Hide me

I just need to make it through life until my man gets here.

HappY

i never get what I really want

and never like what i get

I work just to pay rent

It just occurred to me that I'm pretty much working just to pay rent.

My cat needs to visit the vet. I also want to take her to the groomer, re-up her flea meds and buy her a playscape. I've been saying this for months. The next thought is always, "I can't afford it right now."

My eyes hurt. They sting and burn incessantly. Right now it's like a throbbing. Probably should find an eye doctor. Don't have nay insurance though. I know I can't afford that.

Earlier today I stopped by the mall. I saw quite a few really nice dresses and tops that would bolster my work wardrobe. Too bad I can't really afford new clothes, I thought. I admired the items just long enough to remember that they aren't in the budget right now...or anytime soon.

Then I talked to my boyfriend, who's looking for apartments. He went to look at a two-bedroom unit, heat and water included, for $765. I pay $1,100. The fact is, nearly 50 percent of my check goes to rent. By the time I pay my cell bill, get gas and groceries -- all staples that would be manageable under different circumstances -- I'm broke before the weekend is over.

I live in LA. That's the part of the game, right? You have to pay to play. You have to make sacrifices. This is a place where I can reach my dreams eventually; high rent could be looked at a small investment in exchange for the chance to "make it."

....but sacrificing current happiness for dreams I may never reach sounds like a quick way to waste a life.

I'd rather go somewhere that allows me cheaper rent and money to live. Money to take a trip when I want, take care of my health, pay my tithes, debts and my car insurance in the same check. Why does that sound so impossible?

God's compromise

I won a contest on Twitter. This is notable because I never win anything.

Just like that, Ebony Magazine was sending me to the House of Blues to see Common. From experience, I know Common puts on a great show. Unlike the first time, however, I didn't have to go by myself. That made it much better. 

To my surprise, Estelle was the opening act. She was so fun! The girl is spunky and has some good songs that few people beyond me know the words to :)

All in all, my friend and I had a great time. We paid $15 to park and spent $18 on two drinks, and were alive enough to briefly consider going out afterward. That burst of energy was rather fleeting, but it's important to log the moments that make you feel alive, however long they last.

I realized later that perhaps me randomly winning tickets was God's compromise, since I had to work on New Year's Eve. If that is indeed the case, then thank you, Lord.

Happy New Year

From time to time, I do things generally regarded as stupid, particularly when it comes to my career.

I'm pretty sure such a choice will take place again soon.

As I type this, it's one hour and five minutes to 2014. And I'm working overnight.

You're 27, you live in Los Angeles...and you're at work on New Year's Eve? As a friend told me not too long ago, "Dude, that's why you're not getting laid." That bitch was right.

It didn't even occur to me to request this day off, because, shoot, when do I ever work a Tuesday overnight? Naively assuming I was safe, my eyes filled with terror when I got my schedule a week or so ago.

"Maybe God is saving you," my mom offered by way of condolence.

"Saving me from what, fun?" I answered.

I'm disappointed that on the precipice of a new year, I feel a nasty, joy-stealing mix of frustration, malaise, discontent...all of which aren't even entirely rational. A combination of factors dropped me off here, feeling dread when everyone else is all, "This is my year! Just watch!" But if your life arouses these feelings within, especially at this time of year, it's time to read the tea leaves.

Clearly, I have financial goals and a shitload of bills to pay. But 2014, it has been collectively decided, is a year of doing what thee fuck you really want. Honestly, there's been times I was happier working at the mall than working "in my field." And times I wake up longing for a place that's cold, dangerous and gray, instead of my sunny, palm tree-lined,  beach-bordered haven.

Complaining is a vain exercise. I know this. And part of new years is being bombarded by quotes extolling that a person, at any time, is capable of living the life she truly wants to live, should she so decide...

City of Angels

I got off the train yesterday. I took a deep breath -- the smell of chocolate chip cookies complemented a view of the city so expansive I could see the HOLLYWOOD sign from the other side of town.

I sighed contentedly, and had a pleasing realization: I actually had a good week. That it was such a big deal is actually sad.

It wasn't an "I love L.A. week" -- haven't had one of those yet. But a year into West Coast-living, I realized I'd finally strung together a successful week, one that had me feeling that a steady collection of such experiences could make LA an almost-tolerable place to live.

It started with a free taping of the "Ellen" show. She had great guests, though she didn't give anything away :(

I worked two overnight jobs, as well as a temp gig for a big media company. It was fun, it was easy, I made good money, I met some nice people.

Then I caught the train with my homie to a Clippers game. Round-trip transportation for $3. The tics, for a game against the Sacramento Kings that came down to the last minute, were only $12. Not having to pay for parking or sit in traffic? Priceless.

There are some cool things to do here, solo or with friends. Heretofore they've just been so few and far between. But let's face it; nothing can beat being with people with whom you can have a good time doing nothing at all.

For all LA has to offer, that is what I'm still missing.

Delightful

This being Halloween week, it's fitting that I had a temp assignment assisting the president of a network focused on horror programming.

The four-day gig only lasted one day, since the exec determined he didn't need much help after all. But he gave the staffing agency "glowing reviews," I heard later. And he said this to me as I was leaving:

"It really was a pleasure today, come back anytime, I mean it. You have a delightful personality.  I hope it rubs off on the people in the other building; they need it over there."

(The parent company has divisions in different buildings in close proximity to each other.)

I swear I'm not being a #humblebrag. But his comments made me happy. They reminded me that I can -- and I'm supposed to -- change the culture wherever I go. I'd love my legacy to be that I helped change the way people treat each other in this industry. What, if anything, are we called to do but shine light in dark places?

More importantly, it signified that I am really, finally getting back to the old me. It might have taken a year, but me, just being me, actually can be "delightful."

Crossing Over

I won't soon forget the clown who asked me out on a date early in the summer, then disappeared into thin air.

I suppose his Facebook status about how much he hates natural hair should've clued me in as to his whereabouts. Then again, you'd imagine all my kinky-haired photos would have been a big, bright, flashing stop sign for him as well.

While the brothas are turning their noses up at our afros and twists, other people are leading the conversation with, "I love your hair!"

And while some of you bums think the correct way to approach a woman is via text message asking if you can come over -- or better yet, directing her to come over -- someone shook my hand in Starbucks, asked my name and invited me to go surfing,

Yes, surfing. If I knew how to swim, I would've hopped in the the truck and rode out.

I guess it will ultimately work itself out. Y'all keep choosing the Barbies and Kardashians...and we'll go hang with the Robert DeNiros and Robin Thickes.

:o)

10/26

Even though I'm getting married, he said, sometimes you still need other friends you can confide in.

Today is the birthday of the man who said that to me two years ago.

He shared his lofty goals; I shared mine. He said he felt we'd somehow be able to help each other achieve them. Said he was glad we reconnected and that we'd always mean a lot to each other.

This was about eight years after he stood me up around junior year of high school, invited me to a Neptunes concert and met her there instead.

"I don't know what it was, as soon as I saw her I just always had these strong, love-type feelings," he said.

I had no idea I was competing with her; all I knew is he was a friend from wayyy back in sixth grade, the tall, skinny kid with big ears who looked like Will Smith, the silly guy who made me laugh, believed in me and knew me better than anyone else. And though high school graduation, college graduation and then some had passed without us speaking, I still remembered 10/26: his birthday.

I sent a message; it led to long nights of Facebook chatting and confessions on his behalf that I never saw coming. My own relationship wasn't as fulfilling as it once was; his was going to the penultimate level and still, I was just happy to have my friend back.

And then, as quickly as we reconciled, he faded back into obscurity. I asked what I did wrong...he said he didn't know what I was talking about. The wedding came and went...the silence is still here.

Don't we always get eerie feelings around Halloween-time? For me, it's just that I'll never forget today is the birthday of the man who said two years ago we'd always mean a lot to each other. And somehow he left me twice.

Never Happens in LA

There's a security guard checking IDs at the front door of the Buffalo Wild Wings in downtown Detroit.

(In fairness, there's guards at the B-Dubs in the suburbs, as well.)

On my way out, this man was sitting on a stool tearing into an ice cream sundae. 

An aside: Let me tell you about me and ice cream: That Saturday, the third one in October, Dairy Queen on 9 Mile was open, and a sign out front said there was a Sweetest Day Special.  (This is a holiday, I swear, in like 3 out of 50 states) It was cold, rainy and windy, yet I made my parents hit a U-Turn, I got out of the car and walked to the window and actually paid for everyone's ice cream just so I can have some.

Anyways, brotha man was getting down with that hot fudge sundae, and I yelled, "Dang, that look good!"

"So do you," he responded.

This never happens in LA. (Along with rain.)

A Better Person

"If you cheat on me, she'd better be Miss America," I said to my longtime friend. We sat in his car on a cold, rainy day in Detroit after having lunch with my family. I'd shared some info that he needed proof to believe.

"Let me see a picture of the girl," Chris said. I went to her Instagram on my phone.

"Let me see a picture of him," he said next.

"I don't have any," I said.

"Dria, I know he got a Facebook or something," Chris said.

"I'm not his fucking friend," I said, as I typed my ex's name in the search field.

Chris looked at the pic. He sighed.

"Let me tell you something: He's not going to be with her for too long, man," he said. I suppose he wanted me to find that reassuring. "Yea, it always feel good to have a girl and be talking to another one or whatever, but then you leave and find out that girl aint.... I mean, later on you realize you left a girl who, all she was really tryna do was make you a better person."

When Chris and I met he was 16; the obnoxious, always-in-trouble, knucklehead of summer camp. We called ourselves "talking" for the next year or so, during which time he lied often, disappeared occasionally and was exactly the type of idiot you'd want your daughter to avoid. In fact, our conversation took this turn because he said, "If I had it to do over, I would have treated you better."

In December he'll turn 30.  He's married, committed to his wife, hardworking and a proud father of two small children. The maturation I've been able to witness surprises me every time we speak. I think to myself, if he can get it together, anyone can.

I'm happy for the man he's become. But I wonder how many times I'll have to be that girl who should have been treated better, when all I was tryna do was make him a better person.

Assumptions & Explanations

Lord,

Please deliver me

from having any

expectations of other people.

Stronger

Today, for the first time in a long time, I cried tears of joy.

A Reminder

Today the WalMart parking lot in the hood was THUMPING. My need for groceries was desperate, but I couldn't deal with the madness. I started to go around a car in front of me that was not moving.

"You are impatient," I heard a voice say.

Why didn't I catch an attitude? Why didn't I say, 'who the f*ck you talking to?'

I don't know. I smiled, leaned out my window and asked, "Why would you say that?"

Today a man walked up to my car, leaned in my window and began to talk. I let him.

This stranger, with a West Indian accent and steel gray eyes --holding lawn shears, at that -- reminded me that I am a queen. He reminded me there is righteousness and royalty inside of me.

He began to tell me why my past relationships failed: "You kept yourself safe. You wanted them but you let them go because knew you hadn't yet met a king."

He prophesied to me. I allowed him to talk because he was right. Because I had been crying, and grieving, and looking back and doubting myself.

And so the Lord sent the Holy Spirit to remind me. I know it was HIM because the peace I felt afterward was soo strong. He said in His word that He would send us a comforter. I felt that today. It was brief. But I felt it. I heard HIM. And I thank Him for stopping by my address and knocking on my door today.

I accept

that I have not attracted love, joy and loyalty --

I have not cultivated these magnetic elements within myself.

I accept

that I have "missed out" on things. I can be a drag, a flake...

But I believe

we all learn differently. God speaks to me in my solitude.

There are things I would genuinely like to enjoy. "Normal" young people things, like parties and flings and running the streets. But sometimes I get assurance that it is OK not to live like the world.

Not many people will understand that.

A happy life is self-defined. It should be measured by whether you smiled today. Whether you sighed contentedly.

I didn't surf or breakdance or zipline today. My sugar daddy didn't find me at the mall today. Nobody took me on a hot date. But I paid my rent, bought myself some groceries, and a friend waited for my presence when she left work so we could grab a drink and catch up.

My cat laid her head on my feet and fell asleep. And I slept well, too.

Sober

"Ma, let me tell you bout this stupid boy from work!" I forgot I have thee most unsympathetic mother in America. (Can you hear the doves crying?)

A coworker had stopped by my place to "borrow" my Internet in the days before his service was connected. I was in Friday chill mode, also known as wine-drinking time. It falls between morning exercise and my overnight work shift.

I promise, I sat on the couch minding my own business, not even attempting to make small talk. Somehow, dude still managed to spend most of the time he was there telling me, "You need to turn down." And repeatedly saying that I am mean. Here's a replay: "Yo, you're like, hella mean, yo."

So I tell this to my mother. She's supposed to say, "Ewww, what a dick! If you're so mean, why didn't he just leave?" (That's how cool moms talk, right?)

But instead she says, "Are you sure there isn't some truth to that? When we drink too much, we tend to get mean. Not to mention, alcoholism runs on both sides of our family, so we have to be careful."

My face: o_O

Nowhere in my retelling was alcohol mentioned...I was thrown, but I decided against answering, "No mom, alcohol doesn't make me mean. It makes me vacillate between a horny slutbucket and an emotional ball of snot."

I just vowed not to call her anymore when I need validation.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Re-thinking the intro to this post because it will likely sound alcoholic/self-destructive/nutty...

But here goes: Last night I told my friend it's good for me to drink before I go to sleep. This way I "sleep hard" and don't have dreams.

She, on the other hand, was upset at the lack of dreams she's been having lately because she felt her dreams were revelatory or more connected from Above.

I only have one dream: Someone is trying to kill me. I've never seen his face, but it's a man. Not always the same man. Sometimes, I swear to God, he's dressed like Freddy Krueger. 

This man is always very close. I can never hide or outrun him. Sometimes he is in my childhood home or the church behind that house. Other times the man is in eerie, warehouse type buildings or very large houses with lots of stairs. Often it is the same dream over and over, and the settings repeat. I kind of believe they are places I will visit at some point in my life. 

My friend told me to visit DreamMoods.com. They have an entire page dedicated to chase dreams, which are obviously a common theme. Here's their freakin' analysis of the monsters in my head:

Chase dreams are one of several common dream themes, stemming from feelings of anxiety in your waking life. Flee and flight is an instinctive response to a physical threat in the environment. In such dreams, the scenario often features you being pursued by an attacker, an animal, a monster or an unknown figure, who wants to hurt or possibly kill you. Consequently, you run, you hide or you try to outwit your pursuer. Your actions in the dream parallel how you would respond to pressure and cope with fears, stress or various situations in your waking life.

Instead of confronting the situation, your dream indicates that you have a tendency to run away and avoid the issue. Ask yourself who is chasing you, so that you can gain a better understanding and insight on the source of your fears and anxieties.

The pursuer or attacker who is chasing you in your dream may also represent an aspect of yourself. Your own feelings of anger, jealousy, fear, and possibly love, can manifest itself as the threatening figure. Or the shadowy figure can symbolize the rejected characteristics of your Self. You may be projecting these feelings onto the unknown chaser. Next time you have a dream of being chased, turn around and confront your pursuer. Ask them why they are chasing you. What are you trying to run from?

Consider the distance or gap between you and your pursuer. This indicates your closeness to the issue. If the pursuer is gaining on you, then it suggests that the problem is not going to go away. The problem will surround you, until you confront and address it. However, if you are able to widen the gap between your pursuer, then you are able to successfully distance yourself from the problem. In essence, the problem is fading away.

And there we have it.

Robin Thicke done messed around...

...And redeemed himself.

Check what he called his "brown liquor" version of Icona Pop's "I Don't Care."



The original is my JAM, some people know:



But his slow-jam sexified version made me feel bad for telling people I'm tired of that whispery falsetto thing Thicke does when he performs.

(Not to mention, that white boy showed out at the BET Awards a couple weeks ago...)



If he is on that shit, lemme taste a lil bit.

Of Self-Love and -Loathing

It's 6:15 on a Friday evening. The sky is getting darker; the wind is getting cooler.

I'm cutting through City Hall to get to the side street where I parked my car, after meeting my friend for what was supposed to be "a drink." With this friend, I do things I previously deemed abhorrent. My throat is burning: I probably need a little more perfume.

My 22-inch weave is blowing in the breeze; my heels are click-clacking on the concrete.

Something is happening that hasn't really happened in the eight months I've been in this strange, new pLAce: Men are speaking. Brothers are smiling, looking me in the eyes, and saying, "Hello," and, "How are you?" One man at the bus stop said, "You look fantastic."

A punch-pink smile is creeping across my face. "This must be how it feels to be Maria," I'm thinking.

Maria is thin and light-skinned with long, straight hair. Always in heels, never without a face full of makeup. When she walks into the classroom, the boys all look up, eyes following her to her seat. When she exits, they look at each other and nod.

I am realizing, immediately, what a self-loathing thought I just had.

That a modicum of attention makes me assume I must be having a day where I look "pretty," because in my brown-skinned world, pretty has always been synonymous with light-skinned girls like Maria.

I'd like to tell you that I plan to head home, look in the mirror and tell myself, "You are fine just the way you are. When your hair is a short, natural afro. When your jeans are not so tight and your shoes flat, and thick, black eyeglasses are slipping down the bridge of your nose. Whether people acknowledge you or you are gliding down the street in your normal state of invisibility."

But that, like my current image, would be a lie.

Rehab

Of late, I have tried various things in an effort to feel high. Or numb.

Usually, I fail.

Tonight I feel awesome.

But one could argue, if you are able to comment on it, is it really working?

Let the dead bury the dead

It hit me today:

I've been grieving over something that died years ago.

I was even crawling around in muddy pools of guilt, as though I was responsible for killing that thing... It was more like an assisted suicide.

Perhaps I didn't know it was dead because the shell of it was still walking around. We were still in each other's lives, physically, so it looked like there was something there. It was hollow. It was decaying.

I am dealing with the absence of the thing because now I know for certain that it is gone. Two lives were one for a moment, and now there is a ripping apart. It hurts. I am dealing with the disillusionment of the insulated world we built together. It's been infiltrated; I see new walls have already been built with someone else, while I free fall into space, unattached and unanchored. I feel betrayed...But he probably did, too.

When we met, he said three very prolific things. I aint hear 'em, doe.

1. I've had a lot of girlfriends. A lot.
2. All my relationships seem to last two years, for some reason.
3. By the time a relationship ends, it's already been over for a while.

But I grabbed his hand and skipped my happy ass down the yellow brick road anyway, happy to have tumbled head-first into some shit I'd never felt before...some shit I never even knew I wanted.

I am recovering. Of this I am certain. But it has been the hardest thing I've ever dealt with. Primarily because I had no idea I could feel this way. I have loved deeply. I have been profoundly changed. I'm 27. Many people learn this lesson sooner, I feel. But this also goes to show how unfamiliar I am with this subject.

A friend asked me a while ago if it was nostalgia making me feel so bad and miss him so much. I told her no, this was different. I genuinely made a mistake letting him go! I mean, I recently even sent an email apologizing sincerely and profusely because after all, this was all my fault.

Then I thought about it again. If he wanted to be here, he would. Whatever we had, we didn't deem it worthy of fighting for. We said fuck it. We maintained. I know I wanted to leave. There were times I didn't even want to kiss him. Slept in the bed and didn't want to be touched. (SO THE FACT THAT I'VE BEEN ACTING LIKE I LOST THE BEST THING EVER ACTUALLY MAKES NO SENSE...) He acted as though he tried so much harder than I did. That's not entirely accurate. He was there, yeah...but he didn't have much choice. He'd left his hometown to move to a new state with me. I paid the bills...I had the transportation...He was in school. What else could he do but tough it out? But truth be told, he checked out, too. He had to have. Because I realize now that while we were yet in the thing, I knew something was wrong. My selfishness, my complete unhappiness with everything in my world, my horror at being released into the real world confident that I was someone I wasn't. These were the things that clouded my judgment and consumed me. I had an identity crisis, y'all. A faith crisis. And instead of helping me through it, he stood on the shore and watched me drift away and drown.

After the fact he said to me, "At the time you should have been drawing closer, you withdrew." And he was right. But you know what? He let me. He let me crawl into my shell and fade into an apparition of myself. Why didn't he have the guts to say that when it would have made a difference? ...Because he let go much sooner than he said he did. Maybe he legitimately was trying as hard as he could. Maybe he was being as much of a man as he knew how to be. I've concluded that he was a really nice guy. But not quite a man. Not then. Not yet.

This new girl? My sister saw them months ago...I saw her name and picture much longer ago than that...My sister said he called her "an old friend." You know what she calls him? "Bae," "The Mister," etc. Do I have a lot to be sorry for? Absolutely. But being naiive has been my greatest sin for a while.

"You didn't want this, remember, you said it yourself." That's what he said to me recently when I asked him what the hell was going on. But, um, God reminded me of the times I asked him what he needed from me. I asked him how he wanted to be loved. I asked him what I could do better. He always said he had no complaints...you don't build a relationship that way, lying and saying things are fine to avoid hurting the other person's feelings. I genuinely wanted to be a good partner and keep him happy. The lack of feedback and honesty robbed me of the opportunity.

I think he was used to having girlfriends. Chicks who pout and want their way, and you keep them happy by acquiescing. I never asked for a yes man. I asked him to help me make decisions. I asked him to speak up. I needed him to contribute...Instead, I was left in charge. I don't care if I have $50 and you have $5. You can still be a partner. I needed a man...I got...a kid who had to learn. We all gotta learn somehow. I can't fault him for that. But perhaps we both thought we were getting someone more whole than was true.

He stopped doing even the little things that made me fall in love. Something as simple as sitting on the couch next to me, holding me while we watched TV. Something as small as telling me I looked nice when we went out. Validation, romance, affection...they  left. But I been acting like it was all my fault. I can compliment myself, sure. If Ima do that then why am I even going out with you? I could tell you about the elaborate Valentine celebrations I planned and financed, with no reciprocation and little fanfare. But it don't even matter. After a while I stopped going so hard because he didn't seem to care. The day he sent flowers to my job was fucking monumental, becuz I never thought it would happen.

My mom told me today to watch my mouth and to not give him and his new girl a hard time. "If you do want it to eventually come back, don't say something that will make sure it never happens." Move on with your life, she said. Little does she know, I've  been trying to move on for months. Nine months. I could have birthed a child in this time. Instead I have to let something years in the making die.

I can't tell sometimes if I'm crying over the thing itself, or the death of that thing. The latter would be easier to recover from. The latter is what I "concluded" today in a fleeting moment of clarity.

I'm not used to being loved. Or wanted. The now ever-present absence of this makes me feel "less than." (Perhaps that is the real root of the thing). To me, it's better to not love at all than to have something be lit inside of you that you didn't know existed, and therefore could not long for or miss.
           
A guy asked me out. Initially, I wasn't interested. Then I talked to him on the phone for like an hour and thought he could be cool. He rescinded his offer, but the temporary sense of expectation I felt was much needed. I haven't found one man attractive in nine months. Nine months. The fact that I felt something -- however brief it was -- gave me a shot of hope. But it slipped through my fingers. Despair, however, sticks to my ribs. Slicks down my wings, which know they have to fly. It flows right out of my open, gushing heart. Cycles into my bloodstream to be pumped into my sick heart again; a depression dialysis.

When I was younger, I didn't want kids. I never dreamed of being someone's wife. I couldn't care less about Barbie dolls or diamonds. I wanted to be rich and significant and travel the world. I ask myself if I truly want to return to that state or if I again want an opportunity to be entrusted with someone's heart. 

Or maybe I wish to amass such a collection of these experiences that not each one carries so much weight. Even as I write that, though, I know it will never be my life. So I'm back at the beginning, figuring out how to grieve functionally as I talk myself out of mourning something that died. A long time ago.

Soo the Universe is beating me over the head

1. My man is gone. Fa reals. Like ki-ki-ing with some other chick for months.
2. I'm in a new state.
3. Just joined a new church.

Simply put, my life looks 180-degrees different from how it looked a year ago. A year and a half ago. Two years ago. All tangible signs point to progress...

But my head and heart have been grieving. Literally aching for a time and place I didn't even want when I was there...makes no sense, does it?

EVERYTHING has been telling me to get over it and move forward. But I've been walking under a cloud of guilt/depression/heartache that I could not get away from. For at least eight good months, no lie. Please let me know if you know how it feels to wake up every day and tell yourself today will be better...but it just feels worse. Or you smile for five minutes but cry 55. *looks for raised hands*

We talk about things coming in threes. It is only 2 p.m., and already I had a convo with my mom who said she simply wanted to tell me to be positive and move on with my life. Speak life, she said, don't say something that will make things worse. And use this time to write something. (She also added, "Make sure you aren't drinking too much because that will change your personality." She was right...)

When I woke up this morning, I had an email from Joel Osteen titled "Press Forward and Upward." Here's an excerpt:

See, in order to press forward, we have to let go of the weight of the past. We let go by forgiving and choosing not to dwell on things that can hold us back. We have to lighten our load, so to speak, so that we can rise higher in the things God has for us. Today, if you are struggling in an area, ask God what you need to let go of. Sometimes, we need to let go of the good as well as the bad.

Then just now, I randomly clicked on my horoscope on EBONY Magazine's website. (Trust me, I typically don't pay these any attention.) But this dang horoscope echoed everything:

Well, look who’s shining like a newly minted coin this week! You, of course! This week we have a new moon in Cancer, Saturn finally going forward after months and a re-birth cycle for Mercury with something we astro-folks call an “inferior conjunction.” The inferior conjunction means that Mercury moves backward into the heart of the Sun to shed his inferior self—all the gunk, thoughts, beliefs and actions that have been holding him back. So I read that as a cosmic prayer and intention for you, Cancer. Time to upgrade your shell, since I can’t imagine you abandoning it altogether. This doesn’t mean your shell should become battle armor, though you have some battles ahead. I see it as tougher skin, but a whole lot more flexible and porous. But this takes time. This week is time to get more comfortable in your renewed skin. So be patient with yourself and others.

GOD, I get it, I really do. You want me to get my life. Grab it by the balls and get out here and LIV. I hear  you. I hear you.

Sooo help me to do it...

For Us Crazy Dreamers

Music makes me sad

My vampires have an invitation I can never take back. Emboldened, they follow me in broad daylight. The boogeyman sits in the passenger seat of my Kia. Hiding under the bed only promised a temporary scare.

Music uplifts people. And it's ubiquitous. You can't escape music if you tried.

...There's too much to run from. Every song is our song. So I sit on the shore and listen as they come in waves. Sometimes they lap my feet. Sometimes they wash me away. Today I am drowning.

Today, I cried

Just moments before, I was proud that I'd finally gotten to work early. For some reason, this is a Herculean feat for me.

Then I blew my lead. I rounded the corner to the parking lot and crumbled. 9:45 a.m., and already a lot had taken place. Each incident was another tick, leading to this moment of implosion.

As I was packing my lunch, my roommate's cousin began trying to converse with me. It was fine for a minute, but when he got down to inquiring about the toppings I was putting on my salad, my patience wore thin. "This dude is forcin' it," I thought ... But then, it was actually kinda sweet. When's the last time someone wanted to converse with me so bad that they looked for any small window to break into? He recently said some very nice things to me, and although I wished those words had come from someone about whom I felt the same, I asked the Lord for the grace to manage the situation without hurting his feelings.

Minutes later, I stopped by Starbucks. Everyone has a favorite barista, right? I hadn't seen mine in a minute, but he was there today. Yes, he. Need I say more?

So yeah, small talk, yada, yada, yada. Then, "Thank you, have a good day." Happy to see him. Not happy to be just another customer. You get me?

But I drove to work and thought about it. And Fantasia was on my radio singing, "If you don't want me then don't talk to me/Go ahead and free yourself." And I realized I wasn't actually terribly interested in that (cute) guy. Or any other guy out here. I had a cute guy at home ... I didn't want him. I didn't treat him like I wanted him. He still stuck around. He still wanted me. He got smart though. He doesn't anymore. And as these things often go, I can tell you several big mistakes I've made in my life. I would put that one first.

Love is grace. It is often something we don't deserve and didn't earn. The least we can do is appreciate it.

And so I cried. I sat in the parking lot, and bawled. And wished that hindsight wasn't 20/20.