pass out. #shitimwaytoodramatic.but.forreal.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Just sayin'
The poetry last night at Da Poetry Lounge was so crazy good I "ummmmm"ed and "ahhhhh"ed so much (insert something clever here). But really, just wow y'all. Congratulations Kat for winning the slam. Love you little sister.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
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