Wrecking Brain

I can tell when a particular best friend of mine is up to something, just like she can tell without seeing me when and if I've been crying. So, when she called me the other day, asking a million plus one questions about a particular someone, I knew, with no proof, that either she was up to something, or, she knew something or some things that I didn't. And when I say asking a million plus one questions, this was like a police interrogation - but not as intimidating. And in between our laughs and my not being able to stay still, I knew what it was all about and where it was coming from. Without her saying so, I was given an outside view of what I've always kind of wanted to know.

And when she asked the question I've quietly asked and answered for myself, I cheerfully answered yes. If asked, the answer is and would be yes. For a long time, the answer has always been yes without a shadow of doubt.

Sitting on the phone with her, I wrecked my brain while trying to pick hers to no avail. And as much as I figured that I had it figured out, I just wasn't sure - and still am not.

She said to me, as if I didn't know, "you know sometimes we look and it's been sitting there right in front of us all along". I know just who she was talking about and what she was saying, but, I wanted to know why? And where was it all suddenly coming from is what I couldn't figure out. Were there truth to her questions? Had she heard it all from the horse's mouth and was just encoding it so I couldn't repeat it verbatim? Hopefully, this won't end in the world may never know like the age old question of "how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?"

I hope, for my own sanity that I'll be able to get to the center of it all because by all means, it's been a long time and all sorts of emotions are bound up like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

If I took my own advice I wouldn't be wrecking my brain over my best friend's hidden messages or your sometimes cloudy disposition. If I took my own advice, I'd be at the center of the tootsie roll pop already. But clearly I'm not.

It's been said that good things come to those who wait. And I hope, this, is a classic example of such. I don't expect a fairy tale ending because in the world we live and function in, fairy tales don't exist. But the sheer feeling of a love so transparent that it becomes contagious will do. 

Anthony Hamilton Do You Feel Me

American Gangster soundtrack

A Love That Is Mine and Mine Alone

The truth of the matter is it doesn't matter how much or how hard you try to push them out of your mind and subsequently out of your life, they're going to cross your mind. It's oftentimes, inevitable. And in my case, I'd run into them before the process could be completed.


The break-up and thereafter was far from amicable. We were like captives on a distant island that didn't know what it meant to cordially disagree. And was displayed for the world to see. When two adults display their raw emotions in states of anger and frustration, the pictures painted are never pretty ones. But we deal with the consequences as we normally do in life. Play the cards however they were dealt to you. Roll with it. Keep it moving. Look at the picture however you choose so long as you don't allow that picture to hinder your growth.


Love is what I write about. It's what I live for. Nikki Giovanni herself even said that we love because it's the only true adventure. I believe this. And I've lived this very belief and quote out on front street for the past 3.5+ years. The heart's desire does whatever it damn well pleases to. And all we can do is trek along with it. And this trekking along also means dealing with the outcomes to predicaments of that and those journeys; including having mutual friends and being adults about a nasty situation, handled in a cold, cold world.


I harbor no ill feelings. No hatred. No bitterness. No anger. No frustrations. None. And God knows I know there are millions of women who would perhaps brow beat me for not feeling this way. But I don't. It's not in my genetic makeup to feel such a way. I believe, everyone's deserving of forgiveness. But everyone is also deserving of a love that is going to love them to their core. A love jones.



He said to me that "... I wanted a love jones sort of love."  "And I do. I deserve it. I desire it. I await it with open arms. I use to believe that no love was worth it without a fight. But should my love for you be pure and true, unyielding, faithful, and forever, there should be no fight, so long as your love is equal and just as endearing as mine...."


I could and probably will write about love forever because it's so multifaceted that there's no one true picture of what it looks, sounds, and feels like. 


All I know is that the love I want and a love I seek, is forever and enduring. It's, the butterflies fluttering my the pit of stomach as we kiss or the sound of jingling keys or a hearty laugh. 


All I know, is that I want a love that is mine and mine alone.

Girls Night In

Occasionally, my sister-friends and I get together and talk. We’ve been doing this for years – since high school at least. These “conversations” or “discussions” have grown from immature girlish cackles to full blown woman conversations about womanly things that now range and run the gamut from careers and money, sex and love, children, weddings, and our futures. These are random nights that we choose last minute, to get together, to chat and catch up; to be emotional and honest. Nights that we choose to sit in instead of painting the town.

This night, we claimed and called ours during an impromptu afternoon phone conversation: ‘Lets get together tonight. We need a girl’s night.’ And just like that, our previously empty evening was full. Prior to hanging up, we debated on dinner and what time we’ll get together. I wanted Papa Johns. She wanted Domino’s. I vouched for pan seared crab cakes with buttered rice and broccoli. She responded ‘absolutely not’. Crab cakes: out. Pizza: in. So I ordered enough food for at least two additional people: medium pizza, half cheese, the other half topped with chicken, mushrooms, onions, green peppers and pineapple (I knew she wouldn’t even touch this half, let alone look at it); also, medium hot wings, cheese sticks, and bread sticks. She was bringing a bottle of wine.

Five o’clock couldn’t get to me quick enough. But when it did arrive, a cognac colored bag slid up my arm and sat on my shoulder, parking garage ticket in hand, cell phone too, and I happily, left work, and anticipated an evening that I had no clue what to expect out of.

Before I knew it, it was 6:45 and she was knocking at my apartment door and ringing the bell. We hadn’t seen each in a week, but a fly on the wall would think we see each other daily. She came in, threw her bags on the couch and went into a full rant about how hot it was in the hallway, how she got locked in the house as she tried to leave, and why on earth did I order so much food. I just half way listened and quickly logged out of Facebook so I could eat – she’s nicknamed my hunger my 2^nd Person.

And over pizza, cheese sticks, wings, and fuzzy navel, we talked about life, relationships, love, our wants and needs, what was and what wasn’t going on, the heinous design on her feet to which she’s named ‘Mosaic’ and chuckled at the fact we had the same color pink on our toes. We caught each other up on what’s happened in the last few weeks, what we wanted to accomplish or do, to say or experience in the coming weeks – so that our next girls night would be just as exciting.

Unbeknownst her, she’s a great inspiration to me and a staple in my life, anything that goes horribly wrong or surprisingly correct, she’s first to know. If I can’t sleep, if I’m depressed, sad, happy, miserable, joyous – any emotion that I can’t deal with on my own, she knows all about it. She’s one of the few people to whom I cannot hide a tear-stricken voice from. And as my two year sister would yell, ‘That’s my boo’.

I shared with her my utter sadness that had taken place the week before. For a whole week. Seven days straight; how I barely ate, didn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, and for the life of me, could not get myself out of this emotionally drained rut I was in. Everyday without fail, with no reminder to do so – tears fell on their own accord, marching to their own tune. And within each day, I cried as if I knew my heart had been ripped out of my body and I was fighting to live. Then all of a sudden, I’d awakened one morning, energized and ready for something or some things though I had no clue to what or who they were. The tears stopped. The sadness ended. The unexpected, self-imposed depression was over. But I anticipated something; something good.

I’d also explained to her that this fellow, whom she was absolutely fond of for me, wasn’t for me. He was fun, a sweetheart, and a great listener. But, he held no benefit nor did he add to me or to my life. Just something to do, from time to time. That no matter how much I was remotely attracted to him, attraction dwindles, and, looks and handsomeness go away with time. That as I looked at my life then, now, and attempted to envision later, I began to notice how much overlooked and accepted just for fun. I needed something and someone who was timeless. And I was OK with the fact that he wasn’t.

Sharing this with her, she yelled and shouted about there’s no need for such madness, but, she understood. She understood that our bodies essentially do what they feel is necessary – we just have to comprehend and let the process take place. She understood that when in our lives, it’s midnight 24/7, there’s also work being done so that at daybreak, whenever it decides to arrive, we are better. She understood that this was something that had to take place in order for me to realize some things, as I was simultaneously letting them go. She understood that quite possibly, I knew what was best for me. This was a process that as daunting and sad as it was, I had to experience it. I had to let those tears fall, let those emotions that as old as they felt, they existed, and I had to deal with them head on and eventually, let them go.

It’s during this time of turmoil. This time of relinquishing things and individuals who hold no benefit to me and the spirit I nurture day-to-day, that I recalled months prior, a status I’d posted that was true to the second then and even truer months later as tears took over my lids and sobs shook my body In it, I stated:

"I know I made the best decision for me and my now; me and my later, my to be, my future because I feel comfort and reassurance in my spirit. In my thoughts. I see it in my smile. In my eyes and how they glimmer regardless of the time of day. I feel it in the curve of my back as I put on jeans and shirts, socks and shoes. No aches. No pains. No trauma. Just joy and the knowledge of knowing now was the perfect time."

Life is about a lot of things – but it revolves around love and growth. We live our lives for love. We spend our entire lives, for love, to be loved, to give love. To witness it in the 1^st degree, front row, in 3D, from 1^st and 3^rd person. Love is what we want, what we need, and we fight for it – sometimes to our death, and the death of others – just to prove how deep our love really is. And I wholeheartedly believe that all we want is for love to love us in return. To not be unrequited, but instead, to be faithful, honest, and fair. That’s all. That’s all we request out of life, whether man or woman, rich or poor, homeless or ridiculously successful – love is what we desire. Love, oftentimes holds more weight in this world than death – because even upon death, we love whomever or whatever it was that was previously a part of our lives as if they never departed. As if, their spirit and body are still attached as one.

Then, there are those times in life when death is not the culprit, but life itself. Circumstances that open eyes, ache hearts, and dampen brown, blue, gray, or green lids. Life too can and oftentimes does practice its own version of survival of the fittest in our lives – long before death does its rendition. We think we know who and what ought to be a part of our lives. We assume we know what’s really best for us. We, oftentimes, most of the time, take on the thoughts, opinions, and feelings of others, that we neglect our own. And in doing so, we cut and slash, delete and remove individuals who we think do not or should not be a part of our lives. Yet, we keep and nuture those who ideally, and honestly, have no place in our day-to-day existence.

It’s taken me 23 years to realize this. It took a night of pizza, wings, cheese sticks, and a half empty glass of fuzzy navel to comprehend all of this. It’s taken me 23 years of my life to be OK with what it means to let go. And even now, as I write this piece, and re-read aloud to an audience of one: just me, it surprises me more and more.

Ladies (and gents too!), should there be something or someone that is in your life to whom you question whether or not they’re beneficial to your wellbeing, your successes to come (downfalls too), whether they’re deserving of your worst and your best. Should you even have to question if they are worthy to coexist in a room, over a phone line, in a chat window, with you, they’re probably not. My mother shared with me as a young girl that if you have a feeling that your partner is unfaithful, they probably are. At a young age, she instilled into me that to know unfaithfulness, is to feel it. The same notion applies when it comes to an individual’s wellbeing and if another benefits them or not. No one knows just how much or how little someone benefits our lives but us. It’s OK to edit our circles like we edit essays and reports. It’s OK to remove people with the same guts we delete friends on Facebook. There’s nothing wrong with throwing away feelings that are outdated, feelings that we hold onto for the memories, because they were fun, like you’ve held onto that corner of smell good lotion or your once lucky jean jacket. Not everything that’s old, is meant to be new again.

So as our girls’ night ended, the love in the form of knowledge that I’ve received throughout my 23 years, came full circle as I closed a chapter and prepared to open a new one. Prepared to dive into a life that I know nothing about, but one that I anticipate. And one that I already endear and appreciate.

Works in Progress

She came in, initially cheerful and jolly, her usual buoyant self. But as soon as she sat her food on the counter, slid her feet from her boots, and dropped her bag onto the floor, it were as if she was dropping a load she’d been carrying for too long. At the thump of her bag, the tears fell and her spirit seemingly began to speak for her. In control? Not this time.

From her lips came the explanations, experiences, and words that I’d been too fearful to share myself. All there was to do was to nod in agreement. This wasn’t one of those moments that demanded that I hold her and allow her tears to soak my shoulder and her cries to be muffled by chiffon shirts and pearl necklaces. No, it wasn’t one of those moments. This was a grown up moment: let her tears fall and her breasts catch them and let her be frustrated. Let her realize she’s worthy of more and of better things, better experiences and better moments. But in order to get better we have to suffer a bit. Learn, a bit. Be upset and scared, a bit. To be frustrated and angry, lost and dazed, a bit. To wonder and question self worth when self worth has been shattered to bits and pieces like broken glass on concrete floors. Yet, life begs of us, challenges us, to pick up the pieces and create a new canvas. It was one of those moments. It was a time to let her be her. To let her see who she’s grown and evolved into. Let the little girl, naïve and boisterous, clueless and inexperienced, be laid to rest.

I stopped me so he could be. So that he could find his niche in the world as it exists. So I cradled his dreams in my bosom like an expecting mother cradles her belly to let her creation knew she is here, to protect its existence. To ensure that it’s grand entrance is loud and clear, safe and protected, nurtured and loved unconditionally.

This here is the solo that most women have sang at some point in their lives. And we, now full and grown women, now realize how much had been postponed so that we too could sing this song.

It’s a surprise that I still have my sanity. Life took left turns when it should have yielded to oncoming traffic, forthcoming problems, and preconceived notions. Yet, I stayed. And so did she. We felt that the cause was worthy of an ongoing fight. But what to do when the battle is not worth guns then roses, not worth tears then sweat dripping and pore opening make-up sex therapy? What to do then? What to do when he breathing makes your skin crawl and your eyes flutter in frustration, when to hear his keys jingle at the door and you instantly become a full blown pragmatist, expecting the worst when you know you deserve the best? What is a woman to do then?

We stayed. But because we stayed and fought and battled out relationships that had ended months and sometimes years before we’d caught up to the heart of the matter, when the end finally drew near, we shielded our hearts, our eyes, our very existence, yet, we still didn’t know what was coming to us.

So now, we face each day, as works in progress.

We wake each morning feeling better than its predecessor. We allow our laughter to travel from the pit of our bellies to the nape of our necks so that the world may hear us, so that our presence here is known and forever etched into what used to be. We fight now and we fight daily and constantly and notwithstanding help, to decide what is best for us; trying our damnest to figure out the matters of our hearts and not that of others.

We once again are blank canvases waiting to be splurged on, to have tales written onto and into us so that the draft may be torn to shreds and required to begin anew. We go into each day, alone and bare, naked and new, ready and waiting and wanting new experiences. New ideas and thoughts that allow us to say “I have” instead of wanting, dreaming, or thinking of things we want to do. We do now – for us and therefore, for our futures, for what’s to become, for what is to be excluded so that better may be included. 

The journey for sure has not been the most adventurous; nor has it been the best, what we wished and anticipated. But it’s been a journey that has warranted us to give thanks and to mature, to understand and comprehend, to work beyond and towards – to be grateful for who and what we have become. And for these adventures, we understand that with each day we are given another chance to live and to do better, to become women we weren’t the previous day, the more we understand we are nothing more than works in progress. Anxious and awaiting canvases, drafts – waiting for new experiences to rip us open so that life may sew us up again and place it all on repeat.