freestyle 7/26

 

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sometimes, just sometimes
the night encompasses me
and I find myself
recounting moments
in my head that I was certain my heart
had forgotten
I remember the sound of your laughter
Or hear the tone of your voice
in the quiet
the memory of the way
you looked at me
or how comforted I felt
in your presence
can tip the balance
from alone to lonely
from content to melancholy
from right now to yesterday
and suddenly
there’s a knot in my throat
and my face is wet with tears
that I struggle to contain
until the darkness reminds me
that it’s okay.

Flip This House!

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just another episode of the mama who flips out:

today is Sunday.

on Thursday night, i bought two 16 count boxes of go-gurt. today i look in the refrigerator and an ENTIRE box has been decimated to 3, THREE!!!! the only people who eat them are Kendi and Laila. Laila takes them for school lunch and doesn’t really bother with them at home. the boy, on the other hand, who wears size 32 pants and men’s medium shirts and size 8 1/2 shoe, eats them like he’s breathing. i can’t afford that.

Boy. you cannot eat an entire box of go-gurt in ONE effing day. One day! yesterday while was working apparently, also today is my solitary day off this week. i had intentions on studying for Microsoft MOS 77-423 (Outlook 2013) and maybe catching up on TV and dying my hair at best.

but i have instead, swept and washed counters and Swiffer wet jetted floors and cooked waffles and bacon and repeated myself way too many times when instructing children to clean up after themselves.

I AM MUFUGGING TIRED.

i am. i just want to run away. or send them to live somewhere with monks or ex-military types that will wake them up in the middle of the night to scrub toilets and baseboards with toothbrushes and the like. i don’t want to mommy right now. i barely want to ADULT for my own damn self, and you ingrates steadily looking at me with doe eyes when i proceed to go off so sharply that i can feel the veins popping out in my neck.

just do your job little kids. do your damn jobs. go to school. make decent grades. do what the hell i tell you to do. keep your living areas passably clean. that’s pretty much it.

the grown one is at work, but she’s just as bad as the rest. she spent $80 yesterday on Google app purchases. EIGHTY FUCKING DOLLARS! how do i know? because i borrowed $80 from her last week and transferred it to her card on yesterday morning. and when i checked the balance on mine, i saw hers pop up at $0.00 this morning. so being a mom, i clicked on her transaction history, and that’s what i saw. it wouldn’t really make a difference EXCEPT i just paid your cell phone bill on Friday.

*pause*

i’m going to let that resonate with you parents out there.

I JUST PAID YOUR CELL PHONE BILL YESTERDAY.

yeah, so i’m in my room.

sipping on Wild Turkey American Honey and coke.

i’m done.

Happy but sad: thoughts on being a modern single 40-something non-progressive progressive woman

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I know it’s not cool or modern or progressively female to NOT be okay with being single… But I’M NOT.
To be honest, I hate it.
It’s a menace and it makes me sad.

Not that I’m an unhappy person, that isn’t it. I have wonderful kids and friends and sisters and family and a new career path and laughter and books and coffee and delicious food and wine.
I have a good life that’s getting better every day.
Yet there is still a yearning. A space in me that is unfilled.

I make a lot of jokes and talk about the many “misses” in my dating life, but the bottom line is that I want someone to share my life with. My days and my nights…
I know. I know.

“Relationships don’t define you.”
“You shouldn’t be looking for love.”
“God will send him.”

I don’t want to hear any of that.
None of the platitudes ease my mind, comfort me, warm my bed or cure the ache for companionship that is my constant.

Yes, I’m sure this too shall pass but right now it feels relentless. Like the universe of relationships has a personal vendetta against me and decided to wage war on my coupling ability.

Dramatic, I know. But accurate.

on being a writer who doesn’t write

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i’m sorry.

when i don’t write i feel guilty. and with the pseudo-abandonment of this blog, i have been feeling like shit for over a year now.

this is my public promise to do better.

to stop using Facebook as a blog forum.

to spend as much energy visualizing topics to write about as i do finding time to eat all the wrong things.

to figure out how to navigate this new life i have going one without letting go of the things that make me ME.

like putting words to paper. and sharing my thoughts with strangers.

like being a writer who WRITES.

fight.

I’m going to figure this out.
This lonely in the midst of love…
This uncertainty when things aren’t that bad…
I know what I want…
I’m fighting for it everyday…
For me. For us.
The minutiae isn’t as cooperative as I would like…
But I know the Universe has my back…
Even when I don’t see it, I know it…
I’m living it, breathing it
Not trying to succumb to the dark…
Embracing the light, even when it burns…
Even when I have to close my eyes to the magnificence of its brightness…
I see the sun. I am the sun.
I am light. I am beauty. I am.
I am.

What About My Sons?

What About My Sons?

Am I the only mother who feels like her children aren’t scared enough?

Like I’m not teaching them survival skills?

I have two sons. Twins. One has a socio-emotional learning disability where he doesn’t pick up on social cues. It’s hard for him to get sarcasm or read tones of voice. What happens when the person who he believes is supposed to “help people” approaches him and he doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do? He is big for his age. And much like #MichaelBrown, described as a gentle giant a lot… Very loving and extremely sensitive. In a stressful situation, he is frequently all over the place emotionally and physically. I know at only 11 years old, he and his brother should have the luxury of being children. I take pride in the fact that my kids are still kids. Adult things and conversations don’t interest them. They play hard. Their play involves lots of Imaginext action figures, castles, Nerf guns, wrestling moves and super hero movies. They are great little boys.

So what do I do? What do WE do? I don’t want to terrorize my children. I do not want to see their eyes fill with fear or wariness when walking down the street. This world snatches childhood away on so many levels and so quickly now. I want them to be able to be little boys, not little black boys, for as long as they can. They don’t see the ugly, they don’t see the injustice, I don’t want that for them. But how can I love them and protect them and not show them how to be? I’m torn. I cannot fail them. But I don’t know the answer. It’s not supposed to be like this. They are children. They are not expendable.

We watch the news in horror at the fighting in Gaza, weep over the slaughter of innocent lives worldwide. Schools full of girls kidnapped, tiny bodies and bones broken in the streets, casualties of wars fought for centuries. What about my sons? What about the carelessness with which police officers sworn to protect and uphold the peace at all times use excessive force to shoot down black children in America? When does it end? What do I do to protect my beautiful brown babies from this unfortunate unnecessary reality? I need an answer. I need a conversation. I need rules and repercussions for this disrespect and disregard for our babies’ lives. It’s basic. My children deserve more than lying dead in the street for hours. Who does that? Where is the humanity in that?

Inboxes from Hell: my life on Facebook

7/14, 6:03am

Strangerdude:

Hello! I would love to add you to my group

7/15, 8:58am

Me:

Hello.

who are you?

and what kind of group?

7/15, 10:31am

Strangerdude:

Hello. The name of my group is called women who only want 3some’s. I host parties both stateside and internationally. I personally hand pick all the members in my group.

7/16, 3:33pm

Me:

Ummmm…

No thank you

3:42pm

Strangerdude:

Aight

I have soooo many questions for this dude.

What exactly was it about MY profile that made you think that this was the group for me?

You handpick all members do you? Culled from millions of strangers on Facebook? Should I feel privileged?

You host parties internationally? So you are a worldwide sleaze?

Un-evolved gentlemen, for future reference? No.

better yet, hell no.

this is not the way grown ups meet one another on social media. If this seems like something that you, or someone that you know, would do stop and seek help. This type of reckless Facebook inboxing must stop.  Consider this your PSA.