Run. Read. Repeat. Series #1 - Running and Reading in New England

So over the weekend, I came up with this idea to combine my love of reading with my growing love of running and do a blog series on it. But, not just a series on hey, I love to read and run so here's what I'm reading. No, this will be more of a travel series about places I run in different states/areas and all the cool little libraries I come across and a little bit about things I'm currently reading. A few months ago, I decided I was going to nerd out and do the nerdiest thing ever--compile a list of libraries in the United States I want to visit and then go visit them. I came up with this idea before I started running. I know that sounds nerdy to a lot of people, but to me that's what I believe Heaven to be like. A non ending visit to as many bookstores and libraries as possible. Goodness, just giving about all the places I will go (shout out to Dr. Seuss on that one) is giving me goosebumps.

Anyway, now that I'm a runner. Wait, a minute. I'M a runner? I'm A runner? I'm a RUNNER? ... I'M A RUNNER! Yeah, I'm a runner. How bout that? Anyway, now that I'm a runner I've decided to combine the two. More specifically, I want to be a half marathoner. The kind who travels to different cities to run half marathons who just happens to also visit libraries. Isn't that just the bees knees! No? Just me? That's fine. I know y'all will love it.

So since I decided to start this, I decided to back up to last month and have New England be my first post in the series. So without further ado, Running and Reading in New England...

Last month, I went on a retreat with thirteen other women to Charlemont, MA where we visited Shelburne Falls, MA along with Vermont and New York (the last two very briefly). This was a chance to connect with other women walking their own paths in life that crossed mine. More importantly, it was a chance to reconnect with myself. And, I did. I can't even begin to describe how absolutely beautiful and breathtaking it was there.

Gorgeous, right?! I know! And, I had the most pleasure of being able to run through this beautiful. This is what I envision when someone says "God's country." The beauty of it was overwhelming. The weather--at least the first two days-- was incredibly crisp and invigorating. Afterward, it became a little muggy and kind of felt like I was at home, except surrounded by the most beautiful trees ever. Which made me have an "A-ha moment" as Mama Oprah likes to call them. Being surrounded by such beauty, reminded me that we all have a season. Like the leaves on the trees we change, we fall down, and we grow back. More importantly, we have good strong roots to help ground us and weather any storm. I felt alive when running there. 

The second

I wish I had gotten a chance to run more. I did two runs. One was incredibly great and just made me feel alive, but it was COLD! I started my run as the sun began rising and it was incredible. I regret not having my phone with me to take pictures. But, it wasn't about stopping and taking photos. It was about reconnecting with myself and getting a chance to "run it out." I mentioned before I was depressed before the retreat. Truth be told, I'm still dealing with it, but I feel like it's not so heavy anymore. That run gave me that. My run gave me clarity and with each mile I ran, my life path seemed clearer to me again. 

One thing I really wished we had had time for was to go inside this library we stumbled upon. I don't regret it though because I know I'll be back. Plus, we went to so many indie bookstores that it would be silly of me to be upset over that one little library. I did get a picture though and pretend to put

something in the book return box.


 On day 1,  the first thing I noticed as we were going into town to have lunch was Raven Used Books. It smelled like old books, coffee, and dust. Exactly, what I believe Heaven to smell like. It was very difficult for me not to be the weirdo breathing deeply as if I were hyperventilating in an effort to smell all the books. But, I controlled myself and only managed to by one book for my middle son who loves books as much as his mom.

While I was there I finished this really great memoir titled Son of A Gun by Justin St. Germain. I won't go into detail to avoid giving it away, but it's well written story by the son of a woman who was killed. It's poignant, thought provoking, and definitely a good read. I also read a few chapters of Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin and the November issue of O Magazine. What can I say? I'm a girl who likes to read.

It's Not Being Polite, It's Being Who They Are

So something has been niggling at the corner of my brain since yesterday afternoon when I picked up my two youngest from a birthday party. It was the first birthday party I have ever dropped them off and not stayed. I know! I've never done that. Ever. I've always stayed to talk with the other parents and keep an eye on my kiddos. But, they're getting older and I trusted the environment so I felt okay about letting them go alone, especially since they were surrounded by people who have become a part of my surrogate family.

When I picked them up yesterday, one of the other moms came up to me. I'd never seen this woman so when she came stalking up to me, I almost went into bitch mode expecting her to start some shit. For all I knew, one of my boys had made her kid cry or something. Not that I have boys who do that, but I'd never left them alone at a party so I prepared for the worst and hoped for the best. Color me surprised when she started raving about my middle son who gave up his seat at the table for her daughter. I wasn't surprised he had given up his seat. I was surprised at how floored this woman was by it. She went on and on and on... that I honestly though this was going to happen:

And then she asked me: how do you do it? How you teach boys to be polite? I can't even make my son not hit a girl.  And then I gave her this face:

After giving her that face for a good five to ten seconds (partly because she wants to make him polite and he hits girls), I told her I didn't know how I taught the boys how to be polite. Seriously, I don't. I can't explain our lifestyle. Yes, I taught the boys how to say please and thank you, open doors and pull out chairs for girls. But their politeness isn't something I taught them or make them do. Their father and I set examples when they were young and they picked up on it. The fact that my Seany insisted the girl have his chair, now that blew me away. Can you say proud mama moment?

But it was crazy, it was like she wanted me to write out a step by step instruction booklet on how to treat others. I mean, I could...a guide to treating people right and not dealing with their bitchassness either...hmm...

So anyway, all that has been niggling at the corner of my mind. When did we become a society that being polite, courteous, mindful, etc is the exception and not the norm? Why was this woman so surprised by my son's normal behavior? Why wasn't she baffled at the grown ass men who weren't giving up their seats for the moms juggling babies in one arm and a toddler on the other? Why was that behavior accepted as the norm and not the exception?

Either way, my sons are growing up to be the kind of young men I've always been proud of.

I Know Why I Run, I Know Why I Run With a Group

So today, I had that moment. That moment that most of us who run with a group experience at least once or twice or even a whole bunch of times when they run with a group. That "this is why I run with a group" moment. Today, I did the Walk Run Lead 5K with my run group, Black Girls Run. I came in last, dead last. Let that sink in for a moment. It hit me right around mile 2 that I wouldn't be finishing within my normal time frame of 40 minutes or so. And, I wanted to cry. This wasn't my first 5K, but my body was acting like it. There weren't a lot of participants so it was very clear to me that I was behind. Way behind.

There was one other woman (not with BGR) left on the trail. We were both keeping an eye on each other, slowing down, speeding up, staying in it together. Her name was Martina and she had been left behind by her husband. We quickly bonded and at that point, I stopped giving a damn about not hitting my time. We talked, we laughed, we commiserated. We enjoyed ourselves. We finished together, holding hands, laughing and smiling. We finished strong, we finished together with the help of my BGR sisters. Keisha came back and walked the last leg of the run with us. Ayeesha was at the finish line waiting. Others all greeted me when I made it over to where they were, telling me how good a job I did.

My group (along with Martina) made me feel good about my run. It wasn't about how fast I went or how long it took. It was about the fact that I made the commitment to complete it and stuck with it. It was the fact that I got my ass up on a Saturday morning at a quarter to dark thirty and went out for the run. I know who I am. I know that if I hadn't had my girls supporting me out there, I would have cried on my drive home, mad at myself for not being able to get out of my own head. It's funny because I was just talking with one of the girls before the race about how I left a different run group because I didn't feel supported. Whenever I would drag in last, no one was cheering me on for finishing. No one came back to run it out with me. No one smiled and patted me on the back. Instead, I felt judged and guilty for holding everybody up. There were many days I left that run group on the verge of tears because I felt like the kid in PE class that everyone groaned about when that kid was put on their team.

I didn't feel that way today. I've never felt that way with BGR! Whether they're cheering me on virtually or in person, they've got my back. I smiled on the way home as I thought of all the girls who passed me on the run cheering me on and giving me thumbs up. From "the turnaround is just up there" to "you got this girl" to the "keep it going chica" to the "get it girl", I felt loved and supported. I felt happy to be a part of this group. Even when I saw other BGR girls who weren't running the race, but were getting in their own runs, they encouraged me to keep going too.

That level of support is why I run in a group. That level of support is why I left smiling. That level of support is why I didn't feel like a failure. Because, I'm not. I'm an amazing woman and those women made me feel every ounce of that amazing today. These incredibly awesome women helped me learn how to be okay with where I finished and be proud of the fact that I finished.

Sure...Whatever...I Guess.

So here I am again trying to make peace with getting rid of my uterus. It's such an explosive topic for me. I've got a surgery date set, I've made plans for the boys, and I'm making arrangements for work. I'm even trying to get over my feelings of feeling _____________, I don't know I can't describe it. So everything is set to happen, things are moving right along and I'm on board with it. I guess.

One thing I'm not okay with are the people telling me it's no big deal and that I'm done having children so what does it matter. Seriously?! Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit! It's my fucking uterus and regardless if I'm done having children or I plan to populate a small island, it's MY uterus! MINE!!! Not yours! YOU don't have to have YOUR uterus taken from you. Keep in mind that this is a general rant and not a rant about you (yes you!) who is reading this). Anyway, yes, it's mine. I've had it for 31 years and while yes for more than half my life it's given me issues, it is STILL mine.

And, I'm not okay with this, but I need to get okay with it because it's happening. At this point (and yes I fully accept I let it get this bad), my uterus is pretty much trying to kill me. Like seriously, holding me at gunpoint and forcing me to choose life. I know! Stupid, little bitch was exactly what I said too. But don't let me hear you calling her a stupid, little bitch because she's MY stupid, little bitch and only I have SLB name calling privileges. Again, anyway... this has to happen. I'm trying to accept this. Accept that I can no longer cancel in the 11th hour. So this is happening.  Unless of course a miracle happens and it's revealed that not only is my personality awesome, but I'm also self regenerating and my body rejects the fuckery that my uterus is putting me through and cures itself.

So yeah... my work husband thinks a party is in order where we serve bloody Marys. I laughed so hard when he said that, I snorted. So disgustingly gross, but hilarious. I don't know. Maybe. Perhaps even a little repass or mini funeral for my uterus. Ooh, I could probably get a death wreath too! But then I wonder if that would be mocking the dead? I don't know. And what kind of eulogy do you give a uterus?

Friends and family, we're gathered here to say goodbye to the one thing in Makita's life dedicated to making her miserable--her uterus. There were good times. There were bad times. There were times where she made Makita cry with joy and times where she made Makita curse her six ways from Sunday. Makita affectionately liked to call her a stupid, little bitch. Boy, was she good at living up to that role and giving her all to earning that name. But, we cannot forget nor downplay the beauty she had a hand in in helping Makita to bring forth children. Such a mixed bag she was. One moment Makita's best friend, the next her worst enemy. So it is with mixed emotions, we gather to say goodbye you stupid, little bitch may you rest in peace so that Makita can.

 Hmm... that wasn't too bad for off the top of my head. I just need to do something to make peace with my beautiful uterus who gave me 3 wonderful children and saying goodbye to her. That isn't too morbid or make people think I'm way too far gone. 

*Untitled*

So this post has no title simply because I couldn't think of one that fully expressed everything I wanted to say. I'm back from my Fall retreat trip with thirteen amazing women. I'm not going to talk much about the trip because I felt like we reached a level of intimacy that is sacred. Yes, intimacy. Get your mind out of the gutter! The definition of intimacy is not just sexual intercourse. It's actually a close familiarity or friendship. And that's what I feel like I found on this trip. It could have been awkward, it could have been a number of things, but it wasn't. It was comfortable. It was warm. It was something special that I could never fully express. To put it simply, it was something you just had to be there to get.

Warning: The next paragraph or so may be a trigger for some. So proceed with caution. 

One thing I will talk about is my depression. My depression over the past few months had been building. To the point where it felt heavy and impossible to carry. You know that feeling you get of uncomfortable fullness when you over indulge yourself on a rich, heavy meal like during Thanksgiving? Or Christmas or Easter? When you've eaten so much, you can't bear to move because you're uncomfortably full. Well, that's how my depression felt. Except, there wasn't the level of satisfaction of having enjoyed a really delicious meal. There was only shame and disgust I felt. Angry at myself for feeling how I felt and shamed of myself for trying to hide it for the sake of others. I felt like a stranger living in my body. I didn't know myself or what had happened to me. Where had I gone?

The only thing I did know for certain was that I wanted to cut Makita out. To bring her back to the forefront. Whoa...cut? Yes. This may be the first time I've publicly acknowledged this and I know many of you will not understand. And that's okay. It's not my job, nor burden to explain it. It took a lot of time for me to understand that. I've been a cutter off and on since I was about 15 years old. Even if I tried to explain the reasoning behind it and what it does for me, I wouldn't know how. Plus, that's not a burden I want to unload on friends. That's something for my therapist to help me with. So, please don't feel pressured to try to help me.

So anyway, my depression built up so much that I wanted to cut myself loose. Boy, did I want that "relief". The good thing is I've spent a lot of time in counseling, both individually and in a group setting, where I've learned what my triggers are. The signs, the gestures, the things that set me off. And, how to see when I'm on the edge. And because of that, I have a plan in place. That plan saves me. It saved me this time. I haven't cut in over 3 years and I'm dedicated to going the distance. Unfortunately, there isn't a chip or token for "sobriety" for cutters, so I usually buy myself something extravagant to reward myself. Last year was a crazy shopping spree at Half Priced Books. This year I'm not sure what I want, but I know I want it. To stay "sober".

So the retreat helped a lot. Don't worry, before the retreat I'd started seeing my therapist twice a week to help me manage. And I'll start back again with her now that I'm home. But something during the retreat simply opened me up. I spent one afternoon in bed alternating between crying and sleeping before finally jumping out of bed and going for a short run to help release it all. I still feel heavy, but no longer uncomfortably full or weighed down. I feel like Makita is finding her way back to the surface on her own and is breaking free instead of being cut out.

Rolling down a hill of leaves. I can see her peeking through, can you?

I feel good. I know I'm going to be okay.

I Feel Like I'm Going to BURST Out of My Skin

This is me today:

And this:

Today is just KICKING ASS!!!! Will Smith's crazy stare ain't fixed to steal my sunshine either!

I'm just feeling great! I got a merit raise today, all my accounts are behaving, my boys are good, AND I leave for vacation tomorrow!! Yes!!! A child free vacation for a WHOLE WEEK! I get a chance to make new connections with old friends and new friends. AND!!!! My boss approved my week off as holiday time off. So I'll still get paid as if I were here. Essentially, I'm using my floating holiday time. Super, super happy!!!

Never mind the fact that I'm so tired I just want to crawl under my desk and nap. But meh, I can survive a few more hours.

So Much To Do, So Little Time

In a few days, I'm leaving for a retreat and I swear the packing is driving me crazy. I'm trying to pack light, but man is that hard! Even knowing that their is a washer and dryer at the house isn't helping. I'm so excited for a real Fall that I want to pack ALL my sweaters and ALL my boots. I've managed to narrow it down and remove a lot of things from my suitcase, but the whole experience just made me think of how there is always something to do and never enough time.

For instance, I still need to clean the bathrooms, kitchens, empty the house of all trash, clean out the fridge, pack the boys up for their dad's house, double check meds, finalize everything at work, make sure my emergency contacts have my info, notify my bank and apartment complex, update my iPod to make sure I have my running mix, travel mix, alone time mix, and happy mood mix, AND I still need to choose the books I want to take with me. (Right now, I'm thinking Oprah's What I KNow for Sure, Clash of Kings, and Son of a Gun, oh and the latest edition of O Magazine. Seriously, it's a lot of work, but I know I'll get it done. And whatever I don't get done...well, it'll be okay.

But all of that got me to thinking of how there is never what seems to be enough time in a day. Time is incredibly important to me. I've spent so much of my life wasting it. And by wasting it I mean not fully using it. I spent so much time being inactive, following a pattern that I was not an active participant in my life. I was alive, but I wasn't living. Time, to me, is the most expensive thing you can spend that can't be refunded. This is one of the main reasons why I dislike being late and people who have no regard for other people's time.

The Struggle is Real...REAL First World Problems!

So today, I remembered that I needed to update my iPod and my phone so I could have the music I've been practicing to on the trip with me. Oh, did I forget to mention I've moved over from Salsa and Bachata dancing over to West Coast Swing and Meringue? Oh well then, let me inform you now. Though I'm primarily doing WCS. Anyway, this reminded me that I hadn't yet downloaded iTunes onto my new computer. Yep, got rid of my 1993 beast of a computer and upgraded to one built this decade.

So I go to download it and once I did, I decided to use the feature that allows you to download all of the music you've purchased before. Now look, I'm real about mine. Yes, I have downloaded some stuff on the low, but I'm also a firm believer in supporting artists you enjoy. I believe in this so much that I've spent the better part of a day downloading over 5000 songs I've purchased over the years. That's just music I purchased! That doesn't include the CDs I've uploaded or the songs I've added to my library. I honestly don't even have the heart to add those songs to my new computer because I'm looking at close to 15,000 songs. Lawd!!!! That's a LOT of music!

Most of the music can be attributed to my ex who liked to fancy himself a DJ in his spare time. Times like this I miss him because he was the one who had the patience to go through my music collection and upload all of my CDs and ill gotten songs and add them to the library. I wonder if he'd do it now if I ask nicely...nah, I'm good.

So here I sit...I'm lying. I actually just took a break from dancing to write this blog post, lol. Anyway, I started this chore during my lunch break today I've barely broken even on the songs I still need to download.

You know what, maybe I should have only downloaded the songs I planned to add to my iPod...le sigh. First world problems

Why is YOUR Time More Valuable Than Mine?!

There are few things in life that piss me off more than having my time wasted. Time is the most expensive thing we spend that cannot be refunded. My time is very valuable to me. I hate having it wasted, especially when it is through no fault of my own.

Today, two instances occurred in which my time was wasted. The first occasion was with my OB/GYN who was running a little late because he'd just delivered a baby. That I can understand and accept. Babies move on their own time and refuse to be rushed so really I'm okay with that. And, since he apologized and I got to eat two delicious fruit bars while I waited, I can't complain. But some doctors are just assholes about it. As if because they have fifty leven degrees in their name, we're supposed to just suck it up and deal with it.

I hate going to the doctor with a passion. Why? Because I'm always being told something I don't want to hear and I always have to wait long past my appointment time just to hear it. I got bad news today, but meh I'm always getting bad news so it's whatever. And the fruit bars made up for it.

The other instance in which my time was wasted was during a parent teacher conference that never happened. Not because I didn't show up 10 minutes on time. Side note: I truly loathe the "CP time" stereotype. That's "colored people time" for those of you who don't know. It's a stereotype about how black people are always late. Well, not me. I am pretty much always on time. Sometimes, I'm more than 30 minutes early. Being late is a pet peeve of mine because it shows a lack of respect for the other person or people waiting on you. Now, I don't mind the person who is late occasionally, but the habitual line stepper who is always late drives me nuts. The only time I don't keep to a schedule is when I'm on vacation.

Anyway, back to the second instance. My middle son's teacher was not only late, she was a no show. Now, school protocol is this:

Due to security concerns, all doors are locked before, during, and after school. If you are meeting with a teacher after school hours, please check in with the front office and WAIT for the teacher to come and escort you to the classroom for the meeting.

That is STRAIGHT from the parent handbook. And, when I got there it is exactly what the principal told me to do. Now look, this ain't my first rodeo. I've had kids in this school for the last three and a half years. I know procedure. And after the poor babies got gunned down at Sandy Hook, shit has got real  real at the boys school. I, for one, who is known to have a temper issue is not fixed to fuck around and break protocol. I follow directions, but I also follow what is in my heart and gut. My gut, my heart, and the principal told me to stay put and wait.

So I did.

And continued to wait...

After 15 minutes our appointment should have started, I left. Mind you, we got there at 3:30pm. Our appointment was at 3:45pm. I left at 4pm. At that point, we'd been waiting 30 minutes and had paged her twice.

I won't lie and say I was in the best mood, I was pleasant. But realistically, I had been waiting 30 minutes with two tired kids, and my uterus was being a bitch (but come on, who could blame her. She'd been poked and prodded like a slab of beef just a few hours earlier). So I so kindly let the school administrative assistant know that we were going home and that his teacher could call me to reschedule.

Guess who called me as I was parking my car in front of my apartment? Yep, his teacher. This woman had the nerve to ask me to turn back around because she was waiting on me. Excuse me?! Waiting on ME?!  I nicely informed her that we had been waiting for her for 30 minutes in the office and that she was the one who didn't show up. She replied with "well then why didn't you come to my classroom if you were on campus?" to which I told her because when it comes to the safety of my children and other children I FOLLOW PROTOCOL. Then!!!! She had the nerve to get ignant (yes, past the point of ignorant and indignant) with me and tell me I had wasted her time.

I had to stop a minute and pray to my Heavenly Father not to jump through the phone and smack the taste out of her mouth. Who does that?! And where?! No ma'am! This is not how I was raised.

I told her through gritted teeth that she would need to reschedule the conference with his father and told her to stay blessed and hung up. It was all I could do from breaking into a screaming rant.

Lawd jeezus, I am not the one! Why do some people feel like their time is more valuable?

Either My Oldest is Evil or I'm She Hulk...

 

So this morning my oldest son and I did The Color Run. Actually, he ran it and I walked it with my person Gwen. Gwen was working with a recovering ankle and I was working with a busted uterus (I'll explain another day) so we walked it and talked and just had a good time. Since Cameron wanted to run it (he runs track during the Summer for the city), he clearly finished ahead of us. So imagine my surprise when he met us towards the finish line.

I thought "oh look at my sweet boy coming back to finish with his Mama"...

I was wrong! This boy came back so he could douse me with a shit ton of green color. Now yes, I know the whole point of the run is for me to get drenched in color but who drenches their Mama?! I'll tell you who! My oldest son! Little monster covered my entire back with green powder! So much so that I spent 30 minutes in the shower trying to get back to my natural skin tone. But nooooo I'm stuck with this damn green color. I look like I'm fixed to Hulk out any moment now. Not to mention, the driver seat inside Bea (my car) is green, blue, pink, and purple...yay for forgetting to bring a towel.

You know what though? I had a great time. Cameron and I got up early for first breakfast (you runners know what I mean) and got to have a nice talk about girls, school, expectations. And, I got to cleanse my soul by talking with my person (you Grey's Anatomy fans know what I mean). And now that we're about to enjoy second breakfast, I have another moment to bond with my boy.

One really cool thing that happened is that I ran into Ona (forgive me if I butchered your name) at the race and that reminded me that if I wanted to stay apart of BGR! (Black Girls Run!) I need to keep my Facebook account because it's how we communicate. I thought about creating another account, but I'm too lazy for all that. And since FB wouldn't let me delete my account, I'll keep it so I can keep up with BGR! The group has truly been a lifesaver and kept my interest with running up. So sorry folks, don't get excited and expect to see activity on my account. Nope, still no interest in maintaining a personal FB account.

Why Am I Always the Bad Guy?

Every person in my household under the age of 18 is in trouble. The whole crew is grounded. No TV, no phone, no music, no books, no toys, no video games. Nothing. And I hate it as much as they do. I hate being the bad guy and always having to put my foot down. I know it's for the best. But that doesn't mean I have to feel good about it.

My oldest son lost his mind and decided to go in MY room and get his cell phone and use it after I took it from him last night and told him he was not to use it until I gave it back. He done lost his damn mind over this little girl he keeps texting. Well, now I've put a quick stop to that by going over to her house. Yes, I did! And talking with her mother and showing her mother the kind of stuff she's been sending my son. She's ELEVEN YEARS OLD!!! I am a grown ass thirty-one year old woman and I for damn sure wouldn't even fix my lips to say some of the mess she's spitting out at her age. This can't be life! Of course, my son now hates me. Yadda, yadda, yadda tell me something I don't know little boy. And her mother was giving her an earful when we left. Now, look, I know preteens are going to want to hold him and call themselves dating, hell I even did it. But no ma'am! No sir! I already told y'all I'm not about that 35 year old grandma life. That is not about to happen. The bottom line is he is TOO YOUNG to be thinking about a girlfriend. He needs to focus on transitioning into 6th grade and middle school. Cause if I'm keeping it one hundred, he's struggling. It doesn't help that he's got several learning disabilities and I'm starting to think he might be dyslexic as well. And, I know none of that isn't important to him. He wants to be cool. He wants to get girls. But what he's going to get is an education. End of story. He can be cool when he's a college graduate. He can get girls when he's supporting himself in his own house. *sigh*

Now, my middle son. Lawd! I thought I was golden with this one. Quiet, reads all the time, eats all his dinner, and helps clean up nightly. Welp, I was wrong. This child has not been turning in his math or reading homework since August 27th. School started on the 26th! A whole month. A whole damn month this child has turned in little to no homework. This can't be life! Despite the fact that I check his homework with him nightly and see him put it in his backpack every single day, he has not been turning it in! Where they do that at?! And why?! I swear if it's not one thing it's another. At least I'm still the only girl he wants in his life and he's got his mind on them books and off them girls.

Don't even get me started on my youngest son! Lawd, have mercy upon my soul! When my mama cursed me with "I hope you have one just like you ten times worse", she cursed me good. This child is destroying me. Every single day it's something new from attitude to tantrums to wilding out like he has no home training. I just can't! This can't be life! I honestly can't for the life of me figure out why he's acting like Rosemary's baby instead of my child who was so excited to go to Kindergarten he couldn't sleep. Where did that child go?! Cause this one who sleeps on those Spiderman sheets cannot be my baby! He just can't be.

And here we are Friday night with two of the three doing homework they haven't been doing or redoing tests they failed and the last one sitting in his room quietly staring out the window. You know what should be happening right now? We should be getting a knock on the door for a pizza delivery and getting ready to queue up a movie for pizza and movie night. We should be putting on our jammies and brushing our teeth before we spoil ourselves with popcorn and candy. But noooooooo, I've got to be strict and stick to my guns and make sure missed assignments get done and be a fun killer.

Yay...

Texting Girls?! Where They Do That At? Cause It Ain't in THIS House!

So imagine my surprise this afternoon when I came home to find my oldest son grinning ear to ear. The kid who has been in a shitty mood for weeks..yeah, THAT kid! This post is brought to you by the letter H and the letters T and A for hormones and teenage angst. So anyway, this kid just has this huge kool-aid smile all over his face. He's glowing! He'd taken out the trash, cleaned his room, and taken out the chicken from the freezer to defrost. What could have gotten into my baby? Had I been spared teenage angst? Had the hormones left him and turned him back into my sweet boy?

Nope. He was texting. A girl!!! Um what?! First, let's move past the fact that his phone is NOT for him to be texting his friends all willy nilly. And he damn sure shouldn't be texting any girls! Not in THIS house! No sir! No ma'am! I'm 31 years old and I have no plans whatsoever to be anybody's grandma before I turned 50. Real talk! I am not about that 35 year old grandma life!

Now yes, I know I'm jumping the gun and already got this child making babies off of a few texts. I know, I'm paranoid. But let's back up to these texts. No they weren't sexual or inappropriate. They were actually quite sweet, but I'm not about that right now. Anyway, he knows he's not allowed to have a girlfriend or go out on dates.

                                    

Now get this...this child asked this little girl out on date to the school dance next Friday night! Where they do that at?! Please believe I was on that Tamar Braxton level when I read that mess!

 NO SIR!!! You are NOT taking Little Miss Sunshine to the school dance and you damn sure ain't fixed to have her as a girlfriend either!

Although, I did have an inkling of a heart and ask his dad if he could take his son to the dance since I'm out of town next Friday to start my vacation. Because besides the fact he didn't ask one of us first OR even ask if he could go AND he wasn't supposed to be texting to begin with--I didn't want to embarrass him. I know it had to have taken a lot of courage for him to ask her, especially since he's introverted and a bit shy. And, he called her and asked her over the phone instead of texting her. He told her he had something important to ask her and asked if he could call. (Awww, I'm raising him right)

Anyway, the dance is actually on the 17th. Which means he has 16 days to convince me why I should let him go. Alone. Or wait a minute! Since I'll be back in town that night, who says I can't put on my dancing shoes and go too? Who wouldn't me on their arm as a date?! I look damn good and I'm a great dancer!

What Does It Mean to Connect?

Something that has been heavily on my mind since I made the decision to leave Facebook is connection. I goofed earlier today and did a factory reset without backing up my contacts and that forced me to get back on FB in order to leave a post asking people to text me their numbers. Well, that opened me up to text messages of disbelief, why and how could, and would I be joining another social media site like Google+. And, sadly some people thought I was breaking up with them. Like I mentioned yesterday, just because I'm leaving a site doesn't mean I'm severing our connection.

I see it like this, I moved a shit ton of times when I was a kid. Yet, I still maintained those connections. And gasp! there was no such thing as FB back then. Hell, the internet was barely around. I think Facebook (to be honest) is a great way to keep in touch with someone. But, I also think it gives people the means to be lazy. No, hear me out. I have met and kept up with some amazing people online. But (and I know it's NOT  just me who does this) I have managed to keep up my connections with these people offline. I have a friend who in the course of the 5 or more years we've known each other who has moved over from the East Coast to the West Coast keep in contact with me on the regular despite the fact we've never met face to face. So it's possible.

This isn't to give anyone who uses FB any shit. I'm just tired of people giving me shit about it. I truly don't have any future plans to return. Yes, it's true I tend to leave and come back, but I just can't do that anymore. Yeah, I'd like to keep up with everyone, but I just can't do it anymore. The older I get, the more introverted I'm becoming and I just want to be alone.

So what does it mean to connect? For me connection is any means of keeping in touch, but not left solely to only one form. This is not the 1700s where folks only had horseback riders and pigeons to carry messages.

In Other News: How to Tell Your Kindergartner Their Pencils Kind of Look Like ...

This is why kids in Kindergarten shouldn't have homework. My youngest son is working on math for homework. Today's problem: If you have six (6) pencils and you give four (4) to your friend, how many pencils do you have left? Draw your answer. We were doing great until it came time to draw the pencils....

Poor kiddo, I made him redraw his pencils about 3 or 4 times before finally giving up and doing it myself and letting him color it in. It's not that they looked like male genitals, it's that they looked EXACTLY like male genitals. Yep. Six of them.

So what do you say in this situation: Sorry son, but your pencils look like some dude's junk?

Well, I very tactfully (I hope it was tactfully) kept encouraging him to draw the shaft (is that even what you call the length of a pencil?!) thinner and not so fat and to not draw the eraser so big...or to put the line that separate the shaft(?) part from the eraser in the middle so that it doesn't look like two erasers (or you know, like testicles...).

The good news though is he didn't make the connection at all. So it really just means I'm becoming a dirty old lady...or a 15 year old boy.

Well If I Have to Communicate...

I quit Facebook (yes, again) for good (yes, seriously). Long story short, I honestly just can't be bothered with it anymore. And, for some people their world just imploded. Am I that important? No. But some people seem to think so. I can't even begin to tell you how many people have called/emailed/texted me since I quit. Oh wait, I can. I can actually count on one hand how many people reached out to me in some form. But, the number of people who actually caught an attitude because I decided I no longer wanted to be on social media? That number is astounding. The idea that I do something that helps my mental health is preposterous.

I always find it amusing when people take personal offense to someone else doing something that doesn't harm them in anyway. How does me removing myself hurt anyone? Does it break connections? No. Because if there was a true connection, then the connection could not be broken. Personally, I have people in my life who have been my friend since elementary school that I have only spoken to a few times over the years, yet our connection remains strong. I refuse to believe that Facebook is the only way to communicate with someone. Especially, if you have my phone number, address, email address, or a reader of my blog. The idea that social media is easier to keep up with someone is somewhat true, but that doesn't mean it's the only way. Besides, I've always been more in sync with those who understand the beauty of a phone call, the gesture of a letter, the simpleness of an email.

And honestly, it's nice to be missed. Who doesn't like being missed? But the attitude and anger I've gotten over my decision as if I kicked their dog is ridiculous. I'm just not interested in social media anymore, of any kind. Blogging is probably the most effort I'll put into maintaining an online presence moving forward. So if you want to keep up with me, well here I am.

The Struggle With Being Strong

This has been on my mind for a few weeks now, but I've been too busy to sit down and write it all out.

I hate being strong. There, I've said it. What, why?! Trust and believe, I understand that it's a compliment, a testament to how I inspire others. A single mom of three boys who knows firsthand what it's like to stand in line in the rain waiting for a food pantry to open, exactly how it feels when you have to sell off furniture to make rent, the pain of having to beg someone who repeatedly hurts you for help just to survive, and knows the reality of simply not being enough. Yep, that's me. And did I mention I've done all this why managing my mental health? Yep. Truth is, I don't know how I do it. I just do. So many people call me strong, but I wouldn't call myself that. If anything, I'm survivor. I simply refuse to be a victim. I refuse to give up. I don't know how to just give up. I'm not of the mind to "let go and let God." I see it like this, God made me who I am by equipping me with a strong sense of survival. And that's exactly what I do. Survive. Yes, I know, I know it's strength. But I hate being called "strong".

Why? Because it makes me feel like I'm not allowed to be weak. Like I'm not allowed to have meltdowns and feel overwhelmed. Because believe me, I do. When my body stops being on the same page as my mind, I feel weak. When trying to juggle my busy schedule of  being a single mom plus sole breadwinner collide, I feel overwhelmed. And sometimes I just can't do it all. I'm human! Society has this grand idea that moms are supposed to be able to do everything. But wait a minute, aren't women supposed to be the weaker sex? So when everything doesn't get done, I find myself feeling like shit. But, wait I'm not supposed to feel that way because I'm mom. I'm super human. I'm supposed to be able to do every single damn thing all while wearing a smile.

The truth of the matter is sometimes my children eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with fruit and a glass of milk for dinner instead of a well balanced home cooked meal. Sometimes I just say fuck it and put on a movie for my kids so I can catch a nap instead of taking them to the park for quality family time. Sometimes I wait until we only have condiments and crackers to go grocery shopping instead of making sure my pantry is fully stocked at all times.

Sometimes I cry in the shower. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep. Sometimes I cry in my car. Sometimes I just simply acknowledge I am not some superhuman machine and that I am weak.

Now this doesn't take away from my accomplishments or the fact that I truly am making shit happen. No, it doesn't negate any of this. But, I hate that sometimes I fall victim to feeling like I have to do XYZ because this is what strong women do. No, it's not. I am a strong woman. I persevere.I go on. When the going gets tough, I just deal with it in the moment. It's who I am. I struggle with being strong, but I don't know any other way. And, I'm okay with that.

The Fault in Our Stars Review

I don’t know if you know this about me, but as much as I love to read I don’t do reviews. I simply don’t. It’s very rare that I write them now that I’m over the age of 13 and they are no longer required for a grade. Chillax. I’m not saying people who write reviews are wasting their time. I actually really appreciate those people because they  spare me the burden of having to put my thoughts to paper on a book.

Something you may know about me, my reading is personal. I tend to get overly involved in the lives of the characters I read. I cry, laugh, smile, and kick ass with them. When their friend or family dies, I feel it right there with them. Hell, I’m still mourning the death of Madoc of Powys who delighted me in A Moment in Time by Bertice Small. A book from 1991. And don’t even get me started on Kisten from The Hollows series by Kim Harrison. My heart still hurts over that like it happened yesterday.
 

So anyway, my reading is personal. I have no problem discussing a book, its characters, its plot, what the author was trying to say, etc. But when it comes to sitting down and actually reviewing about and saying while I loved or hated it. Unless, I really really hated it. It’s simply something I don’t do. I like to keep my characters to myself and let others decide for themselves whether that character does it for them. 

If you follow me on Goodreads, you’ll see me rate books with the star rating and that’s it. This might also be why it’s taken me almost 2 years to finish writing THE REVIEW for my friend Phil on a series he loaned to me. Seriously, it’s turned into pretty much a book report. In my defense, it started off as a joke between my friend Gwen and I. Phil is very passionate. Goodness that man is so passionate it drives me crazy (the good kind of crazy). I love how enthusiastic he is and how he lights up from the inside when he loves something. It reminds me of one of my boys when they get a new gift. Anyway, he asked me nearly every single time I saw him what I thought of so and so and this scene and that scene. To the point where I just said to Gwen “you know what? I’m going to write him a report. Typed and double spaced. And put it all in a binder.” The idea was brilliant. Especially since I know he would actually read it. And I still plan to do it. One day. Anyway, it’s very rare that I’ll write a review. 

So anyway, countless people have asked me from friends to coworkers to what I think about The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.  Because I needed a blog post for today and I legitimately felt like answering it, below is my review:

The Fault in Our Stars

Have you ever cried to the point where your stomach hurt? To the point where you felt so weak and utterly exhausted? To where you just felt completely empty? Drained of all emotion? This is what TFOS did to me. It left me raw. I finished the book around 12am and it took me an hour or two to fall asleep after I closed the book and placed it on my bookshelf. It’s not that TFOS made me cry. Or that it made me smile. It made me reflect. My dad died of cancer similar to one of the characters in the book and that broke me. I spent a lot of time thinking back on how I spent the last year of my Dad’s life. Was I like Hazel’s parents? Hovering, overly involved, annoying? Was I like Gus’s parents? Trying to let him live his life? Involved, but distant? To be fair, the book made me laugh way more than it made me cry. It’s a very honest, very raw account of what it’s like to live with cancer. Which I thoroughly enjoyed, especially since so many books get it wrong by telling the story of what it’s like to have cancer.  Big difference in my opinion. There were some “A-ha!” moments and some “seriously?!” moments to which all I enjoyed. I gave the book four out of five stars because honestly, I just haven’t read a book that meets my high standards in order to receive a five. Oh they are out there; I’ve read many of them, just not all of them. Anyway, the book was touching, sweet, sincere, and raw. The book touched me deeply to the point where I have no idea which direction I want to go next. 

Popping Squats: The New Way to Communicate

So at the end of March, I was talking to coworkers and we were lamenting over how much we sit all day. On average, I work 10 hour days, come home and log on for another 2-3 hours, and I unwind by watching 1-2 hours of TV. So let's say 13* hours a day I'm sitting. 13 x 5 (work week), that's 65 hours I'm sitting during the work week. On average, I sleep about 5 hours during the week. That's 25 hours. So of the 120 hours during the week, in the time that I'm awake which is 95 hours, I'm sitting for 65 of those hours. Seriously. WHAT THE FUCK?! Right?!

That means I'm only actively moving for 30 hours a week! That's crazy! I know! So I was like "Bob, that's re-damn-diculous! We need to fix that". So we started joking around about silly shit we could do to move more. And my genius self said "we should pop squats after every email we send". Everybody was like "Yeah!!! That sounds AWESOME! Let's do it!!" So we all made a pact that we would start popping squats after every email sent starting April 7th. We pushed the start date until then because I was going on vacation the next week and we all wanted to start together. Solidarity and all that jazz.

So come Monday, April 7th, we were ALL psyched about our new get fit program. Bob kicked it off, then I went next, one by one we all got into the routine. Ain't none of think that shit through! Nope. We were so busy thinking about how awesome we were that nobody did the math on how many emails would equal squats. At first we were all like "woo!!! squat time!" then by that 10th squat we were dragging a bit. Then by the time we made it to our 20th squat, I was like fuck this shit. But guess what? It was only 9am. YES!!! Only one damn hour had passed. And I still had until 5pm?! Hell to the naw! My body was BURNING!! So I tried to get creative, every customer who emailed me I picked up the phone and called them right away instead of sending an email. Hell, customers who were like Makita, you can just email. I was like nah, let me upload it to your page and you'll be able to access it that way. For real, by 10am I was crying out for Mary, Jesus, and Joseph. Shoot, I was crying out for that little lamb that be in half them Jesus paintings.

Random, but doesn't Jared Leto now look like Funny Jesus?

By 11am, my manager came over and asked us what we were doing. She said we had never made this many phone calls ever. Shoot, we were all giving the best customer experience that day. No email was not important that day! So we went back to the drawing board and decided that 1 email = 1 squat was re-damn-diculous and that 5 emails = 2 squats. Much better, much more doable. So now, I'm averaging about 20-25 squats throughout the day while at work. Next month we move up to 5 emails = 4 squats. Cause you know, you gotta keep progressing.


*Also includes time I am sitting down to a meal/driving/activities generally performed sititng

30 Day Fitness Challenge...Here We Go Again

Did I ever tell y'all how I have a serious addiction to workout DVDs? No, seriously, I'm not joking. I have everything from Sweating with the Spirit (yes, you read that right. Workouts set to gospel music) to damn near every single TaeBo workout ever made. Throw in some Pilates, Pole Dancing, Jillian Micheal's and every other workout you can think of. True story, they all work. I'd swear by each and every one of them. Have a lost weight using them? Yep. Do I enjoy doing them?

Well...

I do. Until the novelty wears out. But does that stop me from buying them, swearing this time will be different? Nope. But now, I've gotten addicted to these fitness memes going around. Especially all the 30 day challenge ones. Cause you know, 30 days is all it takes to get fit. Yep. In 30 days from now, your ass is going to be beach ready. Right...cause it only takes 30 days to undo all the bad habits you've developed over the years. As cynical as I am, I still love these things. I don't know why. I know I'm not going to be looking sick like Serena Williams in 30 days, yet I still do the daily goal. I give myself no false hope. I guess they're just fun. But here's where my addiction kicks in. I don't just stop once the 30 days is over. I keep going. Sometimes, I do the same 30 days challenge, sometimes I mix it up and start a new one. At times, I've done two in the same 30 day period. I'm currently doing the 30 day plank challenge and the 30 day little black dress challenge.

 Besides, saving a meme and then printing it out is a hell of a lot cheaper than buying another workout DVD.

Heaven help me if they ever start making DVDs of these 30 day challenges. Oh, wait. They do. And I already have like 6 of them. No further comment.

Today, My Heart Opened Up and I Cried

Today was such a bad day for me emotionally and physically. I woke up in a lot of pain from the retrolisthesis. What's that? I have a vertebrae in my lower back that is pushed inward instead of aligned with the rest of my spine. What does that mean? It means my hip and lower back take turns agonizing me. And sometimes, like today, they decide to play together. When my arm started tingling I had a panic attack. Which was definitely not good.

I started playing the What If game. Despite the fact that I just saw my orthopedic surgeon two days ago, I managed to work myself into a frenzy. Completely ignoring his "Makita, honey you're doing great! Look at all that new bone growing!" I'm healing very nicely, I can't believe it's been nearly six months since I went under for the surgery. It's crazy how time flies.

Anyway, back to my sucky day. So I was in pain physically and emotionally my heart felt drained. I miss my boys. Yes, I always miss my boys when they are with their father, but this weekend just seems LONG. And I know it's because of Easter and the fact I haven't spent Easter with them since 2010, but still it just kind of all ganged up on me today.

To make matters worse, my stupid bank sent me a new card all because they want to protect me from merchants with shitty security standards. Gee thanks bank. You know what would have been super helpful? If you had told ME ahead of time. Imagine my horror at trying to pay my bills online only to keep having my card declined. It didn't help that when I called my electric company, the representative was a total asshole. Thank you Everything Electricity, I will NOT be renewing with you. Anyway, I called the bank and they told me that they sent me a new card, but my current one should still be useable. Wrong. So I try to use my back up card. Guess what? It's also not working. I called them to find out what's happening because I can SEE MY MONEY in my account but I can't use. Guess what? Trying to get to a live person to speak to was like trying to find Waldo in a SuperBowl crowd. I got frustrated and started pushing buttons hoping one would connect me to a live person.

Wrong.

Somehow, I selected fraud activity and managed to deactivate that card. I lost my shit and just burst into tears. I'm now in physical pain, lonely, hungry, and penniless. I sat in the break room and just bawled. I cried because I was in pain. I cried because I was lonely. I cried because I was hungry. I cried because I was frustrated with the bank and myself for not carrying cash. I cried until I just couldn't cry anymore. And when I could, I cried some more.

The sad thing to me is not one single person stopped and asked me if I was okay. I work in building with at least two to three hundred people. Not one of them stopped.

Except my TSR, who is now my work husband.

He didn't say a single thing, just pulled me into his arms and let me cry. And it wasn't a pretty cry either. No, it was one of those body shaking cries that leaves you ready for a nap. He held me until I couldn't cry anymore, listened to me, and then gave me cash so I could do little things like get gas and food. To say I love this man would be an understatement. It's crazy because when we first started working together, he annoyed me. He's hyper at times. Okay, he's hyper ALL the time. But, he great. And he's a solid person. Most of all, he knows how much I hate asking for help. He knows how "strong" I like to be and not a damsel in distress. He knows my pride sometimes gets in my way. He knows my moods. He knows when to leave me alone and run for the hills. And when to comfort me and not to let me wander off alone.

He knows all that and still manages to me one of my very best friends.

I hate crying at work. Of all the places in the world, work in the last place I ever want to cry. I try to save my crying for my lunch break when I can go home and cry in solitude. Or at the very least my car where I can turn the volume all the way up and pretend I'm invisible.

Today, my heart opened up and I cried. And I had a friend to help me through it.

I'm Tired, Really Tired

Brace yourself. Seriously, brace yourself. Okay, then whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you!

*ahem* I'm tired of eating meat.

I told you to brace yourself.

I don't know if it's a phase or what. I've done the vegetarian lifestyle before and it went well. I stopped because I just got tired of not eating meat. I want to be like oh, I'm going vegetarian for _____ and_____ and of course_____. But real talk, I'm just tired of eating meat. This feeling of being over meat started a few months ago. I've been trying to push that dirty little thought to the back of mind ever since, but the more time passes the more it's ebbing itself into my daily life.

I've been skipping meat several times a week lately. Don't get me wrong, I've knocked out a cow or two and several little piggies in the last few months, but not like I used to. Meat still tastes wonderfully delicious (drool), but honestly I'm just not that into it right now.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just hormonal right now. Maybe this will be a meatless phase. We'll see.

And, please spare me " oh do it do it!! it was the best decision I ever made...." song and dance. I've never been one of those people to do something because it worked my sister's cousin's baby daddy's auntie. Nope.

Feel Like I'm Slacking

Maybe because I am? Usually I feel like the hardest working mom in single momhood, but not lately. Usually, I'm so stressed trying to juggle work, family, friends, Makita time, etc. I wish I could say something has changed, but it honestly hasn't. Wait, it has. I know what's changed. I've learned to start living in the moment and just go with the flow.

Don't get me wrong, I still bust my ass. Boys need some project or goodie for school? Better believe my ass is up until midnight or later making sure they have it. A work project still pending? Yep, I'm logging in at night once the boys are settled and putting in another 4 hours at minimum. It's true, I work hard for the life I've created for me and the boys.

But now, I play hard too. I've gotten better at setting boundaries for myself. It's midnight and I still need a dozen more cupcakes? Guess what? Store bought cupcakes won't kill them. 11pm and I still have another account to scrub? Oh well, that customer will survive another day without it.

Life is just too short for me to waste all my time doing things that pull me away from the important stuff. Like simply enjoying my children. When I think about it, I spend at least 40 hours a week at work. This does not include the time 4-5 hours I put in after I get home and the boys are settled. When I think about it, I spend less time than a week with the boys. Weekends not included as I have to alternate the weekends with their dad. Think about it. I drop the boys off at school about 7:30, I don't pick them up from daycare until about 5:30 (on a good day). So truly, I only spend about 3 waking hours with the boys from the time I pick them up until bedtime to have family time. Which includes homework, activities, and dinner. Then I get them up the next morning at 6:30. The hour in the morning (except for my middle who has to get up at 6 because of his awesome turtle skills) is spent getting ready for the day, fixing homework errors, and breakfast. So let's add that up, that's only 24 hours a week, give or take.

I know. I try not to let the time deficient bother me most days. Actually, I try to rectify it most days by surprising the older two at school by having lunch with them and volunteering for events at school. With my younger, we have our special "it's supposed to be a secret, but 5 years old can't keep secrets" donut day. On these days, I go into work a little later so I can spend more time probing the wonders only a 5 year old mind can truly appreciate. And on the weekends they are with me, I do my best to unplug from work completely and not even touch my work laptop. For the most part, I do a great job.

So yeah, I'm slacking I guess. Slacking at the non important and focusing more on the important. That's a feeling I can get used to.

Life is Meant to be Lived

In March of 2010, I tried to kill myself. I know. Relax. You're probably thinking "what?! why?! how could you?! what about your children?!"

Am I right? Yep. I know.

I tried to kill myself and I was successful. But wait a minute Makita, how in the hell were you successful if you're still here talking about it today? I was successful in that I killed off the demons that have clung to me since I was a child. I've always known I was a bit different. The ability to blend in a crowd and stand out in a crowd. The ability to make others feel so at home while also alienating others. The mean girl? The angry one? The one that knew just what scathing remark to make to cut someone down to their very core? Yes, that one. I killed her. Underneath all that anger was a scared little girl who wallowed in depression and confusion. Scared to ask for help, unsure of where to even seek it, and slowly but surely killing herself from the inside out. My meanness was my defense mechanism. I disguised it as strength. Never let them get to close. Never let them see you sweat. Never let them know your tears fall hard and silent when no one is looking. Never let them see you for who you really are.

That poor girl was hurting. She was hurting so much that she finally had had enough of the pain and decided to let go. Her life was in shambles. She felt she was hurting others more than she was helping, especially her own children. How could she take care of her children when she couldn't take care of herself. So one night after being screamed at for being a weak person, she laid down with a bottle of pills and convinced herself she was weak and that those in her life would be better off without her.

Though that wasn't the night she died. She died after that night.

It was through that act of trying to kill myself that I learned how to live by getting rid of that girl and her demons. Though I had been in therapy for years, it wasn't until I had my own "a-ha" moment (as Mama Oprah likes to call them) that I accepted and clearly understood I need to let go of the hurt and start living my life in the moment. I went onto divorce my husband, nurse my oldest through his first bout with a blood disorder, go through financial hardships, deal with my grief, face prison time (no, I didn't go...the charges were dropped), and survive surgery on my spine. When I say I've been through some shit. I mean I've been through some shit. Life has not always been kind to me. When that girl inside me was still alive with her demons, I would have fallen into the deepest depression to cope. Or lashed out at everyone around me to stop them from seeing me weak.

But that girl is dead. She died the night I accepted I wanted more from life. I wanted more from ME. I wanted more for my children. I wanted more for MYSELF. I deserve more.

I know this post came out of left field. I'm actually sitting at the airport in Orlando, ready to board a flight home with my boys. I surprised them with a trip to Universal Orlando. I'm sitting here watching several children and their families get off a flight and they are all with a Make a Wish Foundation. My heart hurts. For those children. For their parents. For everyone whose lives they have touched. And I am reminded that life is meant to be lived. That is what those children are doing. They are living their lives to the fullest while they still have the ability to do so. I adopted that motto for myself not long ago. I want to live life. I want to experience every single moment from the good to the bad. To the heartwarming to the heart wrenching.

Life is meant to be lived. Live it!

Hypoglycemia...It's A Different World Than Where I Come From

So today, I spent the day on the sofa with Dwayne Wayne and Whitley Gilbert. This morning I was hit with a very nasty case of hypoglycemia. I had to fast for more blood work, ironically to determine where I am with my fight against pre-diabetes and the Vitamin D deficiency. After having my blood drawn, I went onto work and stopped in at the cafeteria and got a simple breakfast of some yogurt, eggs, and turkey bacon. I know you're thinking, what the hell Makita turkey bacon?! Yes, unfortunately the bacon at work is borderline disgusting so I generally go with turkey bacon because it's edible and actually tastes like food. Anyway, I didn't really think the whole fasting thing through. I had a super intensive Sunday with 3 hours of dance preceded by an hour walk. So I should have at the very least feasted like a damn king. But, I was so worried about my blood results that I had a light dinner, took my medicine for moderating my blood sugar, and called it a night. Big mistake. I woke up around 2am with a stomach ache but I didn't pay it much mind. I tend to not sleep well when my kids are with their dad anyway, so I chalked it up to anxiety and missing them and went back to sleep. Actually, I watched an episode of Modern Family and then went back to sleep.

So this morning at work, after all was said and done, I started feeling light headed and couldn't focus. My lovely coworker went and grabbed me some orange juice, but it didn't help. The next thing I know, I was sitting under my desk with my head between my legs trying not to hyperventilate. Yep, that freaked everybody out. So I went home. Actually, I was driven home by one of my people who freaked out the entire time and decided to take me to the Minute Clinic. $10 and 30 minutes later, I was told I was hypoglycemic and my iron was very low. Not surprised on the iron. I've always been very anemic thanks to my bitch of a uterus. But that's another story for another day. So armed with more orange juice and a plan to eat a bloody steak, I went home. Ate a delicious roast beef sandwich and promptly conked out. My sleep was terrible though. Apparently, low blood sugar also means whales will sprout legs and chase you through a land that is different shades of purple and the grass will also try to eat you. Crazy. Eventually, I woke up sweat drenched to the sound of my alarm blaring. So thankful I set the damn thing.

I spent the rest of the day munching on brisket and green beans brought over by coworkers and watching A Different World which is now on Hulu. Yes, lawd!!! I love that show. It's the reason why I chose to go to a HBCU instead of a regular college. Anyway, I'm tired so I'm going to wrap this up with I'm definitely feeling better emotionally since the last blog post. Got myself a handy dandy special friend to help me with that. And, I'm on my way to feeling better physically after today's episode.