Lhea J. Love

First Birthday... Anniversary of Mommyhood

2011-10-14T08:51:00.000-07:00

ONE.
I have been a mother for a year now. It's nothing like I expected. I do everything wrong. Or at least, not nearly as well as I expected.

Somewhere along the line... I lost my mommy-momentum. When my child was first born... I used to read everyday, do cloth diapers and breastfeed. I stopped reading months ago. And as much as cloth diapers made me love laundry, I've stopped that to. Breastfeeding? I only survived 7 months.

I need to step it up during year two. I need to go back to reading daily. (Maybe find a few spanish and german books.) Try to go back to cloth diapers (they are a lot less wasteful... and less expensive.) And, try to make all of my babyfood organic.

TWO.
I thought of going to an Apple Orchard as a first birthday celebration. I think that might have to wait until year two...

Even if I can't afford anything fancy, maybe I can do something... Something.

I don't think mothers can afford to be tired, or lazy. So, I need to get off my bum... and make the best of everything.

Awaiting Harper

2010-10-02T13:48:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has ever met me realizes that I love books much more than people. And, I do love people. I love intimate moments shared with someone who loves you despite your flaws. I live for hugs, embraces that whisper I know you (all of you) and I am still here.

But, while people cannot be perfect... books can be.

I stopped reading. Okay, I occassionally skim magazine articles... and glance at the new titles in local bookstores. But for the most part. I stopped reading.

The truth is I am pregnant and I do not know anything about children.

The truth is, that I found something that I love more than fiction, more than poetry... more than the uttered truth, and that is Harper.

Harper what? people ask. Probably Harper Giovanni or Harper Evette. That is still to be determined.

I am in my nineth month of pregnancy. Sometimes the only thing that makes me smile, is my daughter moving, searching and growing in my abdomen.

I am not pregnant. I have never been loved by a man. Oh sure, I have loved -- but I have never been in love. I have never been courted.

I do not expect to be.

This is not how babies are supposed to be born into the world.

I finally have a place of my own. Simply, a room of my own. Some would argue it is all I need. Three white walls, one red. A red desk, red chair and red shelf. Two Pink and two red picture frames, all empty, awaiting Harper's smile. A moses basket from my sister in law. A bed thanks to my housemates. A place of my own.

I am very excited about being a mother. I never thought I would actually be. I never wanted or expected to have a child out of wedlock. And, I never expected that any man would actually love me enough to have a child with me. Honestly, I never thought any man would be able stand me enough to have sex more than once. Because my sex life is scattered, random, adventurous and rare -- I figured the chances of me getting pregnant, ever, before menopause was highly unlikely.

And so, since here I am. And as I type, Harper adjusts herself to her own comfort. Since we are here, both mother and daughter, sharing this room. I figure this is meant to be. I figure, Harper is meant to be here. I figure she has a few things that she would like to teach me.

I am excited and eager to meet Miss Harper. While I am glad that my mother has not witnessed my downfall, I truly with my mother was here to see her first granddaughter being born.

It's amazing how much you can love someone who you have never seen.

What's Your Dangerous Idea?

2010-03-30T13:16:00.001-07:00

In the 21st century, the three largest threats to individual autonomy are braintapping, blacklisting and blackmail.

I am not certain how to prevent any of the circumstances.

Miracles

2010-03-12T21:45:00.000-08:00

I am in awe of the cells dividing within me. I am amazed by the independence and codependence of life weaving within my wound a new existence that is both whole and separate from me.

Since it is a cliche, I laugh now.

2010-03-01T09:42:00.000-08:00

Lately, I have been going for days without doing much of anything. I eat, sleep, read, write and shit. I have stopped bathing regularly and I ran out of deoderant about a month ago. I have stopped changing clothes.

I occassionally steal dimes, nickels and quarters from my father. He notices without mention. I use the money to fund my eating habits.

Each day, I search for something to look forward to. I know I am searching for reasons to live.

I find it rather pathetic that my greatest goal in life is to move out of my father's house. I am afraid it may take me five years to simply get a job. I have never been unemployed before. Now, I read reluctantly and I write - mostly blogging - out of habit.

My perspective on life used to change depending on my location. California was the only place that made me believe, at least on the surface, in multiculturalism. New York taught me that money and class was more important than race. Living in Detroit reminds me of the issues that are uniquely African American.

The most pathetic thing about my condition is that I do not know what happened. That is the most pathetic part.

It is cliche to think, 'one day I will look back on these days and laugh.' Since it is a cliche, I laugh now. Devils sit in corners, too. Perhaps devils blog, too. Perhaps devils read, too. I laugh anyway. I never believed in devils, anyhow. Only a God attempting to explain the limits of freewill to a mass of unique individuals. Pain is inevitable.

I am growing used to being hated without hating. I understand the harm and necessity of Christianity. Both fitted together in an unknown history from illegible stories, to chattel inhumanity, to beleaguered beauty racing against stereotypes and statistics.

I used to embarrass easily; now, I do not know what shame is.

Revisiting Brown Paths

2010-02-18T17:53:00.000-08:00

In 2003, I wrote on the original back cover of Brown Paths, "Most times, I believe my life is just a series of deep conversations. In the intimate moments of shared truths, I find my purpose and my joy."

I used to tell everyone that my life was simply, "a series of deep conversations." Sadly, my life has declined from, "a series of deep conversations," to a concurrence of overheard insults. It is rather pathetic.

For the first two decades of my life, I travelled the country, and sometimes, the world engaging random people in intimate conversations. I heard from their mouths what it is to live their life, and from their stories, I learned what it is to be me.

Before I left New York, it seemed as if people were following me around and brushing just close enough to hurl insults in my direction. Within earshot on a subway, in a library, at work or on the street -- I had my first experience of what it feels like to be The Unwanted.

All over the city I found movie advertisements reading, "I hate Sarah Marshall" and "You Suck Sarah Marshall". Not knowing who this Sarah Marshall character was -- but I found a city, and perhaps a nation, speaking to me. Looking back, it is rather humorous the emotions I drew from things which were unrelated to me. In retrospect it is like the American Express commercials of inanimate objects giving signs to the viewer.

This lifetime, I have had the opportunity to meet the most beautiful, intelligent people in the world. Living in Detroit, New York and the Bay Area was more than I could have asked for on my own.

I miss the conversations. Really.

I wonder how so many people can hear my thoughts, and no one visit my blog posts. As irrelevant as it sounds, blogging is the closest thing I have left to a genuine conversation. I miss the conversations. I miss talking to one person, and knowing that only one person can hear me. I miss the intimate moments of life.

If I never saw the age of 26, I would be able to say that I have had a full life.

This is my Brown Path. I never expected it to lead me here, alone. But, this is my journey and it has been a beautiful walk even unto the underbrush. I wonder if I am supposed to be learning in the wilderness of my own despair.

Is this how I shall learn patience?

Is this how I shall learn fortitude?

Is this how I shall learn...

What can I learn from my own demise?

My life is a series of deep conversations. It was in 2003. It is in 2010.

When the conversations end... is there anything else?

My Egotistical Entitlement Issues

2010-02-04T21:45:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, I went to a psychology department website and found the question: "At What Point is Life Not Worth Living?"

Since then, I have been evaluating what makes my own life worth living. In August, I came to the conclusion that Intimacy and Literature give my life value.

Recently, life has been teaching me how to do without.

January was a strange new beginning for me. For about a month, I moved out of my father's house. Without a job or a car, I slummed around trying to think of new ideas. I learned that the necessities that I take for granted are actually luxuries: heat, gas stove, electricity, running water, transportation, family, friends and coworkers.

In January, eight of the things I understood to be fundamental basics dwindled down to one, heat. And for a few weeks, I lived without the rest.

My father calls it "slumming" when people who are middle or upper-class act as tourists visiting other (lower income) areas solely for the experience of tasting disadvantage up close, before returning to the comfort of their own privilege.

While I know the term is usually reserved for whites trying to understand the plights of blacks, I wonder if my father would have called my January, "slumming".

I am probably the most spoiled person you will ever meet -- who doesn't have anything. It is my own ego, not my possessions, which grant me an heir of entitlement. For 24 years I never owned a car; for three years I haven't had steady work; I have no property, no income, and no investments; and honestly, most of the clothes that I own are over 15 years old.

And yet, nothing is getting through to me. Nothing.

For a week, I slept in a car. I felt as if I was perpetrating. I only slept in the car because it was closest to the library where I could read and check my email for free. If I would have absconded with my pride to a family member's house, I probably would have been even further away from resources.

Even though, I haven't found work -- I still don't feel as if I am struggling. I figure one day, an employer will call and hire me. I'll start saving again, paying off my defaulted debt, and return to the lifestyle of a 'boogie' middle class twenty-something year old.

Elders have said the my generation has 'entitlement' issues. I am certain that many would say that of me and my possessionless spoil. There is a part of me that looks at the 25-35 year olds who are moving up the respective ladders, and trying to figure out 1) where I went wrong, 2) what they are doing that I'm not and 3)how can I catch up.

I'm not a competitive person -- but I am always aware of who my competition is. I compete with myself. I am competing to be the best version of myself. Right now, we're both losing. While you should never compare your own life to the lives of your peers --- you have to, at least, be aware.

For years, I have been drowning in my own ignorance. I find it disgusting. I find my own myopia to be repulsive.

I have determined that the only time when life is not worth living is when physical bodily pain becomes so great, that no remedy will lesson its sting.

Emotional pain is hard to bear but my remedy is laughter. My life has become so pitiful it is quite hilarious -- the proper material for a late night comedy skit or cartoon strip.

This April, it will be 13 years since Lee's suicide. And yes, I still count. I always said that one suicide is enough for a family. So even through the embarrassment of my own foolish short-sighted stupidity, I live on.

Battle Against Apathy

2010-01-28T08:29:00.000-08:00

The first month of the new decade has presented situations, circumstances and experiences which I never imagined I would encounter. Overall, I think I'm handling.

This month's revelation is my own Battle Against Apathy.

While I am not outwardly conceited or arrogant, I have discovered that what I assumed to be humility is a simple bout of apathy. All of the years I assumed I was humble, I was actually nonchalant - a lackadaisical agent leaning towards laziness.

Perhaps meekness is a virtue. However this must be meekness born of patience; not the subtlety of not giving a damn.

Am I a Christian?

2010-01-15T12:56:00.000-08:00

Somethings are strange.

I have been re-evaluating whether or not I am truly a Christian. I have been baptised. And, I have accepted Jesus Christ as my savior. I read the bible, and enjoy what I read. I love attending church. And I pretty much agree and follow everything the bible says to do, and not to do. (The major exception being fornication: which will probably change when I get a job, and get my own place.)

But, I have a universalist view of the world. And honestly, I don't think anyone could change it. Although, I have accepted the Christian concepts that I have been raised to believe as truth... I cannot say that I believe others who denounce or ignore these concepts are going to hell. Most times I do not believe in "the devil". It seems to be just a word to describe that which is ineffable - or at least unimaginable.

I have been thinking about Zen Buddhism. Not as a renunciation of Christianity... but as a way of life.

So far, I can only meditate for about 2-5 minutes. I could stand to work on this.

I think it is easier, when you are African-American, to be a Christian. There is so much stigma in the Black community against those who are not.

In the past, I would talk about Christianity with my Christian friends - mainly my sorority sisters. And, I would not talk of other world religions for fear of talk of heathenism or demons.

I am wondering if I am ready to believe in Christ, follow Christ... get my spritual life together... without the comforting title of "Christian".

As a Black person, I think its an interesting step to take...

Foolish Lies to Self

2010-01-05T22:16:00.000-08:00

Over Christmas, or perhaps actually 2-3 days before, someone asked me if I still wrote poetry. Perhaps he knew the answer, but was nice enough to initiate a conversation I am usually too quiet to engage in.

He asked me what my poetry was about. "Black people," is my usual response. He asked if it was about waking Black people up?

After considering it, I told him that I could not write poetry -- if I can't figure out what's going on in my own life, my own history.

I do not even know the proper date. Everyone is on one accord except the small child who rolls her eyes and says, "It's not New Years". I laugh inside because that would have been me. Then, at her age. Or, now -- if I was on the other side of knowing.

So, I have been evaluating the lies that I tell myself.

1. "There must have been something I could have done to prevent this". For those listening this is my most repeated mental mantra.

2. "I need to get my life together." This is my most repeated verbal mantra. This not a lie due to its falsity but perhaps improbability.

3. ...anything dealing with Birthdays, a Birthday Party, Santa or Christmas.

4. If I just finish a screenplay or book people will respect me. (While I've never said these words -- this premise underlines all of my thoughts.)

5. After this is over, a man will love me, respect me, appreciate me. Or at the very least, put up with me. (Of all those listed, I've stop telling myself this lie... because there are far too many single black women who would be better suited to date or marry any man wasting time underwater sports-fishing (or drowning) with me.)

I read once that only a fool laughs when nothing is funny.
I read once that only a fool cannot see beyond his own nose.

Searching for the Definition of Lhea

2009-12-31T18:08:00.000-08:00

At some point I have to decide who will define you?

This is what happens when you let other people (even Black men), define you:

I found this on the internet while googling myself in the summer of 2008.

The funny thing is, in 2007 I wanted to be a role model. If I finish 2010 with a single friend, I will be very, very, very proud of myself.

In 2010, I hope that I can do what I need to do... without being concerned of what people (especially other Black people) think of me.

Virtual Virtuosity #1: On Being a Woman

2009-12-29T19:00:00.000-08:00

Virtual Virtuosity: A Vlog for the loved, the lost, the lonely and the literary.

Episode One: On Being A Woman

No More Underwater Fishing

2009-12-29T04:48:00.000-08:00

It doesn't take long to realize, I don't catch onto hints. I'm not a subtle catch-the-allusion, get-the-clue kind of woman. I'm not stupid, just slower-paced. I'm not completely ignorant, only misinformed.

And on top of that, I am not the woman I used to be. While I have never excelled at anything, at least I used to be a woman with potential. (And potential has to count for something...)

So, I have decided to take myself out of the dating pool. Keep in mind, I am only humoring myself: If you were to ask any man who has ever known me he would tell you that I am a sports-fish, not a keeper. Some women are the "lying-to-get-fucked" types, as some men in my family would say, and others are the "wifey-types".

So, I'll leave the few educated Black men to the young Black women who have their shit together. Because quality Black men are often distracted by "sports-fish" when they could be committed to a quality woman (black or often otherwise).

And even though men seem to prefer to "go fishing" with me... I've never found the life of Simone's "Other Woman" appealing.

Every time I catch a blog, a news article, a book, a news clip, twitterfeed or a youtube video, someone is talking about why so many Black women are single. So, I'm officially out of the game. (...though I was never in it.)

Honestly, the vast majority of the Black women I have grown close to during my twenty-five year old life on Earth are either married, engaged or in a monogamous committed relationship. Granted, I've met a lot of really amazing young black women in my life.

So in reality -- those statistics never applied to the women who I associated with. My childhood, teenage, collegiate and post-collegiate close counterparts never had a problem finding, dating or keeping black men.

So at some point, you have to get real. 2010 is Lhea J. Love's Official No-Bullshit Year.

Let's get real:

1. Are you gainfully employed?
2. Are you even employable?
3. Do you have any assets?
4. Do you even have your own place?
5. Are you well kept together?
6. Do you cook and clean?
7. Do you even care?

On a bad day there are seven no's. On the best day, there is only one yes (that I care) and thus there are still too many no's to expect a quality man to put up with.

So it's great to be optimistic, but foolish to be delusional. Actually self-inflicted or community-inforced delusions are down-right catastrophic.

So I listen to Yo Gotti's "Five Star Bitch". And, it still get me hype. (Some folks might act like they are too good, but I actually really love the damn song -- I got so hype the first time I heard it. It would be really nice to stroll to. Really hype.

See Also: Book Review of Steve Harvey's Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man
See Also: Culture Report of Single: The Black Girl Problem

Unbearer

2009-12-23T21:53:00.001-08:00

In a world where genuine love is scarce, sometimes it is better to be lied to than to be ignored.

...But, to be lied to and ignored simultaneously is unbearable.

On Outliving

2009-12-14T10:27:00.000-08:00

"There comes a point in life where each one of us who survives begins to feel like a ghost that has forgotten to die at the right time, and certainly most of us were more amusing when we were young." -- De Bernieres

How to be Alone

2009-12-11T07:45:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, someone asked me to name my motivation. I guess I was startled by the question. He told me not to wrack my brain over it, and eventually we both moved on with the conversation without identifying any motivation factor in my life.

The good news is I am not particularly depressed nor suicidal. That's the good news, all things considered. I've come to terms with everything that I am able to see and interpret. I am at peace. If I live only to see 25, or if I live to see three digits, either way, I am at peace with it.

The bad news is, even in peace, I have not found any source of motivation. So, I am working to think of something before the beginning of the year. I always have new years resolutions, and usually I make some adjustments and/or accomplishments through out the year.

Motivation is: what makes the difference whether I accomplish the goals or not. What difference does it make? The 'difference' is the motivating factor.

As soon as I figure out what difference it makes, and whether my own advancement makes any difference at all, I will identify my own motivation.

---

Two years ago, I asked a few questions. I was a little more motivated, then, to find the answers. (Some questions have been paraphrased, humorously, for privacy's sake.)

What do you do when your credit score is low?
What do you do when you are in debt and without savings?
What do you do when you are depressed and can not afford a counselor?
How do you become a strong black woman?
How to become financially independent of a man?
How to attract men who won't beat you?
How to attract men who won't cheat on you?
How to smile?
How to be normal enough that a man might introduce you to his family?
How to care?
How not to be ashamed of yourself?
How not to be ashamed of your family?
How to network?
How to throw dinner parties?
How to raise black children who don't hate you?
How to raise black children who don't fear you?

OR

How to be alone.

I think under normal circumstances, I have learned the answers to many of these questions. Problem is, most people who ask most of those questions are not in normal situations. The individuality of abnormality -- as opposed to the diagnosis of disorder -- is what makes the questions difficult to answer.

Everyday I seek mastery over solitude and power over lonesomeness. I desire intimacy, but still, somehow, find peace in its absence.

So I work on "How to be alone."

Another Year of Unfinished Expectations

2009-12-10T12:22:00.000-08:00

As it leans towards mid-december, we are approaching New Year's Resolution writing time. I don't remember (off the top of my head) what my resolutions were last year. I have a feeling, I didn't achieve them. And from the memory of 2008, I probably didn't reach them the prior year, neither.

Ah, looks like I found them. 2009 Resolutions.

1. To edit OO: Screenplay and register it with WGA.
2. To write OO: Novel... or at least a first draft
3. To collect more essays for The Three Minds of Black America
4. To write my second screenplay
5. To work for AT&T... yay new job!
6. To buy my FIRST CAR
7. To rent an apartment in Downtown Detroit
8. To purchase a new cell phone

(Mid year I also decided to 9. Read 50 books and 10. Lose 40 pounds)

1. Well, I did register the screenplay, even though I am still editing it. 2. I only have 20 pages of the novel's first draft... and I had 50 pages in 2007. Yeah, don't ask. 3. The deadline for The Three Minds was June 15th. One person submitted (who didn't know me personally) - a few others inquired. 4. I started a second screenplay, but I decided to make the first one better. 5. AT&T, I'm not sure what to say. I remember being so excited about it last January. 6. Although I am barely able to drive it (for at least three different reasons), I did purchase my first car. 8.I bought a new cell phone, two actually. The second, after the first was stolen at a play.

(So far I have read 50 books. And, I lost about 20 of the 40 pounds I wanted to lose.)

This year I wrote 1 essay, 2 short stories, 1 piece of erotica. Less than 10 poems. Not much.

I attempted seven out of the eight goals. Pitifully enough, none of the seven which I attempted are either finished or in operation as of December, 2009.

I found my 2007 New Year's Resolutions here: Despite everything that has changed since then, my goals are pretty much the same.

Here goes nothing. Lhea's 2010 Resolutions.

1. Finish editing OO: Screenplay.
2. Finish 1st draft of OO: Novel.
3. Finish TF: Poems.
4. Write 2nd Screenplay
5. Write Short Stories
6. Write Essays
7. Write Erotica
8. Move out of father's house
9. Weigh 125 pounds
10. Go Vegan
11. Develop income not reliant upon: Food Stamps, Prostitution, etcetera
12. Prevent myself from becoming another negative black stereotype

The Myopia of the Young

2009-12-08T07:58:00.000-08:00

After my senior year in high school, I went back to my elementary/middle school and gave a graduation speech. Well, technically, I reckon it was a promotion speech. (The students were being promoted from 7th to 8th grade, I believe. Or, something of that matter.)

The principle behind the speech I wrote is that any student can begin again. Any student can slough off older, lower expectations of parents, teachers and peers in order to create a higher standard for themselves. For instance, if a student did poorly one year, the next year the student could perform excellently. The primary message to the students was not to let anyone trap them in a pattern of poor performance.

I specifically said, Don't let your teachers talk to you about a permanent record. I've never seen a permanent record. Each year is an opportunity to begin again. (paraphrased)

Well, that was the wisdom of a seventeen year old. And while that was a very emotionally engaging and inspiring speech, it is one I would vastly revise if ever asked to speak before young students again.

A lot of the parents loved the idea -- to pursue excellence despite previous setbacks.

But, there are records. At 25, I think I would encourage students to pursue excellence in spite of them.

Repulsion

2009-12-03T09:58:00.000-08:00

Lately, I've been repulsed by my own ignorance.

But even in my repulsion and ignorance, I have had an extraordinary since of peace. Sometimes I worry that my own peace is grounded in foolishness. But, I don't get angry any more. I cry less.

On Audiences -- Real and Imagined

2009-11-23T18:29:00.000-08:00

Lately, I have been wondering which idea is more frightening: 1) the thought that no one reads my words or 2) the chance that someone actually does.

Either way, I am frightened -- both by my solitude and my nakedness.

Conversations with Flies

2009-11-22T16:57:00.000-08:00

Today, I saw a fly perched on a door in my home. Curiously enough, it did not stir when I swatted. For the first time I touched a fly's wing for a decent length of time without it flying away. I was shocked that this fly was not disturbed by the movement of my hand, or by the feeling of my touch. Eventually, it flew away.

It was strange. Then again, why should a fly be afraid of me?

More than a Blog

2009-11-14T07:07:00.000-08:00

At twenty-five, I realize I am at the age where a woman's maternal sensitivity should kick in. I am enamoured with babies and small children, without the longing to be a mother. I grow older, wondering if this will change. If I will become more of what a woman is supposed to be...

Other than that-- another year is coming to a close. I haven't accomplished enough.

I hope that before I die I write more than a blog entry.

Love, Respect, Whores and Self-Consciousness

2009-11-10T06:10:00.000-08:00

1. Someone asked whether you should respect people who don't respect themselves. Or rather, stated that one would look foolish, for respecting a person who doesn't respect themselves.

I reckon that one's action should be built on one's own determination not on anyone else's. If one person participates in self-inflicted pain, that does not justify others to inflict pain as well.

And besides, the whole concept of thinking you can judge whether a person respects themselves is ... one that should be escaped. Different people have different values. At what point should we enforce our values on others... if at all?

Regardless, I figure you decide to love someone or not. You decide to respect someone, treat them respectfully or not. Don't blame them for decisions you make. Otherwise, you choose to hate, you choose to ignore, or you choose to actively disrespect. Either way, how you treat people (except in the cases of coercion) is your decision.

2. For the past few days, I have been meditating on what it means to be a whore, or a ho. Or whether that word has any valuable use at all.

In the past, I thought that being a whore meant having multiple sex partners simultaneously; recently, I have been wondering if whoredom simply covers the habitual exercise of have sex with partners who do not either love or respect the person (usually a woman) - regardless of monogamy or polygamy.

If so, does this cover people who are lied to, or people who lie to themselves?

In the end, or rather, at the end of the day - the word whore or its counterpart 'ho' has no valuable usage at all. Just a verbal means of judgement in order to denounce someone else's practices, and justify one's own.

3. I have been too self-conscious to participate in NaNoWriMo.

4. I always feared that people would not like me, if they truly had the opportunity to know me.

Lately, I have been so self-conscious of what other people think -- I have been attempting to suspend my own thoughts. (...to no avail.)

...the death of veganism

2009-11-04T07:00:00.000-08:00

It's November. Soon 2009 will come to a close, and I will have to face myself, ask myself what did I accomplish this year.

I am afraid that the answer will be 'not enough'. I am going to try to focus on getting more writing done for the next two months.

1. It's National Novel Writing Month

Each November, since 2006, I have set out to write a novel. There is a part of me that wonders what would make this year any different. I try to hush my own self-skepticism in search of a more disciplined, creative self.

I cheated a little, I'm starting with 15 pages I have written earlier this year. But, NaNoWriMo or not, I am going to try to get more writing done.

2. Not Quite Vegan

Whenever people ask me how I became vegetarian, I always tell them a story of living in a vegan household one summer. I never tell them the five or six years of refraining from beef, pork and fish prior to going full-veggie.

If I am going to be vegan, it's going to take a little more work, a little more effort and a little more time.

First time I tried in August, I lasted two days. Second time I tried in October, I lasted two weeks.

I'm not quite vegan... this venture may take a while.

3. Writing

Everyone says that I work on too many writing projects at once. Because I am split in so many directions.... I end up not completing anything.

They're right. One novel, one screenplay; that's it. I'll focus on other things after I finish one novel, one screenplay.

4. A New Life

At times, I feel a bit trapped and a bit paranoid. Maybe I am trapped and I have good reason to be paranoid. Regardless, focusing on my trap or my paranoia will not help me turn my life around.

So, I have to focus on the things that I can change. There are a few things which are still within my control.

...I guess the primary goal is to not give up.

5. My Fatal Flaws

I'm really too self-conscious of a person to interact with people on a regular basis. There was a brief moment immediately after college when I thought I might become a socialite. Now, I worry I will never live my own confusion down.

I hope that I can find a job that pays my bills and a studio large enough to hold my books. Nothing great or extravagant. Just a private room to write in and a way to pay for it.... that's all.

The Purpose of Suicide

2009-10-21T08:51:00.000-07:00

The purpose of suicide is to make the world a better place. From my understanding, 95% of its heirs are wrong; their deaths wreak more havoc than peace. The great tragedy of self-annihilation is that each agent believes that they are in the five percent.

Master Cleanse - Day Four

2009-10-08T12:38:00.000-07:00

Today is the fourth day of my master cleanse. So far I have been doing very well. The last two nights I forgot to do the salt water flush. Or rather, I fell asleep before taking it.

In my dreams, I would love to fast for forty days. In reality, I've never gone past day seven. The minimum is ten days, I'll at least try to reach the minimum this time.

I don't get hungry while I'm fasting, sometimes I simply crave the taste of food.

Before I started fasting, I had my last three slices of pizza. I am hoping to transition into a vegan lifestyle. (Dietary vegan, at least. I know, I know... everyone hates that phrase.)

If I had been thinking, I would have had a few of my favorite foods before starting the Master Cleanse. I would have gone to a Thai restaurant and ordered a huge plate of Pad See Ewe. I would have gone to a Coney Island and ordered a large Greek omelet.

Oh well. I've eaten those two things millions of time in my life. I shouldn't miss them.

I haven't been weighing myself much. So I don't know if I've lost any weight in the last four days. Probably. Right now, my primary concern is cutting cheese and eggs out of my diet.

The first time I did the master cleanse, I broke the cleanse on the seventh night with a huge 3-egg pesto omlet. The only thing I love more than pesto and eggs is feta cheese and eggs. I made myself a little bit sick for a few hours because my body had forgotten how to digest solid foods.

This time hopefully, I ease off the cleanse with soup and juice.

Once I go to the store, I'll look for tofu to scramble and soy cheese. Maybe I'll treat myself to a soy pizza every now and then.

This time, I really think that the vegan thing will work.

On Going Vegan: Part II

2009-10-06T14:47:00.000-07:00

I thought it was an excellent idea. A reader suggested that I discover the reasons why I would like to go vegan. I thought about it, and I've come up with three explanations.

1. Discipline
2. Size
3. Health

Third, I've recognized that over the years I fluctuate between a healthy-vegetarian and a junkfood-vegetarian. A large part of the differentiation is that I don't enjoy cooking. I'd much rather be reading, writing... or almost anything besides standing in the kitchen. I cook, on rare occassions. Rare.

So I figure a vegan lifestyle will cut out a lot of the junk food that I thrive on when I am broke. Pizza, is the main ingredient. So, going vegan will either A) force me to cook more or B) inforce a raw-food based diet. Of course, their a junkfood-vegans. The plan is to steer away from this trap.

Second, I wanted to lose forty pounds before my 25th birthday. I only lost about twenty. I'm not concerned as much about the weight as I am the size. I've lost a lot of muscle mass over the years. If I reduced my size and kept the same weight due to muscle gain. I'd be okay with that.

Finally, I think my primary problem is discipline. My own lack of discipline bleeds into every area of my life. Years and years ago, someone told me that my primary problem was, "the inability to stick to your regiment." My regiment. I think of this often. I would like to establish a regiment, dietary and otherwise, that I can stick to.

So, today is the second day of my third Master Cleanse. Hate if you want, I love the master cleanse. I always have so much more energy while I'm cleansing. I think most of the junk food that I eat ends up draining me of my energy, instead of boosting it. Thus, this is the second day of me being vegan. The plan is to continue to abstain from dairy (especially cheeses) and eggs once I finish fasting. And, as a bonus, I'm also trying to abstain from sweets for the next 40 days.

Good luck to me, eh?

Habits

2009-10-04T14:20:00.000-07:00

For the most part, I love routines. I wake up and do the same thing every single day. Occasionally, I like to break out and do something random. Something spontaneous or spur of the moment... but for the most part every day of my life is the same. (Wake, Write, Read, Write, Sleep, Repeat)

The main problem with being a person who loves routines is, What do you do about negative habits?

So, I'm working on breaking a few negative habits. And, it's a little tougher than I expected.

On Going Vegan

2009-10-02T17:25:00.000-07:00

Last summer I decided to become a vegan. It hasn't materialized yet. I tried to cut out all remaining animal products cold turkey; my venture only lasted three days.

After thinking about it, I realized that I didn't become a vegetarian overnight. I cut out beef and ham for about 5 years before I was able to remove the remaining meats from my diet.

So, I would like to move towards dietary veganism. I won't give up if it does not happen overnight.

On Happiness

2009-09-29T16:44:00.000-07:00

All things considered, I'm happy.

All things considered.

Peace

2009-09-27T08:08:00.000-07:00

Today, I focus on breathing.

Like a Car Crash

2009-09-25T15:08:00.000-07:00

Today, I was in a car accident. The other driver, looked pretty proud of himself. It was an interesting experience. My small car was nearly totaled, while his truck wasn't even scratched. No dents, no marks.

I think life is like a car crash, sometimes. Everyone gets knocked around by chance, time and circumstance; some people are completely unraveled, while others remain unscathed.

I am lucky, as strong as the impact was on the driver's side. That shit could have taken me out had I been a foot or two in front, had I been driving a mile per hour or two faster, or had I left a second or few before I actually did.

Another thing I realized from the car crash, I can be at fault even if the other person intended it.

Emotions are an interesting thing. When I am sad, very few things can rock me above my distress. And when I am happy, very few things can ruin my joy. I should be completely distraught that my car is totaled and I don't have money for gas, let alone repairs. But, right now, I'm happy enough to be alive.

Morning Mumblings

2009-09-19T06:23:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning thinking about the ramifications of the Patriot Act. I turned over.

On another note, I think the whole city of Detroit promotes functional illiteracy. Somethings are just fucking impossible to get done in this city.

A Little Writing

2009-09-18T15:08:00.000-07:00

I've started The Artist Way, again. This will be my third time: once in 2005, once in 2007 and once in 2009. Somehow my morning pages have turned into afternoon pages.

I'm not as big of a fan of freewriting as I used to be. After 10 years of freewriting, I probably have over 50 notebooks (or more once you count Word Document files, etcetera) of freewriting, and not that much completed work.

Freewriting seems to help you get into the habit of writing on a daily basis, it helps you mine your subconscious for good material... but it won't help you write a book. (Let alone, finish it.)

Right now, I need to figure out how to be a more disciplined writer. I have enough material, really. Writers' block was never my problem. If anything, I've always had an overload of ideas. New ideas come before I fully complete and edit the first.

So, I'm working on a few things: a novel and a screenplay. Two separate stories. I think I have a stronger understanding of stories, story lines and characters than I did two years ago, five years ago, etcetera.

I still have a a nonfiction book that needs to be written; yet, the more research that I conduct, the more research that seems still needs to be done.

So, life is good. Lonely, but good. Aggravating, but good.

The primary task is staying sane long enough to finish the novel and the screenplay. Lately, I've been doing okay.

Random Thoughts on Tuesday Morning

2009-09-07T20:24:00.000-07:00

I'm writing a new story. I'm almost as excited about it as my first...

Writing, in my world, is a distraction. I am very, very, very happy when I'm writing. But, I can't write 24 hours a day. When I'm not writing, I'm forced to face the reality of my life.

How in the world did I go from that, to this?

When I'm writing, I don't have to think about that question. When I stop writing, I can't avoid it.

Attraction.

2009-09-06T14:07:00.000-07:00

Confidence is the most attractive attribute of a person. Sometimes, even, I am drawn to arrogance. Not too much, just a tad.

Foolishly

2009-09-02T06:16:00.000-07:00

Foolishly, I thought that my purpose in life was to introduce an idea, or tell a story that would change someone's life - for the better.

Now, that I realize that my purpose in life is to be a joke. Perhaps I am here for the amusement of others.

I count to Ten, and by the time I get to five, I am either laughing hysterically or crying uncontrollably. Or, some weird manic combination of the two.

Foolishly, I thought that all I needed was a mentor. Every biography I've ever read, is just a lineage of who influenced who. All I needed, or so I thought, was a little guidance.

However, if I would have known, that I would lose everything that I cared about (every relationship, New York, publishing, job, Delta, reputation, privacy) in pursuit of a teacher, clearly I would have rather kept my life - and taught my damned self.

But this is my life - alone, hated by thousands, mocked by media, a pitiful representation of a Delta Woman (I took the plate off), of a Black Woman, of a Detroiter, of a Wolverine. This is my life, pitiful as it may be, and I am the only one that can live it.

Never Rotting Away

2009-09-01T20:49:00.000-07:00

I am haunted by my own inadequacies. Failure sits by my bedside. Even in my slumber, I am condemned to remain awake. I relive my own tragedies; each leg tumbling towards the feet beneath them, each heartbeat marching towards my own demise.

I weep too often. Not yet does six hours pass before the onslaught of rain. My body is dehydrated from the loss of tears. I have no water left, for sweat.

This is hell for the privileged, I say. Not famine, nor hunger. Not homelessness, nor poverty. Just loneliness rotting at the core, but never rotting away.

A Father's Sympathy

2009-08-31T18:29:00.000-07:00

I cried, today. Twice.

And my father looked at my face swollen by my own grief, with an expression I cannot describe. I wonder what he was thinking in that moment. He looked away, as did I. My tears stopped.

I have triggers that remind me of my powerlessness; triggers that remind me of my solitude. And while his words may be a trigger - it is never his voice, his anger or command that initiates my brief weeping spells. It is the powerlessness and the solitude, always.

Today, I realized that I have always been lonesome. But, I have never been friendless. There is a first time for everything, the adage goes.

After my older brother committed suicide, and perhaps a tad before, I used to pray nightly for a best friend. My God was kind, He sent me two. Perhaps I have reached another moment when I must humble myself before the Universal Immortality in hope that She hears my prayers.

Intimacy & Literature

2009-08-28T18:53:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, it's better to be brief.

I'm finding that a life without intimacy is not worth living. There must be some moment of honesty, when you can bear your soul to another human being without their retreat. There must be a person who will catch your tears in the palm of their hands and bear the weight of the world in each drop.

There is something disconcerting in revealing your true self to a world which does not care. Something completely wrong about walking through life alone.

In the past few months, I've found that intimacy and literature are the only things which make my life bearable. And, I don't have a single honestly intimate relationship left. So, now I am wondering if literature alone can make life worth living.

I am not certain. I have my doubts.

Sex, Sex & Sexuality

2009-08-22T07:58:00.001-07:00

Gender, Intercourse & Libido

1. On Womanhood

The older I get, the less comfortable I am in my own skin. I promise you, in my own adolescence was not as conflicted as I have been during my twenties.

It's not that I dislike who I am. Moreso, I dislike what it means to be who I am in this world.

At this point in time, my female peers are preparing for their dual roles of wives and career-women. While, I am running in circles, trying to break free from an impenetrable box.

When I think of womanhood, I think of cooking and housecleaning, makeup and manicures, wigs, weaves and permanents, stilettos and miniskirts, and fashion magazines. You can be a lawyer, doctor, politician, or an artist - as long as you can cook, and clean, and serve - don't forget the foundation, or to arch your eyebrows, or to get your weekly fill-in. Skinny jeans? Those were so two/three years ago.

I admire the power-women. The superwomen. The everything women. The perfect mothers, perfect wives, perfect bosses, perfect friends, perfect mentors. I admire the perfect women.

One day, I will force myself to be someone who I'm not. And then, I'll be loved again.

2. On The Birds & The Bees

I was ultra-Christian as a child. I went to church, sunday school, vacation bible school. I read my bible often and said my prayers daily. I said the grace before every meal, regardless of where I was. I agreed with the idea of no-sex-before marriage. Saving yourself, they call it.

And one day, I woke up and I found "saving myself" to be rather pathetic. My biggest fear became becoming an "Old Maid". To be 50 years old and still a virgin.

Now, four years of sex later, I discovered that I may become an Old Maid - whether I am a virgin or not.

3. On Heterosexuality, Bisexuality, Homosexuality & Asexuality

I am often convinced that my life would be a little bit simpler if I was lesbian. This is not to say that I take the tribulations of lesbians lightly. Clearly Christians do not accept their choices (if and when it is a choice), and clearly the vast majority of Black Americans are Christian.

I am not denying this conflict of interest.

But, I spent the first 24 years of my life trying to impress Black men. It never worked. First, my father. Then, my brothers. Then, my schoolmates. Then, my coworkers. Then, my idols. Fail.

And, at 25, I get it now. I am the type of Black woman - that Black men hate. It's ironic, because I spent so much time wanting to be loved by them. Perhaps, they were repulsed by my neediness.

Perhaps I think that love between two women is a little more pure, a little less bullshit, a little more honest. I might be over-romanticizing lesbianism..

And, I wonder sometimes, could I love a woman? Most times, the answer is no. I love men too much. Twice, I suprised myself. Once, I became entranced by a young, young girl working at American Apparel in New York. When she noticed my trance, she said aloud, "Oh, I have a boyfriend." Snapping out of it, I laughed. And, I wondered if she experienced that often: women and men alike being drawn to her ora.

The second time, there was the most beautiful woman standing behind me at Borders. This time, I was sure not to make eye contact for fear of her saying, "Oh, I have a husband."

In retrospect, the women looked very different. But, both of them pulled off a look that I wished I could pull off. A cute, brown skin, nappy-headed, petite look. I could stand to work on the 'cute' and 'petite' parts...

I admire women in love with women. I always have.

For now -- I'm asexual - attracted to hetero/bisexual men.

"And you'll say, 'Did they love you or what?'. I'll say, 'They love what I do.' --Ani Difranco

On Communities

2009-08-21T05:40:00.000-07:00

Every loner needs a community, a support-base.

And, I'm finding that following people on Twitter who would never talk to you in real life - doesn't count.

My Life Is No One Else's Fault

2009-08-19T21:24:00.000-07:00

In the end, everyday is what you make of it.

Life is short.

What is acceptable, What is not...

2009-08-18T12:54:00.000-07:00

1. On Conformity

Eventually, I will learn my lesson. Eventually I will conform. I will cut of my locks, and perm my hair. And, I will paint a smile on my face even when there is nothing to smile about. Because in the end, I know that is what I appear less threatening. And others are more comfortable around me.

I was really close to conformity when I lived in New York. I cut all of my hair off and I wanted to perm it. But after about five years of being natural, I just couldn't do it to myself. So instead of perming my hair, I put "invisible braids" in my hair. The braids, only resting at the top, gave the appearance of longer, straighter hair.

In sales, even telephone sales, you learn that appearance is everything. Some folks won't do business with you based off of your dress, or the look in your eye.

Those months of near conformity were the happiest months of my life. My coworkers liked me, or at least accepted me. I was advancing in my career. And, I had a network of people to at least be seen with, if nothing else.

Eventually, I will learn to conform.

[Alright, alright... I'll leave weaves alone today. A weave never hurt anybody...] But, hell, maybe I'll cut my locks and wear a weave or a wig or something more palateable.

2. On Smiling

A lot of people tell me I should smile more. Let me make it known, I have nothing against smiling. I think it's a beautiful phenomenon.

I just find a woman's disposition to be a peculiar thing. In an office setting, there are a few men who walk around smiling ear to ear. The men who are naturally bubbly and happy. But most of the men, are just themselves; neither smiling or frowning. Just being.

Sometimes, I would like to just be. But, I'll learn to conform. I'm 25 now. I'll learn before 26.

What I Must Learn

2009-08-17T17:44:00.000-07:00

1. Fear

Sometimes, it feels as if the entire world is watching. I certainly hope not. Sometimes, it feels as if half of the world is laughing and the other half is crying. And to my own dismay, I cannot tell which is which.

There is a book that I love called, "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway." I reckon, this is my period of fear. I've noticed that this fear isn't going anywhere. So, will I be completely undone by it? Will I be paralyzed by it? Or, will I finally rise above it's permanence.

I fear.
I fear being hated by black men.

Why would they hate me? I am not sure, but certainly it has something to do with my fatal flaws. Someone would call me weak. Someone would call me a bitch. Someone would call me lazy. Someone would call me a whore (though, I must be the most none-ass-getting-whore that ever lived). Someone would call me double headed. Someone would call me ignorant. And still, someone would call me a horrible writer.

And, I would walk the neighborhood, and not be able to disguise my face. And my reputation of weakness, bitchiness, laziness, whorishness, double-headedness and ignorance would proceed me. And worse, I would be the writer-who-can't-write.

This, I fear.

Men would cut their eyes when they see me. Boys would avert their eyes. And even the edges of their smiles would be sentenced with downturned disgust.

This, I fear.

Lately, I have been wondering what about me makes all of the men that I admire despise me. And, after I repeat the same experience again and again. I realize, it is me. In this sense, I wish either either beautiful enough to be in a music video, or with my temperment, I wish I was a man. To have my temperment and not be an absolutely beautiful woman is, a tragedy.

Is this self-hatred? No, I realize that I love myself. And, I haven't met anyone that I would rather be. But, I hate being me in this world as it is today. To live in a constant state of discomfort always greeting disapproval. If I have to be in this world as it is today, I think I would rather be a beautiful woman, or a man (beautiful or not).

Growing up, I always wanted to become my father. I always wanted to be treated equally to my brothers. My father humored me. But, in the end, he was right. There is a difference between men and women.

I have been put in my place.

________________________________________________________

2. What is missing

I recognize that there are a few things which I did not learn as a child. A few things, that perhaps I should have.

A. How To Treat A Man

B. How To Interact with Whites

C. How To Respect Authority

And, there is a way to handle each scenario without completely becoming a doormat. The earlier that one understands each of these things, the smoother things go.

Even if you are a black, a woman, or a black woman that pushes the envelope, you still have to understand what the norm is in order to rebut it.

Getting Personal

2009-08-16T19:22:00.000-07:00

1. On Reality, On Genuineness

As much as I enjoy fictitious novels and films. I tend to be a realist, hoping that the portrayal demonstrates some underlying truth.

I need a dose of reality. No euphamisms. No sugar, no cream. Straight.

Perhaps this is why I am beginning to love memoirs. Let me know that you are alive! Let me know that you struggle with your own imperfections. Let me know, if and when you have overcome.

I enjoy reading blogs, articles. But, to tell you the truth, I prefer personal blogs to cultural and political blogs. Yet, the older I become, the harder they are to find. Most in Corporate America don't want the executives reading their life. And ultimately, no one wants to be blacklisted for their beliefs. Just for a blog? It's probably not worth it.

___________________________________________________________

2. On Solitude

I am a loner. I always have been.

But, there is a difference between enjoying solitude and being utterly alone. Even people who enjoy being by themselves don't want to be alone. At the end of the day, they want to know they there is someone they can call on, someone they can confide in, someone they can trust.

I am discovering that life is impossible to endure alone.

___________________________________________________________

3. On Blackness

Today, I came to the conclusion that there isn't anything more painful for a Black person than being despised by their own kind. I reckon their are a few exceptions to the rule, a few black people who have no concern for the black community. I haven't met any in my brief 25 years. But, I assume they exist.

Now, I am wallowing in a state of discomfort.

I just don't feel Black enough, anymore. Right now, there is no community where I feel at peace. Currently, I'm not in a community of Black writers. I'm not in academia. I don't have a network of Black professionals. Right now, I can't even relate to Black women. Sometimes, my own neighborhood feels like a foreign land. Eventhough, I'm not urban - I'm not suburban neither. I love church, love it. And, lately I cant even get into church. It's akward because I see the world through the lense of a Black person, and yet I don't feel like Black people relate to me.

Sometimes, I wonder, "So, this is what it feels like to be hated?"

It's a strange phenomenon.

Sometimes affirmations feel like lies, but I affirm anyhow.

Affirmation: I am surrounded only by Love.
Affirmation: I am surrounded by people who have good intentions.
Affirmation: I am surrounded by those who want what is good. Good for themselves. Good for me as well. And good for the world.

On Decision Making

2009-08-15T23:17:00.000-07:00

I finally wrote an entry on The Black Armchair. I don't think this would be a proper philosophy blog. Yet, I imagine that I will be able to toss around a few philosophical ramblings. The first entry briefly discusses identity, character and reputation. The next entry will probably be on emotion and it's interaction with rationality.

This week, I realized that often I do not act on my first mind. Oft, the problem occurs when I act on my first mind after I have already made a counter decision. The constant changing of my mind, irritates people around me.

Now, I would like to reserve the right to change my mind. Always.

But, if I started to act on my first mind, the first time, I would prevent the apparent wish-washiness that has been forming out of my unsureness.

Coming to Terms

2009-08-13T19:04:00.000-07:00

Each moment I experience is like a poem in it's first stage. And, if I remember to breathe, I have faith that this too will pass.

Continue breathing. That's the trick.

Alice Walker once wrote that each poem she wrote is gratitude that she had not committed suicide the night before. I think of this sentence continuously. I cannot forget. The second that I forget, I step into the realm of the inevitable.

I'm coming to terms:

When a white person has no respect for me - he's not racist, he just dislikes me.
When a man disrespects me - he's not sexist, he just has no respect for me.

I'm beginning to wonder if likeabilty and conformity are the lost virtues...

Continue breathing. That's the trick.

I also realized that I love who I am. I like my quiet nature. And most times I do prefer books to, everything. (Everything... except intimacy.) I prefer solitude. To a certain extent, I prefer anonymity.

I wish, I could be who I am without infringing upon other people.

And, I think intimacy is the most important aspect of our human lives. The capacity to truly love and be loved. The capacity to trust and be trusted. Without love and trust, what in the world could possibly be worth it?

Through my own insecurities and fallibility, I am destined to singledom. But there was always a level of ineffable intimacy. These friendships sheltered me, guided me through loss and suicide, heartbreak and failures. And now that the sincerity is gone and only the stage exists, I am left to fend my own insecurities and fatalities by myself.

Even loners exult intimacy, perhaps moreso than the socialites who take the quality of human interactions for granted.

Of all my failures and mishaps, my relationships were the only thing that I had handled correctly. And now I must come to terms, with the loss of the only thing that made life bearable.

One day, I will walk into the room, and someone will smile that I have arrived. And not the forced grimace of the rehearsed smile. But the impromptu expression of genuine love.

I miss intimacy. I miss it. I miss four hour conversations, I miss snail mail. I miss meeting friends for the club. Or, breakfast afterwards. I miss sharing an experience with only one other person. And knowing that moment was ours alone. It's been a long time coming.

I guess, I never expected to have mass appeal. I've never been popular. I only expected to be well-respected. And this week, quite explicitly, I realized that too was a pipe dream.

So I'm coming to terms with reality.

The reality is: my days of intimacy are gone. And it takes years to build trust, honor, support. It may be years before I experience intimacy again.

The reality is: who I am does infringe upon other people. So, I will either be myself, and face the consequences being unwelcome. Or, I will become someone else, and face the consequences of being phony - a traitor unto myself.

The reality is: the people I love, revere and respect... do not feel the same for me. The reality is the unrequited nature of hope. I'm hoping for people, relationships, opportunities and things which are not hoping for me. In fact, some hope against it.

The reality is: "more writing, less whinning," is easier said than done.

Failing a Myth

2009-08-12T20:28:00.000-07:00

In college, I met a woman who had a Theory of the Myth Black Superwoman. There was a definition, and all of the psychological ramifications of living up to the myth and failing to do so.

Lately, I have been dealing with the consequences of not living up to the myth. Somehow, Black women are supposed to be the teachers in the Black community, the supporters in the Black church, the backbone of Black families: either single mothers who don't need men, or wives who put everyone above themselves, and all the while keeping our hair permed and our nails manicured. If we are not domestic, we are lazy. If we dream of respect, we are angry. If we wait for marriage or love we are prudish and if we enjoy sex we are whores. If our habits, our language, our preferences do not align with what is stereotypically Black (including the ability to handle inordinate amounts of bullshit - sometimes, a necessary Black trait), then of course, we are crazy. There is no such thing as a weak Black woman. Such a phenomenon would be an anomaly.

By this standard, I am lazy, angry, prudish, whorish and crazy.

I would like to live up to the myth. I would like to be everything to everybody: my daddy's perfect revolutionary, my mother's perfect social worker, my brother's perfect community organizer, my professors' perfect pet, my employers perfect worker, my community's favorite advocate, my people's perfect poet, my dream's perfect spouse, and my own perfect version of myself.

In my desire to be all things, I have succeeded at becoming no thing. Nothing.

I think Blacks are looking for the Talented Tenth that DuBois rejected. Perhaps, I am still looking for the tenth within myself. And my own failure to be an acceptable negro, has led to a trail of resentment.

And, thus the problem. I lack the knowledge to be a teacher, question too much to be religious and need too much attention to be happily single. I'm not domestic. And, I've grown to accustomed to the unacceptable. The things I do, just to have someone who listens.

And, I have become a statistic. One of those black numbers that say, this percentage of blacks underperform academically. This percentage of blacks receive government assistance. This percentage of blacks can't keep a steady job. This percentage of blacks are single, unmarried.

I have become what I tried to avoid or, at least, deny.

Now, I'm dealing with the results of not living up to the Myth.

Is Every Contradiction a Hypocrisy?

2009-08-10T14:21:00.000-07:00

Contradiction: An act, statement or proposition which denies or negates itself.

Hypocrisy: An act, instance or practice of possessing beliefs, feelings or virtues that one does not possess.

“Be real. Try to do what you say, say what you mean, and be what you seem.”

A few weeks ago, this quote by Marion Wright Eldeman was brought to my attention. And, I have been meditating on this statement since.

I wonder how much complexity is allowed in realness? And, thus, how many contradictions? At what point does a characteristic stop being complex and start being a contradiction, or when do contradictions lead to hypocrisy?

I think that hypocrissy is a character flaw, but complexity is inevitable. Definitely one should do what they say, as a man of his word would. One should say what they mean, as a woman of her word would. But to be what one seems? This seems to be completely out of one's control.

You cannot control other people's opinions of you. Ultimately, others will decide for themselves. Millions are spent each year on advertising, public relations and other related areas in attempt to develop a personal brand. I would be lying if I said these did not work. They do.

But as it is always said, no one will be able to please all of the people, all of the time.

I think it is acceptable to have a separate private and public life. Indeed, I think it is healthy and quite necessary. I think it is acceptable to have secrets- and ultimately, privacy- things that only your spouse knows, only your best friend, only your family. And, indeed these might be different things.

I do not think that any one person should necessarily have to "seem" to be one way to every single person. I don't think people should have to be one dimensional. Of course, one is not going to act the same way in a nightclub that one acts in church; or with friends that one acts with coworkers. I think complexity is acceptable.

What makes complexity healthy and hypocrissy unacceptable?

Honesty, I suppose.

Nonetheless, in all my complexities and contradictions. I will try to do what Eldeman says. First, I will work on doing what I say, and learning how to say precisely what I mean (considering how others can and will interpret my words). As for being what I seem? I can't make any promises.

I've decided that 'what other people think of me is none of my business'.

The Twinge of Unpopularity

2009-08-02T17:53:00.000-07:00

I think the tagline of my new and improved blog should be, "less whinning, more writing." And I'll stick with it though, I'm not sure how well I'll be able to uphold that mantra.

A week ago, I turned 25. Today, my father turns 69.

Now, that I am sufficiently passed teenage-hood, I must obtain and maintain control over my own life. Perhaps the two most important aspects are financial stability and emotional stability. And, I think think I'll work on the emotional stability first.

I have been unwillingly ruminating in a state of misery, for longer than I would care to admit. It would be nice, if I could control every aspect of my environment. But- I cannot. Therefore I will either remain to be miserable... or I will find a way out of misery, despite.

So, I think the first step towards my own happiness is dealing with the twinge of unpopularity. Sure, I'm happy when I am reading a book, or watching a movie. But, I don't have the luxury of reading and watching 24 hours a day. So, how can I be happy when I'm not reading?

When I was younger, I never worried about loving myself. I had other people to do that for me. So now the question is, if the world despises you, can you look in the mirror and love yourself?

The answer is yes. This is the quest of my 25th year.

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In general, I am happiest when I am certain that I am making progress. Dormancy and decline are the quickest routes to depression.

The general problem that I am facing right now is my own incompetence. My own lack of skill is not something inherent which I cannot overturn, but it is something that if left festering too long, will become so normal that it will become permanent.

Right now, I think the bulk of my issues come from the fact that I have not read enough. I am not well-versed in the areas of my own interest. (Philosophy, Literature, and more recently, Psychology).

Of course, I cannot learn everything there is to know at once. But, at least this year I can begin to build a stronger foundation.

New Beginnings, Again.

2009-07-31T22:43:00.000-07:00

The truth of the matter is, I love new beginnings. And, when I cannot begin my actual life again, I start a new blog. This is my way of turning a new page.

Often, my personal blogs are long rants of all the things which are going wrong in my life. This time, I will may a conscious attempt to avoid such entries.

This will be a simple web log of the things going on within and without me.

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Here's what's new:

1. http://www.lheajlove.net/
I love websites. I was extremely distraught when I lost lheajlove.com. I was very attached to the website. A friend of mine had slaved hours and hours over it.

Please tell me what you think and how it can improve.

2. http://lheajlove.tumblr.com/
I am not a visual person, at all. I have no visual thoughts, no pictoral images floating within my mind. My brain is simply a cloud of words. Seldom, I dream.

This is currently a picture blog which will evolve into a vlog. This is a glimpse of the world through the visually-impaired.

3. http://blackbookshelf.blogspot.com/
I've only been writing sporatically in this blog for the past few years. I am often overcome with waves of self-doubt which stop me from blogging about books for long periods of time.

I won't make any promises. But I would like to write reviews more often.

4. The Griot's Message
I begun The Griot's Message in 2007. I enjoyed writing it. The problem was, I was writing an inspirational newsletter when I was on the top of the world, the happiest I had ever been. The second, I hit a few road blocks, I stopped writing inspirational messages because I assumed I was unfit to write The Griot's Message. I am no griot. And now, I'm not even positive, who am I to relay the message?

I have decided that perhaps when things are not within my control, when the path is not so clear, perhaps it is in these moments when I should not only type the message, but live the message to the best of my ability.
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So, the question always arises: what can I do? Who can I help?

I have spent so much time trying to piece my life back together into a picture that I am proud of, that I have forsaken all paths of altruism.

I will spend the month of August figuring out what I can feasibly do. How many hours in a week/month do I have to volunteer?

Should I join adult organizations, or is it best to spend the next two years developing my own craft (writing) and character (virtue)?

What can I do for someone other than myself?